All of the air was sucked from Beckett’s lungs, leaving him with an expression that reminiscent of what Drake thought Mrs. Trout might look like sans dentures.
Drake himself was not exempt from the horrible realization that Eddie was dead, that he might have been the last one to see the young doctor alive. His heart started to race in his chest as he thought back to a day that which, while it couldn’t have been more than a week ago, felt like it had happened a decade or more prior.
And I know one thing for certain: that man… he didn’t die from positional asphyxia. He was murdered.
Drake had turned Eddie away. Like a pauper scorning an unworthy peasant, he had sent him away.
Now he was dead.
Murdered.
Memories of Clay came flooding back then, a deluge that threatened to drown him.
Should we announce our presence? Say that we are NYPD?
It’s your case, Clay, you decide. This is a waste of time, anyway.
“Tell me everything he said,” Beckett whispered. “I want to know everything.”
Chapter 37
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room after Drake had recounted his interactions with Dr. Edison Larringer. Part of him felt the need to defend himself, to say, ‘hell, it isn’t my problem, none of this was my fault. I’m no longer a detective with the NYPD’, but he knew that this was simply a defense mechanism that would only lead to self-pity or, worse, self-loathing.
And lord knows, he had enough of both to last a lifetime.
“I’ll help you,” he said at last. “Whatever you need, I’ll help you catch the killer.”
Beckett nodded solemnly. It was clear to Drake that like him, Beckett also harbored guilty feelings about the young doctor’s death.
“We have to stop him before he strikes again,” Chase said quietly.
“Do we have any suspects?”
She shook her head.
“None. But the images from the test? They were restricted. Only students could see them.”
“What do you mean, could see them?” Drake asked.
It was Beckett who answered.
“I asked the professor who posted them to take them down, which narrows our suspect pool to either a current or past student. That being said, I tried to gain access to student records, tried to get a friend in the IT department to give me a list, but he said no dice. Tighter than a nun’s—” his eyes darted to Chase, “—than a nun’s, uh, church bible. Anyway, I know who took the class this year and last, and can probably dig up names from a few semesters before that, but that’s about it.”
Chase nodded.
“I asked Officer Dunbar to do a little digging. He’s going to try and cross-reference the names that Beckett provided with criminal records, but he can only look superficially. He’s paranoid that Rhodes is watching him, and with good reason after what happened with the Butterfly Killer.”
“Huh,” Drake grumbled. “So it’s all on me, is it?”
A thought occurred to him then.
“Beckett, reach back and open my office door, would you?”
Beckett nodded and opened it.
“Screech, can you come in here for a sec?”
In an instant, Screech appeared in the doorway.
“What is it, boss?” he asked, and Drake felt his face redden.
Boss; that’s what I used to call Chase as a joke.
“Just get in here. I need you to meet some people.”
Screech entered, and after introductions, Drake got his partner up to speed.
“So we’re looking for an ex-student, huh?” Screech asked.
Drake was surprised by the immediacy of his response. He looked to Chase first, then Beckett. After a nod from the former, he said, “Considering the restricted nature of the slides, yeah I think that’s the best place to start.”
“Not only that,” Beckett added, “but whoever’s doing this, whoever’s recreating these suicides, has considerable medical and scientific knowledge. He knows exactly how to kill these people to make them look like suicides, down to the angle of the ligature, to the amount of time to submerge the body in water. And so far CSU hasn’t found a hair, a fiber, any DNA at all consistent across crime scenes. I mean, I signed off on some of these as suicides before I knew about all of this, for Christ’s sake.”
Screech put his hands together and cracked his knuckles.
“Well, I can’t say that national espionage is my specialty, but I’m game.”
Drake didn’t share his partner’s enthusiasm, despite what had happened to Dr. Edison Larringer.
Chase apparently picked up on his apprehension, as she said, “Drake, I know what happened. I know what happened with Clay, with the Skeleton King, and what happened with Dr. Kruk. I can’t imagine the toll that has taken on you. But we need your help. I wouldn’t ask if…” she let her sentence trail off.
Drake bit his tongue. Chase knew what happened with the Butterfly Killer, of course, but she had no clue about the Skeleton King.
No one did.
Except for him and Clay, and Clay was dead.
And his killer was still out there; no matter what anyone said, Peter Kellington was not the Skeleton King.
Drake knew that if he helped Chase and Beckett, that his nightmares would return, and that chasing their killer wouldn’t be enough.
He would be compelled to find the man responsible for Clay’s death, as well.
If it didn’t kill him first.
Chapter 38
“I think I see the problem,” the tow truck driver said as he leaned under the hood. “It looks like… it looks like your battery has been disconnected from the alternator.”
“Really? How is that possible?”
The tow truck driver, who after considerable prying the man had discovered was named Toby, shrugged.
“You been into the shop lately?”
The man admitted he had.
“They said that my battery was running low, that I might have to replace it soon.”
Toby chuckled.
“Scammers. Without the alternator connected, your battery will die in an hour or so. Quicker if you have the heat on or play the radio.”
“Huh. Well, ain’t that a pickle. Can you help me?”
“I can boost you, but it’ll only last long enough to get you to the shop. Like I said, an hour, tops.”
“What about reconnecting the alternator? Can you do that?”
Toby leaned further into the engine.
“Looks like the bastards took all the cables. I’ll see if I can find something in my truck.”
With that, Toby spun away from the open hood and went back to his truck to rummage in the cab. As he did, the man grabbed the yellow bag containing a brand new set of jumper cables off the front seat of his car. Then he quickly left his vehicle and went back to his post by the open hood, cables in hand.
Toby returned, a sour expression pulling his jowls down low.
“Sorry but I don’t have the right wires to reconnect it. But like I said, I can boost you so that you can start the engine… and I see you have cables. Great.”
The man nodded.
“Ph, alright then. Should I connect them…?”
Toby’s scowl became a patronizing smirk.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” Toby strode forward as he spoke and took the cables from his outstretched hand and teased them out of the bag.
“Thank you. This is… well, embarrassing, I guess.”
Toby chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it—it’s not your fault. Some asshole mechanic just took advantage of you. Happens all the time.”
He proceeded to connect the red and black leads to the man’s car battery.
“Alright,” he said, breathing on his hands to warm them. “I’m going to connect them to my battery now. You sit in the car, and when I give you the signal, start it up, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Thank you,” the man said wi
th a smile. Toby nodded and then went back to his car, while the man did the same.
When he was alone in the driver’s seat, the man put the keys in the ignition and turned them halfway. The lights on the dash lit up.
That’s step one… Toby didn’t even check to see if the battery was still live.
And of course, the battery was fine.
The man took a deep breath, then peered out the windshield. He waited until Toby gave him the thumbs up sign, before poking his tongue into his cheek. He pretended to turn the key a few times and, content that Toby had bought his little charade, he started the car.
The engine roared to life.
The man threw his hands up—success!—and then got out of his car. Moving quickly, he went to his engine even before Toby managed to haul himself out of his oversized truck. But instead of removing both jumper cables, he only teased the red one off.
And this is step two, the man thought, his breathing becoming more rapid.
With a trembling hand, he moved the clamp toward the alternator. After several deep breaths, he ground his teeth and snapped the lead onto the rectifier. There was a brief shower of sparks, but he managed to pull his hand back before he got burned. The headlights of his car dimmed slightly, and an electrical fizz filled the air beneath the hood, but the man paid this little heed. Behind him, he heard the sound of Toby opening his door, and he spun around.
“I got it! I got it!” the man said with a large smile, waving his hand to reinforce his words.
When Toby frowned and continued to lower his large body from his truck, the man broke into a near sprint.
Step three…
He made it to the tow truck before Toby had cleared the front of the car. With another, hitching breath, he reached for the leads still attached to the battery. A caustic foam started to ooze from the positive terminal, working itself into an angry froth.
The man hesitated.
“You should probably leave that to the professionals,” Toby said, suddenly behind him.
“Oh, that’s alright. I’ve got to learn sometime, you know? And you’ve been such a good help,” the man replied as he grabbed the rubber handles of both jumper cable clips. He half expected to feel a jolt, a thrum of electricity course through his fingers and up his arms, but when this didn’t happen, his heart rate seemed to slow a little.
“Did you… hey, did you remove the cables from your car?” Toby asked. “And what’s that smell?”
“Yes, of course, I thought—”
The man spun around as he spoke, leading with the charged jumper cables.
Toby, seeing the expression on the man’s face, tried to pull back, but he was too fat, too slow. The red clip pinched on his neck, the black on his shoulder.
Toby’s eyes went wide and he immediately swatted at the leads, but his arms seemed to freeze in mid-air, his elbows seized at awkward angles.
Something between a croak and a gasp escaped Toby’s now pale lips, and then it was as if his body had been liquefied. He collapsed to the gravel road in a heap. A second later, his back arched so far that only the man’s shoulder blades and hips remained in contact with the ground as electricity coursed through him.
Satisfied that the clips wouldn’t slip, the man quickly made his way to his car and leaped into the driver’s seat.
Teeth gritted, he jammed his foot on the gas pedal, causing the engine to rev and the dome light above him to blink out.
Toby’s back arched even greater, and smoke began to rise from his cavernous mouth. When the man eased his foot off the gas, the tow truck driver’s body collapsed to the ground again. He gunned the engine a second time, and this time didn’t ease up until he could smell burning flesh in the air.
Electrocution was the most difficult scene to replicate, but it had gone off without a hitch.
The man smiled, then stepped back onto the gravel road. After observing his work for several seconds, he set about manufacturing the scene.
Chapter 39
“You’re paying me extra for this,” Screech said. “Mad extra. In fact, I want double.”
Drake chuckled.
“What? You think that this is without risks?” Screech asked, his eyes wide.
Beckett had since gone back to the morgue, and Chase to 62nd precinct, leaving Drake and Screech alone in the office to discuss what they were going to do next. Screech had been gung-ho about getting involved when Beckett and Chase were present, but now that they had gone he seemed to be getting cold feet.
Drake himself was still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that the young doctor that had been in his office not more than a week ago had been murdered.
Detective or not, Drake was still a good man and he felt the familiar pressure of responsibility for what had happened to Eddie.
And this was going to drive him to find the killer.
I need a fucking drink, he thought with a grimace.
“Double?” he said, all of a sudden feeling tired.
Screech folded his arms over his narrow chest, his lips pressing together tightly.
“Shit, yeah.” His eyes darted to the checks that still lay on Drake’s desk. After all that had happened, Mrs. Armatridge and her cronies’s problems seemed inconsequential. And every moment that the killer remained on the loose, they grew even more insignificant.
The money, however, was what kept Triple D’s doors open.
“Double,” Screech repeated. He was trying to look obstinate, like a man negotiating the sale of a used car. Except he only looked like a little boy, one who was mad because Mommy wouldn’t give him a second scoop of ice cream.
The expression almost made Drake laugh, and he would have, if copies of five photographs of the victims weren’t laid out on his desk like tarot cards.
“How about half?” he countered.
Screech made a face.
“Half?”
Drake nodded and shrugged at the same time.
“Half.”
“What the hell are you talking about, half? Half of what?”
Drake paused.
“Half of Triple D.”
Screech was trying his best to remain calm, but Drake could literally see his body rock as his heart pounded away in his chest.
“One… one and a half D’s?” Screech asked with a hint of a smile.
“Half the company, you dork.”
Screech tilted his head and closed one eye.
“Three-quarters,” he said, then followed this quickly with, “Just fucking with you.”
Screech held out his hand and Drake grabbed it and shook hard.
“We have a deal, Drake,” Screech said. “Now can we just change the name to something slightly less erotic? DDS Investigations, maybe?”
“What are we? A couple of dentists? The name stays, Screech.”
“Alright, alright.”
“Good, now go set up more cameras for the prune juicers, will you? Then, after you’ve done that, see what you can dig up on old forensic pathology students.”
Screech nodded and stood. He was partway to the door when he turned and said, “What about you?”
“I’m going to find a killer,” Drake replied, all the humor gone from his voice.
“Oh, sure, you take the easy job.”
Chapter 40
Beckett left Drake and Triple D with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He and Chase had gone there with the intention of recruiting Drake, and while this took some cajoling, not only had they succeed, but they had also obtained the services of his partner, the weird, curly-headed man with the annoying laugh, and yet it still didn’t feel right.
The fact that Eddie had been there, that he had visited Drake before he was murdered, struck a chord with him.
Beckett had stayed with Drake even after what had happened to Clay, despite the fact that Clay was his friend as well, because he knew Drake. He knew Drake was a good man. Sure, he bent the rules every now and again, skirted the knife edge of morality
and law, but that was because his pursuits were noble.
But with Eddie… if Drake had only listened to him, then he would probably still be alive today. Hell, all he had to do was give Beckett a call. Was that too much to ask?
Within the hour, Beckett found himself back at the morgue, standing alone in the room with the five bodies that he was now convinced had been murdered. It was cool in the morgue, and although Eddie’s body had yet to decompose as it would if it had been exposed to the elements, his eyes still bulged unnaturally and his skin had acquired the pallor of milk spilled on a marble countertop.
Beckett knew that he was missing something, that there was something here, some clue on the bodies, but he had stared at them for so long now that he was blind to them.
It was time for another set of eyes. Young eyes; young inexperienced eyes.
His first thought was the fellow that he had left in charge when he had gone to Montreal a few months back—what the hell was his name? Reggie? Archibald? Greg?—but he immediately scratched that off the list. After all, the fellow would have known Eddie, known him well.
No, it had to be someone else.
It had to be Suzan.
As much as it pained him to get her involved again, especially considering that Drake was now on board, it just had to be her. Sure, there were many others that were more qualified, including Dr. Tracey Moorfield, but he also needed to exercise discretion. He had yet to release the bodies, and although he hadn’t been explicitly told to get things moving in this regard, he could feel the pressure coming down the chain of command.
Senior Medical Examiner of NYC still had to report to the Chief Medical Examiner, and that relationship was one that he valued very much.
Beckett took off a glove and pulled out his phone.
He scrolled quickly through the contacts until he found Suzan’s number.
“Suzan? It’s Beckett. Think you can come down to the morgue? There’s something I need your opinion on…”
***
“These are the bodies?” Suzan asked quietly.
Cause of Death (Detective Damien Drake Book 2) Page 12