Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel)

by Danielle Girard

  "Mom!" Amy yelled again.

  Grunting, Casey forced herself onto her elbows. The sound of her daughter's voice in the morning was so foreign, she had to push off the sense that she was dreaming.

  "Come on in, honey," she called back.

  "Did I wake you up?" Amy asked, coming in wearing Casey's heavy terry-cloth robe. Her wet hair hung just above her shoulders, her face bright with excitement. She plopped herself on the bed.

  Casey put her arm around her daughter and closed her eyes.

  "Mom!"

  "It's early."

  "It's eight-thirty. I'm going to make you breakfast—pancakes, okay?"

  Casey pushed herself up in bed. "Now, that's worth getting up for."

  "And the phone's for you." Amy pulled the portable phone from the robe pocket.

  "Is it your dad?" Casey asked.

  "No." She shrugged. "Some man."

  Casey glanced at the phone with a tight knot in her chest. "Why don't you go into the kitchen and get started. I'll be right in."

  Amy jumped up. "Okay."

  "No cooking until I get there," Casey added, all the fears of parenthood washing back over her.

  When Amy was safely from the room, Casey put the phone to her ear. "Hello."

  "It's Jordan."

  Casey exhaled. "You ought to introduce yourself when you call," she scolded.

  "Caught me off guard to have a kid answer the phone. Is that Amy?"

  "Yeah. Michael came by yesterday. I guess he's in town for business. Amy's staying here for a few days. Didn't Renee tell you?"

  "I got a message from her about the Oakland police, but I didn't quite understand it."

  Casey looked out her window. The patrol car was still parked in front of the house. "He's still here. Did you call to check up on us?"

  "Actually, no," Jordan admitted. "You know someone named Rick Swain?"

  Hearing Swain's name brought back a wave of helplessness that Casey despised. "Why? What do you know about Swain?"

  "So you do know him?"

  "Yes, I know him. Jordan, what's going on?"

  "Renee has a friend at the Bureau who called to let her know that this guy, Swain, was coming out here."

  "Out here?" Casey tried to digest the information and the discomfort it brought. "Why?"

  "That's what I want to know. As far as I know, the FBI isn't involved in this case. We haven't notified the Bureau. How did they find out about it?"

  Casey studied the far wall of her bedroom, remembering the look on Swain's face as she stared up at him, half-conscious, from the gurney. He had blamed himself for the attack. She had blamed him, too. Swain was supposed to have wired her apartment for sound. To this day, Casey didn't know what had gone wrong.

  Maybe Swain had been too lazy and had just skipped the wiring. Or maybe something had been faulty. For all she knew, he'd done it all correctly and then fallen asleep without his headset on. But she did know that when she was carried out by the EMTs, she had seen guilt in his eyes.

  "Casey?"

  "I'm here."

  "Who is he?"

  "He was with me in Cincinnati."

  "Your partner?"

  She shook her head, forcing herself to put her lips together and make sound. "He was our surveillance."

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know."

  "He fucked up?" Jordan pressed.

  She nodded, reliving the horror of the sound of Leonardo behind her, wondering when someone would burst in on them, when someone would save her from the terror, from the excruciating pain. Then later, knowing something had gone wrong, that no one was listening, no one was coming for her.

  "Casey?"

  "Yes. Something went terribly wrong," she blurted. Rubbing her eyes, she added more softly, "I don't know what. I never asked. After the attack, I didn't care."

  "So why would he be here?"

  There was a long pause.

  "Unless the Bureau thinks this killer is their man," Jordan added. "Would they send him out then?"

  "I don't know. I haven't had any interaction with the Bureau since the month after the attack."

  "They're getting their information from someone in my organization, then."

  Casey laughed. "That's not tough to imagine. They've got a field office here. It'd be easy to get information from one of your officers. They've got a million ways to do it." Casey thought a minute. "It's not protocol, though. Unless it becomes a federal jurisdiction case, they normally don't intercede until someone's requested help. Are you sure your captain didn't call them? Or maybe the chief?"

  "No way." Jordan was adamant. "The chief detests the Bureau. And Tapp wouldn't do anything against the chief's wishes."

  "Well, assuming you didn't contact them about the links with the Cincinnati killings, maybe they were able to link the murders themselves. Then, the crimes cover two states, and the case becomes federal jurisdiction."

  "They'd connect the crimes without telling me as head of this investigation?" Jordan sounded furious.

  "I'm just guessing, Jordan. I don't have any clue why he's here. I don't even know if he's really here."

  "Oh, he's here all right. I called the airport and confirmed it," he continued, without hiding his aggravation. "Traveled under his own name and arrived yesterday. He rented a car from Hertz. A white Mustang."

  Casey nodded. "That sounds like Swain. You know where he's staying?"

  "No idea. You'll keep an eye out for him?"

  "Yes," Casey said, wondering where Amy was. Pushing the covers off, she took the phone into the hallway. Immediately, the sounds of Billy and Amy talking in the kitchen soothed her worries. "He's a bit of a cowboy, actually. Likes to do his own thing. I think what happened in Cincinnati hurt his career pretty badly. He's probably doing mostly desk work."

  "So why send him out here?"

  "I told you I don't know."

  "You worked for the Bureau. Guess," he demanded.

  Frustrated, Casey shrugged. She hadn't thought of the way the Bureau worked in six months, maybe more. And she wasn't all that anxious to think about the politics now. "You want a guess? Fine. The Bureau loves to give everyone a chance for vindication. Maybe this is his." She stopped. "But honestly, I don't know."

  "Thanks for the info." Jordan paused, changing the subject. "So Amy's there. I'd love to meet her."

  "Why don't you come by for dinner? It's just Billy, Amy, and me. I'm sure she'd love to meet you, if you can handle the probing questions of a twelve-year-old."

  Jordan laughed. "I'd love it. If she's anything like her mother, it should be an eventful evening. Should I bring anything? Wine?"

  "None of those vices allowed around here. How about ice cream? See you around six?"

  "Sounds good. Any favorite flavors?"

  "If I recall correctly, anything chocolate will do. "

  "Got it."

  Casey turned the phone off and set it on the table. The idea of having Rick Swain in town made everything that had happened seem all the more ominous. Would the Bureau use her to lure Leonardo? Was this all some sort of setup? She'd always wondered if that's what had happened before. Had the Bureau used her to lure a killer? And the fact that Amy was here, so close. The timing couldn't be worse. Tonight, when Jordan was over, she would ask for additional surveillance on the house. Her own safety was something she would gamble, but no one was going to touch Amy.

  "Mom, look at the pancakes," Amy said delighted, running toward her carrying a plate. "Billy's making Mickey Mouses."

  Pulling herself out of her daze, Casey looked at the creation. "Looks almost too good to eat."

  "No way," Amy protested. "I'm starved."

  Casey followed her daughter into the kitchen and watched Billy hovering over the stove. He still looked tired, and Casey knew Amy's visit wasn't helping him relax. "Sit, Billy. Let me give it a go." It was an offer she knew he couldn't refuse.

  Casey stood at the stove and worked the spatula beneath the brown cakes,
prying the sides up until she could loosen them enough to flip them over. It was a sloppy job, and the batter splattered out the side of Mickey's face.

  Amy patted Casey's arm in sympathy. "That's okay, Mom. We'll just pretend that's wind or something."

  Casey turned and looked at Billy. He sat back and took a sip of his tea.

  "Okay, Billy," Casey agreed as she scooped the pancake off the skillet and onto a plate. "Here's your Mickey in the wind."

  "That's just how I like him best," Billy said.

  * * *

  In the rearview mirror, Casey watched the police officer park several car lengths behind them as Billy pulled to the curb in front of Montclair Park. It was a different officer from the one the night before. Also a black man, this officer looked fifteen years older than the first. He'd also appeared half-asleep when Casey had come out of the house, and she checked to make sure he was up to the job. He hadn't been happy about her questioning, but she had to be sure. This was Amy's life at stake.

  She was also keeping her eyes open for signs of Swain. She assumed he would surface eventually—if he was actually here on business. Maybe he was on vacation. Somehow she doubted it.

  Billy and Amy walked ahead as Casey took one last look around.

  "Hurry, Mom! Billy says you're in charge of breaking the bread."

  "Oh no, you don't. I made breakfast," Casey said, hurrying after them.

  The threesome sat on a bench near the water, and Amy opened up the bag of Wonder bread, handing out slices. She tore her pieces quickly, her hands moving in rapid motions. She was finished in seconds. Jumping up, she said, "Come on. Let's go to the water."

  "You go ahead," Casey said. "Billy and I will break up more bread right here."

  "Come on, Mom."

  "Us old folks need to rest," Casey protested, enjoying the fact that the water was a mere fifteen feet away and Casey could easily watch Amy without getting up. "We'll be down in a minute."

  Amy started off.

  "Stay on this side of the lake," Casey called after her. She felt Billy's gaze on her, and she looked over. "What?"

  "Who you calling old?" Billy teased.

  "Sorry. Guilt by association."

  Billy's gaze followed Amy toward the water. "She's a great kid."

  Casey nodded, regret at missing the past months swarming around her like angry bees.

  "You're a great mom, too. I'm glad they came."

  "I am, too. It will be weird after they leave."

  "You could go with them."

  Casey shook her head, watching Amy taunt the birds with the bread. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do."

  Billy touched her arm. "You belong with them, Casey."

  She turned and looked at him. "Would you come with me?"

  He looked away and blinked hard. "I don't know. I don't think—"

  Casey took his hand in hers, squeezing with as much pressure as she could, which she figured might be just enough for him to feel her increased strength.

  Billy laughed again, his eyes glimmering with emotion.

  "I'm not leaving you, Billy. I'm going to take care of you."

  He shook his head, pulling his hand away. "I'm not your problem."

  "And I wasn't yours."

  "That's different. It's my job."

  Casey shook her head and stood from the bench. "Maybe in the beginning it was your job, Billy, but it hasn't been for a while. I'm not going to argue about it. You can take all my coffee away—crush my cigarettes, drag me out of bed at six a.m. I don't care."

  Billy laughed.

  She touched his arm. "I'm staying with you."

  The laughing turned to tears, and Casey leaned over and kissed Billy's cheek. "I love you, Billy Glass."

  He sniffled. "Me, too."

  "Mom!" Amy shouted from the edge of the water. "I need more bread."

  Billy handed her the bag and waved her off. "Better go."

  "Don't play stubborn with me."

  "How could I? I know that's your job."

  "Damn straight," Casey agreed, carrying the bag toward the water.

  Amy ran up to meet her and took the bag from her hand. "You have to see this, Mom. They all rush up to get the bread." She pulled out a handful of bread crumbs and tossed them over the water.

  Casey watched as a group of mallards and a couple of swans swam for the food.

  "Watch that big one." Amy pointed to the larger of the two swans. Her long neck extended, she swept down over the smaller mallards and grabbed the largest piece of bread for herself.

  "Did you see that?"

  Casey nodded. "What a pig."

  Amy laughed. "Yeah." She stepped toward the water and picked up a twig. "Maybe I can trick her." She tossed the stick into the water, and the big swan swam for it. Then she tossed the bread crumbs to the smaller birds. They ate quickly, as though sensing they didn't have much time before the swan returned. Amy grinned. "She's not very smart, the big bully."

  Amy put her arm around Casey and pointed to a play structure on the other side of the park. "I want to go play on the bars."

  "Let's go get Billy."

  "Okay." Amy turned back, her smile fading.

  Casey followed her gaze. Billy was slumped over on the bench, but from his awkward position, Casey didn't think he was sleeping. "Oh, my God."

  Amy started to run toward him, but Casey caught her arm.

  "Stay here."

  "But—"

  "Stay here, Amy."

  Amy nodded, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder that Casey knew came from understanding her mother had a dangerous job.

  Casey ran to Billy, praying he was still breathing. There was no sign of blood. She touched his face. "Billy?" His skin was moist and cool. "Billy!" she said louder, shaking him. He didn't move.

  Her own heart pounding, Casey pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling his weak pulse. "Oh, thank God." They had to get him to a hospital.

  Casey waved to the police car for help. "Officer!" she screamed when no one emerged from the car. Surveying the park, she couldn't see a sign of him anywhere. Where the hell had he gone?

  "Shit!" Casey screamed, furious. "You're fired, you moron," she muttered under her breath, vowing to raise hell with his captain. She looked around the park, but there was no one else to help them.

  She turned her attention to Billy. The idea of getting him to the hospital by herself seemed overwhelming, but she had no choice. She couldn't risk leaving Billy or Amy to go call for help.

  Amy was at her side, her expression panicked. "What's wrong with him?"

  Casey struggled to hoist Billy up. Her hands couldn't manage the weight. "I don't know. Help me get him to the car."

  Amy lifted Billy's right arm over Casey's shoulder and then took his other arm, and together they moved slowly toward the car. Casey could hear Amy crying. Tears streamed down her own face as well. "It's going to be okay," Casey said, for all their sakes. "We're going to get Billy to the hospital. He's going to be fine. Amy, honey?"

  "Yeah," Amy sobbed.

  "You're doing great. I'm so proud of you."

  "Are you sure he's going to be okay?"

  "Positive," Casey said, turning her gaze to the sky to pray she was right.

  They reached the car, and Casey patted her pockets for the keys. She didn't have them. Reaching into Billy's pants pocket, she fished out the keys, fighting to grip them in her clumsy fingers. "Amy, take these keys and unlock the door."

  Amy opened the back door and then helped Casey lay Billy across the backseat.

  Rivulets of sweat poured down Casey's back as she moved frantically toward the driver's seat. Her hands shaking, she latched onto the handle and fought the door. "Come on," she cursed, unable to grip the handle and get it open.

  Amy reached across and opened it from the inside.

  "Thanks." Casey sat in the driver's seat and stared at the wheel. "I can't drive." She looked over at Amy.

  Amy couldn't drive. "I'm going to n
eed your help, baby."

  Wide-eyed and teary, Amy nodded.

  Casey handed her the keys. "Put these in the ignition and turn them to the right when I say."

  Amy stuck the keys into the ignition as Casey pushed the clutch in.

  "Turn," Casey said.

  Amy turned the key and then let go. The car rumbled and then died.

  "It didn't work, Mom." Amy began to cry harder.

  Casey inhaled quickly and touched Amy's leg. "It's okay. Try it again. This time hold it to the right until I say. Okay?"

  Amy nodded and put her hand back on the key.

  "Turn," Casey said.

  The car rumbled to life. "Okay, let go," Casey told her daughter when the engine had safely started.

  Casey put her hand on the stick shift and pushed it into first gear. Taking her foot off the clutch, the car eased forward. It was working. Casey put both hands on the steering wheel and thanked God for power steering. She let the clutch out completely and with a glance over her shoulder for oncoming traffic, reved the engine down Mountain Avenue toward the freeway. She didn't want to take her hands off the wheel to shift, afraid she would lose control. "When I say, pull the stick shift straight toward the back of the car. Ready?"

  With both hands on the gear, Amy nodded.

  "Now."

  Amy pulled down, and the car shifted into second.

  "Good." Casey paused and touched her daughter's hand. "Put your seat belt on."

  Strapped in, Amy looked up at Casey. "Yours isn't on either, Mom."

  "Don't worry about me, baby. I'm fine." Casey kept her eyes glued to the road, pulling onto the freeway in second gear. "Look back at Billy. How does he look?"

  "He's not moving."

  Casey nodded, pressing the gas harder. They weren't far from Alta Bates Hospital. They would be there within a few minutes. Hang in there, Billy. Please. "We need to shift again."

  Amy put her hands back on the stick shift. "Which way?"

  "This time back up to the front of the car, but you need to go a little to the right. Ready?"

  Amy shifted and as Casey took her foot off the clutch, the rpms flew up to six thousand.

  "We're in first gear now. We need to try it again. Put your hands on the wheel, Amy."

  Looking frightened, Amy grabbed the steering wheel.

  "Just hold it steady, okay?"