by Jessie Cooke
“Diane, where are you? Are you okay and in a safe place?”
“I’m at home. I loved him, Bri!” Another round of sobs whose dying down Bri awaited and then with all of the empathy she could muster she said:
“I know you did, honey. Can I come over and be with you?”
“No!” Diane snapped.
“Diane, please. I’m sorry, truly. But please remember that this week has been hell for me too. I don’t know where my head is at most of the time. But I love you and I’m so sorry you’re hurting. Let me come sit with you for a while. We can talk, or not...whatever helps you.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I can’t stop thinking about it, picturing him. He wasn’t a bad guy, Bri. Nobody really knew him the way I did...”
“I know, honey. Tell you what, I’ll get dressed and be there in about forty-five minutes. We can open a bottle of wine and you can tell me all about him, okay?”
“You didn’t like him,” she said, defensively.
“I didn’t know him. But he made you happy and that was all that mattered to me. Please, Diane, I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”
“Okay,” she said. She was still sobbing when Bri hung up the phone. She looked at the time and saw that it was almost ten. She wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight than she’d gotten all week...but her friend needed her, and that was more important. Diane had tried to be there for her when the news broke of Pam’s death, but Bri had been too focused on her own need to find out who had killed her sister to focus on her grief. She got dressed quickly and grabbed a bottle of wine she had chilling in the refrigerator. She locked the door tightly and checked it three times before finally heading out to her car. It was another habit she’d picked up, thanks to Brayden. She had her gun in her holster, but she walked to her car with her keys between her fingers, just in case, and stayed alert and aware of her surroundings. She knew Brayden was dead. She knew that to be an absolute fact. But she also knew his wasn’t the only evil that existed in the world.
The drive to Diane’s house took her a little over half an hour. Diane lived closer to the Back Bay in a nice house in an upper-class neighborhood that her parents footed the bill for. Diane’s father was a surgeon and her mother a pediatrician. They’d never been able to offer her much in the way of time and attention, so they tried to make up for it with material things. Luckily, Diane had turned out okay. She had her issues, some of them being that she was prone to dramatics and she needed a lot of attention, but from what Bri had seen in her profession—working with adolescents that came from messed-up families—it could have been a lot worse.
Bri parked her car at the curb in front of the house. There were no lights on, not even the outside light, which Bri thought was strange since Diane had known she was coming. With the car doors still locked, she took out her phone and called her friend. The call went straight to voicemail, like Diane’s phone was off, or the battery was dead. She looked back up at the house. Something about the situation just didn’t seem right. She debated calling the police, but wondered if that might be jumping the gun. Finally, she decided to call Wesley instead. His phone rang three times before going to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message and looked back up at the house again. It was still dark. She tried Diane’s number again and it still went straight to voicemail. With a silent curse she opened the car door and got out. Before heading up the walk toward the front door with the big “welcome” wreath hung on it, she took out her gun.
Bri was wondering if all that had been going on was making her overly paranoid, the way she was after Brayden for a while, when she noticed that Diane’s front door was only partially closed. She cursed again and in one smooth movement put her back to the door and pushed it open with her body, gun out in front. “Diane!” There was no answer, no noise at all. “Boston PD!” she yelled. It was technically a lie, she wasn’t a police officer...but fuck ’em if they didn’t like it. There was still no noise in the house. The noise of her heavy breathing and the whoosh of her rapid pulse in her ears was enough noise, however, to be slightly overwhelming.
She tried to slow down her breaths as she pressed her back into the wall of the hallway and began to make her way toward the open door. She slid against the wall until she hit the doorframe and then once again yelled out, “Diane?” Her voice almost seemed to echo in the still house, and yet again, there was no answer. She spun around so she was facing inside the door. It was dark, so she couldn’t see anything. She knew it was one of Diane’s spare bedrooms, but she wasn’t sure where the light switch was. She slid her hand inside, along the wall to the left, and didn’t feel anything so she did the same to the right and hit a switch. Suddenly, the room was filled with light. Bri breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was neat and tidy and nothing seemed to be out of place. Now she only had two bedrooms and two small bathrooms to check out. The next bedroom would be Diane’s and she headed toward that one, back still to the wall. The light from the bedroom she’d just been in shone out onto the floor, helping guide her. She was thankful for it...until she saw the blood. Her heart seized up and her stomach clenched when her eyes fell on the bloodied shoe print in the hallway.
She willed her hands not to shake as she reached the doorway. Hoping that she wasn’t going to find whoever belonged to that print still in the room, she took a deep breath and reached to her right, flipping on the switch. Once again, the room before her was illuminated, only this time, everything was not in place. Bri felt the panic begin in her belly and as it began to rise, every muscle in her body became tense. She was breathing too rapidly, she knew, but she couldn’t slow it down. Her thoughts were racing, but none of them made sense. Some part of her brain was screaming at her to call an ambulance while another part assured her that it was too late for that. The protective voice in her head was telling her to turn away, not to look at her friend...but it was too late for that too. Like Buzz, the image of Diane, sitting propped up against the headboard of the bed, saturated in blood and with a long, deep gash in her throat, would be seared into her memory forever.
The room was beginning to spin and her vision was growing foggy and gray around the edges. She squatted down on the floor and tried to breathe slower. She felt so sick. She should have been there with Diane. She should have gotten there sooner. She put her head down on one of her knees and closed her eyes until the spinning stopped. She willed herself to pull it together. Whoever did this could come back. She clutched the gun in her hand and wished that they would. She wished he’d come back so that she could put a bullet in his forehead.
When the gray fog began to recede and the room became still, she continued to hold the gun tightly in one hand and slid her phone out with the other. Using her thumb she pressed in 911 and for the next ten minutes she was on the phone with dispatch, waiting for the police to arrive. It was going to be another long fucking night.
17
Toolie was pissed when Wheelie wouldn’t tell him what was going on, but he lost the attitude and became all about business as soon as Dax arrived with reinforcements and filled him in. Dax had the guys go through all of the boxes piece by piece; meanwhile he had Gunner checking each one of the bikes already in the shop for new parts. Wheelie was about halfway through one of the boxes with a couple of the other guys when his phone started buzzing. Just about the time it stopped, and he thought about ignoring it, it started buzzing again, so he pulled it out.
“Bri? Everything okay?” He could hear heavy breathing, and what sounded like a lot of commotion in the background. “Sabrina? Are you there? What’s happening?”
“Wes...” He could hear in her voice that she was crying, or had been.
“Yeah, baby, I’m here. Tell me what’s going on. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Diane is dead.”
“Diane? Oh, fuck! Buzz’s Diane? Your friend?”
“Yes...Jesus, Wesley, he almost cut her head off. I can’t stand it. I just can’t stand any more
of this!”
“Oh, fuck. Oh, baby. Where are you? I’ll be right there?”
“What’s going on?” Handsome was next to him, helping with the box he was going through.
“Another murder,” he said with his hand over the phone. Then to Bri, “Baby, please tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you.” Bri rattled off an address. “Okay, stay there. I’m on my way, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered and then the line went dead. He looked at Handsome then and said:
“Buzz’s girlfriend was murdered tonight.”
“Jesus fuck.”
“I need to go...Bri needs me...”
“You need to stay away from this shit is what you need to do.”
“I’m not leaving her there alone.”
“What’s going on?” Dax had heard Wheelie’s raised voice and come over.
“Buzz’s girlfriend was murdered tonight. Sabrina is there. She’s upset and I’m going to get her.”
“The cops are probably there too, right?” Handsome said. “Won’t they just love you showing up at every fucking crime scene?”
“She needs me. Dax, please.”
“Handsome is right,” Dax said. “It’s a bad idea for you to keep popping up, it keeps you on their radar.”
“What am I supposed to do, just leave her there alone?”
He sighed. “I’m sure they’ll make sure she gets home safely...”
Wheelie was shaking his head. He’d never outright defied Dax before, but he wasn’t leaving her there alone. “It’s not about her getting home safe. She saw her best friend with her head nearly cut off. Besides the trauma of that, she saw Buzz just yesterday, and guess what? Both of those images give her a pretty damned good idea of what her little sister looked like dead. If it were Angel, Dax...or Cassie, Handsome...would you just leave her there?”
The two men looked at each other and Dax said, “You’re going no matter what I say, right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but yes.”
“Go. Stay out of the way of the police and make sure if they see you they know that she called you.”
“Okay.” He started to jog off toward the clubhouse and his bike and Dax said:
“Hey kid, good job finding that part.”
“Thanks. I hope something comes out of it.”
Dax sighed. “Me too.”
Wheelie had barely stepped off his bike in front of the nice house in the Back Bay before Bri was in his arms. She must have been waiting outside for him. She was shaking all over and he tried to wrap her up and hold her tightly so she would stop. “I’m here, baby. It’s going to be okay. Are you cold?” She shook her head against his chest. She had her fingers curled into him and she was pressing so tightly against him it was like she was trying to disappear into him. “Can you leave? Can I take you home?” he whispered as he petted her hair with his hand. He was overwhelmed by how quickly he’d developed such strong feelings for her. It confused him, but at the same time, it just felt right.
She finally pulled her head up and looked at him. Her hazel eyes glistened with tears and her pretty face was stained with them. “Yeah, I can go. Cam...Detective Sampson...said that we can talk more tomorrow after the meeting we’re all supposed to be at in the morning.”
“Okay, good. Do you want me to leave the bike here? We can take your car so you’ll be warmer. I’ll drive...”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t leave the bike. I can drive...”
“Bri, I don’t think...”
“Look, Wesley, I’m upset...obviously. But, I’m not helpless, okay? It’s not a good idea to leave your bike here right now. You’re still number one on my father’s list and God only knows what he’d do with your bike parked in front of this house when he shows up...and I know he will. Please, be here for me emotionally, but don’t get all controlling and domineering, I don’t need that.”
“Okay. I’ll follow you home.”
She smiled, but she still looked sad. “Okay, thank you.”
He nodded and watched her get into her car before getting back on his bike. She sat in the car for several minutes before starting it up. He was really nervous about her driving, but he needed to respect her independence. The drive to her house from Diane’s was about half an hour long, but seemed a lot longer. Wesley had so many things going on in his head.
Why did the killer choose Pamela? That was a question that kept going through his head. He couldn’t be sure, but since he didn’t hear anything then, and he was having weird dreams that came across as vague memories, he thought Bri was probably right and he’d been drugged. But why? If this was just a random serial killer, he would have broken into the club girls’ house, or gone after someone else who was alone. Instead, he took a chance by walking into a room where a biker with a gun was sleeping, drugging him, and then dumping blood all over him and the bed before he left. That wasn’t just a murder, it was a statement of some kind. If Wheelie had any enemies that would want to make that kind of statement, surely he would know about it. If Pamela had any enemies that would want that, surely Bri would know about them, wouldn’t she? The only thing he could figure about Buzz was that he just happened to come back to the ranch and see something he wasn’t supposed to...but then there was Diane...by the time they pulled up in front of Sabrina’s little house, his head was pounding.
He didn’t say anything until they were inside and he saw that she’d calmed down, a lot. She was a lot stronger than he’d given her credit for. “You want to lie down?” he asked her.
She shook her head, took his hand, and led him over to the couch. “Can I just cuddle into you for a while?”
He smiled and as he sat down, he gently tugged on her arm and pulled her down next to him. He slid his arm around her shoulders and she laid her head on his chest. They sat there in silence for a while and when she hadn’t moved or made a sound he said, “You asleep?”
She shook her head. “No. My head won’t shut off.”
“Yeah, mine either. Do you mind if I ask you something...about Pam?”
She looked up at him. “No. You can ask me anything.”
“I just keep thinking, her...she...”
“You can say it, Wesley, her murder.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, sorry. Anyways, it was just obviously not random. I’ve gone over everyone I’ve ever pissed off in my head, including my own brother, and I just can’t imagine anyone who would hate me enough to do something like this. So, I was just wondering if there was anything in Pam’s past...maybe an old boyfriend or something?”
She frowned, and he could tell that there was something she was struggling with. He waited, stretching his patience as far as he could. At last she said, “She had a boyfriend that hurt her, and me. My dad killed him.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room. That was not what Wesley would have ever guessed he would hear her say, or anyone for that matter. Bart Kent killed someone? It took a while for him to feel comfortable forming words and when he finally could he said, “Your dad...killed him?”
She nodded. He could see pain, and fear, in her eyes as she started talking. “His name was Brayden Moore. He was this really good-looking guy that Pam met at an under-twenty-one club the night she graduated from high school. She was instantly infatuated with this guy, and him with her, it seemed. They started dating and my dad hated it. He hated Brayden.”
“Why?”
“Because he wasn’t like us. He was twenty-two and worked at a body shop in Boston. His family came from Mattapan. Have you ever been there?”
He shook his head. He’d never been, but he’d heard plenty about it. Mattapan was about as close to “the other side of the tracks” as a neighborhood could be. Probably fifty percent of the drugs sold in or near Boston were made, packaged, or somehow filtered through Mattapan first. The median income was somewhere around forty grand a year and most of that came from blue-collar professions. “No,” he said, “but I get where your father w
ould think someone from there might not be any better for you or Pamela than a biker.”
She smiled. “Pamela was the ‘good girl’ her whole life, so when she brought home this mechanic...”
“Wait...he was a mechanic?” The hair on the back of Wheelie’s neck was standing up.
“Yeah, why?”
Bubba was gone when Wheelie found the part and went to find Dax. He was still gone when they came back to go through the boxes in the garage. Wheelie hadn’t thought anything of it...until now. “I’m not sure...we have this new mechanic on the ranch. There’s just something about him I have never liked and then tonight, when some things were going down...he took off…disappeared...”
“It couldn’t be Brayden. He’s dead.”
“You’re sure?”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah, I’m positive.”
“How are you so sure, because your father told you?”
“No...because I saw my dad kill him, and I helped him lay the cement over where he’s buried in our backyard.”
18
After her confession Sabrina had sunk into a darker mood than Wheelie had seen her in so far. She hadn’t wanted to talk anymore about Brayden Moore, or her father. Wheelie couldn’t say that he blamed her, but suddenly he knew there was a lot more to her backstory than he’d ever guessed. He’d sat there in some form of shock after she told him that her father not only killed a man and buried him in their backyard, but that she’d helped him hide the body. He didn’t know what to make of any of it, or his sudden suspicion that Bubba, the mechanic, had something to do with the murders.
Bri eventually fell asleep next to him on the couch, and he’d carried her to the bedroom and put her to bed. He lay down next to her, but most of his night was spent staring at the ceiling, trying to figure things out. It seemed like he’d just finally drifted off when the sound of an annoying alarm was screaming in his ear. He felt the bed shift and the warmth next to him was suddenly replaced by cold and emptiness. But when the noise stopped, Sabrina tucked herself back under his arm and his body was suddenly filled with warmth once more.