Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Volume Two: Three Complete Novels: Road Kill, Puppet Master, Cross Wired

by Jan Coffey

  There was no point in analyzing what had just happened. The woman was beautiful and vulnerable and he was attracted to her. True, this was the first time they’d met, but he knew so much about Lacey that he felt he’d known her forever.

  Heading back to his car, Gavin realized that he wasn’t the only one watching her drive away.

  Across the parking lot under a tree, an old man in a gray raincoat and battered fishing hat was staring at Lacey’s silver Honda as it moved along the driveway to the street.

  CHAPTER 2

  Westbury, Connecticut

  A month later

  Lacey Watkins looked through the viewfinder of her Nikon and squeezed the shutter release several times. A breeze swept through the branches of the trees above them, stirring life in the autumn woods. A falling shower of red and yellow leaves offered an ideal background for the shots as she clicked away. The tawny, black-faced puppy and the three boys made their way like tightrope walkers along the top of the stone wall. Every few steps, the dog stopped and barked an invitation to the two adults moving along the ground parallel to them.

  “These will be the most non-traditional holiday pictures we’ve sent out,” Michele, the young mother, said.

  Lacey kept the camera up to her eye, watching and waiting.

  She got several shots of the boys as they tried to jump hand-in-hand off the wall. Button-down shirts that had been crisp and white a couple hours earlier were now rumpled and dirty, the sleeves rolled up to their elbows. The boys’ khakis had grass stains on the knees. Six or seven posed pictures were all Lacey was able to get before the excited puppy was leaping from one lap to the other, managing to imprint his muddy paws on the clothes of the nine-year-old and the five-year-old twins. The happy grins on the three faces tugged at her heart strings and Lacey’s throat tightened. There were no pictures of her and Terri as children. What she had been left with was only what was imprinted in her mind.

  She forced her thoughts to the afternoon ahead. She was booked with appointments into the evening and she’d spent far more time than she’d originally planned with this client.

  “I got some shots you’re going to love.”

  “When can I come see them?” Michele asked.

  “We can schedule an appointment for tomorrow.” Lacey unzipped her bag and started packing up her equipment.

  “Awesome!” Michele bent down in time to grab the puppy before he climbed into Lacey’s camera bag. “Should I call you later?”

  “That would be great. You can call Amy to set up a time.” Hauling the heavy bag up onto her shoulder, Lacey glanced at her watch.

  Amy, Lacey’s part-time help, worked at a local adult daycare facility on Wednesday mornings and didn’t get back until 1:00. Because Amy was blind, she was dependent on the van service which didn’t always run on time.

  Michele attached a leash to the rambunctious puppy’s collar and walked with Lacey as they left the woods and started across a field toward their parked cars, the boys running behind them. “So how’s business going?”

  “It’s keeping me busy,” Lacey said.

  “I guess that's a good thing, considering everything.” There was a polite pause. “I didn't know your sister personally, but I saw the article in the paper. It must be tough.”

  Lacey wasn’t comfortable with wearing her sorrow on her sleeve or accepting sympathy of any kind. She’d learned those lessons early in life. Where she’d been, displaying emotion was a weakness. To admit vulnerability only made it easier for others to hurt her.

  Lacey was saved from any more awkwardness by her cell phone. She dug into her pocket and answered it.

  “I was late,” said Amy. “You’re late. And Jeannie Bond and her mom were early.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen. Tell them I picked up the proof for Jeannie’s wedding album this morning, so we can look at the finished book together. While they’re waiting, lay out the singles they thought they’d like prints of. It’s the folder on the center of my desk.”

  A few minutes later, speeding along the country road, Lacey forced herself to take deep breaths to calm her emotions. Just the mention of Terri these days was enough to throw her off.

  Five weeks. It would be just five weeks this coming Saturday. Terri had been killed in a hit-and-run while out on a morning jog. Gone. Just like that.

  Only a couple of weeks prior to that, the two of them had been busy planning a future—rebuilding the family they'd been deprived of for most of their lives. It had been her sister's encouragement that had brought Lacey back to Connecticut to their grandfather's old house to make a go at stability. And it’d been because of Terri's financial support that she could buy Brett Orr's business.

  She slammed on the brakes when the car in front of her suddenly slowed to a crawl on the narrow country lane. Autumn with its changing colors drew sightseers in droves to the rolling countryside, and Lacey arrived back at the house ten minutes later than she’d told Amy. She was relieved to find her client’s car still in the driveway.

  Lacey found them looking at the overgrown garden out back. Apologizing deeply for the delay, she led them into the house.

  She squeezed Amy’s shoulder as they passed the office area and headed for the small parlor beyond it.

  A love seat, a straight back chair, and a coffee table filled the center of the room. The small sofa faced the fireplace and a flat-screen TV hung above it. Lacey had painted the walls a dark green, and the colonial windows had built-in shutters that could be closed to shut out the daylight.

  Rather than taking over the building lease after buying Brett's Orr's business, Lacey had decided her grandfather’s old farm house would be perfect as a studio. And it was. Aside from providing a quaint and homey space to work with her clients, she’d saved a ton of money by moving her equipment here.

  She settled the two on the loveseat.

  “I haven't had a chance to look through the proofs this morning, but we can still make changes.” Lacey took the mock-up pages out of their plastic wrap and stacked them on the table before her clients.

  She felt deep satisfaction as she heard Jeannie's mother gasp.

  “Honey, you look beautiful. The wedding dress…the flowers.”

  “Mom, you were there.”

  “I know. But the whole day is a blur.” They turned to the next spread. “And I love these captions.”

  “Lacey's idea,” Jeannie smiled. “When it's all put together, it will read like a book.”

  Lacey grabbed her clipboard and sat back in her own chair, ready to jot down notes if necessary. In the age of Internet-based publishing, this kind of customer attention was quickly going away. Clients weren’t willing to pay for anything extra when they could do it cheaper themselves. Personal service and word of mouth was the only thing that could give her business a chance.

  Jeannie’s mother pointed to a picture of her with her daughter. “You’re amazing, Lacey. You even make me look good.”

  “It’s not me. You are beautiful.” Lacey was feeling good about how this job had turned out. This was the first big job she'd taken on since moving back to Connecticut, and Terri had even come along that day as her assistant, carrying the equipment bags and keeping her company. It seemed like ages ago.

  Rolling the chair to the desk, Lacey fought the tightness in her chest. She didn’t want to show any hint of the grief that was smothering her. She and Terri had spent most of their lives apart, but it had been Terri's strength that kept the bond between them strong. She’d always been willing to go to any length to help Lacey, whether it was during the three years Lacey had been in prison or when she had been half way across the country, wandering from some godforsaken dot on the map to another, looking for purpose in a purposeless life.

  “Wait.” Jeannie pointed to the center of a page. “That’s not my wedding.”

  “My Lord, what is that?” the mother whispered in shock.

  Lacey walked over to the table and stared at the proof.

&n
bsp; The single, wide-angle shot showed a winding gravel road snaking through a grove of trees. Wet, autumn leaves lay scattered on the ground. Morning fog obscured the distance, and wisps of mist curled like claws around a fallen object.

  She looked closer. It was a body.

  The caption beneath the picture read, Road Kill.

  CHAPTER 3

  The County Dart League met every Wednesday night at six o’clock at the State Street Bar and Grill across from the new train station. Competition was fierce and drinks were cheap because of happy hour. Trash talk, sadly, was vicious.

  Gavin had never been a regular in league play, but he'd subbed more than a few times over the years with the New Haven County police team. Even after leaving the force, they'd still kept his name on the subs roster. Today, Jake Allen had called him begging.

  The semi-finals against the Middlesex County team had drawn a full house and the State Street Bar was packed. Even without practice, Gavin could hit the cork as well as any of them. Watching the other team throw, he realized tonight would be no different.

  It’d been a while since he’d done anything like this. Anything that resembled having a good time. There was always his work. And then Terri’s accident had thrown him off kilter. A few times he’d contemplated calling Lacey Watkins but then talked himself out of it. His motivation was twisted. And no one else would do, unfortunately.

  Jake was talking to Luke Brandt. They were looking up at the board.

  Luke shot a glance at Gavin. “Okay, big boy. Step up to the hockey and show us if you still got it.”

  Gavin pushed his beer to the side and stepped to the plank that marked the throw point. The Middlesex County team was huddled by the window, watching with feigned unconcern.

  “One time, baby,” Jake murmured.

  Gavin looked down at the black Hammer Head dart in his hand. Its tungsten barrel was cool between his fingers. He sighted and raised the dart, allowing nothing into his vision but the narrow strip of green between the wires on the board.

  “Game shot,” he said in a low voice.

  The cell phone vibrated in his pocket just as his hand flicked forward, but he didn’t let it affect his aim, the steel tip of the dart splitting the gleaming wires and sinking solidly into the green bristle surface.

  He turned to the cheers and high-fives of his team as he pulled out his cell phone. “MacFadyen.”

  Either the bar noise was too loud or the person on the other end was not talking. Running his own business with a handful of assistants who worked case by case required Gavin to be on-call twenty-four seven. He had an answering service for general questions and for potential business; his cell was only for existing clients.

  “I…I'm looking for…” The voice was so faint that he could barely make out the words. Sounded like a child.

  He tensed, feeling the sharp stab to an old wound. He motioned to Jake that he had to take the call, grabbed his jacket, and headed out to the sidewalk. It was already dark and the breeze coming off the harbor was cool. Because of the tournament, there was a line of cars parked all along the front of the bar. A half empty bus huffed and went past.

  “Say that again,” he said into the phone. “I didn’t quite get it.”

  “Terri Watkins. I’m looking for Terri.”

  Gavin's spine stiffened and he gazed down the street at the red taillights of the bus. Terri's death had been in the papers and on all the local TV stations, but it was possible that someone who knew her could have missed it.

  “I tried her cell phone, but it keeps going to her voicemail.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “She gave it to me. Last time I saw her. That was a couple of months ago. She said if I can't get her…to call you. Said you'd know how to find her.”

  Gavin wondered if this was the time to tell her that Terri was dead.

  “I gotta get a message to her…it's really important. I’m in trouble.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “I can't.” Panic edged into her tone. “She knows I can’t. That's why she gave me these other numbers. I gotta fuckin’ talk to her.”

  It wasn't uncommon for an informant to trust the handler and not the system.

  Gavin didn't know anything about the cases Terri was working on before the accident. A couple of phone calls and he could probably find out who had taken over her files.

  “Give me your name and a number where someone can reach you.”

  “Not someone! Terri.” The girl’s voice rose sharply. “Last time she picked me up she took me to the hospital. And she knows what they fuckin’ did to me. This time is worse.”

  His sister Elsie’s face flashed before his eyes and pain seared his skull. He rubbed the back of his neck, not going there now.

  “Hey, man. You there?”

  Gavin knew what this was. Prostitution—especially with young girls—drug trafficking, and the usual extortion rackets were all in a state of flux along the shoreline right now. With so much of the Mafia old guard dead, in prison, or retired to their Florida estates, the new muscle had been moving in for the past couple of decades. The black and Latino gangs were just the most visible players. Asians and Eastern Europeans had been positioning themselves, as well. They didn’t care how young the girls were and this one had to be working in the trade.

  But lately there was an even more brutal driver behind the street mopes, one who aimed at controlling all the pieces on the board. He was more ruthless than any of the old school players. Gavin knew very well what was terrifying this girl.

  “Where are you? Do you need to get picked up?”

  “Not me. My mother…and the twins.” The girl was crying. “Last night, I took off and didn't show up like they told me. And now I hear they’re going after my family. One fuckin’ time I mess up! My sisters are only seven, and I… Just tell Terri she was right about everything. Tell her I got what she wanted before. This time, I'll give her what she needs. I already have their list…the one my boyfriend took…but she’s gotta help me. She’s gotta get them someplace safe.”

  “Address. Give me an address.”

  She blurted out a street address in the Newhallville section of the city. “They're staying with my aunt.”

  “Your name?”

  “Tell her Alisha.”

  “Last name?”

  “No. Just Alisha. Terri will know.”

  “Can I have her call you at this number?”

  “No way! I just lifted this fuckin’ phone, but I ain’t keeping it. Tell her to get the twins someplace safe and I'll call her. I promise. Please. I gotta go.”

  The line went dead as the door of the bar opened and two women stepped out, lighting cigarettes. Gavin walked away from them and dialed the Newhallville police substation, telling the dispatcher to send a cruiser to the address. But as he hung up, he already knew that wasn't enough. The cops would look for a disturbance, ask a few questions, and if no one complained, they'd be out of there in a couple of minutes. Newhallville was a tough beat and the uniforms had little time for hanging around, even on a Wednesday night.

  Calling the captain on duty and asking who'd taken over Terri's cases wasn't a quick answer either. He'd already heard from the guys inside how bogged down everyone was with the caseloads. They’d probably split up her cases. New Haven just kept getting tougher.

  The desperation in the girl's voice grabbed him. He'd left the force six months ago. The fact that Terri had given Alisha his number and not someone else's in the department was puzzling. But she was one of the very few people in the New Haven PD who knew about his sister’s murder. She knew he would help.

  Jake shoved the door open. “Hey, you coming in? We’re up next.”

  “I can’t. Something’s happening. I gotta run. Hold on to my darts. I’ll get them from you later.”

  Gavin didn't wait for the verbal abuse that he knew would follow and made a beeline across the street to his car.

  He had no business g
oing there. He could have passed the message to Jake or Luke in the bar and let them check into it. Something in his gut, though, told him otherwise. Terri was a smart detective. In the years they worked together, he’d learned to read her moves, to respect her intelligence. He trusted her.

  Ten minutes later, he was on the street of the address Alisha had given him. A black BMW sat double-parked in front of a triple-decker house. As he drew near, two men pushed their way through the door of the first floor apartment and shut it behind them. The lights were on, but the blinds were down.

  Glancing in the windows of the Beamer as he drove by, Gavin could make out at least one person in the car in addition to the driver. He didn’t slow down, but went to the end of the block and turned left before redialing the station house.

  “Yeah, this is MacFadyen again. Same address. There’s a home invasion in progress. Two are inside and at least two outside in a black BMW.”

  After relaying the license plate number, he hung up. Two cruisers were being dispatched, but it wasn't going to be fast enough. His only chance was to go in the back door, but that was risky here. There were more pit bulls than swing sets in the backyards of Newhallville.

  Turning at the next corner, he parked next to a hydrant. From under his seat, he pulled out his Glock .22, loaded a clip, and slipped the weapon into the holster before clipping it on.

  A moment later, he was cutting through the side yard of the house that backed up to the address. He ran along the wall of a garage at the rear of the property, then scaled a rusted chain-link fence.

  The backyard was dark, except for a light streaming through a rip in the shade of a rear window. Going to the wall, Gavin pulled himself up by the sill and peered in. The bedroom was empty, but he could see bunk beds and girl’s clothing. Posters with teen pop stars adorned the walls.

  Mounting the wooden steps to the back door, he drew his pistol and tried the knob. Locked. The old door had a piece of plywood tacked over a pane of broken glass. Prying it loose, he reached inside, unlatched the door, and stepped into the back hallway.