Stress Fracture: Book One in the Dub Walker Series

by D P Lyle

  “I brought you a present. So we can be friends. Maybe you can convince your boyfriend to stop saying all those awful things about me.” He laughed again. “The envelope. Open it.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” The line went dead.

  She tore the envelope open. Something tumbled out, clicked off the tabletop, her leg, and fell to the carpet. She scanned the floor. Where was it? She scooted her chair back, further widening her area of search. Nothing. She dropped to her knees and swept the carpet with her hands. She crawled forward and again swept the carpet, beneath the table. Her hand brushed against something. She focused on the object, small and beige in color. No immediate recognition. Picking it up, she sat back down in her chair and examined it.

  “Oh, God!” She dropped the tooth on the tabletop and recoiled. Then, she saw the photos, peeking from the envelope. She spread them out. At first, she couldn’t make sense of them and turned them one way and then the other. Then the images jumped at her.

  Her stomach knotted. She staggered to the bathroom and collapsed over the commode. Her stomach lurched and ejected the OJ and granola. Again and again she retched until nothing else came up. As her spasms subsided, she rested her head on the edge of the porcelain bowl, its coolness comforting, solid, something to anchor to.

  Dub. Call Dub. She grabbed a hand towel, wiped her mouth, and hurried into her bedroom. She pulled her iPhone from her purse. Four, five, six rings. “Come on, Dub, answer,” she said aloud. His phone switched over to voice mail. “Damn it.” She decided not to leave a message. She snagged the first outfit she saw, slipped it on, brushed her teeth and hair—makeup could wait—and headed toward the garage.

  CHAPTER 49

  THURSDAY 8:18 A.M.

  “WHAT’VE YOU GOT SO FAR?” I ASKED T-TOMMY. WE STOOD IN KUSH- ner’s front yard.

  “Same song, different verse.” T-Tommy jerked his head toward the house. “Come on.”

  I followed him through the living room and into a hallway that extended toward the rear of the house. Several bloodstains were easily visible on the tan carpet. Dark rails stretched away from me, and about halfway down a large circular stain spread out from wall to wall. We stepped over the stains and into what was obviously the master bedroom. A king-sized bed sat against the far wall. Blood soaked the sheets and comforter, which was bunched on the floor at the foot of the bed. Two distinct sprays of high-velocity impact spatter painted the headboard and wall. Two gunshots.

  “Where’re the bodies?”

  “Down there.” T-Tommy nodded back toward the hallway. “Appears he whacked them here, and then dragged them down to the family room.” He led me back into the hallway and stopped near the large circular stain. “Sidau did some preliminary typing. Says this blood’s from the woman.” He pointed into the bathroom. “You ready for this? This psycho took a shower sometime during all this madness.”

  I glanced inside. I could see pinkish bloodstains around the shower drain and settled into the grout lines between the white tile.

  “We also found a bloodstained towel, lying on the floor. Sidau has it outside drying.” He moved on down the hallway. “He then dragged the bodies to the den.”

  I followed the bloody drag marks to a large room at the opposite end of the hall, where I was greeted by the Kushners. What was left of them. They seemed to be knotted together in a bloody heap. Like some macabre game of Twister. An arm here, a leg there, a raw oval that had once been a face. Distinguishing which part belonged to which victim was difficult. Jesus. A splintered chair leg protruded from the mass. The remains of the shattered chair lay against the wall.

  “This the entry point?” I pointed to an open window.

  “Definitely. Come on.”

  We went through the rear door to the backyard. Sidau Yamaguchi knelt beside several clearly visible shoe prints on the patio.

  Sidau looked up at me. “Got some good prints here. Others back by the property line. In the mud. Good thing it rained night before last.”

  “Looks like the same pattern.”

  Sidau nodded. “But here’s the strange part. There’re two sets of prints.”

  “You sure?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Maybe they were here before?” I said.

  “Afraid not. This one”—Sidau pointed out one of the prints—“was laid down over the others, crossing and smearing this partial here and here. The second print has no tread pattern. Plain sole.”

  “Two killers?” T-Tommy asked.

  “Possible,” Sidau replied. “So far we haven’t found any of these prints inside the house. Of course, the carpet isn’t a good substrate. Just these here and another back there near the woods.” He pointed toward the rear of the property.

  “Perhaps an accomplice? A lookout?” T-Tommy asked.

  This made no sense. Everything said this was a solo killer. Too crazy to have a partner.

  “Dub?”

  I stood and turned as an HPD officer approached. “Ms. McBride is asking for you. I told her the media wasn’t allowed inside the tape. She said it was important and to tell you that she needs to talk to you right now.”

  “Bring her around the side of the house,” I said.

  “Will do.”

  I met Claire as she came around the back corner. She had left the officer in her wake. She appeared pale and drawn. I took her hands. They felt icy. “Are you okay?”

  Scotty Simpson looked out the window above us. “Dub. T-Tommy. Abe Lasser just called. He used the cell phone again. Half hour ago.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Me,” Claire said.

  “You?”

  She removed an envelope from her purse and handed it to me.

  I grasped it by one corner, looked inside, and then removed the three photos, touching only their edges. They were of the scene inside. Three different angles.

  “Where’d you get these?”

  “He had some kid bring them to my door. Then he called. Said they were a gift for me. Dub, he must have been right there, waiting. He called as soon as I got the envelope.”

  “Did you see him? A car? Anything?”

  She shook her head.

  “Sidau, you’d better handle these.” I held the photos toward him.

  Sidau stripped off his rubber gloves, tugged on a fresh pair, and took the photos. He looked through them and then looked up at me. “This is one sick puppy.”

  “There’s more.” Claire nodded toward the envelope.

  I looked inside again. “Jesus. Sidau, grab a bag.”

  Sidau retrieved a plastic evidence bag and held it open. I inverted the envelope, and the tooth tumbled inside. He snapped open another one and slid in the photos and envelope.

  “My prints are all over those,” Claire said. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” “Don’t worry,” Sidau said. “We’ll work around it.” He flashed a sympathetic smile. “We’ll need your prints, though.” “The kid,” I asked. “What’d he look like?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention, and he didn’t hang around. Maybe ten, twelve. Thin, with blondish hair.”

  “Seen him around the neighborhood before?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. There’re quite a few boys his age around there. He had a skateboard.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  “Baggy yellow shorts, white T-shirt. And a blue baseball cap.” She looked at me. “Can we talk? Alone?”

  “Sure.” I led her to the side of the house. When I looked at her, her eyes glistened with moisture.

  “Dub, I’m scared. He was there. At my home. Your place, too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He knew I was there. Must have followed me.”

  “Claire, I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t what? Didn’t think? Goddamn it, Dub, you’re so consumed with getting this guy that nothing else matters. Not me. Not you. You used yourself for bait, and he’s taken it. And now he’s follow
ing me.” She locked a hard gaze on me. “The bastard knows where I live.”

  “I’m sorry. Not for using myself as bait, but for not thinking that might put you at risk. It was stupid and reckless.”

  “Yes, it was.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “You do this every time.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get so goddamn involved in a case that you don’t see anything else.” I had no argument for that. She looked at me, her eyes now full-on green. “It won’t bring her back.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? Sometimes I think you believe that every bad guy just might be the one who took her. That if you get him, she’ll suddenly be found.”

  I knew that was illogical, yet there was a splinter of truth in there somewhere. “I lost my family. If I can prevent someone else from losing …”

  Now she took my hand. “I know.”

  I let out a long, slow breath. “Look, he’s doing this to get to me. Mess with my head.”

  “That’s comforting. He just might think that killing me would get your attention. Then what?”

  How did things get so sideways? Was I wrong to bait this maniac? Did I underestimate this guy’s cleverness? Too late now. No way to unring this bell. “If that’s his plan, then we have to flush him out. Soon.”

  “He was at my home.” Her jaw tightened.

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “It means I got to him. More than that, he showed his face. To a kid, but that’s something. If we can find that kid, we might get a description.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

  “I’m not. Just trying to use what’s handed to us. I’m sorry this happened, but it may be the break we need.”

  She shook her head. “You are so goddamn rational I could strangle you.” She looked past me, toward Kushner’s backyard. Probably deciding whether to use an open hand or her fist when she hit me.

  “Look, it happened,” I said. “We can’t pretend it didn’t or ignore it. Let’s use it.”

  “Do I really have a choice?”

  “You can walk away. Stay away from me.”

  She shook her head and offered a smirk. One of those that meant she thought I was an idiot. Seen that one before. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. He knows where I live. He knows I was at your place last night. He knows he can get to you through me.”

  The logic of that was hard to argue with. “Then we have to smoke him out.”

  Using her fist, she hit me in the shoulder. “If you get me killed, I’ll haunt you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  A faint smile lifted one corner of her mouth, and she let out a long sigh. “Okay. You’re right. I hate it that you are, but … shit. What do we do?”

  “I’ll have one of deputies follow you home, check out the area, see if they can find the kid.”

  “And if the kid leads nowhere?”

  “We continue to bait him until he screws up. And he will.”

  She looked skyward and exhaled through pursed lips. “I hope you’re right.” She glanced back toward the front of the house. “Give me twenty minutes. I need to put a face on and get some on-scene footage.”

  She was back in work mode.

  CHAPTER 50

  THURSDAY 9:02 A.M.

  “ANYTHING ELSE?” THE WAITRESS AT MAC’S DINER ASKED AS SHE swiped the crumbs from the bagel he had eaten off the counter.

  “No,” Brian said.

  He worked on his second cup of coffee as he relived last night’s adventure. The odd part: it had dimmed his rage, but hadn’t quenched it. Even the marathon session with Laranne after he got home helped little. Sleep didn’t come until well after she had slipped away, and when it did, it was fitful and erratic. Twice, he awoke, heart racing, skin frosted with cold sweat, and with the remnants of vivid dreams still flashing in his head. This had become an almost nightly occurrence over the past week, but last night’s dreams had been particularly vivid. And violent.

  He drained his coffee cup, paid the bill, and walked up the street to his Jeep. He glanced at his watch. Plenty of time to make his appointment with Hublein.

  He drove. Around Big Spring Park. Through downtown, making several laps of the square. Up over Echols Hill and past the antebellum mansions on Franklin. The tension inside finally uncoiled. For a few minutes. Until he neared the medical center and parked at the institute. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor, where Hublein’s two receptionists greeted him with fake smiles, flashed in unison. He had long ago tagged them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kurtz,” Tweedledee said. “Are you here to see Dr. Hublein?”

  “No. I’m here because I like this place so fucking much.”

  The two women recoiled, eyes wide.

  Good. You bitches should be afraid.

  “I … uh …,” Tweedledum said. “I’ll … uh … show you to his office.”

  “I know the way.” He walked down the hallway, pushed open the heavy door, and entered. Hublein’s assistant, Catherine, looked up from her desk. Her smile evaporated instantly.

  “Mr. Kurtz, you’re right on time.”

  “Is he running behind as usual?”

  “I don’t believe so.” Her face flushed. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.” He noticed her hand trembled when she picked up the phone and punched the intercom button. “Dr. Hublein, Mr. Kurtz is here.”

  Hublein hung up the phone.

  “He’s here, Mel. You want to sit in on this?” Wexlar shook his head. “Better not. He might feel we’re ganging up on him.”

  Wexlar exited through the side door as Catherine opened the outer door and held it for Brian.

  “Brian, please have a seat.” Hublein stood and extended his hand over his desk. Brian ignored the offered hand and sat facing him. Hublein settled into his chair. “How are you doing?”

  “You tell me.”

  Brian’s hard gaze never left Hublein’s eyes as if challenging him. His muscular forearms tensed, knuckles blanching on the arms of the chair. For once, Hublein wished Pearce was around.

  “I understand you were mugged?” Hublein began.

  “Someone tried to.”

  “That must have been a frightening ordeal?”

  “More so for him.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Told what?” Brian’s eyes narrowed.

  “That you were attacked with a knife and that you became quite angry.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” The veins in Brian’s neck expanded.

  “I was told you beat the mugger severely.”

  “Told by whom? That pretty-boy doctor from the hospital?”

  “Well … I …” This was not going well.

  “I know he came to see you. He told me.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday. He checked my wound.”

  “Is it healing okay?”

  “We aren’t here to talk about my arm.”

  “No, we’re not.” Hublein leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Look, Brian, we have a problem here.”

  “What problem might that be?”

  “These things … what happened the other day.” Hublein cleared his throat. “Your being fired from your job. I’m concerned that your behavior might be regressing. I don’t want you to get in trouble again. Like before you came to see me.”

  “My behavior? You mean like defending myself? You mean like some hot-shit ER doctor thinking I overreacted? He wasn’t there, doesn’t know what it was like to be scared, afraid that you might be killed.” Brian’s words came through clenched teeth. His pupils dilated, compressing the blue irises into thin halos. He looked like a cornered animal. “Wanda can take her job and go fuck herself for all I care.”

  Hublein leaned back in his chair. His ears felt as though they were stuffed with cotton. The room closed in. He wanted to run. “Let’s not make a big deal out of this.” He hoped he sounded ca
sual. “Of course you were right to defend yourself. No one believes otherwise. It’s the fact that the police were involved that’s troubling.”

  “They didn’t arrest me. Just that scumbag.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. My only concern is your well-being, and I think it might be a good idea to change your medications.”

  “In what way?”

  “Take you off the new drug.”

  “It’s better than any of the others.”

  “Remember, it’s experimental. Its side effects are still unknown. I think prudence would dictate a degree of caution. Perhaps going back to the tried-and-true would be best. For a while anyway.”

  “I like this one. It makes me feel good. The others made me sleepy or gave me headaches.”

  “Let’s try them for a couple of months. Then if everything is okay, we can go back on the new drug.”

  “No.” Brian brought his fist down on the arm of the chair. His eyes flashed black.

  “Look, Brian.” Be careful. “You know that your probation is contingent on your staying under my care. On your being employed. Wanda Fisher has assured me that she’ll take you back once we straighten things out.”

  “Maybe I’m not the one who needs to be straightened out.”

  “Brian, if you refuse to follow my advice, your probation could be revoked.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course not. I’m trying to help you.”

  “So, my choices are to do what you say or go to jail?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  Brian stood and took a step toward the desk. “Exactly how would you put it?”

  The air thickened. Hublein hooked a finger beneath his tie and loosened it. “Your next injection isn’t due until tomorrow. Why don’t you think about what I’ve said, and we’ll talk then. Maybe I can come up with another solution in the meantime.”

  Brian seemed to relax. A little. “You can’t take me off the medication.”

  “Maybe I won’t have to. Let me give this some study.”