What if they were playing some sort of sick game? Grainger, maybe—all kids his age were practically weaned on video games. However Gribble didn’t seem the gaming type, all business, 24-7.
Sidarski rocked in the chair, welcoming the grinding sounds of the pneumatic cylinder to break up the monotonous silence.
He didn’t see everything—something was missing. Could there be a third player in this cluster-fuck?
He kicked the small board, sending it flying into the wall. If only he had the manpower and resources to put tails on both his suspects. Maybe he should sack up and hand over what he had to the Feds. Give them his headache. But they’d take everything away from him. And what did he really have to offer them? Suspicions. Which they’d no doubt “reposition”—a typical red tape, waste of paper label—as coincidences. The dreaded “C” word, again.
It was his case, damn it. And it should stay his case. There was something big—something very twisted—going on in Barton, Kansas.
And he would be the one to find out what exactly that was.
Chapter Fifteen
Again, Leon contemplated the suitcase laid out on his bed. This time he’d wasted no time packing.
Obviously Sidarski was no fool and creeping closer to the truth than even he realized. How such an intuitive detective ended up in Barton, Kansas, of all places, astounded Leon. Luck of the draw, he supposed.
Somehow Sidarski knew about a connection—a very undesired one, but Leon doubted it mattered much to Barton’s finest—between Leon and Cody. The meeting in the police department hallway had been staged like a well-mounted play. Soon Sidarski would be at Leon’s door, brandishing a warrant and wearing a “gotcha” smile. Leaving town as quietly and quickly as possible seemed like a smart bet.
Yet for the first time in his life, Leon had reason to plant his feet, set down some roots. Rachel. The other night hadn’t been just about sex; he experienced lovemaking, a heretofore unknown concept in his life. Call him a fool for love, the only explanation for wanting to stay in Barton.
As much as he desired to remain, though, he couldn’t.
The look Rachel gave him earlier today—hurt and betrayal—nearly devastated him. He doubted she’d ever get over her sense of distrust. Which made his decision easier. No more waffling. He had to go, no other realistic option.
One last thing to do first before he left. For Rachel’s peace of mind (and, truth be told, to clear his name), he had to find out what happened to Travis. He couldn’t leave Rachel wondering if he killed Travis. And his instincts screamed at him that Travis had met his maker.
Sidarski might not be able to search the man’s house yet, but Leon sure as hell could.
Leon drove by Travis’s house several times before he felt safe enough to park. He left the car unlocked for an expedient getaway and approached the house.
He considered picking the front door lock, tossed the idea away as too risky. With Bergenstein in the news now, neighbors were undoubtedly keeping a watchful vigil. As he jogged toward the backyard, Leon stayed within the shadows. The street light’s glow faded, shrouding the back of the house in darkness. Leon crossed the patio, bumping his shin into a barbeque grill as large as a bathtub. The grill rattled and scraped across the cement, setting off a neighbor’s dog. He held his breath and waited for the distant dog’s barking to whimper away. Then he mounted the three steps to the back door. Kneeling, penlight gripped between his teeth, he identified the lock as the pin-and-tumbler variation. He pulled on his gloves and slipped the tension tool inside. When he felt the plug give, he slid one of his smallest picks inside. A succession of slight clicks indicated the upper pins moved onto the ledge. The deadbolt pulled back, and Leon entered the house.
He swept the kitchen with his penlight. Obviously Travis didn’t do much cooking; the counters were barren, excluding a row of dead soldier beer bottles. Carefully, he shuffled his way to the living room. A door stood ajar in the front hallway, a small light beyond summoning him. The door opened fully (good hinges, silent as falling snow) and he descended the steps. When he reached the bottom, his penlight landed on a dark mass on the floor. Legs. The light traveled up the legs, over the torso, stopping where the head should have been.
Leon tried to moan but couldn’t find his voice. The penlight slipped from his grasp and bounced to the carpet. The thin ray settled, spotlighting Travis’s head next to his body. The head sat upright, milky eyes staring into nothingness. Leon clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing back rising bile.
As he climbed the stairs, he bounced off the walls, thankful for their support. He retraced his steps to the kitchen and fled out the door, the quicker, the better. Only then did he remember he left the back door unlocked. And, frankly, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to distance himself from the atrocity in the basement. His initial care in staying stealthy gave way to a hurried gait, before breaking into a delirious sprint, his car the finish line. Once he jumped into the car, he tore off his gloves and hat. Cold sweat produced a shiver, one that wouldn’t stop.
He knew who killed Travis, but the reason why filled him with absolute terror.
The buildings of Corporate Woods rose high over naked treetops, skeletal fingers poking up from the earth. He sped into the complex, heading straight for a small park where he used to take springtime lunches. As soon as the car bumped up over the curb, Leon tumbled out, leaving the keys in the ignition. His guts lurched, abdominal muscles clenching like a fist. He meant to make it to the treeline, fell short of his goal. The sudden rise of his stomach’s contents bucked him forward, barely enough time to steady his hands on his knees. Liquid fire raced up, a hellish stream of dark fluid. He heaved, did it again, and gagged when there was nothing left to give.
After he regained his breath, he wiped his mouth and dialed the number.
“Yo! What’s up, old man?” said Cody with obvious glee.
“Cody…I know what you did.”
“Yeah? What’d I do?” Smug-sounding, confident, almost amused.
“I saw…what you did to Bergenstein. This has got to stop! You’ve got—”
Cody’s shrill laughter cut him off. “Oh, come on, Garber. Suck it up, already. What’s the matter? The po-po think you did it?”
Leon knew Cody planned another frame-up as soon as he saw Travis’s body. And it pissed him off. Time to turn it around on him. “No, they suspect you.”
Judging by Cody’s extended silence, Leon finally had his attention.
“Goddamn it,” Cody screamed, “what’s it gonna take to get you out of here? I’m sick of your ass! I’m gonna—”
“Cody, we need to talk.” Raising Leon’s voice didn’t quash Cody’s newest rant. Like a parent waiting for a brat to tire from a tantrum, Leon patiently waited it out. Finally, Cody either ran out of breath or had nothing left to say. A first. “We really need to talk. I think—”
“I know how I’ll finally get you.” His voice sounded cold, icy with quiet menace. And it chilled Leon to the bone. “I know who’s important to you.”
“Cody, don’t do anything stupid.” Leon’s words tumbled out, his pitch rising. He paced across the commons, worried—yet knowing full well—what Cody meant. Sweat slithered down his back, his temples pounding like construction work. “Cody, please. We need to talk. Don’t do anything until we—”
“I know exactly what I’m gonna’ do.”
“Cody, don’t do anything. I’m begging you!” Leon dropped to his knees. His skin itched, burned. Dread washed over him, through him, a remorseful tidal wave. And the responsibility for Cody’s planned, psychotic actions weighed Leon down. His own stupid fault. “Don’t do it! Oh, God, please, Cody—”
“Once I do this—once I kill your little girlfriend—there’s no fuckin’ way you’ll walk away from it this time.”
“Leave her out of this. Just…stop! Do what you want to me, but…just…this is between you and—” Leon couldn’t hear the buzzing dial tone over his own pleading. Not for a w
hile.
His chest heaved again, propelling him face forward into the ground. He clawed at a picnic table, using it as a crutch to climb up. A splinter dove deep into his palm. Physical pain meant nothing. The impact of each thudding footfall reverberated in his head as he raced for his car.
* * *
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Cody heaved his phone across the apartment like a javelin. The old bastard’s untouchable. No more playtime and about damn time, too. Jacking with Garber seemed fun at first, but with Wyngarden no longer helping, the time for the closing ceremonies had arrived.
At least Cody finally got a rise out of the old man. Served him right, too. After Garber made things personal by bringing up his mother, Cody, likewise, found Garber’s “sweet spot.”
He turned onto Metcalf Avenue, headed south. His speed increased, almost as if chasing after his runaway thoughts.
His grin turned into a shit-kicking, loopy smile. Earlier, he didn’t know what possessed him to look up the chick’s address. Sometimes he wondered if he possessed psychic abilities. Always one step ahead of everyone else. Either way he was glad he did it; more than glad, downright thrilled. His intelligence was about to pay off. In spades.
Take that, Wyngarden, you prissy son-of-a-two-faced-bitch.
Once Wyngarden saw how he handled this, LMI would be begging for his forgiveness. Give him a promotion, maybe.
Cody laid on the horn, blatting out three rude beeps at some idiot driving below the speed limit in the left-hand lane. Kansas driver. Tailgating him, Cody flashed his brights repeatedly. Finally the pokey driver moved over. As Cody passed him, he gave the driver a palms-up, two-handed “what the hell” salute. The gray-haired head turned, wrinkles pulling his frown deeper. He dismissed Cody with an angry slashing hand.
Damn old people. Putting along, not making way for people with important crap to do.
He felt giddy as a kid at a birthday party. He didn’t have much time, though, even if he had a head start on the old man. Garber sounded like he just found Bergenstein’s body, so that put him somewhere out south. Not that Garber posed a threat, really, but Cody had to get to the Sturm chick’s house first.
Not too far away, either. Ten minutes, maybe, tops. He kicked the speedometer up another five miles-per-hour.
Cody pounded his fist on the van’s roof and let out a triumphant war cry. “Yeah, got you now!”
A surprising taste of melancholy soured Cody’s imminent victory. Just a little. In a way, it seemed a shame about the chick. Slammin’ hot. And since she had no kids, she probably didn’t deserve this. Not really. Then again, when at war, there were bound to be civilian casualties. Whaddaya’ call it? “Collateral damage.” What the politicians called it.
As Cody pulled onto Rachel Sturm’s street, he howled again, pumping himself up for some nice “collateral damage.”
* * *
Exhausted, Rachel turned off the television. She had no idea what the newscasters had blathered on about, just knew there’d been no mention of Travis. The day’s events played an endless loop through her head, the worst kind of waking fever dream. Recalled dialogue echoed like ghostly voices and faces swam up before dissipating like smoke. She couldn’t wrap her mind around anything, everything in flux.
Her feelings toward Travis hadn’t changed, this she knew. The last several months with Travis had been particularly cruel and lonely. The love she once felt for him had long since sailed, leaving her abandoned on the dock of self-doubt. Once the fists started flying, she should’ve left, but she stayed on, wondering if she had in some way earned his wrath. She foolishly stayed in the relationship, hoping to better herself. After all, she’d been unable to sustain a successful relationship in, well…ever. Surely she must’ve been doing something wrong all those years. Maybe Travis understood this.
It wasn’t until she met Owen she realized how wrong she’d been. No one deserved to be treated in such a manner. Not that Owen could claim responsibility for her awakening. He merely served as a catalyst for her realization, her epiphany. Owen just lit the match, flaming her inner fire.
For this, she owed a debt of gratitude to Owen. And recently she’d developed feelings for Owen. Real feelings. Feelings built on trust, mutual respect, admiration, more than a little lust…and dare she hope, love?
Yet she had to question everything. Nagging doubts made her wonder whether Owen was truly the man she thought him to be. When the policeman showed up at work, he’d obviously questioned Owen about something else recently; something Detective Sidarski wouldn’t discuss with her.
Now, for lack of a better term, she felt used. Obviously, Owen hadn’t been forthcoming about everything. He wore his secrets like a bland overcoat—so obvious, yet so nondescript. Once again, she felt foolish for not having noticed something off about a man. What was the old saying? “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”
It’s easy adding two and two together, but the solution still stumped her. She added, subtracted, denied, and then changed her mind again. Every time—no matter how she tried to alter the outcome—she reached the same results: Owen had something to do with Travis’s disappearance. Sidarski, like a noncommittal school teacher demanding his students do their own homework, seemed to support her hypothesis. She could tell by his actions and questions.
And just because she didn’t love Travis any longer didn’t mean she wished him harm. Even though he’d harmed her time and again.
Round and round I go, where I’ll stop nobody knows.
She dragged herself off the sofa and trudged toward the bathroom.
The antihistamines sat buried behind other bottles on the medicine cabinet’s top shelf. She kept them out of reach and out of sight; she’d read too many stories of people becoming over-reliant upon them as sleep-aids. But her mind circled the drain, and the drain remained clogged. For one night, she wanted to pull the plug on her weary mind, empty it of worrisome thoughts. Surely even the staunchest anti-drug advocates wouldn’t begrudge her a much-needed crutch under the circumstances.
Rachel closed her eyes, hoping to stall the tears. Lately, crying had ingrained itself into her life as a daily chore. She spent the better portion of the last several months weeping over her circumstances. And it sickened her. She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen, dark crescents underlining them. She rolled the bottle back and forth in her hand before tapping three pills out. And a fourth.
The doorbell chimed.
Rachel wanted to ignore her late-night caller, first instincts usually proving to be the best. In her current wretched state, entertaining someone seemed laughable, verging on pathetic. Particularly an unannounced visitor.
What if it’s Owen? She needed more time to think before facing him.
Or what if it’s news about Travis?
She sighed resignedly, setting the pills on the sink’s edge. They would wait for her, the only loyal things in her life right now.
Cinching her robe tight, she walked to the door…
* * *
All my fault. It’s all my fault.
Leon choked the steering wheel as he sped down I-35, dodging between the narrow lanes.
If I never talked to Cody, if I never signed up with LMI, if…
The once four-lane highway—always under construction—whittled down to two. Leon brought his car up to ninety miles per hour, pushing harder. A trail of blaring horns and screeching tires saluted him as he passed.
The car shimmied when he pulled hard, cutting in front of another driver. Rotating the wheel hand over hand, the tail end whipped before settling.
Shrrrak. The Volvo’s back end bit into the temporary embankment. Orange sparks sprayed up. He didn’t notice.
Nothing mattered, only Rachel.
If Cody killed her…
No, he wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t even think about the possible outcome.
A car ahead of him loomed up. He pulled sharply to the right, the steering w
heel spinning freely within his loosely coiled hands.
Bumph. An orange barrel launched into the sky. He barely registered the impact. Nothing jarred him, nothing could.
If Cody kills Rachel—or causes her harm in any manner—I’ll bring Hell down. She doesn’t deserve this! All because of me!
I-35 opened wide, spreading out to four lanes. He wrenched the wheel, shooting diagonally across the highway.
Still fifteen minutes away.
Please, God, please, don’t let anything happen to her.
Leon didn’t believe in God, not since childhood. Didn’t matter. If there was a God, wouldn’t he want to protect the innocent?
I’m going to destroy LMI. And enjoy doing so.
Please, oh, God, please…
* * *
Cody flipped down the visor, smiled at his reflection. He dragged his fingers through his hair, pleased with the results.
Always look your best for the ladies, he thought. Even if they’ll soon be dead.
This is it. Checkmate, Garber.
He strolled down the sidewalk, humming a tuneless song. Dressed in his deliveryman shirt, he carried a box containing the tools of his trade.
The front of the house sat in darkness, a dim light bleeding through the curtains. Didn’t really matter if she was still awake, though. It’d just be easier gaining entrance if she were.
After pressing the doorbell, he waited, his excitement growing. With his finger poised over the doorbell for a second ring, the door opened. A chain lock halted the door’s progress. Cody kept an eye-roll in check; chain locks are the worst.
“Yes?” A tired face peeked around the door.
“Ms. Sturm? I have a delivery for you.” Cody held the box up as a visual aid.
“It’s kinda’ late for a delivery. It’s after eight-thirty.”
Secret Society Page 19