Dead Air

by Michael Bradley

  Rodney’s face turned grim. “She’s been doing more than following you.” He paused, then said, “I don’t want to make things worse, but look.”

  He held up an iPad where she could see it. Against the morning sunlight, the screen was flushed and hard to see. However, Kaitlyn could make out four squares, each with a different image. At first, she thought she was looking at grainy black and white pictures until she noticed the constantly changing numbers in the top right corner of each square. A video feed? Maybe security cameras? Each image struck a familiar chord. A bedroom. A living room. Even a kitchen. She peered closer, then her body stiffened with terror.

  “That’s my house?”

  “I found this on the ground a few feet from here. Your attacker must have dropped it.”

  Kaitlyn stammered. “But . . . that’s MY house.”

  “Whoever this is, they’ve had you under surveillance. They’ve bugged your house for video.”

  35

  Damn it! Goddammit! I have to break through the tree line and get onto the dirt trail beyond before I can stop. There is a wheeze in my lungs that was never there before. Damn cigarettes! Someone shouts her name. It echoes across the cemetery and through the trees. He’s looking for her. I’ve got to move, and fast. It won’t be long before the police arrive. I can’t be caught anywhere near here. My car is parked down the trail at the old Barmouth Train Station. A quick walk and then I’m gone.

  Gotta keep my pace rapid, but not so much that I might attract attention if someone sees me. What a huge blunder! Now they have my wig, and my iPad. The iPad, I’m not too concerned about. There’s nothing on it that would lead them to me. They could try to trace the serial number, but I paid cash. That’ll be a dead end. Fingerprints? I wore gloves . . . did I wear gloves all the time? I can’t remember. Damn, that could be a problem.

  What about the wig? Forensics can probably get some DNA from it. It’ll be the first concrete clue that they get. I don’t think that will lead them to me, at least not before I complete what I set out to do. It might thwart my future though.

  Why didn’t I just run when I saw her come out of the house? I could’ve gotten away without her ever seeing me. But, no . . . I had to do something. Had to give in to the urge to add a little mystery. To inflict a little more pain. To pour out some justice. What the hell was I thinking?

  I know what I was thinking. I was thinking about Jesse and what she did to him. What was that Bible quote I learned in Sunday school? “Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.” Well, what the Lord won’t do, I will.

  I’ve waited over sixteen years. Patience has been a constant companion, especially these past few months. It hasn’t been easy. Every time I’ve been near her, I’ve had to curb my desire to get my hands around her neck and choke the life out of her. Maybe I was just tired this morning. Poor judgment got the better of me. Patience for twenty-four more hours is all I need. Then it’ll be over.

  My car is where I left it, but now there is a Ford Focus and a Chevy Malibu nearby in the parking lot. Damn, another opportunity to be identified. I scan the area, but don’t see either of the drivers. If news about Laura’s attack in the cemetery is released to the public, someone might remember seeing my Volkswagen and report it. This morning just keeps getting worse and worse.

  Approaching sirens echo through the morning air. I climb in my car and race from the parking lot, kicking up stones and dirt behind me. From East Levering Mill Road, I turn left onto Belmont Avenue and drive away from the cemetery, the Cynwyd Heritage Trail, and my latest crime scene. Flashing red lights in my rearview mirror catch my eye. The first cop car is arriving. More will be coming in moments.

  I take the roundabout way home and smoke four cigarettes in the process. They take the edge off my nerves, but not enough to stop my mind from racing through a dozen scenarios that could result from this morning’s misadventure. My phone rings. Damn. Let it go to voicemail. I’m still too wound up to talk. I may get shit later for not answering, but I don’t care anymore.

  There are a lot of “ifs” hovering over me right now. If forensics pulls DNA from the wig and if they find mine as a match, the cops will be after me soon. But I’m confident that it’ll be at least a couple days before that happens. That’s more than enough time to follow through with my plan. If someone tells the police about the blue Volkswagen parked at the Heritage Trail this morning, they might put two and two together. But, what’re the chances of that.

  Once at home, I strip off my dirt-covered clothes and toss them in a black trash bag. Gotta ditch them somewhere so they can’t be traced back to me. The dirt and grass stains could place me at the cemetery.

  The hot shower is reinvigorating, soothing my aching body. There’s a bruise forming on my right arm. I recall falling on a rectangular grave marker during my struggle with Laura. She put up more of a fight than I expected. Spunky little bitch. May have to be cautious tonight. Don’t want to give her a chance to try for round two.

  After the shower, I dress quickly. I can’t be incommunicado for too long. He might get suspicious. His voicemail tells me what happened in the cemetery . . . like I don’t already know. He wants me to meet him at the hospital. I send him a quick text to tell him I’m on my way.

  I check my watch and smile. Twelve more hours . . . and Laura will be dead.

  36

  Rodney leaned against the nurse’s station, watching the emergency room staff of Mercy Health dart from curtained bed to curtained bed. A cacophony of buzzes and beeps filled the room and the air smelt of antiseptic. Dr. Venezia had just updated him on Kaitlyn’s condition.

  “That cut in her palm was superficial. It should heal on its own. No concussion, but she needs to rest for a few days,” the thin, sallow physician had said. “Her injuries could’ve been much worse. She’s a lucky lady.”

  Rodney wondered about the doctor’s idea of luck. It certainly wasn’t the word he’d have chosen to describe all that had happened to her over the past few weeks. She might be lucky, but it seemed to be all bad luck.

  Rodney thanked the doctor. While he waited for the okay to see Kaitlyn, he recalled the panic he’d felt when he woke earlier that morning to find her front door open. Gun drawn, he’d made a frenzied search of the first floor, then moved up to the second. He’d pulled out his phone to call for help but glanced out the window of the second-floor back bedroom before dialing. He had a clear view across the cemetery, and what he saw sent him charging down the stairs and out into the yard. A dark figure darted away through the field of gravestone and crypts. Whoever it was had too much of a head start to bother with a chase, but he also spotted a body sprawled in the grass. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

  While the EMTs bundled Kaitlyn onto the stretcher, Rodney barked orders to the uniformed officers who’d responded to his call. “I want that house searched from floor to ceiling. Bag and tag every camera you find.”

  On his way to Mercy Health, he called Julie but got no answer. He left a voicemail, giving her a brief rundown on what happened. “Call me,” he ordered, just before hanging up.

  As he stood in the emergency room, he tortured himself over last night. He’d been stupid, very stupid. He put his integrity, his career, and the whole damn case at risk. How could he have done that? Not only had he been drunk off his ass, but he kissed Kaitlyn. He’d become far too involved with her to remain objective in the case. It had become personal. Maybe he should recuse himself from the case. Let Julie—or someone else—take over the case. She’d been suggesting—if suggesting was really the word—that he had gotten too close to Kaitlyn. Damn. He hated to admit that Julie might be right. She would never let him hear the end of it. What the hell had he been thinking?

  A nurse pulled a nearby curtain aside, revealing a hospital bed within the cramped space beyond. Kaitlyn sat up. She was wearing a hospital gown and looked pale and haggard. The side of her face was bruised with a trickle of dried blood on her cheek. She tried to smile, but it looked as if even tha
t was too much for her. Rodney moved to the bedside and rested his arms on the cold bedrail.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  “You’ve become my bad luck charm,” she said.

  He knew she was joking, but he grimaced all the same. Twice he’d been around when she was attacked. Twice he was the one who was first on the scene. It would be ironic if it wasn’t so frightening. He had no clues and only one vague suspect. He felt helpless. She was in real danger, and there was little he could do to protect her.

  “About last night . . .” Rodney started to say.

  Kaitlyn held up a hand to stop him. “Not another word.” Her voice, though weak, didn’t betray any sign of anger or spite. “We’ll talk about it after this is all over.” She paused. “After you catch this bastard.”

  Rodney nodded. Last night needed to be addressed. Some part of him wanted to get it out in the open now. Clear the air and all that. Putting off the discussion meant suppressing unspoken anxieties and unanswered questions. Was she planning to report his conduct to his captain? Should he step away from the case now? He needed her to remain open to him if he was going to dig through her twisted past to find a murderer. Would she still trust him?

  “What’d you find at my house?”

  “Nothing good.” Rodney proceeded to recount the seven cameras his officers had found. Two in the bedroom, one in the kitchen, and one each in the front hall, living room, garage, and master bathroom. “They were expertly hidden. My own officers couldn’t have done better. Top notch gear, too. Same level of tech as we use ourselves.”

  He wondered what Kaitlyn was thinking, but her face betrayed nothing but exhaustion. It reminded him of his daughter, the way she’d looked after the trial. Exhausted and alone. Carol had refused to see or speak to him during the two-week case. His only glimpse of her was in the courtroom, and even then, she avoided eye contact. After her sentencing, he’d tried to see her again, but Carol sent him a terse message through her lawyer. Just five words. Leave me the fuck alone.

  Despite that, he kept tabs on her through friends who worked in the prison system. Her first three months were hell. Word got around among the inmates that she was the daughter of a cop. There’d been a couple attempts to “rough her up,” as Rodney’s contact said. But he’d taught his daughter well, particularly in self-defense. Two hospitalized inmates later, Carol was left alone. She became the prison’s resident badass. Something any father would be proud of. His sardonic thought both amused and depressed him at the same time.

  “Got any ideas what we’re going to do now?” Kaitlyn said, bringing him back from his brown study.

  “We’ve got to get you somewhere safe,” he said. “Problem is, no one can know where you go.”

  Kaitlyn tried to push herself up in the bed, grimaced in the attempt, then fell back onto the pillow. “I’d argue, but I don’t really have the strength right now.” She gave him a half-smile. “Where do you suggest?”

  Rodney folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who to trust, so the fewer people who know where you go the better.” He scratched the side of his face, felt the stubble on his cheek.

  “What about a safe house? Don’t police usually have those?”

  Rodney shook his head. “That shit’s only in the movies. Do you really think Lower Merion Township can afford to have a safe house?” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. There was an abruptness in his response that revealed his frustration. This case was getting to him. “Sorry. Just tired.”

  “What about a friend’s house?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

  “Sammy. The receptionist at the radio station.” Kaitlyn paused before adding, “She was going to be my maid of honor.”

  He didn’t like the idea. Not at all. There’d been no clues to connect this with any one person, so everyone in Kaitlyn’s life was still a suspect. “Can you trust her?”

  “Trust her with my life.”

  “That’s what you’ll be doing.” He sighed. Every part of him screamed that this was a bad idea. But he wasn’t sure what other choice he had. “If you’re certain . . .”

  Rodney held the door open as Kaitlyn entered the WPLX offices. Sammy rose from behind the reception desk and gasped. She untangled her headset from strands of long, blonde hair, dropped it, and rounded the desk, making straight for Kaitlyn.

  “Oh my god, where’ve you been?” She threw her arms around Kaitlyn. “I’ve been frantic!”

  “Just been a rough couple days,” Kaitlyn said. She peeled herself out of the embrace and gestured to Rodney. “You remember Detective Shapiro?”

  Sammy nodded and gave him a puzzled glance. Rodney watched her closely. Until he knew better, everyone was under suspicion.

  Kaitlyn gestured toward a door across the room. “Is anyone in the conference room?”

  Sammy shook her head.

  “Is Scott in his office?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Kaitlyn cut her off with a raised hand, then turned to Rodney. “I’ll fill in Sammy on everything while you talk to Scott. Will that work?”

  He didn’t feel comfortable with her out of his sight, but he needed to have a word with the station manager. Kaitlyn had been adamant about her trust in Sammy. He wasn’t wholly convinced, but he had nothing else. Another hotel was out of the question. Only a short list of people knew where Kaitlyn was previously, and the call she’d received there indicated that she was still found. This time, that list would be very short. He gave her a concerned look.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Kaitlyn took Sammy’s arm and led her into the conference room. He watched the door close and remained in the lobby for a few moments. What if Sammy was the killer? Was he allowing Kaitlyn to walk to her death? Rodney considered entering the conference room and monitoring the two women. Was he worrying too much?

  He cursed under his breath. The memory of their kiss from the previous night still lingered in his mind. He’d screwed up . . . big time. An alcohol-induced tête-à-tête was the last thing he needed. Kaitlyn was just another victim, and this was just another case. His job was to keep her safe and find a killer. Nothing more. He looked once more at the conference room door, then strode down the corridor toward Scott Mackay’s office.

  The office door was open, and Scott was seated behind his desk, his face bathed in the blue glow of the laptop screen before him. Rodney gave a short rap on the door frame and leaned in the doorway.

  “Mr. Mackay, do you have a moment?”

  Scott looked up, smiled, and gestured for him to enter. “Sure, come on in, detective.” He rose from his chair and rounded the desk, meeting Rodney in the middle of the office. “How’s Kaitlyn? Any news?”

  Rodney skipped the pleasantries and got right to the point. “We’re relocating Kaitlyn to an undisclosed location for her protection. It’s far too dangerous for her to come to work until we’ve identified this killer.”

  “How long?”

  Rodney wished he had an answer. A few days. A few weeks. How long does it take to find a killer without clues to go on? Forensics was going over the wig, the cameras and the iPad found earlier in the cemetery, but it would take time to get results. “I can’t say just yet.”

  Scott considered the answer. “I can get someone to cover her shift for a couple weeks. Undisclosed. I’m assuming I can’t reach her during her absence?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Scott returned to his chair behind the desk. “Do me a favor. Keep me informed about your progress . . . and her wellbeing.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “I’ve got a soft spot for that kid. Kind of the daughter I never had.”

  Rodney frowned. He knew all too well what Scott was talking about. He’d lost his daughter, and had no idea if she’d ever learn to forgive him? He had only been doing his sworn duty. His badge was more than a shiny piece of metal. It was a symbol of his commitment to uphold t
he law. Had it been wrong to put the law before his own family? To sacrifice his own daughter to uphold a list of rules and edicts? “She’s a nice woman,” he said, unsure if he was talking about Kaitlyn or Carol.

  “I’d hate to lose her. She’s got real talent.”

  Rodney glared at him. “Her life’s at stake here.” The words came out with an angry edge, perhaps too much so. “I’d think survival would outweigh talent in this case.”

  “Detective, don’t misinterpret my words. I’m concerned for her safety as much as you are.”

  Rodney looked down at his feet. He’d spoken out of turn. “I know. My apologies.”

  Scott leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk. “Take care of her.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When Rodney returned to the reception area, Julie stood by the desk, staring at her mobile phone. She looked up as he approached, slipped the phone into her coat pocket, and smiled. Compared to his own, her clothing looked fresh and clean, like she’d just pulled them out of the closet. He’d not changed since the day before; his shirt and pants were covered with “slept-in” wrinkles. Yet, dark bags hung beneath Julie’s eyes, as if she hadn’t slept either.

  “Where’s Kaitlyn?” she asked.

  He pointed to the conference room. “In there. I thought she’d be out by now.” He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes. It shouldn’t have taken this long. Rodney’s palms started to sweat; his mind raced with a dozen possible scenarios. He rushed to the door and knocked hard.

  It opened just enough for Kaitlyn lean out. She smiled. “Give us a minute more.”

  He fought the urge to fling the door open. “Everything okay?”

  “Sammy’s talking to her hubby.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I don’t like this.”

  “He’s going to find out eventually. An extra woman in the apartment isn’t something you can easily hide.” Then she stepped back into the conference room and pulled the door closed.