Premeditated Mortar

by Kate Carlisle

  He moved closer so he could look over my shoulder.

  “Wow, it worked,” I said. “It links to a website called Burn It Down.”

  “That’s just charming,” he said dryly. “But it sounds right.”

  “It’s not much more than a message board.”

  “Guess they were going old-school.”

  “But they do have a member list.” I began to scan the names.

  “Do they actually use their real names?”

  “Not on the postings, but they must’ve had to log on with real names or e-mail info in the beginning. Probably wanted to verify that everyone had some link to the Gables. On the board itself they use their online names. Killian goes by the name Red Menace.”

  “Ah. Red hair,” he murmured. “Clever.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Do you see Ricky Patterson on there?”

  I continued to scan the list. “Here he is. Giants Number One Fan. All one word with a hashtag, you know.”

  “I get it.”

  “His baseball cap should’ve been a dead giveaway.”

  Mac grinned. “You think so?”

  I stared at the screen. “There’s about two hundred names on this list. That’s a lot of disgruntled folks. I wonder if they’re all ex-Gables people.”

  “If they are, we can probably guess why they’re disgruntled.”

  “Yeah. Nurse Ratched.”

  “But barely ten percent of them showed up Monday,” Mac estimated. “And a few more than that came back today.”

  “I’m going to go back a few weeks on the message board to see what they were planning for the groundbreaking ceremony. If there’s any talk about violence or destroying property, I’ll pass it on to Eric.” I glanced at Mac. “Chances are, he’s already got this info, but we still need to keep up with what’s happening. Right?”

  Mac grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

  “It’s not really snooping, is it?”

  “Of course not. We’re . . . helpers.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up. “Exactly.” I looked back to the screen and searched a few pages until I found a thread called “Find RP.” There were plenty of comments on the thread but they were innocuous. I showed it to Mac. “What do you think this means?”

  “RP?” he said. “Let me think. Real People? Raw Potatoes? Yeah, no, probably not.” He looked at me at the same moment that I figured it out.

  “Rachel Powers.” We said it together.

  “So she was a target from the first,” he guessed.

  “If that really is what RP stands for, then yes.”

  “Wait. Here comes Eric,” Mac murmured.

  I closed the tablet and watched Eric walk out to the front steps. It gave me a little tingle of pride to see my crew people come to order at Eric’s entrance. And seeing them reminded me that I hadn’t even checked to make sure they were all present and accounted for. I had to hope that Wade and Carla were more on the ball than I was. I silently excused myself for being ditzy. After all, it wasn’t every day that I found a dead body. To be honest, though, it seemed to be happening more and more lately.

  Mac and I got up and walked over to the edge of the group.

  “Is everyone here a member of Shannon’s crew?” Eric asked the crowd.

  I took a more careful look at the people who were here and recognized every single person. “They’re all mine, Chief. Well, except for Chloe and Jane.”

  “That’s affirmative, Chief,” Wade said. “We had twenty-three show up for work today and that’s how many are out here now. They’re all on our crew.”

  “Good. Thanks, Shannon. Wade.”

  “You bet,” my foreman murmured.

  Eric looked directly at me. “Shannon, you have contact information for everyone here? Can I get that from you?”

  I exchanged a quick glance with Wade and we both nodded. “We’ll e-mail it to you ASAP.”

  “All right. You’re all free to go for now. And I’m sure you realize that we’ll have to close down the building for a day or two to investigate.”

  I only hoped it wouldn’t be more than two days.

  “Jane and Shannon,” he continued, giving a nod to each of us. “I’ll inform you both immediately as soon as we’ve cleared the building and you can go back to work.”

  I was losing track of how many times I’d heard him say it, and that was depressing. But I just nodded back. “Sounds good, Chief.”

  “Thanks, Eric,” Jane murmured.

  Eric glanced around at everyone waiting. “Thank you all for your cooperation.” He gave another brief nod and walked back into the building.

  * * *

  * * *

  I was pleased to realize that Eric had changed his mind about putting my guys through the indignity of searching their belongings. I appreciated that more than he knew. Most of these guys were like family to me and I didn’t want anything to damage the good feelings we had for each other and for our local police.

  I stayed and talked to my guys for a while and Mac took off for home to finish his writing for the day. He promised to come over later that afternoon to have a glass of wine and grill some salmon. I still had plenty of fish in my freezer from my dad’s latest fishing trip with Uncle Pete.

  “We’ll continue our game when I get there,” he said, and kissed me good-bye.

  “I can’t wait.” And I couldn’t contain my smile. Mac had introduced me to the Scooby-Doo game early in our relationship at a time when I was trying to solve the murder of a dear friend. It was something Mac liked to do when he was writing his books. He named it the Scooby-Doo game after the cartoon show he used to watch when he was young.

  At some point in the show, Scooby and the gang would sit around and figure out the suspects, the motives, how the crime was covered up, and what the friends could do to trick the bad guy into confessing. Mac told me it was basically a brainstorming session. With a dog.

  The last of my guys left the Gables and I took a few minutes to talk to one of the cops I’d known since grammar school. Then I grabbed my tool belt and headed for the parking lot, taking my usual route around the side of Building Seven. I had a few hours to take care of business before Mac showed up for dinner, so I mentally made a list of things to do as I walked. I would stop at the market for groceries on the way home and then work on payroll, schedules, and other business stuff the rest of the afternoon.

  I spotted my truck halfway across the lot. As I approached the driver’s side, a man walked quickly from the other direction and I suddenly found myself staring at Ricky Patterson.

  I took one step backward. “What do you want?”

  He lifted his bony shoulders in a shrug and said, “Heard you found the body.”

  He wore his orange baseball cap backward today and I wondered briefly if he owned any other caps. It was none of my business and I didn’t really care. It was just one of those idle thoughts that passed through my head when I found myself facing someone who might be dangerous.

  “That’s right, I did,” was all I said.

  The day had turned warm so Ricky wore a thin white T-shirt with his navy hoodie tied around his waist. Marching around protesting could work up a sweat, I figured.

  I almost jumped when I felt my phone begin to vibrate in my pocket. I recalled turning off the sound earlier while Eric was talking. I didn’t want to answer it now in case it caused Ricky to react badly. At the last minute I pulled the phone out. “I’ve got a call,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  Just as I pressed the button, the call disappeared. But I saw that it was Mac. Darn it!

  “I know your name,” Ricky said.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Shannon. Shannon Hammer. You’re building a hotel inside the Gables.”

  “That’s right. I’m a contractor.”

>   “Do you know who got dead?” he asked.

  My eyes narrowed on him. “Do you?”

  “Yeah.” He was angry now. “It’s my friend, Jud. Judson Killian.”

  I nodded. “That’s right. And I’m sorry your friend is dead.”

  “You saw him, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, so how did he die?” Ricky demanded.

  I took a deep breath, unsure how to handle this guy. Was he dangerous? Or did he just want information? “I’m not sure I can tell you.” Because I didn’t really know, I thought, but didn’t mention it. And now I really wished I knew how Judson was killed.

  “Why not?” He was almost whining. “The cops won’t tell me anything.”

  “Did you ask them?”

  “No.” He gave another insolent shrug. “Why should I? I already know they won’t tell me.”

  I was beginning to realize that even though Ricky was somewhere in his midthirties, he wasn’t awfully sharp. I tried to tell myself that this was the guy who had terrorized a bunch of people the other day. The guy the police had hauled down to headquarters, albeit briefly. But even so, he came across as vulnerable and innocent.

  So I tried to explain myself as simply as possible. “I’m just not sure I can trust you with the information, Ricky.”

  He nodded vigorously. “Yes, you can. You can trust me.”

  “But your protest march on Monday turned violent and your friend Jud attacked that woman on stage.”

  His forehead furrowed in a deep frown. “She wasn’t hurt.”

  “She was frightened and that’s not okay.” I kept my voice soft and even. “Throwing blood on someone is the same as hurting them.”

  “It wasn’t real blood.”

  “I know. But it frightened her very badly. And it was disruptive and scary for everyone else.”

  He shrugged again. It seemed to be his signature move. “He didn’t mean to hit her with the juice. He got bumped. You saw it, right?”

  “Yeah, I saw the lady bump into him.”

  “That’s right, so that messed it up. But Jud said it would be okay. It was part of the plan.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “It’s nothing.” His lips clamped shut.

  “Ricky,” I said quietly. “Did you kill Jud?”

  His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. “No! I didn’t do it. Why would I? He was my best friend. I owe him. He saved my life.”

  “Really? How did he do that?”

  Again Ricky pressed his lips together in a stubborn line, then finally blew out a breath. “He stopped them from hurting me.”

  He sounded like a child. And I suddenly had a dozen questions for him, but I held back. “Can you tell me who was hurting you?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  He scuffed his shoes against the blacktop pavement and kicked a small stone a few feet. “I was only twelve years old and I couldn’t fight back. Judson came to my rescue.”

  “Was he a patient at the hospital?”

  “No, he worked there. He was an orderly.”

  So I was right in guessing that Judson Killian was on staff. Fascinating.

  “How did he rescue you?” I asked.

  “I told you, they were hurting me.”

  “What were they doing to hurt you?” And who were they? I wanted to ask. But not yet.

  “It was electrical,” he mumbled.

  Electrical? Good grief. “What do you mean? You were electrocuted? On purpose?”

  “The shock machine.” Another shrug. “Supposed to make you happier. Quieter. She said I’m unruly, so it calmed me down. But now, I don’t know, I forget stuff sometimes.”

  What in the world? The hospital was performing electroshock therapy on a twelve-year old? Was he making this up? “But you said you weren’t a patient here.”

  “I wasn’t. But I lived here for a while before I went to live with my dad.”

  I took a stab in the dark. “Did Dr. Fairchild perform the therapy?”

  His eyes clouded and he scowled. “Yeah.”

  “Was she your doctor?”

  His lips curved downward and I thought he might start to cry.

  I asked him again, more gently this time. “Ricky, was Dr. Fairchild your doctor?”

  “No. She was my mother.”

  Whoa!

  What in the world? It took me a few more seconds to recover from the shock of that revelation. I took some deep breaths to slow down my heart, which was surely racing. I gazed up at the sky, bright blue, and over at the trees wafting in the breeze. Okay.

  Meanwhile, Ricky had wrapped his arms protectively around his middle. I couldn’t blame him. He was just a kid when he lived at the Gables. Why would his own mother perform the same techniques they used on adults? But then, I had to remind myself who his mother was. Dr. Lorraine Fairchild had used her own twelve-year-old son as a human guinea pig in her experiments in torture. Maybe that was too harsh, but I didn’t care. It was sickening, no matter how you termed it.

  I was about to broach the question of him coming with me to the police station, when I got another shock.

  Mac Sullivan.

  I watched him pull his big, shiny SUV into the lot and drive straight toward me. He stopped his car directly across from my truck and stared. I held up one finger, hoping to hold him off for a few seconds. Again, I didn’t want to scare Ricky away.

  I needed to do this right.

  “Ricky, have you ever seen a Jake Slater movie?”

  “Yeah,” he said with enthusiasm. “Jake Slater is cool.”

  “Well, the man who writes those movies and all the Jake Slater books is here. Right now.”

  “What? Where? No way.” His face lit up like a kid at his first rock concert.

  “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Maybe. I think so.” He suddenly sounded shy.

  I smiled. “You’ll like him. He’s a good guy. His name is Mac and he’s just like Jake Slater. He takes care of people. He can protect you.”

  “He’s just like Jake?” He said it reverently. “Is he a Navy SEAL?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Ricky glanced around. “Where is he?”

  “He’s right here.” I breathed a quick sigh of relief and waved Mac over. Mac climbed out of his car and strolled toward us.

  “He’s kind of big,” Ricky murmured.

  “Yes. He’s big and strong and he’s just the best guy you’d ever want to meet.”

  “He looks like Jake,” he whispered. “What’d you say his name was?”

  “Mac.”

  “Hi.” Mac kept his eyes on me as he walked straight to me and took hold of my hand. “Tried to call you.”

  “Sorry.”

  Scoping out the situation, Mac glanced at Ricky, then back at me. “How’re we doing?”

  “We’re good,” I said. “Mac, this is Ricky. He’s a big fan of Jake Slater.”

  “Hey, Ricky, good to meet you.” Mac stuck out his hand and Ricky shook it a bit warily.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” he said. “Jake Slater is really cool.” Then he looked at me. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant Mac or Jake Slater, but either way, it made me smile. “Yes, he is.”

  Ricky stared at Mac for a long moment. “You’re the one who knocked me down.”

  “Yeah. I was trying to stop you. Sorry if I hurt you.”

  “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

  “And I forgive you,” Mac said.

  Ricky grinned and stuck out his hand. “Shake.”

  Mac laughed and shook his hand. “All right.”

  It was just that simple, I thought, and very sweet. I turned to Mac. “Ricky was telling me about something tha
t happened to him and I’m hoping he’ll tell you, too. Because I think we can help him.” I looked at Ricky. “What do you think, Ricky?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you mind if I tell him what you said?”

  Ricky’s mouth twisted as he tried to figure out the right thing to do. Another shrug. “Okay.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at Mac. “Ricky was waiting by my truck when I got out here because he wanted to ask me about the dead body we found today.” I glanced at Ricky. “Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He told me that the man who was killed, Judson Killian, was his best friend. Jud was an orderly many years ago at the Gables and worked with Dr. Fairchild.”

  “Yeah, and she was really mean,” Ricky interjected.

  Mac nodded. “I hear you.”

  “Ricky became best friends with Jud when he saved Ricky from being hurt by someone at the hospital.” I glanced at Ricky to make sure he was still okay with all of this. It seemed he was, so I continued. “They were trying to give Ricky electroshock therapy.”

  “I was unruly,” Ricky said, glowering.

  “He was twelve,” I said.

  Mac snorted at that. “Let me tell you something, Ricky. If a twelve-year-old kid isn’t being unruly, there’s probably something wrong with him. So what was the big deal?”

  “She didn’t like it,” Ricky grumbled.

  Mac glanced at me, then looked straight at Ricky. “I’d say she’s the one with the problem.”

  Ricky looked positively thrilled with Mac’s take on the subject. “Yeah.”

  I turned to Mac. “As you might’ve figured out, ‘she’ was Dr. Fairchild.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” He glanced back at Ricky. “That totally sucks, man.”

  Ricky grinned at Mac’s colorful word choice. “Yeah, it sucks.”

  Mac frowned. “You were awfully young to be living in this place and going to a doctor who wanted to give you electroshock therapy.”

  I gave Ricky a look, and he answered by staring at the ground. I wrapped my arm through Mac’s and held him firmly. “Mac, Dr. Fairchild is Ricky’s mother.”

  “What?” He almost roared out the word but managed to hold it down to a mere shout. He sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and said to Ricky, “Sorry, pal, but I was not expecting to hear that.”