The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set

by Danielle Girard

  Now was not the time to figure that out.

  Soon.

  When she entered the lab, both Sydney and Stephanie were at work behind microscopes. A man Hailey didn’t recognize was cutting apart a big piece of carpet with a box cutter.

  Another man sat at the table where she and Sydney had been just days before, working on Abby and Hank Dennig.

  Sydney turned and stepped toward her, speaking to the man as she pointed to Hailey. “This is Inspector Wyatt.”

  The man rose from his chair. He was short and stout. A pair of black elastic suspenders clipped from his jeans and ran over his shoulders. He stuck out his hand to shake. “Sorry. I was expecting a man.”

  She smiled. “No apology necessary. I think my mother was too.”

  He chuckled.

  Hailey shook his hand and waited for someone to explain why she was there.

  Sydney didn’t speak.

  Stephanie and the other tech continued to work.

  “My name’s Carl Watson,” he said. “I’m a deputy with the Placerville Sheriff’s Department.”

  “What can I do for you, Deputy Watson?”

  “Please. Call me Carl.”

  “Okay, Carl.”

  “We had a suicide up there that we thought may interest you.”

  “A suicide?” Hailey scanned her memory for any questionable death that had recently been deemed a suicide. Came up empty.

  “Deceased is named Colby Wesson.”

  “Wesson?”

  “As in the gun maker. This guy’s the grandson or great-grandson. Still in the business—or was.”

  Something with the weight of a tank sank in her gut. Leaning against the table, she crossed her arms and dropped her shoulders. He was there about the Dennigs. They hadn’t killed each other. If there was another victim, it meant the Dennigs had been murdered. “Wesson,” she whispered.

  “Right,” the man said. “He’s somewhere down the line from the original gun maker.”

  She glanced at Sydney, who gave a tiny nod. “When did this happen?”

  The man fingered his mustache. “Three weeks ago—three and a half now, I guess.”

  “How’d he commit suicide?”

  “Car in the garage.”

  She waited.

  “We didn’t think anything of it until we found some traces of a drug in his system. Took us nearly three weeks to get the tox reports back. Once we had ’em, we reopened the case and looked into the possibility of homicide. That’s when we got the state lab involved. They linked it to a double homicide you worked recently.”

  “Abby and Hank Dennig,” she supplied.

  “That’s the one.” He motioned to Sydney, who crossed the room to where Stephanie worked. “I brought down some evidence from that case—the thing that links them.”

  Sydney lifted a small plastic bag off the counter beside Stephanie. As she made her way across the room, Hailey knew what it was. She’d been the one to enter the pin’s description into NCIC, to be certain she wasn’t overlooking something connecting their deaths to other crimes.

  Through the plastic bag, Hailey read the words “Wage peace, not war.” It was identical to the one they’d found in Abby Dennig’s minivan.

  “Christ.”

  “It’s got a clean print,” Sydney said.

  “You get a match?” Hailey asked.

  Sydney didn’t look happy.

  “Who?”

  “Nick Fredricks.”

  Hailey shook her head. “I don’t know—” But then she stopped. She did know the name. “Fredricks, the lobbyist?”

  “Right,” Sydney said. “Antigun, anti-NRA.”

  Hailey dragged the depths of her memory for something. “But I thought he was—”

  “He is,” Sydney said. “Dead.”

  “Could it be an old print?” Hailey asked. “Some sort of joke thing they gave out a long time ago?”

  “We don’t think so,” Carl cut in. “It was a brand-new car. Wesson only had it a couple weeks before he died.”

  “And Fredricks’s is the only print on the button,” Sydney added.

  Hailey realized she’d screwed up big time. She’d missed something on the Dennigs. There was a third person, had to have been. “What about the button from the last scene? Was there a print on it?”

  “We’re running it again. It was only a partial. We didn’t have enough to get a match the first time.”

  Stephanie crossed the rooms, rolling the gloves off her hands. “Under the scope, it looks like the same print. You can see the tented arch in both.”

  Hailey shook her head, stared at Sydney. “You were right.”

  Sydney didn’t acknowledge that. She merely said, “We’ll send the buttons out to be sure.”

  Hailey nodded as her phone rang.

  “Hailey.” It was Mackenzie’s voice, breathless.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I got the full list of awards.”

  “Who’s on it?”

  “Chip Washington.”

  “It can’t be Washington—he’s—” She stopped herself. What? He’s an attorney? Was that a defense?

  “Jamie’s not answering her cell phone and he’s not in his office,” Mackenzie continued.

  “Maybe her battery died,” Hailey said, not at all reassured by her own words.

  “I’m going down to her office now,” Mackenzie said. “If I can’t find her, I’ll go to his.”

  “Mackenzie, wait.”

  “I can’t. This place’s empty. Why wouldn’t she answer her cell phone?”

  Hailey turned back to Sydney. “I’ve got to go.”

  Sydney nodded as Hailey ran for the door. “I’m at the lab, but I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you there. Don’t go anywhere until I get there.”

  “Hurry!”

  Hailey sprinted across the linoleum and up the few steps to the gravel parking lot. Her feet kicked up dirt as she dashed to her car. Breathless, she yanked the door open, jammed her key in the ignition. She revved the engine and threw it in reverse, tires spinning on the gravel.

  She tried to tell herself it was nothing.

  Jamie was in her office, had turned off her phone.

  As she sped up the road out of the naval station, she fumbled with her phone to dial the department’s main number. When it was answered, she asked for Chip Washington’s line. Thirty seconds passed and she heard his voicemail. She hit end and dialed the main number again.

  “This is Inspector Wyatt. I’m trying to reach one of the assistant district attorneys—Chip Washington. Do you have a cell phone number for him?”

  “Sure. Want me to connect you?”

  “Please.”

  Hailey listened to it ring as she raced through the streets toward the Hall. She hit a yellow light, flattened the accelerator to the floor.

  The phone rang once, twice, three times. Then she heard a click and a woman’s voice. “Hello.”

  “Jamie?”

  “No, I think you have the wrong number.”

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Chip Washington. Did I dial wrong?”

  “No. This is his cell phone.”

  “My name is Hailey Wyatt. I’m an inspector with the SFPD. Is Chip there?”

  “Oh, hello. This is his wife, Shirley. No, I’m afraid he’s not here.”

  Hailey squeezed her eyes closed. Shit.

  “I think he’s at the office,” Shirley went on. “He left his cell phone at home.”

  Hailey shook her head. “Is there another number I could try?”

  “You tried the office?”

  “No one answered.”

  “He might be on his way home then. He always has his cell phone, but his car got hit last week, so it’s being worked on.”

  Hailey held her breath as she sped around another corner. “Mrs. Washington, can I ask you something?”

  “Oh, please. Call me Shirley.”

  “Shirley?”

  “Sure.”

 
Hailey thought about Tim Worley. As she turned right onto Third from 25th, she asked, “Does Chip stutter?”

  “Oh, Lord, no.”

  Hailey exhaled. This was all wrong. Thank God.

  “I haven’t heard him stutter since law school. Well, once in a while, maybe. When he’s really upset.”

  Hailey couldn’t bring herself to say anything else. She punched the end button and dialed Jamie’s cell phone again. There was no answer.

  Her heart racing, Hailey called the main number and told them to pull together every available officer to start combing the building for Jamie Vail. She called Mackenzie. The rookie didn’t answer.

  She dropped the phone onto the seat beside her and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

  Tried to bargain with God again. Please, save Jamie.

  She pressed the accelerator to the floor and prayed she made it there in time.

  Chapter 39

  Jamie moved slowly across Washington’s office. He jammed the barrel of her backup weapon against the small of her back. The gun was loaded. She had loaded it herself. He pulled a Lysol wipe from a container in his drawer—the same kind he had used to wipe down Natasha’s desk after he’d killed her.

  Washington had left his own gun in his office and taken hers. She knew why—this was going to look like a suicide if he had his way. She was a perfect candidate. Even she thought so.

  “I almost dumped it,” he said softly, nodding to the trophy. “But, the department is always encouraging us to show them off, like some fucking award makes us better at what we do. Plus, it would be too obvious if it was missing.”

  “What happened, Chip?”

  He tensed, aggravated, and he shoved the gun into her spine.

  She let him talk, trying to think of a way out. She was trapped. Think, damn it. All that came to mind was: not twice in two days.

  Cracking the office door, he peered out. Pushed her into the hallway.

  “You didn’t mean to kill her,” Jamie whispered.

  “God, no. I came to see her, to congratulate her on her award.” His breathing was labored as he urged her forward. “We’d been together for a few weeks. Only a few times. But when I saw her with—” He moaned. “—that old man. I couldn’t believe it.”

  She considered running. She ached, could barely walk, and the gun was too close. She didn’t doubt he would shoot. He couldn’t miss.

  She considered a bullet. She could take one, but not in the back—not if she ever wanted to walk again. Panic gripped her. She fought to stay calm. She would think her way through. She had a few minutes. She could do this.

  Washington gripped her arm as they passed through the empty hall. He stopped at the stairwell, motioned her to open the door. She did, praying someone would be just inside.

  Empty.

  They were eight floors up. Someone would be here. It was the Hall. There were always people. Be calm. Distract him. Her heart jackhammered in her chest.

  “It was an accident, right? You didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  Washington didn’t seem to hear her. “She was screwing him right there on her desk. Like a prostitute.”

  They started slowly down the flights. Jamie’s back throbbed, her legs shaky as she descended.

  “It was so awful,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “I couldn’t! I was frozen. I was so humiliated.” His breath hissed through his teeth. “Then I was so angry.”

  “Deputy Chief Scanlan left.”

  “Yeah. He hiked up his pants and walked out, shining like a sweaty pig. And when she saw me, she had the nerve to ask what I was doing there. That bitch,” he snarled. “You’re all bitches,” he added, thrusting Jamie toward the next flight of stairs.

  Jamie fell against the banister, gripped hold of the metal bar as pain rocketed through her rib cage. Tried to swallow the pain. Tears pressed in her throat. “She used you,” she whispered. “She used all of you.”

  “No. It was different with us. At least until that night.”

  Jamie grew shaky, weak. She drew her anger to fight the weakness. She would not give up. “Bullshit,” she said to him. “She fucked you the same as the others.”

  “No.” Washington launched himself at her. Her hand slipped from the banister. She fell forward as he slammed the gun into her skull. The crack hit her above her right ear. She toppled to her knees on the concrete stairs. The room spun.

  She hung her head, fought the urge to vomit. As her vision cleared, she thought to roll. The gun was right back on her. Too slow. She was too slow.

  “It was different,” he said again. “You don’t know. I’m not like those others—like Worley or Scanlan. She wanted to be with me, but she let the others have her. I knew about them, but I thought it was over until I came in and saw them.

  “She acted like the whole thing was funny, like it was no big deal. She’d had too much to drink. I pushed her. That’s all. Just one push. She tripped on her goddamn shoe.

  “She fell and hit her head. That’s how she died. It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident. I’m not going to jail for it. If she hadn’t been such a whore, it never would have happened. She should have been loyal. I was loyal to her.”

  “Loyal? You’re married!”

  “What do you know?” he said, pushing her forward.

  They reached the fourth floor. No one. She dragged a breath, changed her tactic. “I’m not the only one who knows.”

  “Your partners, Hailey and Mackenzie? I know about them too.”

  He’d come after the others. Jamie felt a hitch of fear for them. After what they’d all been through. This couldn’t be the end.

  Keep talking. Keep him talking. “The department won’t quit until they find her killer.”

  “I have to clean it up; then it’ll be over. There are plenty of people on that list. One of them will come to the surface as a good suspect.” He was breathing heavily, sweating. “Hell, most of them probably wanted her dead at one time or another.”

  “You told the press about her list.”

  “Sure. I wasn’t on it. I gave you idiots an entire list of folks to choose from, men she’d screwed. Put a little pressure on, get the case closed fast. But you couldn’t handle that, could you?”

  She stopped midway between the second and third floors, bracing against the steel rail as she lifted her head. She blinked at the white spots.

  “Move,” he commanded, thrusting her forward. She stumbled, wondered what time it was. Was it almost nine? Would Tony be waiting for her? Would he come after her?

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just go.”

  She stepped down the next stair. Pain resonated through every inch of her. Her mind turned the pieces of it, trying to get it to all fit. She forced her back straight. “You killed her, Chip. Even if it was an accident, you left her there and she didn’t deserve that.”

  He let out a growl, shoved her. She pitched forward, tumbled down the stairs. Crumpled on the landing, she could barely lift her head. Tears streamed freely down her face. The pain was like a vise on her skull. She moaned.

  When she opened her eyes, he stood above her. “I didn’t kill her. I pushed her, that’s it. I hit Tim Worley that night. I pushed you. He’s alive; you’re alive. It was bad luck. That’s all. And it wasn’t my fault.”

  She tasted blood, swept her hand across her mouth.

  “G-get up!” he shouted, the vein in his neck like a rope along the skin.

  Let him shoot, she thought. “N-n-n-o,” she mocked.

  He hoisted his foot to kick her. She stiffened against the coming blow. Instead of striking, he gripped her hair. He jerked her head up. “That’s enough. I’m in control here, not you.”

  Blood trickled down her chin like dribble. She looked at his brown eyes, at the way his lips snarled as he spoke. He and Marchek were two of the same. Two beasts. At least she’d gotten one. “Fuck you, Chip.”

  He dropped down and shoved
the gun in her neck.

  Their faces were inches apart. She could smell his breath, the scent of sweat.

  His hand gripped her hair at the base of her neck, dragging her to her feet as he rose.

  The gun was warm against her neck. The scent of gun oil mixed with the copper scent of her own blood.

  She thought about the fight with Marchek, the adrenaline rush of escaping him. She had known she wouldn’t die. She had known she could get away. She’d had her weapon. She’d just had to get to it.

  But now, her own gun clenched in Chip Washington’s fist, she wasn’t so sure.

  For the first time, Jamie considered that she might die.

  Chapter 40

  Still clasping her hair in his fist, Washington held her at the final landing. He pressed her face to the wall as he opened the door. There were voices. She opened her mouth to scream as he shifted the gun from her head to the hollow of her cheek. The door clicked shut again.

  “Don’t do it. I’ll kill them all.”

  She closed her mouth.

  When the voices had passed, Washington opened the door again. Peered out. He pushed her into the hallway, close behind her. He held the gun at her side and out of view.

  She tried to slow him, to stall, but the muzzle dug into her ribs, the pain urged her forward.

  The hallway was empty. With her in front, they walked through the back doors and into the quiet parking lot. She had prayed somehow Tony would be there, waiting. But the back lot was deserted.

  Terror surged through her. She couldn’t let him reach his car. She couldn’t get in. This was her best chance.

  He pushed, his fist in her hair driving the momentum.

  They turned the corner into the dark lot. She heard a tiny cry escape her lips. It was too close. There was no way out.

  He pushed against her. “Not a sound.” He stopped by a white Volvo and she heard the double beep of doors unlocking. He took her arm, steering her toward the driver’s side when light exploded in her eyes.

  He backed up, dragging her.

  She blinked hard, waved her arms.