Phoenix: A Hunter Novel

by J. V. Speyer

  The correctional officer gave Holcombe a tired grin. “Lady, you’re a genius.”

  “It’s the only way I can keep up with my agents, Officer.” She softened a little bit. “Let’s try to bring this one home.”

  Chapter Seven

  Luis kept up his slow crawl through the long corridor of isolation rooms. He didn’t have any place else to be, and he knew he’d find his way out if he kept moving. The presence of so many ghosts kept him safe from the rats, so from that perspective he had nothing to worry about.

  The ghosts themselves, on the other hand, were something else.

  Mike made a decent companion, and he took his self-appointed role as guardian seriously. Luis didn’t exactly relish being addressed as Gabe, but he’d get over it. Mike had a decent sense of humor and a good grasp of what was going on in the old hospital, so Luis could accept his new name assignment for the time being.

  “The place was a real nightmare for a while,” Mike explained, guiding Luis down the center of the aisle. “When I was here and alive, it was crowded. You had all kinds of people all jumbled together, because it wasn’t like there was enough room to keep the crazies separate, you know? But it calmed down eventually.”

  “When you were here, they didn’t have any effective treatments for most mental health issues. When they developed medications and other therapies that turned out to be useful, people could live in society again.” Luis found himself at a crossroads—or rather, a four-way intersection in the corridors. The wheels from the gurney left tracks going straight, and going to the right. He’d been brought in from one direction, and Hyena Lady had taken her equipment out in another.

  “Fabulous.” He ground his teeth together. “Any idea which way we should go?”

  Mike shrugged, a devil-may-care grin splitting his face and his skin. “I haven’t been outside that cell in eighty years, mac. Take your pick.”

  Luis sighed, which set him to coughing. There was a lot of dust down here. Then he went straight.

  “So they really have pills now? I mean pills that’ll help folks like that guy with the flaming crap?” Mike stuck his hands in his pockets.

  “Depending on what his diagnosis is. I haven’t seen him outside of that brief moment, so I couldn’t say. But there are definitely solutions that have helped a lot of people, and without having to drill into their heads or resort to electric shocks.”

  The air temperature, already icy, dropped by twenty degrees.

  “You’re one of them shrinks?”

  Luis shook his head. “I’m a federal agent and a criminal behaviorist. I analyze the psychology of criminals so we can figure out how to stop them before they hurt people—more people, I should say.”

  A little growl escaped from Mike’s throat. “I thought you were a medium.”

  Luis knew he should be afraid. Mike was, apparently, a killer. At the same time, he didn’t strike Luis as someone to get violent simply out of anger. Luis had been wrong before, but he didn’t have a choice about trusting Mike. “Apparently, I am. I had a near-death experience and boom! All of a sudden, I could see and interact with dead people.” He paused. “Thinking back, there were signs. I just didn’t pay attention to them until I was bleeding out onto a forest floor and wound up getting first aid from a deceased serial killer.”

  Mike scratched his head. “But you’re a cop.”

  “I am. And my best friend is a long-dead highwayman and serial killer.” He shrugged. “I’ve stopped questioning it at this point. It’s not like Captain Lightfoot would go away if I told him to, which I wouldn’t.” He chuckled. “I’m not here to mess with you, Mike. If you want help, I’ll help you as best I can. But first, I have to survive.”

  “That you do.” Mike sighed. “So I guess you know a lot about the crazies. You know, chasing them down and stuff.”

  “Most of the people I deal with aren’t mentally ill. Or at least, their crimes aren’t driven by their illness.” Luis noticed a set of double doors on the left side of the hallway. “What do you think that room up there might be?”

  “Could be anything. It’s worth looking into.” Mike headed in that direction. “What do you mean, their crimes aren’t driven by their illness? I thought only crazy people did the really bad stuff.”

  Luis held his breath as he got ready to push on the doors. Was this his ticket out? Would he find Hyena Lady, or the people helping her, on the other side of this door?

  “Most violent crimes are committed by people who know exactly what they’re doing, who they’re doing it to, and exactly why they shouldn’t be doing it.” Luis met Mike’s eyes. “Lots of people try the insanity defense. They’ll say, ‘Oh, it’s not my fault, I had a moment of insanity because I caught my wife cheating. I didn’t know what I was doing.’ But it’s always a lie. They know.

  “Or they say, ‘It’s not my fault, my crappy upbringing made me not know right from wrong.’ But most people who have violent or traumatic childhoods don’t go on to hurt people, you know?” He swallowed. “My childhood was pretty bad, but I don’t go around hurting people. Most violent crimes are committed by people who choose to commit violent crimes.” Luis shrugged. “That’s all. People with mental illnesses are more likely to be the victim of violent crime than the perpetrator.”

  “You feel pretty strongly about that, Gabe.” Mike took off his hat and toyed with it, exposing the hole in his skull. “But I got sent here for a reason, you know?”

  Luis pushed on the doors. “I know. If you want to talk about it, I’m here. Frankly, I haven’t met any ghosts who didn’t get that way without a lot of trauma.”

  Luis braced for the worst, but no hail of gunfire met the creaking of ancient hinges. Instead, he found himself looking into a cold room, with a stainless steel table in the center. Metal cabinets, roughly sized for a human body, lined the walls.

  Luis couldn’t see much, even with the light provided by Mike’s preternatural glow. He could see that the drawer fronts sagged in a few places. He saw the drain cover, rusted.

  “I don’t think this is what you were looking for.” Mike put a hand on Luis’ shoulder. “Come on, Gabe. Let’s get out of here.”

  Luis let himself be guided away from the old morgue.

  Mike cleared his throat. “So why did they bring you here, if you’re a cop?”

  Luis ran his tongue along his teeth, giving himself time to consider. “I’m not positive, but I was testifying in a trial when I was grabbed. It was—well, the guy on trial did a lot of bad stuff, specifically to children.”

  A foul wind blew up from out of nowhere. “I’ll kill him myself. That’s demonic, it is.”

  Luis didn’t need access to old records to have a sense of what Mike’s crimes had been. “It is. Fortunately, we’ve got him on camera committing said crimes, so he’s not getting out of prison in my lifetime.”

  “Too risky. Demons can be tricky. You have to kill the host to send them back to hell.” Mike put his hat back on. “It’s a shame, but I frankly wouldn’t want to live after I’d been possessed and used for that kind of perversion anyway. So it’s a kindness, really.”

  Luis nodded because he didn’t have a strong argument to present. Not one that didn’t involve trying to dismantle Mike’s delusions about demonic possession, anyway. “I can see your point of view, certainly. I suspect I was kidnapped in an effort to try to derail the trial.”

  “Hellspawn.” Mike glowered upward. “We’ll kill the Hyena Woman and send her back to hell.”

  Luis’ blood ran cold. He put a hand on Mike’s arm, even though it made his hand ache with cold. “We need to bring her in alive. If nothing else, it’s proof I was actually kidnapped and didn’t just get sick of testifying so I could wander off to Medfield and go on a bender.” He gestured to his filthy shirt and trousers.

  “Is that something you’re known for?” Mike tilted his head to the side.

  “No. I don’t drink at all. But defense counsel would be stupid not to make the accus
ation if it has the slightest chance of improving things for their client.” He sighed.

  “All this law stuff is complicated. I’m better at smiting.” Mike pouted for a moment, actually pouted. “Just let me know when I can do it and I’ll make sure their eyes bleed, Gabe. You and me, we make a great team.”

  Luis smiled, although inside he shrank from the very thought. He wasn’t about to go unleashing a ghostly killer with religious delusions onto the people of Massachusetts, however much he hated the place. Even if the thought of letting Mike have at all the pedophiles he couldn’t put in jail did have a nice ring to it.

  Captain Lightfoot returned just then, Millie by his side. Millie had exchanged her hospital uniform for modern jeans and a tee shirt. Both of them held margarita glasses, and Millie held a blanket out to Luis.

  It was a real blanket, gray wool and scratchy. He wrapped it around himself. “Thank you so much! I didn’t think you’d be able to bring back something so big.”

  “I couldn’t have done it by myself.” Lightfoot smirked and jerked a thumb at Millie. “Two of us together, now, we can do a lot more than just one.” He looked Mike up and down. “Who’s yer friend?”

  “Mike, meet Captain Lightfoot. I think you already knew Millie? Captain Lightfoot, meet Mike. He’s been here since the 1930s?” Luis hadn’t been so attached to a blanket since he’d been a toddler. He just wanted to wrap himself in it and stay there.

  Lightfoot doffed his cap. “Delighted to meet ye. Luis, Ye should know the whole of the FBI, the state police, and the Boston Police are out looking for ye.”

  Hope sprang up in Luis, but he still frowned. “Wait. What about the people who shot poor Alex? And Donovan’s men?”

  “They’ll get theirs. Right now, they have a living agent being held hostage by some bird claiming to be in love with the kind of filth you were staring down in court. Their priority is to bring ye back alive. Also, ye’re the partner of the head of Major Crimes, ye daft bunny rabbit. Even if ye ran a coffee shop in yer underwear, they’d be calling out the cavalry for ye.” Lightfoot swatted at Luis with his hat.

  “If you decide to run a coffee shop after all this, I’d take it as a personal favor if you kept your pants on.” Mike turned to Luis. “I’m sure plenty of dames won’t mind if you left them at home, and maybe a few guys too, but it just don’t seem sanitary.”

  Luis laughed. “No, it doesn’t. Fortunately, it’s all moot. My customer service skills are best suited to chasing down bad guys and punching them really hard, I’m afraid. Pants are usually a requirement for that too.”

  Mike shuddered. “Thank God.”

  “Bah. Both of ye need to loosen up.” Lightfoot waved his margarita at them. It sloshed but didn’t seem to decrease in volume.

  “Where are you going?” Millie blinked at Luis. “Are you trying to get to the elevator?”

  “Does the elevator still work?” Luis couldn’t imagine how it would. Medfield State Hospital had been abandoned for over two decades. There was no way it still had power.

  “No, but I didn’t know if you knew that. There are stairs at the end of this corridor.” Millie gestured. “Shall we keep going?”

  Luis hefted his blanket. “No reason to hold off.”

  Soon, he’d be out and on his way back to Donovan. He had no idea what he’d do when he could see the stars, but he’d figure it out then.

  A key turned in the lock at one thirty in the morning, making Donovan and both of the federal agents in his living room jump up with their guns at the ready. A small part of Donovan hoped it was Luis, but he knew better. Luis would have called.

  The intruder stepped over to the security system keypad and punched in a code. “Relax, Donovan. It’s only me.” Patricia Carey stormed into the kitchen with a stack of plastic containers.

  Two of Donovan’s brothers followed her. One of them, John, carried boxes of Dunkin coffee. The other, Scott, carried more food.

  “Mom?” Donovan blinked at her. Only when Donovan said the word did Kevin and Alex put their guns down. “Since when did you get a key?”

  “Luis gave me a key and a code back when you got the place. Said it made sense for someone local to have it. He gave one to Alicia too. She’d be here now, but she’s got no childcare for Nicky. Ordinarily, when she gets called out at night she calls you two, but that’s not an option right now.”

  Donovan shuddered. “Yeah, I wouldn’t even want to tell the poor kid. It’ll devastate him.”

  Patricia swatted him on the arm. “It will scare him, but he’d only be devastated if poor Luis didn’t come home. Which he will because everyone with an ounce of Kennedy blood is going to crawl over every inch of this state and turn up every blade of grass until we find him. Even Tony got his head out of his ass when I called to tell him.”

  John smirked. “Mom threatened to cut off his balls.”

  Alex gaped at everyone. “Can someone please explain what’s going on here?”

  Patricia sized Alex up and turned to Donovan’s brothers. “Scotty, heat up some of that stew for this young man. He’s too skinny. He’s never going to get over that gunshot wound if he doesn’t put a little bit of meat on his bones.” She looked back at Alex. “You’re that fed who got shot yesterday out in Southwick, aren’t you?”

  Alex bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am?” He glanced at Donovan. “How does she—”

  “It was in the news.” Donovan sat back down. “Mom, this is Agent Alex Morales. He’s an old friend of Luis’, and Luis has been kind of a mentor to him. Alex, this is my mom, Captain Patricia Carey of the Boston Police Department. These are my brothers, John Carey of the Boston Police and Scott Carey of the state police.”

  “Hi.” Scott waved from the kitchen, where he was doing Patricia’s bidding. No one crossed Patricia and lived to tell the tale. Not for long, anyway. “So. What do we have?”

  “Ma’am—Captain.” Kevin smacked his own cheek as Patricia seated herself beside Donovan on the couch. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of days. The FBI has this investigation under control—”

  “Horseshit.” Patricia didn’t put any heat behind her words, but she didn’t have to. “If you had the investigation under control, you’d have my son back where he belongs He’s not, so you need all the help you can get. Plus, you’re working another important case out in Western Mass. You people have a willing, trained, and enthusiastic army of volunteers with badges and a lot of vacation time saved up. Get the stick out of your ass and use it.”

  Alex swayed on his feet. Donovan gently guided him to his seat and patted his good shoulder. “It’s okay. You can see how Mom managed to run a department full of macho male cops, can’t you?”

  Alex closed his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I can. Did you just refer to Luis as your son?”

  Two spots of color appeared in Patricia’s cheeks, but she shrugged. “I didn’t always feel that way, obviously, but when he came back into our lives and I found out about him and Donovan, I had a choice to make. I could choose the hate and fear I’d learned from my parents and my church, or I could choose the love I had for my son. In the end, it wasn’t much of a choice at all. Now I’m mad I wasted so much time when I could have gotten to know him.” She deflated, just a little bit.

  Then she straightened up again. “But I’m not wasting any more time. He’s part of my family now, whether or not Donovan ever gets around to putting a ring on his finger, and I wouldn’t leave any stone unturned for any of my other sons. Even Tony.”

  “I probably wouldn’t show up for Tony.” Scott appeared with a bowl of stew for Alex. “Here, eat this. It’s the only thing Mom can cook, but she makes it well.”

  “You damn well would show up for Tony.” Patricia fixed Scott with a glower that should have peeled the freckles right off of his skin. “We can’t fix whatever’s wrong with his head if he’s missing or dead. Not the point. What do we know about Luis’ kidnappers?”

  Donovan knew he should keep outside people away from the investigat
ion. He also knew his mother wasn’t going to stay out of anything. If he chased her away, she’d marshal her army and they’d go investigate on their own, possibly creating a disaster.

  “We got a videotaped message from the kidnapper this evening. She’d recorded it earlier in the day.” He got up and helped himself to some of the stew because he needed to do something with his hands. “She—”

  “She?” Patricia did a double take. “She must have drugged him. He’s not a small guy.”

  Kevin grinned and ruefully shook his head. “Trying to keep you out of it was always going to be a losing proposition, wasn’t it? Yes, she did. She drugged his lunch and posed as an EMT when he showed the effects. We’ve got reason to believe he’s being held in an abandoned institution somewhere, but that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

  “There’s only a few dozen of those around the state.” Patricia snorted. “And she’s not limited to staying in Massachusetts either. That’s the problem with New England. Unless you want to go up into the northern boonies, which is certainly an option, everything is only a couple of hours away from everything else. What else did you manage to glean from the video?”

  “Not a whole heck of a lot.” Donovan put his bowl of stew on the table and rubbed at his face. God, he was tired. “We do have an identity on the suspect.”

  John swatted the back of his head. “You could have led with that.”

  Donovan flipped him off. “She’s an interesting individual. Her name is Tammie Hatch. She’s a legit EMT who’s somehow attached to the defendant in the trial in which Luis was testifying. She has one demand. She wants the charges dropped against this guy.”

  “So not happening.” Scott snorted and brought out stew for Kevin, their mom, and John. “I mean even if the guy wasn’t a rapist, pedophile, and a murderer, they don’t drop charges because someone kidnaps a cop. It’s just not a thing. It would be beyond stupid.”

  “Yes, it would.” Kevin nodded. “Holy crap, this stew really is good. Releasing suspects in exchange for hostages sets a terrible precedent. And from what Donovan told me, it sounds like this Gelens dude is in on it.”