Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases) Read online

  “I can’t believe it, they can’t be dead.” He looked up into her eyes, face slick with tears, dark brown eyes full of sorrow. There was no way he was faking. With a start, Kinsey pulled away emotionally as best she could. She had to leave his guilt or innocence up to Gerri. Kinsey didn’t trust her instincts anymore when it came to suspects, not after the transvestite queen, Roxy, convinced Kinsey she and another dead dancer were best friends when the opposite was true. Gerri caught the lie, proving Kinsey would make a terrible cop herself.

  And, though the young man’s grief was so powerful Kinsey felt tears sting her eyes, this wasn’t in her job description. Weird stuff, however, was. And there was nothing paranormal about a son sobbing over the deaths of his parents.

  Kinsey started to rise, but Candice had already retreated, leaving her to deal with the young man after all. Unsure what to do, hesitation pushing her back down onto the stiff cushion of the settee, Kinsey remained there while Gerri and Jackson approached. Neither paid any attention to her while they focused on the weeping son. Feeling awkward about being there suddenly, Kinsey held as still as she could, drawing shallow breaths and doing her best to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

  She hated her grandmother sometimes for teaching her to be silent and unseen.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Gerri said, big voice gentle. It always amazed Kinsey how kind her friend could be, and how frightening at times, too. Jealousy at the detective’s ability to seize control without anxiety made Kinsey tense. “Can you tell us your name?”

  “Patrick.” He stumbled over his own voice a moment. “Patrick Sonnicker. This is my house. Their house.” Patrick’s hand shook as he pointed at the door, then wiped his running nose with it. “My parents, John and Emma Sonnicker.”

  Gerri didn’t write that down, so Kinsey knew she was well aware of the names of his parents, and probably his, too. “Where were you last night, Patrick?”

  He shrugged, head hanging. “At my girlfriend’s. We were out for drinks, both passed out. I just got home.”

  Kinsey wondered if the girlfriend qualified as an alibi. From the faint line between Gerri’s brows, she might not. Either that, or Gerri was hoping for an open-shut with the son as the prime suspect. A vague protective instinct sighed in Kinsey, though she knew it was foolish. She had no connection to this young man. And, for all she knew, he was guilty, and a great actor. Still, she knew she was better off on the hard evidence side of investigation, proven yet again by her soft heart and inability to tell truth from lie.

  More footsteps on the stairs. This time, Gerri waved through the young woman with the long, dirty-blonde hair with the hurt look on her face. Patrick half stood, hugging her as she sat next to him, shoving Kinsey out of the way. She made a hasty and grateful retreat, backing off while Gerri again took over.

  “Baby,” the young woman said, “I’m so sorry. Your parents?” He nodded to the girl who looked up and met Gerri’s eyes. “I’m Natalie Street, Pat’s girlfriend. What happened?” She glanced at the doors, but only briefly, biting her lower lip. “Who did this?” No crying, but they weren’t her parents. Kinsey’s jaw tightened on its own. If he was her boyfriend, she’d be a wreck. And yet, the young woman seemed poised, almost professional. Kinsey shook off her irritation at Natalie’s ability to keep it together. Not everyone was a blubbering mess when disaster hit.

  “We’re working on that,” Gerri said, notebook finally out. “You two were together last night?”

  Natalie nodded, hugging Patrick who leaned on her as he had Kinsey. “We were out late, about 2AM. Crashed at my apartment.” She shrugged. “I passed out shortly after we got home.” She glanced at Patrick who nodded. “We both did. It wasn’t until we pulled onto the block just now we found out something was wrong.”

  Kinsey turned and left this part of the investigation to Gerri. None of her business, and her perceptions were obviously skewed. Leave the interrogations to the professionals. Besides, Kinsey knew she’d soon be out of the case entirely. She tucked herself into a corner under a skylight in the hallway, out of the way of the passing CSI’s and officers. As she reviewed the photos on her camera, Kinsey was even more convinced the pair who died inside the master bedroom hadn’t been killed in some religious ritual, unless all the true followers of the half dozen or so practices she identified so far got together to murder them just to make them stop.

  “Dr. DanAllart.” Kinsey’s head snapped up, entire body tense. Her blue eyes met the icy ones of Jackson Pierce in the morning light flooding down over them. A soft gasp of breath inhaled before she could stop it, full of the scent of air conditioning and blood and the odor of his cologne. But, instead of confronting her, of being an asshat as he usually was, he smiled at her, handsome face not so attractive these days with his healing bruises and broken nose. “Anything we can use?”

  So, he was being nice to her all of a sudden. Instead of putting her at ease, his attention made Kinsey even more uncomfortable. Back up, body tense and wary, Kinsey turned off her camera, not wanting him to see what she’d photographed, an impulsive reaction to being confronted she carried with her from childhood. Not that she’d done anything wrong. But he always made her feel as though she had. “We’ll see,” she said, tucking her camera into her bag, ready to bolt. Gerri didn’t need her anymore, and something about the way Jackson looked at her made her want to hit him herself.

  No, not hit him. She wasn’t brave enough for that. Run away, definitely.

  “I was thinking,” he said, voice dropping to quiet conspiratorial as he leaned in close, body blocking off some of the light as he towered over her, “we might have gotten off on the wrong foot.” Temper snapped inside her in response to his words. Maybe if she put hers up his ass, it would make things better. Shocked at herself, she held still and quiet as he went on. “I’d like to buy you a coffee, talk it over.” The scent of him clogged her nose, made her choke, tension making her vibrate. Until she processed what he said and all the fear ran out of her.

  Dear God. Was he hitting on her?

  “Or a drink, if you’d rather.”

  Jesus. He was hitting on her. How mundane and ordinary. This, she could handle. Threats veiled or otherwise, made her cringe. But this pathetic attempt at a pickup? What was this dude’s problem? First Ray, who wouldn’t have been interested even if she wasn’t gay, then Gerri, of all people. Now Kinsey. A giggle escaped her. She couldn’t help it. It burst into life, a hysterical fountain of more laughter waiting to be released if he said even one more word. If he tried any harder to pick her up. At a murder scene.

  What the hell?

  “Thanks,” she said, backing away, still smirking, “but I’ll pass. At least until you heal up.” She pointed at her own face, the corners of her eyes, heart pounding in a mix of nervousness and humor. “Have a good one.” Kinsey caught the flash of fury on his face, spun and bolted before he could say anything further. She really didn’t give a crap what was on his mind. But, she was proud of herself for getting a dig in.

  She never managed it, in the past. She was the one who thought of the comebacks long after, in private, kicking herself for being slow on the uptake. Gerri was the queen of shoot downs. Maybe she was a good influence, in one area, at least.

  The morning sunshine welcomed Kinsey, washing away the last of her nerves and making it easier for her to brush off Jackson’s odd attention while she ignored the fact he creeped her out more than she was willing to admit.

  ***

  INT. to EXT. – SONNICKER HOUSE - MORNING

  Gerri let Patrick walk, Natalie supporting him as the two descended the stairs under the watchful and apologetic eyes of Officer Mills. While they alibied each other out, Gerri couldn’t help but get the feeling there was more to their story. She’d liked to have pushed Patrick harder, but without the watchful girlfriend hanging around. Instead, she’d have him brought into the precinct and interrogate him there.

  Let them have their moment. If the two of them
were involved in the deaths of his parents, Gerri would find out. But her gut instinct, the part of her that often warned her if someone was lying, didn’t give her the impression Patrick was involved. Not that she trusted it to do her job for her. To the contrary. But every little bit helped when she was trailing a murderer.

  She had enough details she could check their stories to see if they were lying. Gerri found it oddly ironic the pair had been at Exotica. Just thinking about the nightclub where her last weird case took place made her hackles rise. The very mention of the club made her think about dead kids with drugs in their system and owner Julian Black who she trusted about as far as she could heave him with her bare hands.

  Gerri ignored Jackson who stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at the blood pools as the paramedics departed with the two corpses now carefully tucked in white, plastic body bags. She preferred the old black ones for aesthetics' sake, though Ray informed her it was easier to see any trace on the white surface that might shake loose in transport. While Gerri understood the reasoning, the bright and shiny white seemed at odds with the contents inside. Especially when the paramedic jotted the dead man’s name on the surface with a red sharpie.

  Just so many kinds of wrong.

  Gerri was part way down the stairs when the sound of angry voices drew her to the front door. Great, exactly what she needed, more disruption. Though, she had to admit, seeing people at their worst often gave her the hints and clues she needed to solve a case. With her face set in a grim frown, she joined the two officers guarding the front door. Officer Mills glanced back, her own dark expression telling Gerri she’d learned her lesson. No way would she ever let anyone onto a crime scene again. And that was good enough for the detective.

  Nothing like real world experience and embarrassment in front of ranking cops to make you learn your job. Gerri had made her own mistakes along the way, too many to judge Mills on this one. She’d rib her later, just for the fun of it. But, for now, Gerri had more important things to do.

  The man trying to enter the home caught sight of her, his hazel eyes watery and wrinkled at the edges. “Are you in charge here?” His clothing appeared rumpled, dress shirt misbuttoned and off by one hole. His thin, brown hair stood up on one side as though he’d just leaped out of bed and rushed over. Gerri stepped through the officers to the landing outside the front door.

  “Detective Meyers,” she said. “You are?”

  “Abel Crombie,” he said, voice shaking. The tight, round belly protruding from the bottom of his dress shirt strained against his buttons as he ran both hands through his receding hairline. “I’m friend of the family.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this,” Gerri said, as she had to so many others before, if using different names, “but John and Emma Sonnicker are dead.”

  He pressed one chubby hand over his mouth, a thick ring digging into his flesh. Right handed, good to know. Gerri made a mental note as Abel shook his head, eyes wide with shock.

  “What happened to them?” He turned and stared at the ambulance, the back doors thudding shut as the paramedics readied to take the bodies to the morgue. Ray waved to Gerri, climbing into her car and following the emergency vehicle while Abel just stared.

  “How well did you know the Sonnickers, Mr. Crombie?” Gerri prodded him with her words, gently. She didn’t want to break the spell of his emotions if she could help it. But, he didn’t get to answer.

  “You killed them!” Patrick lunged through the door, shoving his way past the unis. Gerri caught him just before he ran full tilt into Abel, arms swinging. She had a few inches on the slim young man and handled him easily while Abel backed off a step, hurt on his face.

  Real or faked? Gerri’s gut churned, whispered to her. There was more here, obviously, family animosity of some kind. But what?

  “Patrick,” Abel said, hands out, pleading in his voice. “How could you say such a thing?”

  The son sagged in Gerri’s grip. She released him when the anger ran out of him, let him go when he turned and retreated into the house. Natalie exchanged a look with Abel, but Gerri couldn’t read it. Certainly not anger.

  Interesting.

  When Gerri returned her focus to Abel, he was still staring at the doorway.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “John and I had a falling out recently, over business. Though, I have no idea why Patrick would think I killed his parents over a stupid land sale.”

  Why indeed. She’d be asking. “Where were you last night, Mr. Crombie? Between the hours of 2 and 3AM?”

  A frown flickered. She would never tire of seeing the truth on their faces, those who were suspects, when they realized she had them in her sights. “You really think I had something to do with this?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, calm and gentle. “But I do need to know, so I can eliminate you from the list.”

  He shrugged, looked down, hands in his pockets now. “I was home, alone. My wife is in Pittsburgh for business.”

  No alibi. Her gut hiccupped, settled. There was something here, something he wasn’t telling her. And the front steps of the murder house was the right place to dig such information out of him. But, even as the sensation rose, it faded away. Without more to go on, there wasn’t much she could do here. She hated to give up the moment of stress when he was likely to tell her more than he intended, but until she had a look at their business dealings, she had no way of knowing if he was even a viable suspect.

  The son seemed to think so. Time to have another chat with him.

  Gerri took Abel’s details as her mind churned. “I’ll need the information you have on this land deal that triggered your fight,” she said. “I’ll send my people over to your office this morning.” Hopefully in time to prevent him from destroying evidence.

  “Of course, anything you want.” His lack of hesitation put her at ease, maybe more than it should have. She read "not guilty" on his face, at least of murder. And her gut agreed. Whatever else he was hiding, she’d find it. But Gerri was comfortable enough to dig into his life without pressing him further here and now. “I even saved the emails John and I exchanged.” Abel sighed, deep and sad. “Such a waste. We were only partners for six months, but I got to know them well enough to see they were good people, Detective. Please, find who did this.”

  “We’ll do our best.” Gerri watched him leave with a uniform guiding him away. The hitch in his step, the way he seemed grief-stricken, certainly fit the bill. But even more than before, as he walked away, the pressure in her gut returned. Something was off.

  “Detective?” Officer Mills broke her reverie. She turned to the young uniform. “Mrs. Brampson and her husband are waiting to give you their statement?”

  Gerri glanced over Mills' shoulder, caught sight of the older pair waiting in their dressing gowns on the side of the Sonnicker’s lawn. The woman waved, tiny body wrapped tight in her robe while her tall, hunched-shouldered husband waited with what looked like either infinite patience or years of browbeating into submission.

  From the bouncy, smiling and perky way Mrs. Brampson smiled at Gerri, she assumed the husband’s doleful, hang dog expression came from the latter.

  “Well, aren’t you lovely for a detective.” The older woman beamed at Gerri, one wrinkled hand patting the redhead’s as she spoke. Gerri found it hard not to grin back. “That handsome young man we talked to first looks like a movie star. Poor baby, someone made a mess of his face.” Her moue of worry flashed to a new smile. “But you’re too pretty to be a cop.”

  “Thanks,” Gerri said, trying to see it as a compliment. The tiny woman linked her hand through her husband’s arm.

  “I don’t know what else we can tell you that we didn’t already share with the handsome one,” Mrs. Brampson said. She didn’t seem eager to go home, though, did she? Which meant she was more than happy to stand here in her dressing gown in the early morning and get her fifteen minutes of fame, even if it just meant talking to the cops.

  �
��Walk me through it, if you would,” Gerri said. “I like to hear eyewitness reports first hand.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Brampson said, voice dropping to a near whisper, “I was fast asleep when this most horrible noise woke me.” She shivered, a fake gesture. “A woman screaming. Dreadful. I ran right to the window, but there was no one around.”

  Mr. Brampson didn’t comment, so Gerri let her keep going.

  “Such a nice family,” she said, though she leaned in even closer, whispering this time. “Keep to themselves mostly. I’ve tried a dozen times at least to have them over for dinner, but they were always too busy.” She rolled her eyes. “So they said.”

  Gerri had no doubt if the bubbly Mrs. Brampson invited her over, she’d be busy, too.

  “So, you heard a scream. What time was that, ma’am?”

  “Right at 2:35AM,” Mrs. Brampson said, pointing at Gerri’s pad as she jotted the time down. “I remember, because I looked at the clock when I woke up.”

  “And neither of you saw anything?” At least they had a solid time of death, if the scream was any indication.

  Mrs. Brampson shook her head, hand tightening on her husband’s arm. “I wish we could be of more help, dear.”

  Gerri smiled, closing her book. “Thank you,” she said. “We appreciate your assistance. You’re free to go, now.”

  Mrs. Brampson looked suddenly disappointed. “We live just across the street.” She pointed at another white sided two-story, this one with a small econobox in the driveway and a swing on the front step. “If you need anything.”

  Gerri watched the pair cross the lawn, Mrs. Brampson chattering away to her silent husband, grinning to herself. He was a good hearted man, obviously, to put up with her. And yet, Gerri had no doubt they were one of those happy old couples who would be together to the end.

  Perfect way to make herself feel lonely and like she’d never find happiness of her own.

  “Detective.” Gerri shook off her strange impulse to go find a boyfriend that instant and followed CSI Binks when he gestured for her to join him. He limped around the corner of the house, heading for the back yard, the plastic slippers he wore over his shoes making him slide a little in the dew-wet grass. Gerri circled out of his range, outside his steps, just in case, coming to a halt under the bedroom window.