Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases) Page 8

  She hated her job sometimes.

  “Ray.” Robert’s voice sounded strained. She looked up as the doors swung open again, her assistant setting down the phone with a shrug of apology. Ray circled the body on the slab, frowning in turn at the man who stood inside her domain without her permission. Jackson she had to tolerate. But strangers?

  Except she thought she recognized him. And, when he spoke, she realized she did.

  “I was told I had to talk to you about John and Emma.” This was the business partner, Abel Crombie. Wait, hadn’t Gerri arrested him? What was he doing here?

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Crombie,” Ray said at her most soothing while her mind churned. Visits like this could go south very quickly. But Robert was already on it, muttering into the phone. The guards at the desk would know she wasn’t very happy with his appearance. And would hopefully show their idiot faces sooner rather than later. “The investigation is still on going. You’re not permitted in the morgue.”

  He nodded, one hand running across his face. He looked so lost, Ray felt her empathy rise. When the double doors opened abruptly, the guards finally doing their jobs, she waved them off a moment. “I was hoping to take possession of the remains,” he said. “I was the executor of John’s estate.”

  How odd. Considering from what Gerri told her this man and the dead Sonnickers were on the outs over some business deal gone awry and had only been working together a short time. “I’m afraid I haven’t released the bodies yet.”

  “Soon, I hope?” Abel’s hands shook. “There are certain religious practices they believed in. If I don’t follow the will exactly, there are penalties.”

  Ah. So this had nothing to do with his dearly departed “friends” and everything to do with business.

  “Is that so?” Leave it to Gerri to arrive at a fortuitous moment. Ray stepped back as the detective, Kinsey trailing behind her, stepped past the guards to talk to Abel. “I take it that means you’re a Collective member?”

  Abel seemed shaken suddenly, head whipping around at the others in the room. “I’d ask you to keep that name to yourself.”

  “As if.” Gerri crossed her arms over her chest. “Just finished an interesting conversation with your head honcho. Gideon’s pretty broken up over the whole thing.”

  Abel just stared at her while Ray’s mind spun. What was going on? Damn it, she missed out on all the good stuff stuck in the morgue. Kinsey would fill her in later, but Ray had a feeling something juicy just happened.

  That’s what Ray got for working with the dead.

  The two guards stood back as Gerri pulled Abel aside, while Kinsey crossed to Ray, leaning in. And told her what the pair of them had been up to. By the time Kinsey was done, Ray was breathless.

  “A whole church. Imagine. And the artifacts… Kinsey. You said the artifacts had to do with the paranormal. The symbols.” Could it be? Was Kinsey right about her beliefs there was something bigger going on?

  “I know.” The slim anthropologist was practically shaking, excitement vibrating her voice, as hushed as she kept it. “Ray, this could answer a lot of questions.”

  “Or create more.” Ray sighed out her own excitement. “Though, from what you’ve told me, you didn’t gain much insight, aside from the fact Simone seems to work for the church.”

  Kinsey chewed her bottom lip. “He was very good at directing the conversation,” she said. “But I have a feeling Gerri’s not done with him. And, frankly, neither am I.” She hesitated. “He didn’t seem all that concerned we’d tracked him down, either. For a secret society, he was blasé about the fact we knew about the Collective.”

  “And that makes you nervous?” Ray shivered before she could stop herself.

  “Aren’t you?” Kinsey shrugged, sighed. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  Gerri stepped away from Abel at the same moment, gesturing to the guards. “Please escort Mr. Crombie from the building. I’ll be in touch.”

  Abel left, though he seemed reluctant to go. Gerri joined them, frown pulling her brows together.

  “The DA refused to hold him on trespassing,” she said. “Damned idiot. And one of his neighbors claims she saw him the night of the murders, watching TV at 2:30AM.”

  Nosy neighbors. Had to love them.

  “Speaking of alibis,” Ray snapped her fingers, then blushed. “Sorry, how melodramatic.”

  “Just dump it, Ray,” Gerri said with a grin.

  She told the detective what Jackson had shared while Gerri’s scowl turned darker.

  “Damn it,” she said, shaking her head, as if in denial, checking her phone. “That office building must have the security of the century.” When she finally looked up again, her face was hard, resigned. “I guess I have an arrest to make. If you two will excuse me.”

  Ray let her go, Kinsey hesitating next to her. It wasn’t until the detective was gone Kinsey spun and met Ray’s eyes.

  “There’s something else you need to know,” the slim blonde said. “I saw it with my own eyes. Gerri’s like us.”

  Now, there was a shocker.

  ***

  INT. – PATRICK SONNICKER’S APARTMENT – EVENING

  Gerri frowned at the windshield of her car all the way to Patrick’s apartment. It sounded like the case against him was building momentum. So, why did it feel like this was wrong, that she was still missing pieces of the puzzle?

  She had to admit it made logical sense he might be the murderer. If she found out her mom and dad kidnapped her from her real family and hid her from them all those years. No. That was the difference between her and him, in the end. She’d be pissed, scream and yell, let her temper out. But murder?

  She loved her parents too much. Maybe that was what made so little sense. His grief had been real, genuine. She was sure of it. And Gerri’s gut told her he was innocent. But, damn it, the proof he was lying was hard to ignore.

  If he lied, why? If he was innocent, he’d have no need.

  Or, would he?

  She was about to find out.

  Gerri’s frown intensified as she pulled up outside Patrick’s apartment building. She’d called Jackson ten minutes ago, told him to meet her here. Not that she needed his backup. But, begrudgingly, this was his lead and she had to at least pretend to the captain she was trying to accept her partner.

  But, no sign of him. With a sigh of irritation, Gerri said screw it, slamming her car door and heading for the entry alone. A quick buzz of Patrick’s apartment was met with silence. It took two more tries of other tenants to convince a little old lady she really was a cop.

  Gerri waved the woman off as she poked her curler-laden head out of her apartment. She was halfway up the stairs, at a fast jog, before the woman’s door slammed shut again. Nice neighbors.

  It was likely, if he didn’t answer, Patrick wasn’t even home. She could wait, especially considering Jackson said he had a warrant. As soon as the jackass arrived, they’d bust in and take a look around unencumbered. A smoking gun would be nice to find. Or the blade that almost took his father’s head off. She tried to recall if Patrick was left handed, realized she couldn’t remember.

  Slipping. Not like her at all.

  And John Sonnicker was a kidnapper. Not a father. Big distinction. Gerri caught herself thinking of her own dad, the way he watched her sometimes, like he didn’t know who she was. Like he was afraid of her. Or for her? She could never quite tell. Not that it mattered right now. Because, as she strode down the second floor hall, her steps slowed automatically, senses sharpening without thought, on instinct, at the sight of the door at the end of the hall standing slightly ajar.

  Her gun was in her hands, eyes flickering over the number 204. A thin finger of light cast over the carpet in the hallway, the lock broken. Looked like the same kind of job from the Sonnicker house, a small pry bar, maybe. So, forced entry.

  Someone else wanted to know what Patrick Sonnicker had in his apartment.

  Gerri nudged the door with t
he toe of her boot, knowing she should wait, that she’d get yelled at for the rookie mistake of going in alone. But, her gut churned, drove her forward, the heavy tang drifting through the opening triggering her saliva to gush.

  Steak. She’d kill for a big, juicy steak. And that meant one thing.

  She found Patrick Sonnicker on his expensive leather couch, half lying down, throat slit from ear to ear, a silver spike driven through his eye. The blood was still warm, thickly oozing from the wound, soaking through his button up shirt, down the front of the couch, dripping onto the floor in a steady, noisy plopping sound as the partially clotted clumps cascaded to the hardwood.

  Fury pounded a fist through her skull, driving Gerri’s jaws together. What the hell was going on? First the parents, now the kid, and not even theirs? Suspects whipped through her head. Abel Crombie came to mind, but she’d just seen him at the morgue. And this body was fresh, damned fresh. Could he have killed Patrick and rushed over to the morgue? Only one way to find out.

  Gerri reached for her cell, dialed dispatch, called it in. Stood there, shaking slightly, the scent of blood driving her half mad with hunger, while the cop in her swore steadily inside her head.

  “Denis?” She whipped around as Monique Entremande stepped inside, eyes first hitting Gerri before falling, with a rapid blink, to her dead son.

  Shit. Gerri dove for the woman, but not fast enough. Too slow to save her the horror of losing her child, finding him after twenty years, only to lose him one last time with absolute finality only a few hours later.

  Monique’s wail of horror cut through Gerri as she shoved the woman backward, out into the hallway, using her own body to block the view. Monique tried vainly to fight past Gerri, but failed and, at last, quit, as the sound of sirens approached from outside. She sagged against Gerri, weeping openly, clinging to the detective with desperate hands.

  All Gerri could do was stand there and hold her and swear to herself and the woman in her arms she would do everything in her power to make sure whoever did this went down. Hard.

  ***

  EXT. – SONNICKER HOUSE – NIGHT

  One hour later, Gerri stood on the sidewalk outside the Sonnicker house, staring up at the empty shell that used to be home to a happy family. Or not. For all she knew, the Sonnickers hated each other. But, one thing was certain. All three were dead. And she was no closer to finding the killer than when she first came here.

  Only this morning. Gerri rubbed her face with both hands. Damn, had it really only been this morning?

  “Yoo hoo! Detective?” Gerri turned around, bit back a sigh as Mrs. Brampson waved from her front porch across the street. Chest clenched against the need to hurt someone and hoping she could avoid aiming that irritation at the old lady, Gerri crossed to the other side and up to the Brampson’s step.

  “Ma’am,” Gerri said.

  Mr. Brampson sat on the swing, rocking back and forth as Mrs. Brampson clutched at the sweater she wore, tight around her neck, though Gerri was hot in her jacket. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I know a serious look when I see one.”

  Gerri bit back a response. It wasn’t this woman’s fault. “Just a bad turn in the case,” she said. “Did you think of anything else to tell me?”

  The old woman shook her head, sinking down onto the swing next to her husband. “Not a thing,” she said, patting his knee as they rocked. “Some nice officers were by, asking us about a ladder. But we don’t own one.” She seemed disappointed in the fact. Gerri could almost imagine she’d rush out to a hardware store to buy one, just to be noticed.

  “WHO’S THIS?” Gerri almost jumped out of her skin as Mr. Brampson shouted in his wife’s ear.

  She patted his knee again before shouting back. “DETECTIVE MEYERS.” She flashed a smile at Gerri, coquettish. “ABOUT THE SONNICKERS.”

  Gerri looked back and forth between them. “Your husband is deaf?”

  “As a post,” Mrs. Brampson smiled, like it was a good thing.

  Which meant he hadn’t heard anything useful. Gerri was starting to turn away, when Mr. Brampson yelled again.

  “DID YOU TELL HER ABOUT THE GIRL?”

  Mrs. Brampson frowned, tried to shush her husband. But he had Gerri’s full attention.

  “What girl?”

  “Never mind Morty,” Mrs. Brampson said, scowling at him like he was trying to steal her thunder. “He’s senile, too. A wonder I put up with him.”

  But Mr. Brampton was talking again, drowning out his chatty wife. “TELL HER TO BRING BACK MY LADDER.”

  Gerri’s heart skipped. “Your ladder, sir? I thought you didn’t have one?”

  “EH?” He looked at his wife, watery eyes blinking over and over.

  “We don’t.” She smacked his arm. “THERE’S NO LADDER.”

  But Morty Brampson wasn’t listening to his wife any longer. His gums worked against each other, watery eyes pale as he met Gerri’s gaze with a faint spark of awareness. “DO TOO,” he shouted. “KEEP IT BEHIND THE FENCE.”

  “Why,” Mrs. Brampson said with a breathless giggle, “that’s right. I forgot all about it.” She looked suddenly thrilled, wiggling in her seat like an excited child. “We have a ladder!”

  “When did this girl take it?” Gerri exaggerated her mouthings, hoping Mr. Brampson would answer instead of his meddling wife.

  “TUESDAY,” Mr. Brampson sounded grumpy about it. “GUY’S DAUGHTER. SAID SHE NEEDED IT.”

  Daughter? Okay, dude was senile. “The Sonnicker’s don’t have a daughter.”

  “Not their girl,” Mrs. Brampson said. “Patrick’s friend. Morty’s always going on about how much she looks like that partner of John’s. Abel somebody.”

  Gerri’s stomach clenched. She hadn’t had time to finish her background check on Natalie. Slow, muffled, stupid. She’d seen it, hadn’t she? How Patrick’s girlfriend’s expression reminded Gerri of Crombie. Pieces fit together as she shouted at Morty. “Are you talking about Abel Crombie?” Different last names, but that meant nothing.

  “Yes, dear,” Mrs. Brampson said with a smile, happy to be back in Gerri’s focus. “He’s a lovely man, always over with John. He and that darling girl. What’s her name, Morty?”

  “NATALIE,” Mr. Brampson said.

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT – MORNING

  Ray stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor and was almost bowled over by an excited Gerri as she stormed past and grabbed her, dragging her toward the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Ray hadn’t heard a word from the detective since handing over the key the afternoon before. Her night shift over, it was merely her intent to invite her friend to breakfast. Gerri seemed to have other ideas. Ray pulled free when the detective hit the door to the stairwell.

  “I think I know who killed the Sonnickers,” Gerri said. “But I need the key you found to prove it.” She paused a moment. “Coming?”

  Ray trotted down the steps behind her friend to the bottom floor, wondering why she’d come all the way upstairs in the first place. “Who?”

  “Don’t want to spoil the surprise,” Gerri said, winking over her shoulder before pulling the door to the basement open so hard it slammed with a booming thud against the wall. Ray pursued her friend to the caged in evidence room as Gerri leaned toward the counter, cheeks flush.

  “I need to sign out evidence from case number BB23-16781.” She reached for the clipboard while the short, curly haired officer wearing too much lipstick and eye liner shook her head.

  “That box is already out, sugar,” she said, pulling her clipboard back toward her.

  Gerri’s stiffness did nothing to make Ray feel confident she wasn’t about to blow. “Who signed it out?”

  The clerk hummed a little tune as she took her time skimming the names. “Jackson Pierce,” she said at last.

  “Mother fucker.” Gerri spun and charged past Ray, heading back for the stairs. She left Ray behind to smile apologetically to the eye rolling clerk before doing h
er best to keep up with her furious friend. She should have known better than to wear heels with this pantsuit. Ray made it two flights before she was huffing and out of breath, swearing to go to the gym sometime in the next little while if she survived Gerri’s full-on bullheaded charge. She finally reached the fourth floor, dragging herself into the bullpen as Gerri pushed Jackson Pierce into her desk with so much force it slid a few inches.

  “The sign out sheet says you did.” Obviously, Ray’s tardiness meant she missed part of the conversation. Make that accusation. Jackson’s furious expression and head shake was all the answer Ray needed. She gently pulled on her friend’s arm while the other detectives in the bullpen kept their distance, the door to the captain’s office slamming open.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” Ray actually liked Captain Dominic King, admired him for his massive size not yet gone to softness. His presence always made her feel safe for some reason. And, though he was clearly angry in that moment, Ray calmly smiled in his direction.

  “Just a misunderstanding, Captain,” she said at her most chipper. “Detectives Meyers and Pierce are talking over a piece of evidence.”

  Gerri backed off, still fuming, Jackson brushing his hands down the front of his jacket.

  King glared at the pair of them. “Do we have a situation here, Detectives?”

  “No, Sir,” they both muttered, sounding like school children caught scuffling in a playground.

  “We’d better not.” He met Ray’s gaze. “Nice to see you, Dr. Hunter.” And turned around, closing his door behind him with a resounding crash.

  Gerri planted her hands on her hips, her favorite aggressive stance. Ray firmly took one of them, forcing her to unwind. “I take it Detective Pierce didn’t check out the evidence to the Sonnicker case?”