Linger: Dying is a Wild Night (A Linger Thriller Book 1) Read online

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Did you know the Branfords?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know they were all murdered, much like your wife and kids?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have something to do with that?”

  He stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m serious, Mr. Weston. How can you sit there and think I’m not? You were nearly put on trial for a crime eerily similar to what went down in that house, so I’d have to be a world class moron not to be pretty goddamn serious.”

  Weston looked unfazed. “I assume you found the receipts in my dash?”

  “What?”

  “When you searched my car last night. You found my sketchbook, you must’ve searched the dash, too.” He nodded to the file folder. “You’ve probably got them in there somewhere.”

  “And if I do?”

  “How long has it been since the Branfords were murdered?”

  “I think you already know that.”

  He nodded. “Six days. And six days ago Christopher and I were staying at a motel in Reno. The credit card receipt should be in there. We also filled our gas tank and ate dinner at a drive-in called the Burger Barn. Those receipts will have the date and time stamped on them, but I’m guessing you’re thorough enough to have already checked them.”

  He was right, and she had wondered briefly if they were elaborate forgeries. But that idea sounded more like bad fiction than anything based in reality.

  “It looks as if the only thing you’re serious about, lieutenant, is a desire to satisfy your curiosity. And I really have no interest in helping you with that. So do I need to get a lawyer in here or can Christopher and I be on our way?”

  “And where would you go if I cut you loose?”

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “I found the maps in your backpack. And there’re those sketches of road signs and train tickets and landmarks. You two seem to be on quite a trek.”

  “Again. None of your business.”

  Kate slapped a palm on the table. “Goddamn it, Weston, how can you sit there acting as if this is just some leisurely lunch? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He didn’t flinch. “I told you what’s wrong. I don’t like the police. I don’t trust you and I don’t like interacting with you. And not because of anything I’ve done, but because you tend to play God and make decisions about people’s futures based on nothing more than supposition and paranoid fantasy.”

  Kate drew in a long breath and released it slowly. She needed to calm down. She was letting him get to her and that was never a good thing.

  But when it came down to it, he wasn’t wrong about her motives, and she knew she should be concentrating on Jesus “Chucho” Soriano instead of him. But there was something about this guy—and even more so the boy—that scratched at her insides. And she’d just as soon kick his ass than let him walk out of here.

  She picked up the file folder and got to her feet. “You might as well get comfortable, because we aren’t done yet. Not even close. So if you want that lawyer, just give me the word and I’ll make it happen.”

  “Really? You plan to take it that far?”

  “You seem to forget I’ve got you dead to rights on trespassing, obstruction, and resisting arrest. I can also hold you for forty-eight hours without charges. That’s the way it works here in the Golden State. But you probably know that, too.”

  Weston sighed heavily, revealing a small crack in his demeanor. “What is it you want from me, lieutenant? You want me to tell you that Christopher and I are a couple of ghouls who get pleasure out of visiting grisly crime scenes? Then fine. That’s why we were there.”

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Then go ahead and waste everyone’s time and do whatever it is you have to do. Because that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

  He looked away from her, eyeing himself in the one-way glass, and if human beings had an off switch, he had just tripped it. He’d said all he was willing to say.

  But Kate could be as stubborn as he was.

  Without another word, she left the room and locked him inside.

  16

  _____

  SHE HADN’T BEEN JOKING WHEN she told MacLean to grab some coffee and a donut and wait for the morning briefing. The East Division was currently being renovated, with the conference room under repair for water damage, so she and her team had been forced to turn the employee break room into an impromptu command center for the duration of the Branford investigation.

  At eleven o’clock each workday, they put a sign on the door, rolled out a portable white board from the supply closet, and closed everyone else out. For the next hour, the hardcore caffeine addicts were stuck with the backwater swill from the vending machine down the hall, and they were never shy about expressing their displeasure.

  Kate sympathized, but what choice did she have?

  She was five minutes late for this morning’s meeting, and with her two juniors out tracking down Soriano, only MacLean and his partner Jake Linkenfeld were waiting for her.

  Linkenfeld was a nice enough guy, who showed Kate the respect she felt she deserved, but if he hung around MacLean long enough, he was bound to be infected by the anti-CC virus. Unlike MacLean, he was a good, empathetic cop who had demonstrated some major investigative skills.

  The two were sitting at their usual table, sharing a joke when she entered the room. She sat down across from them mid-laugh and planted Bree Branford’s stuffed bear on the table top.

  “What’s this?” MacLean said with a nasty little grin. “You’re new sex toy?”

  Linkenfeld didn’t dare laugh and Kate ignored the remark, looking straight at MacLean.

  It was time to break the bad news.

  “You were the one who searched Bree Branford’s bedroom that first night, right?”

  This was an uh-oh moment and MacLean knew it. His grin faded. “What about it?”

  She nodded to the bear. “I assume you recognize this little guy?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. It was on the shelf by her bed.” He seemed proud of the fact that he remembered this.

  Kate grabbed hold of the bear and flipped it over, showing him the unzipped battery compartment, then tossed the evidence bag containing Bree’s cell phone onto the table.

  “Looks like you missed something, Bob.”

  He stared at the phone. “You telling me that was inside?”

  “That’s where I found it.”

  “So… what? I’m supposed to be psychic? Anybody could have missed something like that. It could’ve been the battery, for chrissakes.”

  “Except it wasn’t. And as it turns out, it’s a pretty goddamn crucial piece of evidence.”

  “Why?” Linkenfeld asked. “What’s on it?”

  She told them about Bree’s call log and Chucho Soriano’s criminal record and added, “That’s why Clark and Donohue aren’t here right now. I sent them out to chase this guy down.”

  “Holy shit,” Linkenfeld said. “So all this time we’re thinking random psychopath and this creep’s just sitting there waiting to be found.”

  “You two were thinking random psychopath. I told you from the start it didn’t feel right.” Kate turned to MacLean. “And if somebody had done his job, we would’ve known about this guy on day one. And we’d better hope to hell he hasn’t skipped.”

  MacLean blanched. “You’re blaming me?”

  “No, Bob, I blame myself for putting you on this case in the first place. You’re too arrogant for your own good and I should’ve known you’d find a way to screw us up.”

  “You fucking bitch.”

  Without warning, MacLean launched himself across the table toward Kate, and if it hadn’t been for Linkenfeld, he would have reached her, too.

  Jake grabbed hold of him and pulled him back as Kate pushed away from the table and sprang to
her feet. “All right, that’s it. You just made this very easy for me, you ungrateful SOB.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck me? I pulled you into this investigation because I thought it was the least I could do after Rusty made his recommendation. But you’ve done nothing but try to undermine my authority since the day we got started.”

  “Yeah? How many times did you have to suck Patterson’s dick to get your little promotion?”

  And there it was, the old standard, trotted out fifteen years into the twenty-first century. How did humankind manage to produce these unimaginative assholes on such a regular basis?

  To his credit, Linkenfeld seemed more disgusted by the remark than Kate was. “Jesus, Bob, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  She jabbed a finger toward MacLean. “You can say whatever you want—insult me, call me a bitch, a cunt—I’m pretty much bullet proof at this point. But just know this: I don’t expect any of us to be perfect, and none of us ever will be. But if you can’t handle a basic search and show me even a shred of humility when you’re called out about it, then you don’t belong on my team or this squad.”

  MacLean’s face fell. “What the hell are you saying?”

  “That as of now, you and Linkenfeld are no longer partners. You’ll be navigating a desk in Traffic while I make the recommendation to Captain Ebersol that you be transferred out of East Division. You’re done, Bob. Now pack your things and get the hell out of my squad room.”

  She snatched the bear and phone from the table, then turned on her heels and flung the door open, emerging from the break room to dead silence. The detectives at their desks did their best to avoid eye contact as she threaded her way past them toward her office. The walls in the building had always been thin and it was obvious that the shouting hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Kate had no idea how many of these people supported her decision, although a couple of the females were smiling. She figured the least she had done was send a message loud and clear that she didn’t suffer fools—or asshats—gladly.

  There was, to coin a phrase, a new sheriff in town.

  17

  _____

  HER EX-HUSBAND WAS WAITING FOR HER in her office.

  Kate had no interest in getting into another confrontation with him, so she took the civil route this time and kept it low key. “How long have you been in here?”

  Dan stood at the window behind her desk, looking out at the parking lot and the expanse of the city beyond. You could almost see a sliver of the Pacific from here, and back when her promotion was announced, Kate had joked that she’d be inheriting Rusty’s ocean front property.

  “Not long,” he said quietly. “I left the squad room when all the shouting started.”

  Normally Kate would have gotten her back up over a remark like this but she suddenly felt deflated. She sank into a chair in front of her desk and sighed. “They despise me, Danny. They all hate me.”

  Despite the walls she had built since the divorce, she still felt she could be open and honest with him. Sometimes brutally, if their exchange in the parking lot was any indication.

  He turned. “It isn’t hate, it’s envy. Crabs in a bucket syndrome. They see you ascending and want to pull you back in.” He smiled now, the picture of benevolence. “But once you get your rhythm, Katie, I have no doubt you’ll be as popular as Rusty was.”

  She snorted. “I’ll bet that wasn’t easy to say.”

  “I’m serious.”

  She could see that he was and nodded. “Maybe so, but nobody’ll ever be as popular as Rusty. Which is something I’ll never quite understand. I mean, he’s a great guy, but he was a PR man, not an investigator.”

  “He was popular because he never challenged anyone. He gave people what they wanted—quick, easy to digest solutions and a record number of arrests. It didn’t matter that he rarely did the actual work. We’re a society that celebrates personality over substance. Even in the workplace.”

  Kate smiled. “Thanks. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Try to make me feel better. Especially after how I treated you this morning.”

  “You react, Katie. That’s how you’re built. But I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’m some innocent victim. I’m not proud of what I did to you. I could have handled it a lot better.”

  She felt her hackles rise and raised a hand. “All right, let’s not get too deep into it, before I do react. Why don’t we talk about what you’re here for?”

  “That suits me.”

  He came over and sat in the chair next to hers. When he was facing her, she noticed he looked troubled—an expression she’d seen many times over the years.

  “Your boy Christopher is quite the puzzle,” he said.

  “So is his so-called guardian.”

  “He didn’t respond to my attempts at verbal communication, so an initial interview was next to impossible.”

  She nodded. “I had the same problem last night. Is he deaf?”

  “No. He clearly heard and understood me.”

  “Then you made more progress than I did. The only reaction I got was when I touched his hand, but it wasn’t much of one. You think he’s autistic?”

  “Possibly, but I can’t be sure without a specialized behavioral evaluation.”

  “Do you think he’s been coached in any way? Emotionally abused?”

  Dan shook his head. “I didn’t get any sense of that—although, again, it’s hard to say. He didn’t seem intimidated by me, and he was responsive to my commands, but never in a way that led me to believe that he was the victim of any kind of learned helplessness.”

  “And no adverse reactions during the physical?”

  “I made it clear what I was about to do and he seemed perfectly fine with it—even the more invasive components. But he wasn’t overly submissive. He was merely cooperating as any patient would.”

  “And he never said a word?”

  “We’ll get to that in a moment.”

  This was a curious reply, but Dan had his own way of sharing information and she decided it was best to give him room. “What about sexual or physical abuse?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing recently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no sign of trauma to the anus or perineum, no bruising or scarring of the scrotum or penis, no evidence of bite marks, nothing to suggest to me that, barring his obvious physical problems, he’s anything other than a healthy young boy.”

  The echo of Weston’s words startled Kate. “And you know this definitively?”

  “No, of course not. That’s only my best guess based on a preliminary exam. But with the child unable to communicate verbally, a definitive finding is unlikely.”

  Kate paused. “What do you mean unable to communicate? Is he mute?”

  “In a sense, yes. He’s certainly capable of vocalizing, but he’ll never be normal in that regard.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you not telling me?”

  “That there’s a very pronounced physical reason for his mutism. The only real sign of abuse I could find.”

  “Are you talking brain damage?”

  “No, the injury—if you can call it that—was sustained when he was much younger, probably a good three or more years ago. And despite the healing, it’s obvious it was delivered in the most brutal fashion imaginable. In fact, I’d say it’s a miracle he’s as well-adjusted as he seems to be.”

  Kate suddenly realized she was leaning forward. She thought she might know where this was headed, but the idea was too horrifying to contemplate.

  “Jesus Christ, Danny, what the hell happened to him?”

  It was only then that she noticed that Dan had paled slightly. He was normally a bit detached about his cases, but this one had clearly gotten to him.

  “Someone mutilated that child deliberately,” he said. “Somebody cut out his tongue.”

  PART TWO

  “I will watch
my ways and keep my tongue from sin; I will put a muzzle on my mouth while in the presence of the wicked.”

  ~Psalm 39:1

  18

  _____

  SHE DIDN’T WANT TO PUT him in an interview room. They were small and claustrophobic and smelled of sweat, stale coffee, and (with the possible exception of the one Weston currently occupied) a hint of desperation.

  True, Christopher’s surroundings probably mattered less to him than your average eleven-year-old, but considering the circumstances, Kate wanted him as comfortable as possible. So she asked Dan to bring him to her office.

  While Dan was gone, she took out her cell phone, crossed to the window facing the squad room and peeked through the blinds, hoping to gauge the temperature out there.

  She saw Linkenfeld logging some computer time, but his ex-partner was nowhere to be seen. MacLean had undoubtedly started making phone calls the moment she left them and was now meeting with Captain Ebersol, or a union rep, in hopes of finding a way to stay at East Division. She expected nothing less from a man who had fought hard for this job, and knew all too well that their confrontation in the break room was merely the opening salvo in what was likely to be an all-out war.

  But none of that mattered at the moment. Uppermost in her mind right now was her father’s phone call this morning, and the words that had come back to haunt her.

  You didn’t find any missing tongues, did you?

  Well, yes, Mitch. Apparently I have.

  While Kate was the first to admit that coincidences do happen, she wondered if this was more than that. Was it possible that this boy was connected to a mass murder in Tacoma, Washington? The mutilation he’d suffered had happened years ago, but the fact that he was running around with a man who was a victim—and suspect—of a similar crime raised a red flag so big and so bright that Kate could barely see past it.

  She looked down at her cell phone, found the number she had called less than an hour ago and hoped the man she’d talked to was still available.