Ashes to Ashes (27 page)

He swore under his breath.

“Oscar better damn well keep his ass in his
office,” Ashe told no one. “He should know that I would see the
press conference. He should already figure that I would be coming.
Asshole.”

The city went by in a blur of lights and
motion. It was like his mind skipped the journey, only coming to at
the destination, the front door of the police station.

A line of people waited to get through the
single metal detector and into the police station. The line gave
Ashe a shiver, because he knew why the line existed and it made him
even angrier.

Waiting impatiently, Ashe arrived at the
front of the line to find Oswald to be one of the three officers.
Three officers at the front desk? He thought about what was
happening and remembered some other occasions when Oscar, or other
detectives or officers, had given news conferences about suspects
on the run. Immediately after the conference, a flock of concerned
and paranoid citizens would storm the station and busy the phone
lines with tips and sightings, most if not all turning out to be
figments of their overactive imaginations.

Ashe groaned.

Clearly Oswald could tell when he saw Ashe
that the psychologist was pissed and ready to make someone bleed.
Oswald nodded to Ashe and let him rush through.

When the elevator door opened onto the second
floor, Ashe was assaulted by noise and bodies. The homicide
department was always semi-active while remaining semi-asleep due
to long hours and hard burdens of the job. A lot of homicide cases,
concerning the normal types of murders, contained a lot of talk and
a lot of waiting. But types of cases occasionally arose that caused
the second floor to become a circus, and Ashe realized that Scott’s
case had become one of those types.

He weaved through the crowded floor the best
that he could. While his eyes were focused on Oscar’s closed door
another man stepped in front of him, halting him.

“Detective Harrison is busy,” Detective
Geiring said. “He is trying to clean up after
your
son.”

“It looks like your superior just made a
bigger mess,” Ashe grunted.

“And I bet you’re here to make it even
bigger?” Geiring asked. “We don’t need your help or your insight on
this one, doc. We can handle it. Unless you want to tell us where
your son is? Or, better yet, bring him to us?”

Looking into the detectives eyes, Ashe said,
“I stopped doing your job a long time ago, detective. Maybe it is
time for you to do it yourself. I’d hate to show you up again. How
is Ron Davis doing? Still on death row?
Your welcome
.”

The face of Detective Geiring hardened but
Ashe simple pushed his way around the angry police officer and
continued on his way.

He was sick and tired of knocking on doors,
so instead he simply pushed on the door and entered. Oscar was
immediately on his feet, his face appeared as emotionless as it
ever. Ashe didn’t stop at the visiting side of the desk. He made
his way around the polished piece of wood and shoved the large
detective backward, nearly putting his head through the office’s
only window.

“What the fuck?!” Oscar cried out.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Ashe
growled. Oscar was a great deal larger than the psychologist, but
frankly Ashe didn’t give a shit.

Oscar raised his hands in surrender and
replied, voice calm, “I didn’t do this, Ashe. I am not the one that
made this happen. I swear.”

Ashe breathed heavily. “You told me that you
would keep my son’s name out of the news. Now, if he is still
somewhere nearby, hiding out, he may run further away. You just
made him a target for the entire Northeast Ohio area. Why would he
not run, now? Would you stay in the crosshairs? I…we will never be
able to find him, Oscar. He is long gone…and you did it. Now we
will never figure out what the hell is going on.”

Oscar still held up his hands. “Ashe?”
“What?”

“Put your ass in a chair and let me talk to
you?”

Reluctantly, Ashe backed away and agreed.
Once in the soft chair, his breathing eased and his pulse calm. He
didn’t understand how Oscar could claim that the press conference
was not his doing. It was Oscar’s face that was in front of the
cameras. It was Oscar’s mouth that had been making the statement,
answering the questions.

“What did you do, Oscar?”

“A source inside the media…”

“You have a source inside the media?” Ashe
interrupted. “Since when?”

“A couple years,” Oscar answered. “That
doesn’t matter…”

“Who?”

Oscar groaned. “It doesn’t matter. Listen.
I’m explaining myself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Our source inside the media called up the
station first thing this morning,” Oscar began, meeting Ashe gaze
for gaze, glare for glare. “Before the sun was even up. I was
already here, of course, and the call was transferred to this
office. I was told that someone working for a local newspaper
called in a story, a big, breaking story about the connection of
two sets of homicides and one college student at large.”

Ashe sighed.

“Someone had leaked,” Oscar told him. “And
the story was heading for the newsstands first thing. Thankfully
one of our sources had ears on the call and gave us a heads up. We
had no choice but to call a conference and head the story off. We
couldn’t let the public find out about this shit from a reporter.
They would call shenanigans on the whole damn department. No one
trusts use these days, so we need to save face whenever we
can.”

Ashe shook his head.

“Who leaked? Any ideas?”

“None,” Oscar replied. “We’ve tried to keep
this close to the vest, like I told you. Everyone in the station
loves you, Ashe, and would never jeopardize your son for a news
story. Or so I thought. Someone talked, though. When I find out
who…I am going choke the shit of him…or her.” The detective’s face
was growing redder, redder than usual. Ashe knew that when Oscar’s
usual calm face grew darkened, Oscar believed in what he was
saying, completely. “Well, the bag is open. What are we going to do
about it?”

“We?” Ashe confused by the use of the
word.

“I can’t let you in on the investigation,”
Oscar said. “Too much bullshit involved and the investigation will
be taken from us completely if someone catches whiff of it.
Besides, can you tell me that you are
not
emotionally
compromised by this?”

Ashe was silent for a second.

“Agreed.”

“I had a feeling that you would,” Oscar
admitted. “Can I ask you something, friend to friend?”

“Please,” Ashe said.

“You said that,” Oscar began, “we will never
figure out what is going on, now, because of the conference.
Right?”

He nodded.

“But you also want to find Scott,” Oscar
continued. “You want to help your son, obviously. Is that right,
too?”

Ashe nodded again and smirked.

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, sir?” he
asked the detective.

Oscar laughed.

“That is
my
job, sir,” Ashe told him
and laughed too.

“I am just trying to understand your
intentions, Ashe,” Oscar said. “What is more important, find your
son or figuring out what is going on? You might not get both. And
you know that. Right?”

Ashe suddenly felt old and tired.

“I’m not sure,” Ashe responded. “I can’t lose
my son, Oscar. I lost my wife because I dealt with a man that I
underestimated. I am trained to understand psychopaths and
sociopaths, but Steven Reynolds surprised me. He showed me not only
how little I actually understood about the human mind and how
little I could help a truly mad, demented person. There was a time
that I believed that every single mental illness, mild to severe,
could be comprehended and treated, but that was arrogance. It was
also arrogant to believe that I was above those with mental
disturbance, but when my wife died, I realized that I stood above
no one.
”

“You are above them, my friend,” Oscar
insisted. “You don’t rape and mutilate other human beings. You are
closer to God than Steven Reynolds.”

“I don’t feel close to anything but the
ground right now,” Ashe admitted. “Maybe, because I still don’t
fully understand why Susanne…is gone, it makes me want to
understand what is going on with Scott. My son is not a killer. But
he killed. And I don’t know why.”

“Drugs?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think about drugs being a
factor?” Oscar asked.

Ashe cocked his head. “Are you asking me
questions about the case?”

“Bouncing around ideas,” Oscar said. “Nothing
more.” With those words, he rose from his desk and closed the
office door, which Ashe had left open during his rampage. “Drugs,”
he said again, before sliding back into his chair.

“Where does the drug angle come from?” Ashe
asked, keeping his own knowledge to himself.

“We’ve spoken to friends and relatives of
Owen,” Oscar said, “and they all have stated things about Owen’s
drug use. They say it began when he was a teenager. Apparently
there was kind of incident during those years, but I am having a
bitch of a time getting to those juvenile files.”

Ashe already knew what the detective was
describing…and more. He wanted to tell his friend what he knew
about Owen’s violent episode but then he would have to provide to
him exactly how he knew the details within what had to be sealed
juvenile files. And proving that Owen had that kind of aggressive
past wouldn’t give them any motive to why Scott had killed him in
his sleep, unless he could prove that Owen had continuously
threatened Scott. But then why didn’t Scott bring it up…ever…to the
police. He was far from a Tela, from a battered wife.

“Drugs at the scene?”

“A shit ton,” Oscar said. “Pot. Pills.
Coke.”

Ashe thought about the little container that
he had found in Scott’s bedroom and wondered if the sprinkling of
powder was cocaine. Could it have caused a psychotic break? Maybe
if it had been laced with something stronger. But the break seemed
to be lasting longer than it should, which could be possible, if
Scott was still taking whatever drugs caused the break.

Is he hiding out with his dealer? Ashe
wondered. Is that where he is?

“No drugs were found in Scott’s room,” Oscar
said. “But that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have been taking them
with Owen. What do you think?”

“A lot of college students, once away from
the eyes of their parent, will indulge in substance
experimentation,” Ashe said. “Some consider it a rite of
passage.”

“But what about Scott? Could drugs be behind
the first killing? Owen?”

“It is possible,” Ashe admitted. “But I don’t
know how likely. Last I knew, Scott didn’t even smoke cigarettes.
He is an athlete, focused on being healthy and in shape. Drug use
is possible, but it might be a reach.”

“A reach we might have to take,” Oscar
said.

“Maybe he was forced to kill,” Ashe said, as
the thought came to forefront of his brain. He had never considered
the possibility, but it made sense. “Someone wanted Owen dead and,
by threat of violence, forced Scott into doing it? Maybe Owen was
in deep with some hardcore dealers…maybe Scott was as well. What
better way to get rid of Owen than to have Scott do it for
them?”

“Possible,” Oscar admitted. “I’m gonna need
more evidence.”

The Psychologist nodded.

“Self-defense…” Ashe then offered.

“The two thugs in the park,” Oscar began,
“maybe.”

“I am convinced that that was self-defense,”
Ashe stated. “Scott left his jacket on the one man and his gun at
the scene. He was shouting to us that he had killed these men and
left his jacket to show us why.”

“The handgun was a Ruger. Same caliber as the
one used against Owen. Ballistics matched the slugs,” Oscar said.
“Prints were on the pistol and we matched them to items confiscated
from his room.”

“Clues,” Ashe mumbled.

“Kinda crude,” Oscar said.

“All Scott has right now is crude,” Ashe
replied.

“True. But that does not explain Owen. Don’t
tell me that you think it was self-defense too,” Oscar said. “That
would be more than just a reach. That would be like trying to
snatch the moon from the sky.”

Ashe shrugged.

“We know that Scott had a girlfriend,” Oscar
added. “All we have is a nickname. Bam. No one can tell me her real
name. But we are still looking. What did you always say, Ashe?”

“If you ever want to know the true soul of a
man, whether it be good or evil, ask the woman that he loves,” Ashe
replied.

“I’ve always found that to be
too
simple,” Oscar said. “But it’s worked in the past.”

Ashe shrugged again.

“You think that he might be shacked up with
this chick?” Oscar questioned. “I mean…if she is his active
girlfriend, then she must live in the area.”

“Yes,” Ashe agreed. “She may even go to
school with Scott. Have you looked into his classes? Her name might
be in the class rosters. Hopefully her nickname is derived from her
real name. Like how a Dianna maybe nicknamed Anna or Dye.”

“I don’t know,” Oscar said. “Once upon a time
that was true. These days, though, not so much. I come across
nicknames almost daily and…they are always some off the wall shit.
G-money. Or something like that. We are looking for this one guy
for questioning and he goes by the name Slut Thumper. Really. No
joke.”

“It’s a start, though,” Ashe said.

“I agree,” Oscar said. “Geiring is looking
into Scott’s classes.”

“What about at Scott’s job?” Ashe brought up
the question, realizing that he never looked into Scott’s place of
work. Did Scott have a place of work? He knew that Scott’s
basketball scholarship paid for most of what his son needed but he
had a feeling that Scott worked somewhere to pay for the extras he
may have needed. But where?