Ashes to Ashes (29 page)

“Ashe Walters?” the man asked. Ashe realized
that he had been mistaken. The man was indeed a police officer. He
could see the symptoms in his stance, in the handshake that the man
gave, and in the emotions that sat behind the eyes. The forensic
psychologist diagnosed the middle-aged cop immediately.

“In the flesh,” Ashe replied. “Officer…”

“Sergeant,” the man corrected. “Rains.”

“How is your day going, Sergeant Rains?” Ashe
said. He knew the name but didn’t remember ever meeting the man.
Sergeant Rains was in the Narcotics Division of the YPD. He had met
other members of that division but never had the pleasure of
meeting anyone further up the food chain than the detectives.

Rains shrugged and glanced around him. Enough
said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sam Adams,” Ashe replied.

With that, the two went over to the bar and
easily found two unoccupied stools. When he sat down, Ashe noticed
that music was softly playing in the background. It was a southern
rock song, he could tell by way the guitars whined but he couldn’t
hear it enough to determine exactly which song it was.

“Shame about your son,” Rains told Ashe,
after he ordered both of their beers. “Come out of nowhere?”

Ashe nodded. “You have no idea,” he told the
sergeant.

“Oscar is a good, sturdy detective,” Rains
said. “If he had that conference earlier today, he must have felt
that it was the right move to make. Sometimes an investigation is
like moving pieces in chess, but then it can also be like a chaotic
free for all to see who is still standing, the good guys or the bad
guys. Which one do you think this is becoming?”

“A cluster fuck,” Ashe cursed. “Scott has
been centered out and described as a killer on the loose in
Youngstown. Hysteria, as it is sometimes called, can spread like a
fire and people begin to see flames in every corner.”

“That is accurate,” Rains replied, taking a
drink of his Budweiser. “Drugs? Oscar looking into that angle?”

“Among others,” Ashe said, sipping from his
own drink. He didn’t want to say much more than he should, because
he had already leaked enough information unintentionally. Rains was
part of the YPD, but Ashe didn’t know who to trust.

“Keeping a tight lip?” Rains asked,
surprising Ashe. The sergeant had seen right through the
psychologist, but Ashe didn’t feel surprised. Rains obviously had
many years of experience in interrogations.

Ashe nodded.

“The whole department is here to help you,
Ashe,” Rains said. “But I understand the tight lip.”

A thought came over the psychologist. Pulling
out his phone, he flipped it open and searched for his SAVED IMAGES
folder. He just recalled that had taken a picture of Katherine the
night before. The picture was of her at the grill, tending to the
steaks. Her face was clear in the picture. After putting the
picture on the screen, Ashe showed it to Rains.

“I need to speak to this woman,” he said.
“Her name is Katherine.”

“Katherine Wright,” Rains told him. “She
comes here a lot.”

“You know where she lives?”

“Nope. But I know where she works,” Rains
insisted.

“She’s a reporter…” Ashe began, but was
interrupted.

“A reporter for the Youngstown Daily,” Rains
told him. “It is a daily news site that publishes stories
online.”

“I know of them,” Ashe said. “Do they have a
physical office in the city?”

“I believe so,” Rains answered. “But I can’t
say where.”

Ashe took two large gulps of his Sam Adams.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He got up to leave but was frozen by
a familiar voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Detective
Geiring called out. “This bar is for cops only. While you are in
here drinking away your blues,
your
son is killing
people.”

Ashe blinked and found himself in front of
Detective Geiring. “Did we not have a similar conversation…not that
long ago?” the psychologist asked. “I clearly remember doing so.”
He laughed. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

He went to move around Detective Geiring, but
the detective placed a hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “Not this time.”
The detective ordered. “You don’t get to walk around me.”

Ashe smirked.

“I don’t know why you don’t like me,” he
said, “but I frankly don’t care anymore. I tried to care in the
past. I tried to figure out why you are threatened by me. And all I
can say is that you are threatened by me because you are afraid
that I am a better investigator than you. I was never trained by
the force. I don’t bleed blue. And yet, I am still better than
you.”

Detective Geiring snarled.

“You are not,” he said. The big man swung but
Ashe was ready for it. The psychologist easily ducked away from it.
Using the momentum against the detective, Ashe shoved him and sent
him stumbling backward.

Suddenly, Rains arrived. “Alright boys. Have
a seat detective,” the older man ordered, pointing to an empty
stool. “I will buy you drink.”

“Yes, sir,” Detective Geiring obeyed, as if
suddenly aware that Rains was a senior officer.

“Have a good day, Dr. Walters,” Sergeant
Rains said.

Ashe nodded and then exited the bar.

Chapter 33

Law enforcement and the media have a
love/hate relationship that spans as far back as murder and rape. A
simple story, ink on a page or figures in front of a camera, could
make or break an investigation. It was as simple as that. A manhunt
could be administered easier and more effectively if the media was
heavily involved, posting the face and name of a victim or suspect
all over televisions and newspapers. Or secrecy could be breached
and facts could be distorted, creating hysteria based on falsehoods
and partial truths. A thin line existed between the two
departments, those who enforce and those who report.

Ashe had his own history with the media, one
that was complicated. Four years back he had attempted to use the
media as an investigation tool while in pursuit of a sexual sadist
who mutilated his victims. Steven Reynolds. At that time, Ashe
tended to view the media as a neutral force, only good or bad
depending on those using it. And when he decided to use the media
to goat Steven Reynolds into making a mistake, it had turned bad,
horrible. His wife had become another victim. And Steven Reynolds
disappeared. It had all gone wrong. He didn’t blame the media,
however, only his own arrogance and ignorance.

Ashe had managed to find the address for the
office of the Youngstown Daily newspaper. As he followed the green
highlighted path on his Garmin, he realized exactly why he was so
damned mad at Katherine. Part of it had to do with betrayal, but
only part of it. Most of it had to with the fact that he had done
it again. He had involved the media and put Scott in danger, even
if it had been unintentional.

He had done it…again.

The only difference…he would fix his mistake
before it harmed his son.

The only problem…he wasn’t sure how…yet.

The robotic male spoke up. “You are now
approaching destination on right.”

Looking quickly to his right, Ashe
immediately saw a large structure, one that has been standing for
as long as he could remember. It had once been a Wal-Mart, he
believed, but had shut down when they opened a newer, larger store
down the road. The long brick building sat closed for a couple
years before being remolded and divided to house many different
business.

One of the offices, near the middle, appeared
to contain the Youngstown Daily newspaper. Turning on his blinker,
Ashe pulled into the large parking lot. Finding a spot near to the
entrance, he scrambled from his Mazda. But before he took too many
steps away from the car, he hit a button on his key ring and popped
open the trunk. Grabbing a worn out black baseball cap, Ashe
slammed down the trunk top and went back on his way.

The inside was just as plain as the outside,
at least it appeared that way as Ashe entered. There was no front
desk or receptionist to greet guest, because the little known
online paper must not receive many visitors, he assumed. There
didn’t seem to be any closed off offices either. The entire space
was open. From what Ashe could see, there were only cubicles, rows
of them with walkways that sliced back and forth in between.

With the black cap pulled down low, giving
his face a slight shadow, he waded into the cubicles. The secret to
infiltrating a work area, one where there was certain to be other
people around, was to give the appearance of belonging. Confidence.
Assurance. Ashe put the illusion on his face that he had a right to
be in that building, as much a right as those who were looking at
him.

Large laminated signs were posted on the
outside of each cubicle providing both the name of the occupant and
a picture of their grinning faces. The names were alphabetical and
it didn’t seem to take long for Ashe to find Katherine’s work area.
But the area was empty.

Ashe cussed.

She must be working at home. Where does she
live?

He looked around the area and considered
asking someone about Katherine, but instead lunged into the cubicle
and began to frantically search her messy desk. Somewhere there had
to be something where her address was written down. The desk was
cluttered with papers and an old desktop computer. Quickly, he
scanned the papers on and inside the metal desk, but the only
address he seemed to find was the one to the office.

“Shit,” he cussed again.

According to Oscar, it had been said that
Katherine was working on her first story for the paper, but the
debris made it appear that she had been living in the cubicle for a
while. He was temporarily confused but moved past it.

Going from the desk to the small metal
trashcan next to the desk, Ashe grabbed a stack of paper from the
top. He got lucky. Katherine must have grabbed some of her mail on
the way to work and deposited the envelopes in the trash. Her
address was clear as day.

Folding the evidence, Ashe tucked it
away.

Chapter 34

Maybe Ashe simply knew his way around the
city enough that he never needed directions or maybe he was simply
stubborn and guessed during strange drives, but he found himself
using the GPS more in the past few hours than he had ever done in
the two years that he had owned his Mazda. He began to like the
tool. He liked it even more when he correctly and easily brought
him to the door of Katherine’s small house.

Katherine lived in Oak Hill, a small
community not far outside of Youngstown, but like his own
neighborhood, the town could be on another planet. While Youngstown
had people, Oak Hill was the kind of places that had families,
homes instead of houses.

Ashe would never have put Katherine in a
home. He saw her in an apartment complex, much like Scott’s
building. She seemed too modern, to spontaneous to live in a house,
whether she was renting or owning.

It didn’t feel right.

But it also made Ashe further realize how
little he obviously knew the woman who had shared his bed the
previous night.

Pulling his car to the side of the street,
Ashe rushed to the door, which was just beyond a white wooden
fence. The red front door seemed so normal, which unhinged him even
more. The door also felt solid, thick and sturdy beneath his fist
as he knocked, unlock the flimsy wood of most apartment doors. He
waited a second before knocking once again.

Footsteps could be heard within, moving
across what might have been hardwood floors. A lock disengaged. And
then the door opened. Ashe couldn’t tell if the look on Katherine’s
face was that of being startled or that of being constipated.
Whatever her expression, she didn’t look happy to see the
psychologist. She didn’t look surprised either.

“It took you long enough, investigator,”
Katherine said.

“Don’t act like you expected me to be here,”
Ashe insisted. “And I am no longer an investigator…in any
form.”

“Could have fooled me,” she replied. “Would
you like to come in?”

“I’m fine on this side of the door,” he told
her.

“As long as you keep your voice down,”
Katherine began. “I have neighbors that still believe that I am a
good person.” Her eyes dropped at that statement and Ashe could see
true resentment in her eyes. It threw him.

“I once believed that as well,” he said. “My
instinct told me that you were too loose with your life for my
taste, but my curiosity pulled me in another direction.”

“The bedroom?”

“Among other places.”

“We had a good time, Ashe,” Katherine told
him. “Your curiosity wasn’t the only thing that led you to the
bedroom. We had a good time together. We click. And I feel that I
should apologize for that fact.”

“
Apologize
? Why would you feel the
need to apologize for
betraying
my
trust
?” Ashe’s
sarcasm was evident in his words. “Why would an
apology
be
needed?”

“Because I like you…Ashe,” she responded. “I
find myself on the verge of caring for you…and that was never the
plan.”

The plan? There was a plan?

He tried to wrap his brain around the type of
plan that might have guided Katherine’s actions, a plan that
somehow involved him. She was reporter, or at least she wanted to
be a reporter, of that Ashe knew for certain. She couldn’t have
known about Scott, because when they were having their first date
he didn’t know a thing about what was happening with Scott.

“I trusted you,” Ashe told her. “I told you
about my wife. I told you about how and why she was killed. The
media. It was wrongly used and it cost me someone that I love. And
then you turn around and get my son’s face plastered all over the
television.”