Fated (18 page)

“No, I wanted to wait for you.”

“How nice.” The captain planted his large paws on his hips, the dark gray suit jacket stretching taut around his chest. “I thought this kid was supposed to be rich. This place looks pretty dilapidated.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. Then again, he didn’t think he’d live to a ripe old age.” Hart shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t see the point in keeping the place nice. If he had ended up in a wheelchair permanently—which was the prognosis until he miraculously got better—he’d hardly have been able to stay here.” Hart lifted his chin in the direction of the front door to indicate the ten or so steps. It would’ve been possible to put a ramp down, but the house itself was three stories, and most likely had a basement. And the doorways in these older houses tended to be narrow.

“That’s all very true,” the captain said. “But this isn’t grass growth of years. It’s more like weeks. It’s been mowed since the winter. And those hedges were cut at some point. But the fountain….” He made a face. “That thing’s just ugly.”

Hart shook his head and grinned, and they walked up the steps leading to the front porch. The key fit into the lock, and the door only jammed a little bit when they opened it. Inside, the house smelled slightly rank, a combination of stale air and overly ripe trash.

“Let’s start on the left and work our way around,” the captain said. “And open a few windows while we’re at it.”

Predictably they found nothing of interest until they reached Drake’s home office. The living room was fairly typical for an old house like this, not counting the seventy-two inch flat screen TV that hung over the fireplace. They didn’t linger in the kitchen with its garbage smell, but it didn’t seem like Drake was the chef type. He had a bedroom set up downstairs, and a quick look around upstairs showed more rooms with all the furniture covered in white sheets.

“Don’t you find this weird?” Hart asked when they met at the top of the stairs. “What single mom chooses to live in a place like this with her child?”

Captain Johnson rubbed his chin. “From what I heard, she was pretty poor for a long time. Who knows what goes through people’s minds when they suddenly come into more money than they know what to do with?”

Drake had a pretty efficient system going for his web design. His desk held three large computer screens and a laptop, a complicated keyboard, and a strange looking mouse.

“Looks like he’s into gaming.”

Hart lifted an eyebrow at the captain. “And you’d know that, how?”

Captain Johnson glanced at him, expression blank. “I have a life outside of work. Look at this, didn’t your father teach at Brightly University?”

A bookcase next to the door held rows and rows of books with incomprehensible titles, but the third shelf down was packed with folders and syllabi, the first page printed with the university name, the course title, and professor’s name.

“He did, yes. But it’s pretty much the only source of higher education around here.”

“Seems to be from about two years ago. I wonder when he learned about the ALS.”

“I’ll find out,” Hart said, trying to keep his expression under control as his body automatically reacted when he thought about Toby and being near him again. He picked up a folder titled FINANCES and flicked through it. Everything was neatly labeled, from his health insurance to his Internet contract, and it seemed at odds with the untidy yard outside. “There’s a copy of his will in here.”

Captain Johnson stepped away from whatever he’d been reading and gave Hart a surprised look. “Well?”

“Geez.” Hart quickly scanned it, eyes widening. “What a bastard.”

“What is it?” Johnson took the folder when Hart held it out.

“He left everything to charity. Not a single penny for Kathy. And the will was drawn up before they’d broken up.”

“You did say they were very independent.”

“Yes, but she’d been prepared to take care of him as his illness progressed. And they’d been together for years by then. She’s not even an afterthought in a codicil. I’ve done some reading on ALS, and I can tell you, sticking with someone who has it is no easy sacrifice to make, no matter how much you love someone. You’d think the guy would show some gratitude.” Not that he didn’t understand how bitter he must’ve felt for being diagnosed with this horrible disease at such a young age, but not to grant her a single penny after he was dead and beyond caring what happened to his money or his house seemed particularly harsh.

The captain hummed and studied the will, eventually fixing his eyes on Hart again. “You think she found out about this?”

“She said no, but she could be lying. It’s not like this thing was hard to find.”

“Motive?”

Hart sighed. “Money always is, but… I don’t buy it. For one, there is no way she could’ve strangled him. She’s too small. For another, the marks, the miraculous healing… it all goes back a lot further than Drake. Kathy has no connection to the other victims.”

“She could’ve picked up something about those killings. Leaks happen all the time, and not always to the press. Especially in hospitals. And she could have hired muscle. You find out anything about healings over at Brightly General?”

Hart thought about Drake’s file, mysteriously missing from Toby’s office. He hadn’t asked him about that, but maybe he should have. Maybe he should have been questioning Toby about hospital gossip instead of letting him suck his dick. He’d known from the first moment that Toby could be related to this case somehow. Hart pressed a palm to his forehead. This wasn’t something he could spill to the captain.

“I can ask around. I have a contact at the hospital who could be helpful.”

“Sorry you got blown up, buddy. But you’re okay now, right?”

Was he okay? Hart wasn’t sure. His life had been upended in these few short days. He shrugged a shoulder. “I will be.”

“But you really don’t think she’s behind the murder attempt.”

“No, I don’t.”

“All right. I’ll have a team pick up the computers and see if they can find anything, but I don’t think there’s anything else here of interest.”

They left the house, and Hart locked up, but Captain Johnson stopped him before he could get into the cruiser. “How is it going at your dad’s place?”

“Slowly. Too slowly really, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be leaving anytime soon, so….”

“You let me know if you need any help, all right?”

“Thanks, Captain.” Hart turned toward his car but had one more question. “So you’re sticking around until Sunday?”

“Yes. I have some personal things to take care of while I’m here. My—” He looked pained, and for a second Hart thought he wouldn’t go on, but then he said, “My ex-wife lives here. She had some trouble with break-ins at work lately, and she asked me to come and check it out.”

Surprised, Hart said, “Did she report the burglaries?” He knew the captain had been married at some point, but he’d kept very quiet about it, up to and including the day he got divorced. Hart didn’t even know her name.

“She did, but she felt they weren’t being resolved fast enough, so she called me. There was never any damage, and nothing vitally important has gone missing so far, so it’s a tough one.”

Hart could imagine. He wouldn’t want to deal with an ex in official capacity either, he thought, and then winced. “Did you part on good terms?” he asked awkwardly. They rarely veered into personal territory, and when they did they wasted as few words as possible.

The captain gave him a rueful smile. “Not exactly.” He nodded his head in good-bye and walked toward his Land Rover.

Hart’s phone chimed when he started the car. It was Freddie.
Want to talk about case over dinner?

Sure,
Hart replied.
Your place or mine?

Let’s go out. Meet me at station in one hour.

Was it really dinnertime already? Hart backed out of the driveway and followed the captain onto the road. He had just enough time to grab a fresh set of clothes and change his bandages before meeting Freddie.

A
LIGHT
rain was drizzling onto his windshield by the time he pulled up in front of the station. It was still light out, and as soon as he parked, Freddie jumped out of her car and into his.

“Hey.”

“This better not be the end of the summer. I am not ready.” Freddie shrugged out of a cape-like thing and stuffed it on top of her handbag. She did a double take when she saw Hart. “I swear to God, you look so different out of a suit. It’s like you go from cop to meth peddler.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said, looking down at his jeans and hoodie. “And I already told you—”

“You weren’t expected to be seen among the living this week, I know.” Remorse pulled Freddie’s eyebrows together, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That was awful of me.”

“It’s all right.” Hart turned the key in the ignition. “I think I’m long due a couple of foot-in-mouth moments from you. Where to?”

“What do you feel like eating? There’s a great pizza place on Main in town, but if you prefer burgers, Carl’s Burger Shack is still open.”

“That still exists? Oh my God. Yes, we’re going there.”

Hart hadn’t even fully reversed yet when the police scanner in his borrowed car crackled. Dispatch called out a burglary under way and gave the coordinates. Freddie grabbed the radio.

“This is Chief Inspector Lesley and Lieutenant Hart responding to the 459, we’re on our way.” She put the radio back. “Looks like burgers will have to wait. Did you bring your gun?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to navigate, I have no idea where I’m going.”

“We’re close. Take a left here.”

The alarm had either been switched off or a silent one was still going somewhere. Hart pulled up in front of a large house entirely surrounded by a five-foot-tall hedge. As he rounded the car, digging the gun out of the holster stuck under his hoodie, a lady in a pink dressing gown and rollers in her hair came hurrying up to them.

“Ma’am.” Freddie held up a hand to stop her.

“I won’t keep you,” she quickly said. “I just wanted to tell you, there’s two of them. I saw them get out of their van when I was in my bathroom.”

“What color?” Hart demanded.

The lady blinked at him. “The men?” she asked, her gaze flicking to Freddie and back.

“No, the van.”

“Oh, white. It’s a white van. One of those moving van types.”

“All right, ma’am. Please go back inside and lock your door,” Freddie said, turning the woman around so she faced her own house again. Together they crept through the gate, sticking as close to the shadows of the hedge as they could.

“Will dispatch send backup?” Nothing moved, but he could see the white van by the side of the house.

“Yes. You wanna wait them out?”

Hart shook his head. “We don’t know what’s going on in there. I’ll check the back door. You take the front.”

Freddie nodded once and moved off.

The sun had begun to set behind the Mountain, and the house loomed dark in its shade. It didn’t seem as if the owners were home. A good thing, since that meant Hart and Freddie wouldn’t have to deal with hostages. He passed the van, pressed his back to the side of it, and kept an eye on the side mirror. Nothing moved. He peered through the window. Empty, but the keys were still in the ignition. Hart opened the door as quietly as he could and took them out, leaving the door open instead of slamming it shut. He didn’t hear anything from the front end of the house, so he kept moving toward the back. The yard sloped down quite steeply, and he stuck to the shadows of a deck. Its steps led to a pair of French doors on the first floor, but the matching basement doors below were open. Hart pulled out his phone.

Going in.

Hart sent a silent prayer that backup would arrive swiftly and in siren-silence, clicked the safety off his gun, and stepped through the open door.

The basement had been finished, recently by the smell of fresh paint and sawdust, and the setup told Hart a lot about what he could expect from the rest of the layout upstairs. A closed staircase sat in the middle, with everything else built around it. Hart walked past two couches and a TV screen to find the stairs, and he quietly climbed them. By the open door he paused, but heard nothing. As he stepped onto the landing, a heap of what he first thought was a rolled up rug lay by the door.

But it wasn’t a rug. It was a black-and-white large furry dog. He paused long enough to make sure the poor thing was still breathing—it was, but clearly deeply drugged—and then made his way up the staircase. An empty dining room, an empty kitchen, no one in the living room. He was about to step into what looked like a spare bedroom when he heard a floorboard creak upstairs. Silently, Hart moved to the front door. Through the narrow window by its side he could see Freddie, pressed against the wall of the overhang at the front door. He nodded at her and grabbed his phone.
Upstairs, come around through basement.

Freddie read the text, nodded, and disappeared. Half a minute later, they were both creeping up the stairs toward the room where he had heard the noise. The upstairs corridor was narrow and thickly carpeted, with more doors than Hart had expected springing off it. The door leading toward the two men stood open. Neither of them had masks on, and to Hart they looked like two dumb kids.

“Police,” Hart said, and they both jumped, looking up from the desk they were going through. “Hands above your head.” Without being aware of it, he’d blocked Freddie from the two men, and she stepped around Hart now, cuffing first one, then the other. They looked frightened to death; the youngest one even had tears leaking out of his eyes. Jesus, not made for a life in crime, these two. He quickly made sure they weren’t armed, and then noticed the boxes by their knees.

“I’m going to make sure the rest of the house is clear,” Freddie said, “and then wait for backup.”

Hart nodded without really looking at her and peered in the boxes. It looked like research materials: papers, essays, a laptop, hard drive, and USB sticks.

“What are you looking for?” he asked the one who wasn’t crying, which was when he heard Freddie shout milliseconds before the crack of a gunshot. “
Fuck
.” He ran.