Fated (13 page)

“Girl, if anyone was stupid, it was him,” Freddie said. “Then what happened?”

“The attack. I hadn’t seen him since the breakup. Is it true they tried to kill him?”

“Yes,” Freddie simply said.

“The coma wasn’t your fault,” Hart added.

“I know that, but you can’t help wondering where else you went wrong, can you?”

“Do you have any idea who might want to hurt him?” Hart asked.

“You might want to check if he had a will. He never told me if he did or not, and I never asked, but he was wealthy. Money always makes a good motive, doesn’t it?”

This was an angle they hadn’t considered before. Drake sounded like a weasel to Hart, which wasn’t a nice thought to have of someone in a coma, but it was hard to think favorably of him after hearing how he’d treated Kathy.

“You said he lived alone?”

“In his mom’s old house. Do you need to search it? I still have his key.”

“S
O
,
IS
she a suspect?”

“I don’t think so.” Drake’s key slowly warmed in Hart’s palm as Freddie and he sat in the car. The sun had heated the interior beyond the point of comfortable, so he wound his window down. “But we should keep an eye on her anyway, especially since she has easy access to Drake’s room.”

“She spoke about him like he was already dead, though, did you notice that?”

He shrugged. “Could be the breakup thing, but also, she’s a nurse. She probably knows there’s not much chance of him waking up again. Besides, I don’t see how she could’ve taken Drake down and left those bruises on his throat. She’s too small.”

“No, you’re right. Unless she had help.”

Hart shook his head. “It’s not her. There’s something much more sinister going on than an ex-lover scorned.”

“Ben’s house is not far from your dad’s place,” Freddie said. “Maybe we could find some clue there as to why he’d changed so dramatically.”

“And who put him in the coma.” Hart curled his fist around the key. “We should really get a warrant first.”

Freddie snorted. “We’ll go take a look and be discreet. If we find something, we get a warrant, and we go back. If we don’t find something, we will have saved time and resources.”

“Yeah, right. I’m sure Miller will see it that way.”

“I’ll handle Miller.”

“He’s not gonna like it.” He uncurled his fingers. The teeth of the key had left little indents in the flesh of his palm. “We’re not supposed to be focusing on the coma as it is.”

“We’re still going, right?”

Hart opened his mouth to tell her yes, they were still going, when Freddie’s phone began to ring.

“Ah, shit.”

“Miller?” Hart asked. Freddie nodded at him and hesitated. “You’re not going to answer?”

She shook her head once. They sat still and tense, until the ringing stopped. As soon as it did, Hart’s phone began.

“Fuck, it’s Johnson.”

“Don’t—” Freddie began, but Hart had already answered. She groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Something wrong with Chief Inspector Lesley’s phone, Lieutenant?”

“Captain, I….” Hart caught on fast. “You’re in Brightly.”

“Damn right, I am. Get yourselves back to the station,
now
. And tell Lesley if she ignores another call from her superior without good cause, he’ll write her up.”

Before Hart could say anything at all, the captain had hung up.

“To the station, Freddie.” Resigned to a verbal lashing, he slid the key to Drake’s home into his pocket.

Freddie let the breath hiss between her teeth. “Traitor.”

Freddie didn’t put her siren on, but it was a close thing. For once, when they arrived at the station she pulled into her allocated spot, and Hart felt like telling her now was not the time to grow a conscience but wisely held his tongue. Together they hurried up the stairs.

“Oh, God.” Freddie ducked behind him just as the door to the lobby fell shut at their backs.

“What is it?”

Freddie inclined her head at a woman giving an earful to the officer behind the welcome desk.

A strand of very long and very blonde hair fell out of a bun piled high on her head, and she tapped a manicured nail against the laminated counter. “I can’t do my job without it. How can it be so hard to track down?”

“Ma’am,” the harassed officer began, glancing at Freddie and Hart as he buzzed them into the building. Freddie kept a low profile all the way through. The rest of the officer’s answer was lost behind the closing door.

“What was that about?” Hart asked.

“That’s Angela Clark. She owns this flower delivery company. Her van was stolen just before you got here, and I was supposed to track—” Freddie faltered when Hart stopped dead midstride. “What?”

“Angela’s Flower Arrangements?”

“Yes, why?” Freddie asked with an amused smirk. “You planning on placing an order for your favorite surgeon?”

Hart felt the blood drain from his face. “That van followed Toby and me from my dad’s house the day after the bombing.”

“Shit.” Freddie heaved a deep sigh and put her hands on her hips. “Holy shit.”

“Basically.”

“Well, since we’re here, let’s go tell our bosses.”

When they walked through the rows of desks to the offices in the corridor behind them, everyone looked up and then, almost as one, looked down again.

“Whoa,” Freddie said. “I’m used to being ignored, but this is new.”

“He probably yelled.”

“What?”

“The captain. He tends to yell when he’s not… talking loud.”

“Oh, goodie.”

“Come on. The longer we wait, the worse it’ll get.”

He preceded her into Miller’s office and held the door. Johnson stood staring out of its only window, arms crossed over his chest. With his impressive height and broad shoulders, Otis Johnson filled the room. He had black, very tightly shorn hair, and a neatly trimmed mustache. When his eyes turned on Hart, they burned intensely, but not, as Hart suspected, with anger. More worryingly, the captain appeared deeply troubled.

“Close the door, and take a seat.”

Glancing at Miller, Freddie sat down on the chair opposite the desk while Hart closed the door.

“What’s going on?” Freddie asked, eyes flicking from her boss to Hart’s.

The captain turned away from the window to face them. “Saturday evening a hiker and his dog found a body on Shadow Mountain over there.” He jabbed his finger at the mountain range visible through the window and then fixed his dark eyes on Hart. “On a trail off the beaten track in between jurisdictions. The victim was in a coffin and had been buried alive, just not very deeply. The body was intact, so the murder had been recent.”

“Oh my God,” Freddie said weakly, and Hart sat down on the small stool.

“As horrible as that is,” Hart said, “I’m guessing there’s more than just the questionable jurisdiction of the Mountain or you wouldn’t be here, Captain.”

“Forensics found a thumbprint on the coffin lock; we’ve been running it through the ID system for days. Until yesterday, there was no match.”

Freddie leaned forward. “What did you find?”

“The print matches the one they managed to lift off the bumper of Hart’s exploded car.”

“
What
?” Hart sprang to his feet. “But—”

Miller interrupted him. “There’s more. The victim had one of your marks on his neck. And while you two were off gallivanting—don’t think we’re not going to have words after this, Fred—I had one of our officers run a search of strange cold cases. He found another murder that doesn’t exactly fit the mold but is unusual enough to warrant another look. It happened about fifty miles south of Brightly. And it was never solved. The file should be on your tablet by now.”

Freddie pulled her tablet out of her bag and turned it on, her eyes quickly scanning over documents. “A ritual murder?” she asked.

When Hart leaned over to look, she handed him the tablet. The captain went to stand behind Hart.

“Forty-year-old male, Asian, unmarried, strung up from a ladder and crucified on the rungs. My God. And you think this is the same guy?”

“I know that case,” Freddie said. “I heard about it. Wasn’t there some rumor it had links to the mob? Something to do with an undercover cop.”

Hart narrowed his eyes. “Crucified. That reeks of religion to me.”

Miller nodded. “Could be. We have no way of knowing if it’s the same guy. Not yet anyway, but I’m counting on you two to figure it out.”

“Did he have an illness?” Freddie asked, looking at the tablet. “The file doesn’t seem to mention one.”

“It doesn’t, no. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something.”

“Lieutenant.” The captain looked grave. “I know you’re on leave, but I want you here to work on this with Chief Inspector Lesley. Take the time you need to settle your affairs, but work on this too. If this is all the work of one person, I want him in a cell before the press gets wind of it.”

Freddie glanced over her shoulder at the captain. Hart noticed how her eyes quickly assessed him and seemed to appreciate what they saw. He filed it away for later teasing.

She twisted back to face Miller. “There’s more, isn’t there? A reason why you think these cases are related.”

Miller nodded. “I requested the latest victim’s medical files as soon as I heard about the link with the car bomb. He suffered from congenital heart disease. Quite severely, life-threateningly so. Until three months ago.”

“Let me guess. It miraculously disappeared?” Hart said.

“That’s right.”

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on here?” Hart shoved the tablet at Freddie, pushed to his feet, and walked to the window.

“Looks like you were right, Lieutenant,” Miller said. “All of this seems to be solidly linked. Check doctor’s offices, health centers, the hospital—any place you can think of that stores medical files—for break-ins or hacks in the past year.”

“There’s more.” Hart glanced at Freddie when she spoke. She leaned her elbows on her thighs, hands dangling between her legs. “You remember Angela’s flower van?”

Miller groaned. “How could I forget?”

“It followed Hart from his home to the hospital yesterday.”

Miller and the captain both went on high alert. “I take it Angela wasn’t driving it,” said Miller.

“No, she’s in the lobby demanding we do something to find it.”

“And now we have a lead,” the captain said.

Miller was already reaching for his phone. “I want you two to get to the morgue, talk to the pathologist sooner rather than later,” Miller said. “I can set one of those goons out there on calling around checking medical file thefts.” If Hart hadn’t been watching the captain, he would’ve missed the way he went still, eyes flicking left and right.

“What?”

The captain blinked and shook his head. “Nothing, it’s… probably nothing. I’ll check it out myself.” He clapped a heavy hand on one of Freddie’s and Hart’s shoulders each, Hart wincing a bit under the force of it. “If that’s everything….”

“Actually, can we get a warrant for Drake’s house?”

“Consider it done. Get to work, ladies.” He squeezed Hart’s shoulder. “I’ll see you on Sunday, if not before then.”

Freddie steered Hart into the kitchen when they were dismissed. “Have some coffee. You look like you’re going to fall over.” She turned away again.

“Where are you going?”

Freddie put a hand on her hip. “To powder my nose. You wanna come join me, girlfriend?”

“I think my foundation’s still firmly in place, thanks.” He watched her walk off before he turned to the coffee machine and eyed the last dregs in it critically. If it produced the same kind of watery mud the one in Riverside did, he’d have to insist on stopping somewhere along the way. Still, it was worth a shot, and Hart made a fresh pot while wondering what was keeping Freddie.

He leaned against the counter and lifted a too-full mug of surprisingly fragrant coffee to his mouth just when his cell phone chimed.

Morning gorgeous
.

Hart smirked.
I’m sorry, wrong number. No one here but a scruffy-haired cop.

I like your scruffy hair. I bet it’s great for pulling.

“You sexting your boyfriend?” Hart startled and nearly dropped his phone in the coffee. Freddie looked gleeful and hurried up to him. “Oh my God, you so are. Lemme see.”

She was nearly as tall as him and wearing two-inch heels today, so he barely managed to keep his phone out of reach. “Freddie, back off.”

She bumped against his burn, and Hart winced.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re bonding with the local force, Lieutenant.”

Freddie stepped away, biting her lip around a grin, and Hart stuffed his phone back into his jacket. Johnson stood watching them from the hall.

“Yes, sir,” Hart said, staring daggers at Freddie as the captain sauntered off. What was it about Freddie that brought out the ten-year-old in him?

“Pour me a cup, will you?” Freddie dug around her bag. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Where to first?”

Freddie tapped away at her tablet. “That site where they found the body is a two-hour drive. We can always decide later if we need to go there or not. Chances are any evidence will be destroyed by now. The body is still in Brightly’s morgue; no one has claimed it yet. And then there’s Ben’s house.”