Safeword (32 page)

Jan Aldrich begged, but her words were no longer discernible. Her voice was hoarse, and the recording wasn’t clear enough to pick up what she said.

“I can’t understand you,” Alex snapped.

More rasps and a choked sob. Another scream of pain, and Marshall yelling for Alex to stop.

“How’s she going to tell you now that you’ve cut her tongue out?” Marshall wailed.

“She can fucking write it down.” There was a scrape of a chair, the rip of tape being cut, and more shuffling. “Write down the name and where I can find him. Now.” There were a few seconds of incoherent sobbing, but no more threats.

“Okay, you got what you wanted,” Marshall said, sounding almost relieved. “Undo the tape. You don’t need her anymore.”

“Oh, but I can’t do that, Marsh. Don’t you see? We can disappear now. You can do what you promised me so many times. We can go away together, just the two of us. I get rid of this piece of trash and she can’t tell people where we are. We’ll be free.”

“Don’t point that at me, Alex. What do you mean, get rid of her?”

“This.” There was another feminine scream, disturbingly cut short, and a masculine grunt. “There. Let’s go.”

“Oh my god, oh my god. Alex....” The sound of retching made several of the techs scan the floor. The one standing by the trash can raised her hand, pointing into the bin. She withdrew the can liner and deposited it in a bag another tech held for her.

“Come on. We have to go,” Alex ordered Marshall from the little device.

“Alex, man, listen to me. My parents are coming today to get me. You can go with us. But I have to see my parents. We can get help together. Please.
Please.
Let me keep my promise. No more hurting. No one else, just please, let’s go to my parents.”

“It’s so nice you have parents.” Alex sounded faraway, almost dreamy. “Mine died. While I was gone, they gave up on me and died. I have no one left but you. Are you going to leave me by myself?”

“No, I’m not,” Marshall said, his words thick with tears. “But I can’t just go away again. I can’t do that to my mom and dad. So you have to come with us.”

“Not happening, bro.” Alex was too cool and collected, an edge to his tone. “If this works, we have to go away together. Your parents would turn me over to the police.”

“No they won’t,” Marshall begged. “Alex....”

“No. No more arguing. Are you walking out of here with me or do I have to make you go?”

“Alex, what are you doing. No, I can’t, no no. Don’t do this! Alex! I thought we were brothers! Let me go!” The voices faded away, replaced by dead air and the minute, rhythmic
plink
of blood dribbling down a dead woman’s arm to the floor.

The tech turned off the device and the room collectively shook itself, most of the faces pale or ashy. Cole had once told me, what I did, he couldn’t do. He couldn’t deal with the emotions of witnesses or victims’ families. But the evidence, that was mostly clinical, especially once he got it back to his lab. I knew a lot of other evidence techs felt that way. And they’d just listened to the human side of what they did for a living, the whole reason so many of us sacrificed so much for our work. To stop atrocities like what we’d just heard.
This
was why I put myself so far out there.

Ben regarded me miserably, his solid bulk shivering into my side with too much emotion. A tear tracked down his cheek, and he said one word.

“Okay.”

“No,” I whispered. “Not this time.” He seemed to know what I meant, that regardless of what had happened here, I was decided. Yes, what had happened to Jan Aldrich was horrific. But we only knew how horrific because of the recording. Things like this happened to people every day, and I could try to stop it all, but I would fail. And I would leave Ben and Myah and Cole and the rest of my family behind. Victims’ lives were important, and they very much mattered, but I had to admit
I mattered too.
My promise to him still stood.

With authority, I grabbed one of the patrol officers standing nearby. “Get on the radio and contact Trent Sawyer, Fourth Precinct Homicide. The second you get him, tell him to stay put until you can get there. Then you go, and you don’t leave his side until I give you the all clear. Understand?”

The man nodded and strode through the living room, already speaking into the mic on his shoulder. I turned back to Myah.

“We know Aldrich’s source, and we know where he is. So we get Kittridge on the phone and get a detail on Trent. And when Alex and Marshall show up wherever Trent is, we grab them.”

“Got it,” Myah said, already pulling up Kittridge’s name. She never got the chance to make the call.

The stupor had yet to lift from the rest of those in the room when my phone rang, the ringtone singing, “I want to reconcile the violence in your heart.” It was oddly appropriate, given the circumstances, but everyone turned to me as if I’d sworn in church. I fumbled with it for a moment, the number not registering, but the name made me gasp.

“It’s Marshall,” I told the room, which took a collective breath. “DeGrassi,” I answered as calmly as I could, knowing the guy had to be freaking out. I put it on speaker so everyone could hear without me relaying it.

“Gavin,” he said in as quiet a voice as he could while still being audible over the staticky line. Why did cell phone reception always go to shit when you needed it to be its most clear?

“Marshall, where are you? We’re coming to get you. And I’m bringing the cavalry.”

“I don’t know,” he whisper-wailed, his voice echoing oddly, as if he were in a tunnel. “I have no fucking clue where I am, but it’s Alex. He’s gone totally mental! You have to come help him. I told him I need to piss, but he won’t let me hide for long in the bathroom.”

“I’m trying, buddy. I’m coming to you. Worst case, don’t hang up when you put your phone back in your pocket so I can hear stuff, and we’ll get the department to track your emergency phone signal. But tell me what things around you look like. You’re at a house? Do you remember the outside?”

“Um, it’s got brick at the bottom, tan siding at the top. There are a lot of steps up to the front door. Garage under the second story. I don’t know shit about this city, man. I lived in a basement for three years. Fuck!”

“Close your eyes and think back to when you got there. How did you get there?”

“Alex stole the reporter woman’s car. Gavin, she’s dead! And now he’s got some other guy handcuffed to his bed!” he choked, hysteria creeping in. Dammit, they’d already gotten to Trent.

One of the officers crowding the living room made a beeline for the front door to call that information in and get a description of Aldrich’s car, as well as Trent’s address. I’d been to his house once or twice, years prior, but in a situation this vital, I didn’t trust my memory.

“I know, Marshall,” I said as soothingly as I could. “We’re coming for you, but I need you to focus. We’ve got the reporter’s house covered, so don’t worry about that anymore. I know where you are. Just hang tight, okay?”

There was a banging sound on the door of Marshall’s bathroom sanctuary, followed by muffled shouting. Marshall yelled back, away from the phone. “My stomach’s upset, man! I had to take a shit! I’ll be out in a second.” It would have been funny if it weren’t so fucking life-threatening. “I gotta go. Gavin, find us. Please, please find us. Help him.” He was back to whispering, and it wrenched my gut that he was more worried about Alex than himself.

“I will,” I assured him. “Put the phone in your back pocket with the talking part sticking out the top so I can hear. I’m coming for you.”

“Hurry,” he said, and there was a scrape of what sounded like clothes, and then the flush of a toilet and the sink faucet running.

Turning to the room at large, I spoke in a low voice so it wouldn’t carry from Marshall’s phone to Dennan’s ears. “Okay, people. I need three squad cars with me, and we’re running hot, lights, no sirens. No radio contact, commands are all visual. We’re storming Trent Sawyer’s house. I’m not waiting for SWAT, but someone get them on standby.”

“Gavin,” Myah interjected. “We’re suspended. You go in there without the backing of the department, your resignation will be the least of your problems.”

“Marshall needs us. Fuck, I’ll make a citizen’s arrest. But we have to go. Call Kittridge while we’re en route to get our suspension lifted. Or don’t. I no longer give a fuck. But we’re getting that boy, and we’re doing it now.”

We dispersed to our vehicles and tore from the neighborhood. I hoped no one from the media would get curious and try to follow us. They were too entrenched, it seemed, outside their fallen comrade’s house, because a few turns to one of the main arteries that would take us to Trent’s proved we had no tail.

“You’re sure this is it?” Ben asked, grabbing the oh-shit bar above his head as Myah drove my car, racing around a corner, escorted in front and behind by black and whites with their cherries flashing to ward off other drivers. It still wasn’t fast enough, despite the squealing protest of my tires digging for purchase on the asphalt. We continued making the effort to speak in low tones if at all, so the open connection of the phone in my hand wouldn’t pick up. Most of the sounds coming out of it were indistinct. Just to be safe, I pushed my thumb over the microphone hole before answering Ben while also strapping down the borrowed Kevlar vest an officer at the Aldrich murder scene had graciously given over. Myah already wore hers. Even Ben had one. I’d insisted.

“He’s going after Trent. Victoria told us this morning he’s the one leaking information to The Walking Mouth.”

Myah didn’t bother taking her determined stare from the road when she asked, “Is that bastard worth saving?”

I grumbled under my breath for a moment. “Maybe? I’m more concerned about getting Marshall. We miss this, Alex disappears with him, and we never find them again.” Seeing Trent’s street up ahead, I pointed to the turn before his. “Take this one. If memory serves, he lives on the corner. We can come at it from behind and park out of sight.”

Myah overtook the car in front and careened around the corner, the back end fishtailing before she got control again. “A little more warning, next time, Gavin,” she bitched.

“There won’t be any more next times,” I retorted.

“Just get us there,” Ben said. I glanced back at him to see how he was handling all this. He nodded back at me determinedly. “I’m with you. Don’t worry about me.” I snorted. I couldn’t help but worry about him. Last time he’d been tangled up in my work, we both almost died.
And this is just a taste of what he’s been going through every day since you’ve been back on duty.

The parade of cars pulled to as silent a stop as possible, considering the abruptness of our arrival. The street was preternaturally quiet. I looked for the car registered to Aldrich, but it was nowhere to be seen. Trent’s house had a single-car garage, so maybe they’d pulled in there. We didn’t have time to check.

Leaving the sanctuary of our cars, the group of six patrol officers, Myah and I fanned out along the house away from the windows, guns drawn. Myah and I had to resort to our backup weapons, but we had enough firepower between the eight of us. A pair of the officers climbed the two porch steps to stand on either side of the door. We’d agreed going in without warning was best, and we had probable cause based off the recording from The Walking Mouth’s house that Trent was in danger.

The patrolman, whose nametag read Skinner stepped forward and aimed a powerful kick just below the knob on the front door. It only gave partway, but another kick slammed the door into the wall behind it, where the knob buried itself in the drywall and stuck. We swarmed the house, calling out to each other as each room was cleared, yelling for anyone inside to come out with their hands in the air.

Kitchen was empty, as was the living room. A short hallway led to the rest of the rooms, which were each cleared until we reached the last door, drawn shut. All the noise we’d made, there was no way we hadn’t been heard, so I pushed through the door and immediately fell into a crouch, gun aimed toward the bed in the center of the room...

... only to find it bare.

The house was empty.

“What the fuck?” Myah demanded. “Get dispatch on the phone and verify we didn’t just break into the wrong goddamned house,” she barked at one of the accompanying officers.

Heat suffused my face, and my heart was in my throat. “I know I’m not wrong, Myah. Dennan has Trent.” I paced, beside myself with frustration and fear.

“I know,” she said, holding a hand out in a calm-down gesture. “Just obviously not here. So let’s think. Aldrich gave Alex her source, but she didn’t say it. She wrote it. They’d have taken it with them. Where would Jan have sent them?”

I shook my head. “Could be anywhere. Fucking hell.”

“No, not anywhere,” she said. “Trent would never have met The Walking Mouth in public and risk being seen talking to a reporter just hours before a big information leak. He’s an ass, but not stupid.”

A snippet of an earlier conversation struck my memory like the spark of flint on steel. Our eyes met, widened.

“Victoria’s house.”

MY OLD neighborhood was as I remembered it, especially during a weekday afternoon in spring. The tang of fresh cut grass in the air wasn’t as sharp as it would be on the weekends, but it still hovered beneath the surface of everything. Briefly, as we pulled the caravan black and whites to a stop around the corner, I wondered where Victoria was. She’d said she was going to talk to Sergeant Kittridge, but after that, I hoped she went back to work. Or anywhere else but home. Where I was 99% sure her boyfriend was being held against his will and possibly being tortured.

I strained my ears at the phone in my hands, its tenuous connection to Marshall still open, trying to pick up voices, words, anything, but it was mostly indistinguishable noise, or, oddly enough, grunts here and there. I had my suspicions about what that meant, but shut off the train of thought before my brain could supply images, cursing myself for the twenty minutes wasted at Trent’s house.

The officers in the other cars exited at the same time we did, guns drawn. I plucked my backup from its hip pocket holster, thankful for developing the habit of taking it everywhere since the flogger keychain incident. I pulled at the top of my vest as we grouped out of sight of the house to discuss one final time the game plan. This time, there would be no fucking up. Or we’d have another dead cop on our hands.

“The back door is probably locked, but there’s a trick to it, and I can get in. Follow my lead. Three people we know of in the house, possibly a fourth. Let’s keep the hostage situation to a minimum, folks.” I looked around at each of their determined faces, counting heads so I could stay aware of everyone at all times. Until I got to Ben. I shook my head, pointing to the car. “Nope, you’re not going in there. Go back to the car.” I had never taken such an authoritative tone with my Dom, but I didn’t have time to think about it. For a surreal moment, our roles were reversed, and I got a glimpse of how it felt to have the safety of the man I loved in the palm of my hands. It was terrifying.

“Not on your life,” he hissed.

“Not negotiable, Ben. You’re a civilian.” Myah said it with conviction, brooking no argument with her tone.
Good girl.
She’d had my back so often it would hurt losing her as a partner. But I would always have her as a friend. And soon, a sister-in-law. I didn’t want her in there either, but I wouldn’t go in without her.

“I am a trained psychologist with a full understanding of this case. If there is a hostage crisis, I’m the first person you want in there. You need me, Gavin. And I’m not sitting out here waiting for the gunshots to start.”

“Goddammit, fine,” I conceded, not willing to waste any more time. “You’re at the back. You stay to the fucking back, and not one step forward. Everybody good?” Nods all around. “Let’s go.”

We ran at a crouch across the open backyard, quickly putting our backs to the back wall of the house and inching toward the sliding glass door of the patio, which opened into the kitchen and dining room area. Peeking through the glass as best I could, despite the late afternoon glare, I could see no movement inside. My guess was they were down the hallway in one of the bedrooms. Gripping the handle on the door, I pulled slightly, shimmied it in the track to fit the lock lever into the bent notch of the frame plate I’d never gotten around to fixing, and pulled again, popping it open. It was mostly silent, and we filed in, stepping through the kitchen, a phalanx of coverage, poised for confrontation. None came. I motioned the line forward and into the hallway, where I heard a muted curse. Two of the officers peeled off to descend the steps and clear the basement of suspects.

Myah, me, and four other officers remained, Ben behind them. I pointed to my eyes and then to the floor, indicating they should walk where I walked. With silent fluidity, we moved as a unit toward the master bedroom, and I took a big step over a remembered creaky spot in the floor. The guest bedroom and bathroom were clear, as was the office Victoria had turned into a sewing room. The closer we got, the more we could distinguish of the voices.

“Alex, let’s just go. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. Please, no more.” Marshall, still alive. A flood of relief washed from my head to my toes.
He sounds scared, but not beaten... or worse.

There was a distinct jingle of a belt, followed by, “When did you get to be such a pussy, Marshall? Aren’t you used to this by now? This is how people learn lessons.”

“No. We’re not like him, Alex. We’re
not.
We don’t do that to people.”

“Uh huh,” Alex said distractedly.

“At least untape my hands, man. My fingers are tingling. It’s too tight.”

“Nope. You tried to steal my gun. Unless you’re planning to help me, which your whiny ass doesn’t sound like you are, your hands stay that way. And now, it’s time to finish this lesson. Hey, copper.” There was a slapping noise, and a grunt. Trent. “Hey, dude, come back. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, but you gotta wake up a little.”

“You hit him too hard with his gun, Alex. He don’t look right.” Marshall’s voice shook. He was barely holding it together.

My stomach turned. It seemed Alex Dennan had picked up a trick or two from David Strange about subduing victims. Give them hope, and they’ll do anything if you promise survival or threaten their loved ones.

I shook my head, clearing the thoughts. I didn’t have time to analyze their behavior as deeply as I would were I questioning them as witnesses. I took stock of the situation: Trent, incapacitated and definitely injured; Marshall, unhurt but restrained; and Dennan. The loose cannon. With a gun. And maybe another weapon. We couldn’t be sure, and I’d been too focused on listening for noise in the house to notice if all the knives were in the block in the kitchen. We had no more time.

I burst through the door, shouting, “Police! Hands up and put the gun down, Dennan!” My backup fanned behind me into the room, which was a shambles. A lamp lay overturned and broken on the floor; blankets were strewn from the bed; a dresser was knocked over, its drawers spilling some of the contents. There was a bullet hole in the wall above the bed, and on the mattress was the worst sight of all. Trent, my former partner, handcuffed to the headboard, naked as the day I’d walked into this very room to find him fucking my wife.

He’d been battered. One eye was totally swollen shut, his nose trickling blood and crooked. His wrists were red and raw, as if he’d put up a horrific fight despite the restraints immobilizing him. He was twisted slightly, his shoulders flat but his torso turned and his legs curled toward his belly, an attempt at a protective fetal ball. I caught a brief glimpse of a trickle of blood trailing across one pale ass cheek, but I didn’t let myself look. He wasn’t doing well, barely registering our presence other than a slight roll of his good eye toward us.

My gaze remained on the suspect, who lunged and grabbed the boy he’d called his brother—the boy who’d snuck out from his parents’ house to ask me for help getting to Alex so nothing more would happen to him, who’d risked so much already for this victim-turned-monster—and put him in a headlock, pointing Trent’s department issue weapon at his temple.

“Put the gun down, Alex,” Myah ordered. “You don’t want to do this. Marshall’s your brother, right? You’ve been through a lot together. You don’t want to hurt him.”

“What do you know about it, bitch?”

Sugar’s age progression had been spot on, with the exception of Alex’s twitchiness, and his darting eyes. He trembled with tension, and I wondered if he was stoned. Even for a homeless kid pawning stolen goods for small change, there were ways to pay for a score. His hair hung lank and tangled to his shoulders, and his cheeks were sunken, gaunt. The worst, though, were his eyes: haunted and hopeless. He was coiled tight, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

“Alex,” Marshall said, voice nearly choked off by the forearm squeezing his throat. “Why are you doing this to me? Stop, so I can help you.”

Dennan’s face screwed up, emotion threatening to overtake him, but the wildness in his haunted eyes remained.

“Why?
Why?
” he screamed, shaking Marshall in his arms. “You were supposed to stay with me, man.” He nuzzled the side of Marshall’s face with his cheek. “Together till the end, right?” A maniacal laugh burst from his mouth. “Looks like that’s true, now. Isn’t it Marshall? Is this the end?” He pressed the muzzle of the gun harder into Marshall’s head, making the boy grimace in pain.

“It doesn’t have to be,” I said calmly, controlling my breathing, sweat spreading across my back beneath the vest, sticking my shirt to my skin.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, DeGrassi,” he spat my name. “Look at you, friend to victims everywhere, because you
are one.
That’s right, you
know what it’s like
to be forced to do something you don’t want to do. But where were you when
I
needed you, when that fat fuck of a cop took away the only man who’d ever given a
damn
about me? Where were you when I had no home anymore? Nowhere to go, and kicked out of an empty store on a snowy night? I don’t fuckin’ matter, just like that little girl who froze to death. I didn’t matter to your other cop friend either, since he got his rapist buddy free to keep prowling the streets. He didn’t care how many kids got hurt, so long as his friend didn’t have to tell his wife he likes dick.

“I even left you clues pointing to Carter Black the whole time and you couldn’t get it. I studied everything about you, hoping you were different than the rest of the stupid cops because you’ve been where we were. You should have saved me, dude. You should have saved all of us.” Another puzzle piece slid into place, “Black Velvet” playing at Halloran’s house, the black flogger, the black card at Ditmar’s, the Ken doll tied with black rope.... They’d all been subtle hints I didn’t connect to Carter Black. Lotta good it did me now.

I shook my head sadly. “I tried, Alex. We all tried. We didn’t know enough to get to you right away, to take care of you. But hurting Marshall doesn’t change what happened to you. It won’t make it all better. Put the gun down, and we can talk about this.”

“No,” he said petulantly. “I stop, and you take me in. You put me in jail where I get ass raped the rest of my life. At least Dave loved me.”

“We were toys, Alex. That wasn’t love.” Marshall’s strangled voice quivered. Tears coursed down his reddened cheeks. “But I love you. I do. Please, let them help us so we can stay together.”

“This isn’t your fault, Alex.” Alex’s eyes narrowed at the new voice. Ben stepped into the room, hands up to show his lack of a weapon, his lack of threat.
Son of a bitch, you were supposed to stay back,
my desperate brain snarled. “You were ripped from your family at an age when you had no choice but to do what you were told, when you were too small to fight back. You were abused during the years you should have been learning how to flirt, going on first dates, making friends and having fun. That was taken from you against your will. That’s enough to scare anyone. And it doesn’t make it your fault. You’re standing here now because you’re a survivor.”

Alex remained quiet, warily watching Ben, who patted the air with his hands, a silent plea to lower the weapon.

But Alex snorted, tightening his fingers on the butt of the gun. “I know who you are. You belong to
him.
” He tilted his chin at me. “You like to fuck men, huh? What makes you any better than David? You want Marshall for yourself? Is that it? Your cop not good enough for you anymore? Need someone younger?”

Ben, to his credit, didn’t flinch, though I saw red. Myah nudged me with her elbow as I unconsciously moved to step forward.

“You can’t have him. He’s mine.” Marshall made a strangled noise, his breath wheezing through his constricted windpipe. “Isn’t that right, brother? Mine?” Marshall opened his mouth to answer but he couldn’t. “Isn’t it?” Alex screamed in his ear. Marshall squeezed his eyes shut and did the only thing he could. He rubbed his tear-streaked face against his captor’s cheek and patted Alex’s forearm with both hands, the tape around his wrists making the move awkward. “Good boy, Marshall. You gonna give it up for me like you did David? Like you were taught?” Another pat. My heart splintered at the lunatic grin Alex adopted at the reassurance. “I ain’t goin’ to fucking jail, man,” Alex declared, his confidence restored. “And if you don’t let me out of this room with Marshall, none of us is getting out of here. Starting with this piece of shit.” Alex pointed the gun at Trent’s inert form. I risked a glance at my former partner, alarmed to see his non-bruised eye closed, his breathing shallow. If he’d passed out, he was probably injured worse than he looked. And he looked pretty fucking bad. There was no part of me that could muster any satisfaction at that, despite what he’d done to me.

“Alex,” Ben continued, keeping his cool under tremendous pressure. “You will both be taken care of. I promise you. The best doctors, and a hospital, not a prison.”

Ben couldn’t make that promise, and I did my best to keep my face neutral. The only way to go to a hospital was to plead insanity, and proving insanity was one of the most difficult defenses an attorney could try. With Jan Aldrich’s murder recorded, a prosecutor wouldn’t give a jury the chance to believe Alex was insane.
They should see him right now, though,
I thought
.

Ben went on. “You can have a life. A real one. No more running or hiding. You can get a job, get your own place. You can put all this behind you. And Marshall can be there every step of the way. Letting us help you doesn’t mean you have to give him up. It just means you don’t hurt anyone else. It means you get treatment for what would have brought any adult to their knees. Please.”

Alex looked to be listening intently. “What would you do, Gavin?” he asked almost conversationally. “Would you put faith in his words? Oh wait, you’re the wrong person to ask. You let that fucker tie you up. I watched you last night. And this morning.”

Oh god
. The thump that had woken me up in the early hours that morning, now a lifetime ago. Had that been him spying again? “Slipping past security, Alex?”