The Scent of Murder (A Veronica Shade Thriller Book 2), page 20
“Is this Veronica Shade?” An unfamiliar voice asked.
Veronica pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it. The caller was identified as ‘Unknown’.
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
“I’m calling from Portland General. You are listed as the emergency contact for Steve Burns.”
Veronica’s eyes went wide, and she felt her vision start to tunnel while at the same time, sparks of fiery colors flicked at her periphery.
Her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that she could barely understand the nurse.
“Detective Shade, you okay?” Freddie asked.
“Either arrest us or let us go. This is unlawful confinement,” Peter snapped.
“Veronica?” Freddie asked again, ignoring the lawyer.
“I have to… I have to go. You—you can handle this, right?”
Freddie stared at her as she started to back away.
“Your keys, Freddie.”
“My what?”
“Your keys,” she said, gesturing with a hand that had gone completely numb. “Give me your fucking keys, Freddie.”
“What’s going on, Veronica?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. Veronica snatched them from him.
“Veronica? Veronica?”
But she was already gone.
Chapter 44
“Put these on,” Detective Freddie Furlow ordered, tossing a set of zip ties at Collard. They struck his large belly and fell to the ground. As he bent to pick them up, Peter tried to slip away.
Freddie trained his gun on the lawyer.
“Don’t even think about it—I know who you are and where you work, Peter.”
“You can’t keep me here,” Peter said, continuing with the classic refrain. “We’re not under—”
Freddie had had it.
“Fine. You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”
Veronica’s plan had been impressive, and she’d managed to pull it off without burning his CI even though it was clear she didn’t like Terry. That was a nod to him, no doubt, but now? As he stood in a dark alley with his gun trained on a lawyer watching a career criminal struggle to put zip ties on himself, he felt less than conciliatory toward his partner.
Veronica leaving without so much as an explanation was becoming a pattern. A pattern that he knew from experience would be hard, if not impossible, to break. And one that wasn’t favorable for a long, fruitful career in law enforcement.
This time, however, Freddie had seen the look in Veronica’s eyes.
She was terrified.
Had something happened to her dad? To Sheriff Burns?
“This is fuckin’ bullshit. That bitch cop said we could go if I told you who set this all up. It was that prick, Alfred Cohen.”
“Shut up,” Peter hissed.
“No, I ain’t gonna shut up. That fucker Alfred told us it’d be easy, untraceable. We didn’t even need no weapons.”
“Who is this Alfred Cohen, anyway?” Freddie asked.
“You don’t know?” Collard said.
“They don’t know shit, you idiot. Not until you opened your fat mouth.”
Freddie didn’t hear the man approaching from behind, but he saw Peter’s eyes flick over his left shoulder.
He swung his hand holding his service pistol to the left while shrinking to his right to make himself as small a target as possible. Freddie heard a whoosh, and had he been more agile and perhaps a hundred, a hundred and twenty pounds lighter, he might have gotten the jump on his assailant.
But he wasn’t. He was morbidly obese and the blood in his veins was thick as the oil that his favorite French fries were cooked in, which wasn’t conducive to rapid movement.
Something hard struck Freddie on the side of the head. It made an almost comical ‘dong’ sound and then he dropped to the ground, his gun clattering harmlessly to the pavement. It was still within reach and Freddie stretched for it, but then stopped when a foot came down on the butt and a man bent to pick it up.
Chapter 45
“Where is he?” Veronica yelled. She grabbed the person closest to her, a thin nurse with hawk-like features. “Where is Sheriff Steve Burns?”
The nurse, unsure of what to do, just gaped at her and Veronica let her go, then she turned around in the hospital and repeated the query, this time loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Where is Sheriff Steve Burns?”
Desperation threatened to take over. All around her, Veronica was seeing waves of blue. Only, the sweat wasn’t coming from individuals—it was as if the walls themselves perspired.
“Where is…” she gasped, struggling to get the words out. “Where is he?”
A hand came down on her shoulder and she whipped around. The man who had touched her took two large steps backward and held up his hands. The corners of his thick lips turned upward in a smile.
“Woah, sorry, pretty girl.”
“Where’s Steve?”
“Come with me, I’ll show you.”
Lieutenant Philip Crouch reached for her waist to guide her down the hallway, but Veronica deliberately moved out of his reach.
“All right, be like that then,” Crouch muttered under his breath.
“What happened? They wouldn’t tell me what happened on the phone, only said that Steve was here, that I was his emergency contact. Is he—”
“He’ll be fine. Just a flesh wound. Almost got him though.” Phil poked his chest proudly. “Would’ve gotten him if it wasn’t for me.”
Veronica allowed herself a modicum of relief.
He was alive. Thank God, Steve was alive.
“What? Who almost got him? What the fuck happened?”
Phil stopped in front of a hospital room door, positioning his large frame so that she couldn’t see inside.
“The bear. Can you believe that? Your boy toy almost got eaten by a bear.”
Envisioning Kelsey Astor’s mangled corpse, Veronica shoved Lieutenant Crouch out of the way and then burst through the door.
Now, relief washed over her in undulating waves. Steve was lying on the bed, eyes closed. The outline of his body beneath the sheet was intact and the monitor to his right showed a normal sinus rhythm. His pulse was strong and regular.
Veronica ran to him, kissed him on the cheek, then stroked his scratchy beard.
“What happened?” she asked softly, holding back tears. “What the hell happened?”
“Like I told you, the bear—”
“I came as fast as I could. How’s he doing?” Deputy McVeigh asked as he entered the room.
“Geez, y’all are so dramatic,” Crouch said. “Just a little scratch.” He pointed at his back as he spoke.
McVeigh noticed her presence and gave her a sharp nod, then he addressed Lieutenant Crouch.
“We couldn’t find him,” the deputy said, shaking his head. “I had a dozen deputies comb the entire western edge of the forest, but they came up with nothing.”
At first, Veronica thought that they were referring to the bear. That all changed with what Crouch said next.
“What about the girl?”
McVeigh’s nose crinkled and his eyes darted to the medical equipment that monitored Steve’s vitals.
“Swelling of the brain. She’s in an induced coma, they’re trying to give her brain a chance to heal.”
“The girl?” Veronica asked.
No one seemed to hear her.
“Found the man’s gear though—the clothing, the paint. It was him all right. It was the dollmaker,” McVeigh continued.
“What about the bear?”
McVeigh shrugged.
“Your shots spooked him, I guess. Hopefully, it headed north.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Veronica pulled away from Steve. “Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
The two men exchanged glances before McVeigh answered.
“The sheriff was following up on some intel from the phone company. My guess is that he was out there trying to figure out why the girls got out of their cars. He must have heard something in the forest, and that’s when he saw the girl and the dollmaker.”
Veronica’s eyes narrowed.
“He saw them?”
“Yep,” Crouch said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “I saw them, too. But then this big fuckin’ bear attacked Burnsy. I shot at it but didn’t want to hit the sheriff. The bear got spooked and ran off. By the time I got to the girl, she’d taken one hell of a tumble. Slipped down a small embankment and cracked her head on a rock. The dollmaker was gone.”
Veronica blinked three times, trying to wrap her mind around what she’d just heard.
“There was another victim?”
“Ehh, something like that,” Crouch said. “She’s—”
“In a coma,” McVeigh interrupted. “Induced, as we said. Doctors don’t know if she’ll come out of it.”
“Who is she?” Veronica asked. “Do we know her name?”
McVeigh shook his head.
“Not yet. Didn’t have any ID on her. We have someone at Shooter’s going over footage to see if she was there.”
A fifth person entered the room, the only one in a uniform who wasn’t a member of law enforcement. The doctor had thick glasses and dark hair that was shaved close to his scalp.
“The sheriff needs his rest,” he said without preamble. He looked at Veronica. “I presume you’re his emergency contact?”
“Yes.”
The man held his hand out.
“Dr. Kincaid.”
“Veronica.”
Another nod, then he turned and faced McVeigh and Crouch.
“I’m sorry, but the sheriff needs his rest. Given that Ms. Shade is his emergency contact, she can stay. I’m sure she can also update you if his condition changes.”
The two men were clearly not happy about this, but Dr. Kincaid didn’t back down. And for the first time since entering the room, Veronica noticed that Deputy McVeigh was holding a folder in one hand. He tapped the corner of it against his palm, as if unsure what to do with it.
“That for the sheriff?” It was Lieutenant Crouch who asked the question, and McVeigh nodded.
“Transcript from our interviews with the men from Shooter’s Lounge,” he said almost absently.
“I’ll take it for him,” Veronica moved quickly, grabbing the folder from the deputy’s hand.
“I don’t—”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Dr. Kincaid said, putting himself between the cops and his patient.
“If you need anything, please call,” Deputy McVeigh said. “And keep us updated, Detective Shade.”
Then they were both gone, leaving Veronica with Dr. Kincaid and Steve.
“The sheriff got very lucky.” Dr. Kincaid moved about the room as he spoke, checking vitals and making notes on a clipboard. “Bear clawed into his back, but the lacerations weren’t deep enough to strike any organs. I stapled his skin together and he’ll have some nasty scars but no permanent damage. He’s also on some pretty heavy-duty painkillers and antibiotics, which is why he’s still sleeping.”
The adrenaline finally flushed out of her system and Veronica felt weak.
“Take a seat if you want,” Dr. Kincaid suggested, noticing her fatigue.
Veronica slumped into the oversized chair without hesitating.
“Thanks.”
She was exhausted. The lack of sleep over the last few days combined with all the emotion was enough to drain even the heartiest of people.
But she wasn’t ready to close her eyes just yet.
In her mind, Veronica heard Dr. Jane Bernard’s voice uttering words like obsession and responsibility and guilt, but she blocked the woman out. The silence didn’t last long.
Jane was gone, but a new voice immediately replaced the psychiatrist’s.
Her brother’s.
The will to survive is ingrained at birth, Lucy.
This was true for Veronica, but it was also true for those girls. For Kelsey and Megan and the girl lying in another room in this very hospital, struggling to stay alive.
Someone had taken that will away from them.
The dollmaker.
Veronica opened the folder that she’d grabbed from Deputy McVeigh and started to read.
She was going to find him. She was going to find him and stop him before he made another one of his sick dolls.
Chapter 46
Interview conducted by Deputy Marcus McVeigh, transcribed by Suzanne Granger.
Interviewee is Thomas Lemieux, male, 32 y/o, 6’1, approx. 210 lbs.
Start time: 2:48 PM.
“Mr. Lemieux, my name is Deputy McVeigh, and you’ve already been instructed of your rights. Your participation in this interview is completely voluntary and you’re free to leave at any time. Do you understand your rights as they’ve been explained to you?”
“Yes.”
“Right, before we get started, would you want something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
“Sure. Can someone get Mr. Lemieux a bottle of water? Thanks. So, the reason we brought you in here today is that you were present at Shooter’s Lounge on both the evening of the fourteenth and on the nineteenth. Is that correct?”
Inaudible.
“For the sake of the recording, Mr. Lemieux, can you please speak clearly?”
“Sure—yeah, I think I was there both nights.”
“And do you go there often? To Shooter’s, I mean?”
Inaudible.
“Mr. Lemieux—”
“Sorry, yes, I go there a couple of times a week. I like Shooter’s.”
“And do you usually go by yourself?”
“Most of the time—sometimes I go with friends.”
“And would you say that your main goal at Shooter’s is to pick up women?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Sure—you’re a single man, right? A single man in his early thirties trying to meet somebody?”
“Yeah.”
“Any luck? I mean on those two days in particular? Did you end up going home with anyone?”
“Not those days, no.”
“How many times would you say you’re successful in taking women home after meeting them at Shooter’s? What would you say your batting average is? One in two? Every three or four times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess, give me your best estimate. You’re a good-looking guy, you’re in good shape… do you have a job?”
“I’m a mechanic.”
“All right, all right. So, what do you think your odds are of leaving with somebody?”
“One in three, maybe. On a busy night, maybe every other time.”
“Some pretty good odds, I’d say. Let me show you this photo… have you seen this girl before?”
Mr. Lemieux is shown a photograph of Kelsey Astor.
“I don’t think so, no.”
“What about her?”
Thomas is shown a photograph of Megan Milonakis.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
“Are you aware that on the fourteenth the woman in the first photo I showed you was there, and on the nineteenth, the woman in the second photo was at Shooter’s?”
“I don’t know. It’s a busy place.”
“It can be, sure. On a Thursday, Friday, or Saturday night. Occasionally on a Sunday if there are a bunch of college football games on. But the fourteenth was a Tuesday. Now, I’ll be honest with you, I’m not a regular at Shooter’s, but I don’t imagine that Tuesday is one of their busier nights. Which makes me wonder why, if your main goal is to pick up women, why you’d go there on a Tuesday?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I guess I just went for a drink and to shoot some pool.”
“I thought you said that your primary goal was to go home with a woman?”
“Well, I mean, it is, but I also like to go there for a drink too. I don’t always go just to pick up chicks, sometimes—”
“Mr. Lemieux, have you ever seen either of these women before?”
“Like I told you already, no.”
“I find that hard to believe. I find it hard to believe that a man like yourself on the prowl doesn’t notice someone like Kelsey Astor. She’s young and pretty. Do you know how many people were in the bar that night? On the fourteenth, I mean?”
Inaudible.
“Please speak clearly.”
“I said, I don’t know. Maybe I saw her, but I didn’t go home with her.”
“Sixteen—that’s it. That’s the number of people who came into Shooter’s during the time that you were there. And we have you on tape talking to her at the bar. You mean to tell me that of the sixteen—”
“Wait, did you say Kelsey Astor?”
“Yes, she—”
“She’s one of the dead girls, isn’t it? She’s one of the dolls?”
-----
Veronica rubbed her eyes and sank deeper into the hospital chair, which was surprisingly comfortable.
She’d turned a food tray into a makeshift desk, and when Deputy McVeigh mentioned Kelsey’s name in the interview, she’d pulled out the accompanying photographs that had been in the file. There were two of them, one of Kelsey in what appeared to be an Instagram photo, smiling, carefree, the other of her face, scalp pulled back, that Kristin Newberry had taken at the crime scene.
Veronica was annoyed that she had to read Thomas Lemieux’s interview second hand. If she’d been there, she would’ve been able to tell if the man was lying. As it was, if the man was the killer, based on all the efforts he’d made to keep the crime scene clean, the likelihood of him breaking down in a voluntary interview was next to nothing.
With a grunt of frustration, Veronica looked up. Steve had since rolled onto his side, but he hadn’t opened his eyes yet.
Veronica watched his chest rise and fall for several seconds before flipping to the next interview.
-----
Interview conducted by Deputy Marcus McVeigh, transcribed by Suzanne Granger.
Interviewee is Barret Jenkins, male, 28 y/o, 5’9, approx. 180 lbs.
Start time: 3:18 PM.
“Here’s your Coke, Mr. Jenkins. Enjoy. Now, you’ve been informed of your rights, and you are aware that you’re free to leave at any time.”
