Damaged Hope (Street Games Book 3) Read online

  “Do you need anything?” Gabe asked, when they were alone.

  She shook her head. “Just sleep, I think.” She wanted him to stay, but knew he had work waiting for him.

  He turned to stare at her. He had such beautiful eyes.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For coming when I called. For ‘taking my hand.’” She smiled.

  He didn’t smile back. Instead he stepped toward her, put a hand on her face, and kissed her softly. He rested his cheek against hers for a moment. “Always,” he whispered. Then he was gone. The heavy, hotel door clicked shut behind him.

  Kyra breathed deeply, willing her heart to slow down. Strange that such a short, sweet kiss could twist her insides with so much pleasure. She smiled to herself. Despite everything that had happened, she felt better than she had in days.

  Chapter 11

  Gabe sighed as he threw his car into park and exited, striding into an alley of the Slip Mire. He’d been so caught up in Hammond and his brother’s case, he'd nearly forgotten his day job, grotesque though it was.

  As always, a crowd of rubber-necking Mirelings milled around the squad cars and officers acting as barricades to the crime scene. As Gabe approached, he recognized Officer Morris and a few other unies he knew.

  The area they’d cordoned off sat only a few feet inside an alley that let out onto M Street. At least this alley was wide enough to drive to. Some places deeper in the Slip Mire were so narrow, vehicles couldn't move through them.

  So close to the busiest street in the Mire, the scene attracted more onlookers than usual. Gabe pushed past them and the barricades, nodding to the unies, who nodded back in recognition. At the center of the scene, a trim, blond woman knelt beside the sprawled corpse of a working girl.

  The victim lay topless—a new development—but a dark shirt with straps lay beside her. The tight, torn jeans she wore looked stylish in a grunge sort of way, a look she'd probably been going for. Her brown hair sparkled in the crimson light of the Mire, as if full of glitter. Her gaunt face shone palely in the dim light, her neck craned at an unnatural angle. She lay on her back, her neck arched back so her face pointed above her, toward the opposite wall. Her sunken eyes stared blankly.

  “Hey Bailey,” Gabe said, addressing the blond as he approached.

  Bailey raised her head. She jerked it back briefly to get her hair away from her face without use of her hands, which were clad in plastic gloves. She held both a specimen bag and a pair of tweezers clutching what could only be hair.

  "Gabe," she nodded at him. "Crazy night?"

  Gabe stared at the victim, barely registering Bailey's question. He'd seen hundreds of bodies during his time in Abstreuse. Now, with the possibility of finding Dillon's resting place looming over him, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the victim.

  It was foolish to get his hopes up about being able to bury his brother, but something told him he was close to finding Dillon. He couldn't shake the feeling.

  “Gabe.” Bailey gave him a sympathetic look. "Are you all right?"

  Gabe shook himself. "Yeah. Fine. Sorry."

  Bailey watched him with concern. "You wanna talk about it? What are you thinking about?"

  Gabe sighed. "Irony."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Irony?"

  "We have this woman's body. It's right here. Found hours after her death. And there's no one to bury her. All I've ever wanted to do is bury my brother. And for more than twenty years, I've been denied that." He looked up at Bailey. "Why is there no one to bury this girl?"

  Bailey straightened her legs. "You don't know there isn't anyone," she said gently. "She may have family that will come."

  Gabe sighed and rubbed his eyes briefly, knowing he wasn't making much sense. "Yeah. Maybe."

  “I’m so sorry," Gabe," Bailey said. "I know this must be difficult for you. With what’s going on with Hammond…”

  Gabe shrugged, not bothering to ask what she knew or how. Cops gossiped with the best of them, and Bailey always seemed to be at the top of the tree. “Unfortunately,” Gabe squatted down on the opposite side of the body from her. “This killer isn’t going to respect my personal hang-ups. What have you found?” He motioned to the body.

  “Cause of death appears to be exsanguination. Half a dozen stab wounds to the chest. I’m assuming it’s the same killer. This one has liquid dish soap on her, too. Like the last one.”

  Gabe frowned. “Does something make you think it’s not the same killer?”

  Bailey held up her tweezers. “There’s hair everywhere. It’s not hers. Too long, too light. I can’t imagine the killer suddenly became careless enough to shed all over this body. To be honest,” she twisted to throw more light on the hair and brought it close to her nose to scrutinize it. “It looks a little too shimmery to be real hair.”

  Gabe remembered Kyra’s original story. “There’s a good chance this guy wears a wig while he’s out looking for victims,” he said.

  Bailey arched an eyebrow. “Ah. That could be it. Still, he’s never left any fake hair behind before, either.”

  Gabe scanned the scene again. “We’ve never seen a shirt be completely torn off. All evidence of a struggle.” He twisted to survey the onlookers standing on M Street, peering into the alley. “He’s becoming more brazen. Killing closer to busy, populated areas.”

  “I’m not convinced she died here, Gabe.”

  “You think this is a dumping ground?”

  Bailey hesitated. “Can’t be sure. I have plenty more evidence to collect and interpret. I just don't see evidence of a struggle here.”

  “The alley is paved,” Gabe pointed out.

  “Yeah, but look.” Bailey turned on a flashlight and leaned toward Gabe, pointing at the victim’s right shoulder. Gabe leaned down. Directly below it, on the outside of the arm, three deep, parallel gouges that could only have been made by human fingernails.

  “At other crime scenes, blood evidence spattered the walls. Here, I see nothing so far except the body, the shirt, and the hair.”

  Gabe sat back on his haunches, considering. “Okay, so if he did move the body, why? This guy keeps changing. He left all the other victims at the places he killed them.” Bailey said nothing, but Gabe was only thinking aloud. “Even the evidence of the struggle is different. If the other victims struggled, they didn’t succeed to this extent. Hair, lost clothing. None of the other victims had fingernail marks either. I can’t imagine he staged it intentionally. From what we can tell, he overpowered the others with relative ease. On top of it all, to dump her right off M Street…”

  “Maybe he wanted to be sure someone found her.”

  Gabe shook his head. “We’ve found his other victims fairly quickly, and they were nowhere near M Street. No way he doesn’t know that.”

  “What about the ones in the warehouse?” Bailey asked quietly. We didn’t find them until your CI stumbled upon them.”

  A valid point, but ultimately Gabe shook his head. “He tried to hide those. He buried them in a corner of the Mire no one goes into anymore. His own personal trophy heap. The victims he’s killed and left in the open, we’ve found. This is all by design. So, what’s different about this girl?”

  “There’s no way to know what we haven’t found, Gabe.” Bailey said, keeping her voice low. “Isn’t is possible he's killed a girl who, for whatever reason, hasn’t been found? He’s angry, so he left this one where we were sure to see her.”

  Gabe nodded. "Anything's possible." Something about it didn’t ring true to him, though. “Or,” he said. “He wanted this one found quickly for some reason.” He glanced at Bailey. “Anything else jumping out at you?”

  She shook her head. “Other than the hair and differences in MO, no.”

  “The ME already released the body?”

  “Yes."

  “And you got all the photographs you need?”

  "From this angle. If you want to help me turn her, I can take more."

  Gabe nodded and reache
d into Bailey’s kit and pulled out a pair of gloves, looking around. “Officer Morris, can you assist us?”

  The dark-haired cop had a handful of years on Gabe. He'd worn the uniform for a long time. He strode from where he’d made up part of the human blockade against the crowd. His fellow unies adjusted their positions, spreading out to cover the now-vacant area.

  Gabe handed Morris a pair of gloves as he approached. “We need to turn her. Might need a third pair of hands if we find anything on her back. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.” Morris donned the gloves.

  “I wanted to say,” Gabe said while waiting for Morris to position the gloves, "thank you for what you did for my CI. You saved her life.”

  Morris shrugged. “It was a call. Part of the job. You know that.” He grinned. “She’s keeps you on your toes, doesn’t she?”

  Gabe returned the smile. “You have no idea.”

  At Bailey's direction, Gabe and Morris turned the woman onto her side. Morris, one hand cupping the woman’s cheek and the other firmly on her shoulder, held her there while Gabe studied the back of her neck, shoulders, abdomen and legs, and Bailey snapped more photos.

  Nothing. The victim had surprisingly healthy-looking skin for a prostitute. Most exhibited scars, cigarette burns, track marks, or other signs of their lifestyle. This one didn’t even have any obvious tattoos. He and Morris set her back into her original position.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Morris said, “what are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know myself. Something that tells me why he’s treated this one different than past victims.”

  Morris nodded. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.

  “What is it?” Gabe asked.

  “I felt something strange when we turned her. In her cheek. I might have imagined it, but I thought I felt movement. Perhaps she lost some teeth in the struggle?”

  “Let’s check.” Bailey said.

  Morris held her head while Bailey pried open her jaw. And she did have to pry. Rigor mortis was setting in quickly. It finally wrenched open with an audible pop. Using a flashlight, she peered into the woman’s mouth.

  "Yup. Something's lodged in there. Not a tooth, though."

  Using another pair of large tweezers from her bag, Bailey retrieved the object. Only a few inches in length, it glittered metallically in the red light. Gabe pulled a miniature flashlight from his pocked to add to Bailey's. A generic, front-door-sized key glittered, wet and clean, in her hand.

  *******

  Gabe returned to the station hours later and headed for the bull pen. From across the room, Cora spotted him and jumped to her feet. She met him in front of his desk. “Gabe, you’re back.” She handed him a white sheet of paper which had obviously been pulled off the printer.

  “What’s this?”

  “After you went out, I took up the search for “little stream.” I think I may have found something.”

  He gave her a grateful look. “Thank you, Cora. You really don’t have to do this. You have your own cases to work.”

  She shrugged. “Mine aren’t as interesting. All I have tonight are feuding gangsters. Far as I’m concerned, they can cool off in holding all night.” She grinned.

  He scanned the page. She’d found a lowly desert road in the southern part of the state called Big River Lane. “Big River,” he murmured. “The opposite of ‘little stream’.”

  “As Hunt predicted it might be. I already checked, Gabe. There’s exactly one address along that road. A ranch. On paper, it’s been derelict for years. Owned by a man named Cleon Gaudy. He’s been off the grid for at least two years as well. Maybe he lives down there by himself and never sees anyone or does anything that can be regulated. Or maybe he died out there and no one realized it. From what I can tell—and understand my search was by no means exhaustive—he never had any family.”

  The tension in Gabe's neck ratcheted up as he read through the information Cora had printed out. “He’s old. Might even be dead.”

  Cora nodded slowly, studying Gabe’s face. “Gabe, he hits Dillon’s kidnapper’s target age.”

  Gabe heaved a deep breath. “Thank you again. Has Shaun seen this?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I wanted you to be the first.”

  Behind them, at the desk beside Cora’s, Tyke cleared his throat loudly.

  Cora rolled her eyes. “The first behind Tyke.”

  Gabe smirked at her.

  “What? I got excited. I needed to tell someone.” She turned and walked back to her desk with an air of haughtiness.

  Gabe set his things on his desk and headed for Shaun’s office, clutching the white paper. As he went, the unmistakable sound of Cora slapping Tyke on the shoulder reached his ears.

  “Ouch.”

  Reaching Shaun’s closed door, Gabe rapped twice before opening it. Then he hesitated. Shaun had his receiver pressed to his ear. He spoke quietly into it while typing notes on his computer. Gabe should have seen that through the window. He was too preoccupied these days.

  Shaun motioned him in, though. He sat in one of the chairs in front of Shaun’s desk and waited. A minute later, Shaun put down the receiver.

  “What is it, Gabe? You’ve found something?”

  “Did Hunt send you a report yet from this morning’s session?” Hunt said he’d copy Gabe on it, but Gabe hadn’t gotten a chance to check his email.

  Shaun nodded. “Yes, I already read it. He included a note about what the two of you—and Cora—discussed.”

  Gabe nodded. “Good.” He handed Shaun the printed paper and waited while Shaun scanned it. His face turned serious and he set it down.

  “You think this is the place Hammond is referring to?”

  “I do,” Gabe nodded. “Cora already checked and it fits with all the parameters of what we know, or think we know. Both about Hammond’s ranch, and Dillon’s kidnapper.”

  “That doesn’t mean this is the place, Gabe. Many places might fit the criteria.”

  “I understand, but it’s still worth checking out. The first solid lead we’ve gotten from Hammond's crazy riddles.”

  Shaun still frowned doubtfully. Gabe knew Shaun well enough to know it was less about the validity of the lead, and more about whether he wanted Gabe to the be the one to go.

  Gabe scooted to the edge of his chair. “Give me two days, Shaun. Three tops. I need to see this place. I know Tyke and Cora will keep an eye on things for me. It’ll be at least that long before any of my evidence comes back from the lab.”

  Shaun raised an eyebrow. “Something new on this latest victim?”

  Gabe sat back. “Lots of new things, actually. Differences in MO, evidence of a struggle. Hair left behind. It’s probably fake. From the wig Kyra mentioned. And a key in the vic's mouth.”

  “What kind of key?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Totally generic. Could be a front door key. No way to tell what it opens. I’ve sent it to the lab. Given that we found it in the vic’s mouth, I doubt we’ll get much evidence from it.”

  Shaun stayed silent a moment. Gabe didn’t interrupt his thoughts. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. No more than three days, Gabe. I don’t mean because of your work here. This case is a black hole that will swallow you if you don’t take care. You know even if everything you hope is true, and if this turns out to be where the kidnapper took Dillon, where he’s buried, we won’t be able to excavate and ID bodies in three days.”

  “I don’t need a positive ID on Dillon’s body, Shaun. I need to go there. Get a feel for the place. I think it will speak to me, one way or the other.”

  Shaun nodded. “Have you talked to your parents?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Not yet. I will tomorrow, before I go. I planned to do it anyway, after Hammond's interview this morning.”

  Shaun heaved a deep breath. “Okay. You probably can't leave right away, though. It'll take a few days to get the travel arrangements together. We need to have forensic teams meet you out the
re. That might take some time to set up.”

  Gabe nodded. "Just let me know when you have the details. And thank you.” Gabe rose to leave. As his fingers reached the door knob, Shaun’s voice stopped him.

  “Gabe.”

  He turned.

  Shaun fingered his thick mustache, looking serious. “I hope you find your brother.”

  Gabe nodded, swallowing the lump that swelled in his throat. “Me to.”

  Chapter 12

  After latching the door behind Gabe, Kyra stumbled to the bathroom. With a great struggle, biting her lip to keep from crying out, she peeled her clothes off. The bruises on her abdomen looked uglier than the ones on her face. Darker, and with a broader array of colors. She gently poked at them, especially the ones around her ribs. She felt confident none were broken. As a kid, she’d suffered a cracked rib after falling hard off her bike. That hurt worse than these. Still, they'd be tender for days.

  With a sigh, she stepped into a steaming shower to wash off her night. She wished the bruises would go with it.

  By the time she finished and struggled into a fresh pair of clothes, she was already half asleep on her feet. Stumbling out of the bathroom, she double checked the lock on the door, pulled back the bed’s covers and settled on the edge of it.

  She wanted to check her phone before hitting the sack. Not Supra’s phone. Her actual phone. The one her friends and family from back home could call her on. It occurred to her hours ago—before the job with Josie—that she hadn’t checked it in several days. Not since before the warehouse incident in the Carmichael district.

  She didn’t expect to find anything. Even if Jane had left a message or two, Kyra didn't feel in any condition to put on false cheer. Maybe tomorrow, after she’d slept. She still wanted to check, though. After digging the phone out of the deep, hidden pocket of her luggage, she flipped it open to check the notifications. She glanced down, already reaching toward the bedside table to toss it there after looking, and froze.

  Seventeen messages.

  Shit. Someone was trying to get a hold of her.

  With a groan, she fell back on the bed, arranging the pillows around her head to keep her propped up. Hopefully it would keep her from falling asleep.