Measureless Night (Ash Rashid Book 4) Page 17

  “She took six years of my life,” said David. “I’ve got an okay job now, but what happens if my boss finds out I’m on parole? I lose my job, I lose my apartment, I lose everything I’ve earned.” He paused and took a long pull on his beer. “I wanted kids, you know? A house, a wife. Now I share an apartment with a convicted child molester.”

  I wanted to say something comforting to the guy, but I held back. As much as he thought otherwise, he wasn’t the innocent victim here. Whether or not Carla manipulated him, he had murdered a man. You do that, you deserve to pay in this life or the next.

  “I’m sorry for what’s happened, but thank you for meeting me. It’s been a big help.”

  “You’re not going to tell my boss about me, are you?” he asked.

  I shook my head and stood up to leave. “No. You’ve paid enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded to him, and as I did, I saw the bartender pour a shot of bourbon into a two-ounce whiskey glass. I shouldn’t have been able to smell it from where I stood, but my brain seemed to believe it had superhuman powers at the moment. If I closed my eyes, I could practically feel the alcohol bite into my throat and slide down my chest.

  Even with one slip up this week, I thought I’d be okay going into a bar again, but I wasn’t. I needed to go back to my station and research Carla Ramirez further, but I needed out of that bar even more. So I pulled my phone from my pocket and called my wife to tell her I was on my way to Yasmine and Jack’s, giving me a reason to leave immediately and to avoid going to another bar or liquor store on the way home. Hannah, unbeknownst to her, did me a favor by asking me to pick up Megan from a friend’s house on the way.

  I could use a friendly face after the afternoon I had just had.

  I had difficulty with the first steps out of the bar, but they got easier after that. By the time I reached Sydney’s house, I hardly even wanted a drink anymore, and by the time I saw my daughter’s face light up when she saw me, my urge had gone completely.

  As soon as Sydney’s mom opened the door and called for my daughter, she sprinted toward me and gave me a hug, filling me with a contentment alcohol could never match. Megan talked nonstop on the drive to her aunt and uncle’s house, filling me in on both the schoolyard gossip and the scuttlebutt about our neighborhood. When we passed the grocery store, she stopped speaking and practically squealed.

  “Baba, I almost forgot. We need to go by the grocery store and get some ice cream. Ummi wanted some.”

  I smiled. “Did Ummi want some, or did you want some?”

  She rumpled up her face as if I had gravely insulted her, but then she smiled again as some new thought entered her mind. “Did you know Detective Paul picked us up today?”

  “I did know that,” I said, nodding as I turned into Jack and Yasmine’s driveway. “He was there to keep you guys safe.”

  “You can never be too safe.”

  I wondered who had told her that. Before I turned off the car, I nodded down the street to a small neighborhood park we had passed on the way in.

  “You want to go to the playground in a few minutes?” I asked. “I’ll push you on the swing.”

  “Really?” asked Megan, a smile breaking across her face. I nodded. “You mean I don’t have to do my homework?”

  “You still have to do your homework, but we’ll go to the park first.”

  “Okay,” she said, throwing open her door and jumping out. I didn’t know where she got the energy. I unbuckled my seat belt and opened my own door in time to see Megan walk through the front door and announce to anyone listening that the two of us were going to the playground, but Kaden had to stay with Ummi. I didn’t remember the latter stipulation, but it worked out for the best because Hannah had just put Kaden down for a nap.

  While Megan put on some warmer clothes, I kissed my wife hello and then walked down the hallway to the guest bedroom my son slept in. I stopped at the door and watched the sheets rise and fall with his breath, hoping I’d get to hug him at least once before the night was through.

  About ten minutes after we arrived at Jack and Yasmine’s, my daughter emerged from the bedroom she had taken over wearing a bright yellow sweater and blue corduroy pants. Hannah must have laid the clothes out earlier because rarely did my daughter choose to wear anything but pink. I helped her put on a coat, and then we began walking to the playground. Megan talked and laughed and giggled the entire time, reminding me why I do the work I do. Mark Pennington, the boy I had found tied in Danny Navarra’s basement, could play on a swing tonight because I had gotten him out of there before the house collapsed. No matter what else happened in the case or in my career, I still had that, and I thought it’d be enough.

  The temperature drove us home pretty quickly from the playground, but we both had fun for about fifteen minutes. I held her hand as we walked to my in-law’s’ house; I think she liked that. When we got to Jack and Yasmine’s, Hannah and my sister-in-law had just started making dinner. I told Megan to wash her hands in the bathroom, and Yasmine excused herself from the room, giving me a private moment to greet my wife. I put my arms around her back, and she slipped her hands behind my neck.

  “Are you here for the night?” asked Hannah, smiling directly in my eyes.

  “In fact, I am home for the night,” I said, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “I am also open to your sexual advances and dirty talk at any time. Just letting you know.”

  She smiled and then lowered her voice. “I don’t know if that’s appropriate in my sister’s house.”

  I pulled my head back and raised my eyebrows. “Inappropriate or not, doesn’t it sound like fun?”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  We had a nice evening. Megan stayed up for another forty minutes, and then the adults sat down to a board game. I didn’t usually like board games, but I liked the company. For the entire time I was there, nobody mentioned the news, nobody mentioned Dante Washington, nobody called me a murderer. I appreciated that. About halfway through the evening, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, so I excused myself and glanced at the screen. The caller had a phone number from the block reserved by IMPD, but no name came up. I walked to the kitchen and then answered.

  “This is Ash Rashid.”

  “I’m so glad to talk to you, Detective Rashid.”

  The caller’s speech sounded gravelly and very slow. It was probably too low to belong to a human being. My wife and kids had surprised me with a similar phone call once, having purchased an app online to distort their voices.

  “Who is this?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” said the caller. “I just left Gail Pennington’s house. I’ve left a little surprise for you in the basement.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “If you were at the Penningtons’ place, you would be under arrest right now.”

  “I’m afraid Officer Dennison and Officer Osbourne are a little the worse for wear right now. They won’t be arresting anyone anytime soon.”

  My heart jumped a beat. “Excuse me?”

  “There I go ruining part of the surprise. Check out the basement for the rest of it.”

  The caller hung up. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at my phone, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then I heard Hannah and Jack and Yasmine laugh from the front room, which brought the world back into focus. My hands shook ever so slightly. Whether that came from adrenaline or something else, I didn’t know. I left the house through the kitchen door and walked into the backyard. Not a single cloud obscured my view of the stars, but I couldn’t focus on the view. I dialed the dispatcher and tried to swallow back my increasing sense of unease.

  “This is Detective Sergeant Ash Rashid. I need a status check on officers assigned to watch Gail and Mark Pennington.”

  The dispatcher asked me to hold on, so I paced the length of the porch for the next few minutes, trying not to overreact but wondering what the hell had h
appened. Every time I stopped and turned, I felt my heart beat a little harder.

  Finally, I heard a click on the line, indicating the dispatcher had returned.

  “I can’t raise them on their radio or cell phones. They’re probably in a poor reception area.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling as if someone had just hit me with a hammer.

  “It’s not a poor reception area,” I said. “I need Gail Pennington’s address, and I need backup to meet me at the house. We’ve got officers down.”

  Chapter 19

  I didn’t have lights or sirens on my VW, but I drove as fast as I could anyway, flashing my brights at anyone who got in my way. The Penningtons lived on the northwest side of town, directly south of the Woodstock Country Club, in a neighborhood called Golden Hill. Night had cloaked the area in shadow by the time I arrived. Two patrol vehicles met me on the side of the road a block from the Penningtons’ house. Trees and dense vegetation surrounded us, lending the area homes a bit of privacy but also blocking most of the moonlight. I parked, stepped out of my car, and met three uniformed officers near my hood. I had hoped for more people, but I’d take whomever I could get. The first two officers looked young, maybe mid-twenties to early thirties, while the third could have probably retired at any time. He had a swagger and confidence about him that I saw on a lot of older officers, a look that said “I’ve seen everything, so don’t try to pull anything on me.” That attitude got people shot.

  “The dispatcher tell you what’s going on?” I asked, walking around my car to the trunk. I pulled out a tactical vest and a flashlight. All three officers stopped walking.

  “We were just told a detective needed assistance before searching a house,” said the old-timer.

  “You were told wrong, then,” I said, putting my arms through the vest as if I were putting on a sweater. I rarely wore that vest, so the Kevlar-impregnated fabric felt stiff and almost unyielding. That’d take some getting used to. “Gail Pennington and her son, our homeowners, were abducted several days ago and found in the basement of a home on the north side of town. After their rescue, Officers Kimberly Dennison and Doug Osbourne were assigned to guard them. I just received a phone call telling me Kim and Doug are dead and that we’ve got a surprise in the basement. Since then, our dispatcher has been unable to raise anyone on the radio. Get your tactical vests and get a shotgun if you’re rated for one. We’re going in.”

  The two younger officers jogged back to their cruiser, but the old-timer stepped a little closer. “Shouldn’t we call the Violent Crimes Unit for this? They’re better equipped than us.”

  “I’d love to call them in,” I said, flashing my light at the ground to make sure it worked. “But we don’t have time. We might have live victims in there, so we’re going in. Get a vest. If you’re not comfortable with that, you can hang out by the back door and make sure no one can get out.”

  Almost as soon as I finished speaking, a pair of bright headlights turned down the road. As the vehicle came closer, I saw that the headlights belonged to a full-sized van with an extendable antenna for live broadcasts. The media had already arrived, which likely meant somebody—maybe even our killer—had tipped them off. I swore under my breath.

  “Belay that last order. Your job is to keep these assholes busy.”

  “That I can do,” said the old-timer, holding up his hands for the van to stop. I left him to his devices and joined my younger colleagues beside their cruiser. One held a shotgun, while the second carried an M4 tactical rifle. A lot of US soldiers carried M4 rifles during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and since our department recruited vets heavily, many of our younger officers had a deep familiarity with the weapon. It seemed like overkill for most jobs, but if we got into a firefight, I’d be grateful to have it nearby.

  “We’ll sweep the perimeter. If we find a threat, we’ll back off and call in SWAT. If we don’t, we’re going to clear the house and detain everyone we see inside. Our officers, if they are still here, will be in uniform. Questions?”

  Neither of them had any, so I took a breath and led them toward the house. The Penningtons had a red-brick Tudor-style home, set back from the road and partially hidden by mature trees. A brick walkway led from the street to their front door, while a thick, waist-high stone fence surrounded the property. It’d offer protection as well as concealment in case someone started shooting, so I nodded toward my officer with the M4 rifle.

  “Stay behind the fence and cover us.”

  “You really think someone’s waiting to shoot us?”

  I wanted to snap at him, but I held my tongue and counted to five. “I don’t know. That’s why you’re going to stay back there. That’s not a suggestion.”

  I turned, and the officer with the shotgun and I crouched in the shadows cast by an oak tree as we crept along the home’s exterior. Lights illuminated several of the rooms, but nothing stirred inside as far as I could tell and none of the windows looked broken. The side of the house had vegetation along the fence line so dense that I couldn’t see the road.

  As I squinted, hoping my eyes would adjust to the dark, a breeze kicked up, carrying with it the faint, almost coppery scent of fresh blood. I flicked on my light and sucked in a sharp, surprised breath. Officer Dennison lay on her back about ten feet from us, her eyes still open and her hands empty. She wore a navy uniform and a puffy department-issue jacket with a badge over the right breast. Someone had slit her throat.

  “Oh, Christ,” said the officer behind me.

  My heart started to pound and I could feel my adrenaline spiking off the charts.

  “Keep it together,” I said, forcing a measure of calm and strength I didn’t feel into my voice. “But get on your radio and call this in. We’ve got an officer down.”

  My partner jogged back the way we had come, and I squeezed the grip of my firearm hard before creeping forward again to round the back of the house. The night air had frozen the moisture on the lawn, leaving it slick. Unlike in the side yard, the home’s designer had installed floodlights to illuminate the back. Evergreen hedges cordoned the yard from the street, giving the homeowner privacy for a cedar play set in the far corner and a red-brick patio directly off the rear of the home. Even though the neighbors lived just a hundred yards away, I felt completely isolated from them.

  With the floodlights on, I presented a clear target to anyone in the house, but no one started shooting or came running. I had the feeling the people who had killed Officer Dennison had long since left. Doug Osbourne wouldn’t have let his partner die alone, so I knew we’d find his body here somewhere, too. Maybe the Penningtons had gotten out, though.

  I rejoined my team behind the stone fence in front of the home. I couldn’t see their faces in the dark, but I could hear their ragged breaths. The one with the shotgun whispered frantically into his radio, and while he did that, I looked at the guy with the rifle.

  “We’ve got to find Officer Osbourne and the Penningtons.”

  He hesitated. “Shouldn’t we wait for backup?”

  “Not if people are inside dying. Let’s move.”

  He adjusted his grip on the rifle, but I didn’t give him a chance to hesitate before walking up the path toward the home. Like before, nothing stirred in the windows. The front door looked like heavy, solid wood with a black wrought-iron knocker tacked to the center. I directed my new partner to stand on one side of the door, while I stood to the other and tried the knob. The door swung open with a creak, exposing the wood-paneled interior. Doug Osbourne lay on the floor, his mouth open wide in a surprised O. He hadn’t worn a vest. Someone had shot him twice in the chest, likely with a low-caliber weapon judging by the size of the entry wounds.

  “Keep it together,” I said, carefully stepping inside before the man behind me could say anything. “We need to find the Penningtons.”

  Of course, I already knew where I’d find them. My caller had left us a surprise in the basement.

  I followed the smell of gasoline thro
ugh the front hallway, to the kitchen, and finally to a nondescript six-panel door beside a walk-in pantry. I turned the brass doorknob, and my partner gagged almost immediately. Over the years, I’ve been to a lot of death scenes, four of which involved incinerated bodies. I’ve never forgotten that smell, and even though I couldn’t see Mark and Gail, I knew what waited for me at the bottom of those stairs. My caller had finished the job he had started in Danny Navarra’s house, only this time, I hadn’t been around to pull them out before the fire reached them.

  I turned and looked at my partner. “Wait up here.”

  He nodded, gratefully it seemed, and I took the steps down, slowly, reverently, knowing I had entered a tomb. The Penningtons had left the basement unfinished, but they had installed fluorescent lights on the ceiling. A smoky haze hung in the air, and as I reached the bottom step, I recited a prayer for the family before me. Gail and Mark lay on the ground. Black, charred skin covered their faces and chests, but the flames had been so intense on their lower extremities that the flesh had rendered off completely, exposing blackened bones. Mark had clung to his mother, and she had held him against her breast, the cast still on her arm and wrist from where I had broken her hand. I hoped that final hug had given them some measure of peace, for they had clearly died in agony.

  Chapter 20

  One look at Mark and Gail and I knew why Barrio Sureño unnerved Konstantin Bukoholov. The old man might have been willing to kill his enemies, but he wouldn’t touch children. The people who could burn one alive…I didn’t know what to think of them. My chest felt tight, and I wanted to vomit, but I had work to do and it didn’t involve me brooding. I took the stairs to the first floor. My young partner waited for me in the kitchen, his face ashen.