The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 34

  “It’s called Force Recon in the Marines,” Nick said.

  “Okay, that.” I pointed at Carella.

  “Well, now they call it Raiders, but that’s a recent development.”

  “Can you confirm his complete role in the military?”

  “Sure. I’ll add it to my list.” Carella pulled out a pen, tried writing in his pad, then started flicking the pen.

  “By noon. I need the data by noon.”

  “I’ll do my best. You know DC. They tend to work on their own timetable.”

  I blew out a tired breath; the sudden infusion of adrenaline during the fight for my life had drained me.

  “I know we want to think Bruno committed all these murders, but we’ve got to verify it with hard evidence.”

  I started ticking off points with the fingers of my hand. “We need to compare the knife wounds on the other vics with the knife we recovered from Bruno.”

  Flipping his thumb over his shoulder, Nick said, “It’s already bagged and headed straight to Quantico.”

  “Cool.” Taking hold of my second finger, I continued. “This next one will take more than a couple of quick phone calls. Need to verify his whereabouts during the time of the other murders—Monty’s and the state police lieutenant’s.”

  “I’ll be honest,” Carella said, taking a drag on his cigarette, then blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. “We’re running a little thin on resources.”

  A quick set of images of the attack flashed through my mind.

  “He said something to me that might be pertinent. Or might not.”

  “What was it?” Carella asked.

  “In so many words, he said he didn’t like me prying into other people’s business.”

  A blanket of silence fell over the group, and I could hear the same accordion playing in the background.

  “Sounds like he knows you were at the two other crime scenes, or at least involved in the investigation,” Carella said.

  I let those thoughts simmer for a couple of seconds.

  I turned to Nick. “Let’s get Brad on the horn.”

  Nick tapped his phone. “At almost midnight?”

  “He says he lives and breathes the FBI. Besides, he can sleep when he’s dead.” The phrase rolled off my tongue with surprising familiarity.

  Nick turned his head slightly, giving me a strange look.

  “I think my dad drilled that into me when I was young. I don’t know.” I took in a puff of smoke and started coughing and waving the smoke away, which triggered an instant jolt of pain in my side.

  “Sorry about that. The wind changed directions on me,” Carella said.

  “No…problem,” I wheezed.

  Nick tapped his phone with his thumb, then he paused and glanced up. “Aren’t we forgetting about one very important thing?”

  “You’re right, Nick. The other guy who was murdered tonight. I completely lost focus on him since I was attacked.”

  Carella tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. “My bad, guys. I got distracted by all this crazy shit, even the moron playing the accordion.” He stepped back and scanned the army of uniforms around us. Then he returned. “I need to find my techie.”

  “Techie?” Nick asked.

  “A guy who does all my tech work for me. He can pull up the crime scene photos from his tablet. Wait, there he is.”

  Carella curled his fingers in his mouth and released a whistle that probably woke up half of Brighton Beach. Then he waved his arm and said, “Yo, Tanner. Over here, kid.”

  “That’s his version of our Brad,” Nick whispered to me.

  “He’s your intelligence analyst?” I asked Carella, just as the kid, presumably Tanner, ran up to us, only a bit of peach fuzz above his lip.

  “Yes sir.” Tanner stood at attention.

  Nick and I covered our mouths, trying not to laugh out loud at the kid, but mostly at Carella for training him to be so subservient.

  “Need those photos from the Pavlovich crime scene.”

  “I’ll pull that right up for you. Just give me five seconds here.”

  Carella craned his neck to look over Tanner’s shoulder. “We don’t have time to mess around, kid. Lives are at stake. This is the FBI.” He snapped his fingers twice, and Tanner literally flinched like a trained horse.

  “Sir, more information has—”

  “We’ll get to it. Just want to review all the crime scene photos with the two agents here from Boston.”

  Tanner lifted his head and waved. I extended my hand. “Special Agent Troutt. This is Special Agent Radowski. Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah, nice—”

  “Hey, time on task here. The photos first,” Carella said.

  The images lit up the screen, and Carella turned the tablet so we could all see it. He thumbed through one picture at a time as he provided the commentary.

  “A liquor store just a few blocks from here. Been around forever, in the same family.”

  He paused on one photo that showed the front counter, blood smeared across the top.

  “A lot of frickin’ blood,” Nick said. “He must have really had something against this guy.”

  A reserved Carella shook his head and said, “I’ve been stuck over here. This is my first time to actually see these.”

  “The next five or six will really turn your stomach,” Tanner said.

  The kid was right. Looking at the man’s front side, blood coated his jeans and shirt and every bit of exposed skin. The next shot showed his jeans ripped into shreds.

  “What the—”Nick leaned closer to the tablet.

  The three agents exchanged glances, and then Tanner broke the silence.

  “Sir, we just got word—”

  “I know, Tanner.” Carella looked straight at me. “This maggot, Bruno, castrated the vic. Can you believe that sick mother?” I could hear air stream from his nose.

  “But that’s not the latest, dammit.” Tanner grabbed the tablet from Carella’s hand, his face and neck flush. It was easy to see why. The stress of dealing with gruesome murders could take its toll on even the calmest person.

  “The MEs have found the man’s...” Tanner shifted his eyes to me. “You know.”

  “We’re professionals, Tanner. All of us. Spit it out.”

  “Okay. His cock and balls, sir. They found them stuffed down the man’s throat.”

  Carella and Nick winced at the same time. While I’d heard countless people threaten such an act—including me—the threats were always in jest.

  “This Bruno guy. He’s really a piece of work. To think he was actually walking the streets. Do we know his arrest record yet?” I asked.

  Carella and Tanner both shook their heads.

  “Agent Troutt, if I may?” Tanner held up a finger.

  “You’ve got more to add?”

  “Jesus, Tanner, what more could there be?” Carella asked, his face turning white.

  “They found something else stuffed down the vic’s throat.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A tongue.”

  The accordion off in the distance had just squealed out a high note, piecing my ear, which almost made me question what I’d just heard Tanner say. I took a breath and let the facts marinate.

  “My bet is that it’s Karina’s tongue.”

  “Agreed. It’s just too much of a coincidence. Someone is sending a message. I’m just not sure to who, though,” Nick said.

  “For starters, to Karina and the guy. What’s his name?” Carella tapped Tanner on the shoulder.

  “Mike Pavlovich. Lives in Brighton Beach. Married with two kids,” Tanner said.

  A gust of wind whipped across my face, and I looked toward the crowd, staring at no one in particular.

  “The liquor store has been passed down through the family, right?”

  Carella glanced at Tanner, and they both nodded.

  “The vic’s age. How old is he?”

  “Let me ch
eck on his bio information real quickly,” Tanner said, his eyes scanning the screen for a few seconds. “He’s thirty-nine.”

  “Does it say what high school he attended?”

  He dipped his head and I could see his lips moving. Then he shifted his eyes upward. “Grady. The same as Karina.”

  “They must have known each other.” Nick peeled open a wrapper and tossed a piece of gum in his mouth.

  “If Karina and Mike knew each other, then what kind of message was Bruno sending by putting on this little show? How does it connect with the other murders?” Carella ran his fingers through his mane, then he searched for his pack of cigarettes again.

  I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly parched.

  “I’m worried,” I said to Nick.

  “The pieces don’t fit?”

  “As much as I want to pin all of this on Bruno, I’m not sure he’s our guy. Maybe he’s involved. We talked about the copycat killer possibility, and that’s still plausible. But we’ve got to put some urgency into figuring out if he could have killed the others.”

  I could see Nick punching up Brad’s number.

  Carella pulled out another cigarette. “If it wasn’t before, this thing just got personal.”

  Tanner spoke up and said. “Fucking A it did.”

  11

  Fresh drool had just rolled off my lips when I felt a thud on the mattress next to me.

  I was so damn tired my pulse still ticked at the same reduced pace.

  Then I heard a giggle. A Luke giggle.

  Pulling my mind out of the cobwebs of sleep, I leaned up on one elbow and only saw an orange blur. Steel cotton—also known as Pumpkin’s tongue—licked my elbow.

  “You haven’t fed the cat.”

  “Your voice sounds like you’ve been smoking, Mom,” Luke said emphatically, ignoring my comment.

  I stopped rubbing my eyes. “How would you know what smoking does to your voice?”

  “Because Shane’s big sister’s boyfriend smokes a pack a day so he can have an extra-deep voice. He’s trying to become one of the top YouTubers out there.”

  “Sounds rad.”

  His face coiled into a twisted ball. “What the heck does rad mean?”

  “Nothing. Only something we fogies say.”

  “True dat.” He snapped his fingers and turned to head out of the bedroom as I focused on the clock.

  I cupped my hand against my mouth. “Hey, dude, it’s almost seven thirty, and you’re still wearing your pajamas.”

  He stuck his bushy head back in the door. “No prob, Mom. It’s PJ day. By the way, this is going to be my last year to do this. And I’m only doing it because my PJs look just like the pre-game sweats the Celtics wear.”

  “Groovy.”

  “You crack me up, Mom. Trying to be hip. But I still love you anyway.”

  Did I just understand that conversation correctly? Seemed like Luke had just taken a giant leap forward into teenage-hood. A fluffy tail brushed against my face. I shoved Pumpkin off the bed and tried to pry the cat hair out of my mouth. When I hit the stairs, a waft of Latin spices ignited instant hunger pains.

  As I shuffled through the living room, I called out to the nanny of the decade. “Ezzy, did you go to the trouble of making your famous breakfast tacos?”

  The moment I crossed the threshold of the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks. I had to rub my eyes again to believe what I was seeing.

  “Hey, Mom.” Erin was flipping a tortilla in a skillet as Ezzy sat at the bar, cupping a mug of coffee.

  I gave Ezzy a look that said, Who replaced my real daughter? Ezzy shrugged slightly and released a sly smile.

  “The kids and I felt bad you had to work so late last night. We also guessed that you probably weren’t able to have a decent dinner. Am I right?”

  “I ate a candy bar at LaGuardia,” I said, showing some teeth.

  She leaned my direction, narrowing her wise eyes. “What kind of scrape did you get into this time, Dr. Alex?”

  “Eh, nothing I couldn’t handle.” I plodded over to the counter and poured myself a mug of coffee. Before I took a sip, I held it up and said, “This is one-hundred-percent leaded, right?”

  She nodded and said, “I woke up when you got home last night. As in about three hours ago.”

  I gave her a half-bow, and then shuffled to Erin and put my arm around her. Just as I was about to nuzzle my nose into her hair and give her a kiss, she scooted over to the sink.

  “Sorry, Mom. Need to clean up the mess.”

  Shifting my sights back to Ezzy, we traded another round of surprised looks.

  Just then, a car horn sounded.

  “Oh crap, that’s Trish’s mom.”

  “Don’t worry about the dishes, Erin,” Ezzy said.

  “Thanks, Ezzy. You’re the best.” Erin dropped the skillet and headed for the mudroom. I spun right and reached for her, but I caught nothing but air.

  “Why Trish’s mom?” I wondered if she’d already told me, but I’d forgotten. Too many thoughts about Cobb, his demented protégé—if he indeed had one—and all the images of the countless murder scenes.

  I blinked it all away and tried a second time. “Why isn’t Ezzy taking you to school, or better yet, the school bus?”

  She hopped back into the kitchen, and my eyes went straight for what was wedged under her arm.

  “Is that a tennis racquet?”

  “It’s a new flat iron, Mom.” She laughed, but no roll of the eyes. “Seriously, Trish’s mom is taking us to tennis tryouts. Well, they’re not really tryouts, but they’re asking any new kids who want to try out to come to this camp-like thing.”

  “Cool.”

  “See ya.” Seconds later, the front door opened.

  “Oh, where did you get the tennis racquet?” I called out.

  “I found it at the bottom of your closet. Later.”

  The door slammed shut just as Luke zoomed into the kitchen. “Gotta get to school early, Ezzy.”

  I looked for my purse. “I can take him.”

  “No worries,” she said, sliding her purse strap over her shoulder. “Rest some before you head back into work.”

  I gave Ezzy a wink, then tried catching up to Luke. “You’re not getting away from me without a kiss goodbye.”

  “Oh yeah? Watch me,” he chortled while scooting under my arm and zipping out the back door.

  I stood in the middle of the kitchen, my sore jaw hanging open.

  “The kids are growing up,” Ezzy said with an arm on the back door. “And that’s a good thing.”

  “I’ll catch them later. If I’m going to keep doing this crazy job, I’ve got to have my Luke and Erin hugs.”

  Ezzy winked and headed out.

  I finally took a sip of my coffee, then I sat at the table and scarfed down a breakfast taco in about thirty seconds. The cat made his presence known by sitting on my foot and purring. The doorbell rang, and Pumpkin dug his back claws into my socked feet. We both jumped.

  Opening the front door, I realized I’d forgotten to put on my robe. I clutched my chest.

  “You didn’t get my text?” With a cell phone in one hand and a large cup of coffee in the other, Nick stood on my front porch, a demonic gaze in his eyes.

  “Haven’t checked my phone.” I turned my head back to the kitchen, wondering if I’d forgotten to charge it overnight.

  “Crap, Alex.” He stopped himself midsentence and slurped a mouthful of coffee. He’d yet to blink his eyes. “Emails, text messages are flying back and forth.”

  “Sorry.” I wiped my eyes one more time. “I didn’t hear a thing until Luke dropped the cat on my bed. I was in deep sleep for all of about two whole hours.”

  “Great. You’re sleeping in while this investigation is in deep shit. Or maybe not. Who knows? It’s a frickin’ cluster right now.”

  I blew out a breath, channeling my thoughts and energy. When I took my sights off Nick’s wide-eyed facial expressions, I noticed his uncharacteristi
cally rumpled appearance.

  “Are you wearing the same suit as yesterday?”

  He glared at his cell phone while gulping his coffee. “Maybe. I don’t know,” he said with an agitated tone.

  A knot of his blue and gold tie was pulled from his neck all the way down to the third button on his shirt, which was partially untucked and wrinkled as hell. His pants looked like they’d been wadded up in a corner.

  “Did you sleep in your clothes?”

  He let out a guttural gasp. “Sleep? Who the hell can sleep? I tossed and turned on the couch for a couple of hours.”

  “Antonio didn’t have a problem with that?”

  “He knows I work for the FBI. And freaky shit happens when you work for the FBI. But you know that more than anyone.”

  I could have sworn I saw his veins pulsating from his forehead. I had to find a way to bring him back to Earth. Over Nick’s shoulder, I could see a neighbor looking at us as she walked her dog. I gave her a quick wave.

  “Sorry. Come on in, and let’s sit down and discuss this.”

  I left him at the kitchen table and stuck a bowl of fruit in front of him while I ran upstairs to throw on some clothes. I walked into the kitchen while still buttoning the sleeves on my blue-and-white-striped blouse.

  With her legs crossed and one arm draped over the wooden chair, Ezzy sat across from Nick, who was laughing so hard the sound had morphed into a machine-gun cackle.

  “And that’s the real story about the chicken getting its head cut off,” she said while winking at me.

  Nick belted out another ten-second cackle, then he noticed me as I fiddled with tying my hair back.

  “Hey, Alex. Ezzy’s cracking me up here.” He wiped tears from his eyes, which had enormous bags under them.

  “Glad you’re chilling out.” I fixed my second cup of coffee as Nick and Ezzy continued small talk, and then I joined them at the table.

  Nick took the final bite of a pear. “Damn, that’s good.”

  Ezzy spoke up, turning her playful gaze to me. “Glad to see someone enjoys the organic fruit I bought. Don’t want to see good money go to waste.”

  I ignored the friendly dig, then touched Nick’s arm. “Ten minutes ago, you were a live wire. Did Ezzy lace the pear with something I’m not aware of?”