The Mentor (11 page)

In doing so, he made something out on the other side of the room. Something feminine. Adele.

She was leaning against the wall, apparently alone. She watched the party and took occasional sips of her beer. When a couple of reckless dancers lost their balance and collapsed at her feet, she laughed along with the rest of the crowd.

Then, suddenly, she turned her gaze toward Eric and their eyes met.

Adele flashed one of her enigmatic smiles and lifted her mug to toast him. Then her expression changed and she looked a little more perplexed. She felt at her side with a free hand, located her purse, and then dug around in it until she found her smartphone. She concentrated on the screen for a moment. After that she moved, disappearing from Eric’s view while he looked around, trying to figure out where she’d gone.

Without thinking about it, Eric elbowed his way through the crowd, trying to catch up with Adele.

He went out through a back door into an alley behind the bar. It was empty. As soon as the door closed behind him, the noisy hubbub from the party was squelched into a faint, muffled roar, as if they were celebrating far away.

Eric walked down the three stairs that brought him to street level but wound up with one foot in a deep puddle. It must have rained during the short time he’d been inside. A streetlight shone directly overhead, and everything illuminated in its cone of light glistened with a wet sheen. It had been a short, intense summer shower.

The air felt fresher, or maybe that was just the shift in temperature. He rubbed his hands against his arms to warm up. What was he doing out here? There was nobody here but him.

“Jesus, Danny, don’t be so
hysterical
!” Eric spun around, searching for the source of that voice. The walls of the nearby buildings were close, echoing the voice back and forth. It could have come from anywhere, but not too far away.

Adele laughed, and Eric followed the sound.

He walked stealthily, following the wall. Farther up the alley it turned to the right, circling the pub.

A sudden cry. Quick footsteps.

Eric froze for a moment; then he ran toward the corner where the alley turned.

“Oh, sweetheart, I think you and I have a few things to say to each other,” murmured a male voice.

Instinctively, Eric’s right hand reached for the pistol at his side, but it wasn’t there. He was off duty and hadn’t brought it with him. “Fuck.”

He leaned around the corner. The light was dim farther on, but he could just make out the shadow of a man who was holding Adele in a headlock, forcing her to bend over to one side. With his other arm he was holding a gun to her head. Adele had her hands in the air with her back turned to Eric. On the ground halfway between them was her smartphone, the screen still glowing.

“You’re a little whore, you know that?” the man said.

Adele let out a little stifled moan but didn’t answer. Another woman would have been begging, imploring the man not to hurt her. She, on the other hand, seemed to be keeping her cool.

“Now we’re going to go take a little walk, you and I,” said her aggressor, tightening his grip.

Eric had to do something, anything. Against all logic, he stepped out from around the corner. “Police!” he shouted as if he had his pistol ready. “Let her go!”

The man turned his head in Eric’s direction but stopped halfway and glanced up overhead. The light. He shoved Adele violently to the ground and ran away.

Eric’s heart stopped for a moment, then began racing faster than before.

He was at her side in an instant. “Are you okay?” He knelt down beside her and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Adele seemed disoriented. Then her expression hardened. “I think so . . .” she said, but Eric could hear pain in her voice.

“Can you get up?”

She nodded, and Eric helped her to her feet. “Oh fuck!” said Adele. “I broke a heel!” On her feet, it was hard for her to keep her balance.

“Are you sure nothing’s broken?” It hurt to see her like this, fragile, her hair and clothes dirtied with mud. She had an abrasion on one knee. He felt a compelling need to protect her but at the same time wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, or even what he was allowed to do.

Adele patted her clothing as if searching for something. “He stole my cell phone.” Oddly, it seemed like her phone and her shoes were the only things she was worried about. It wasn’t exactly what you’d expect from a normal victim of aggression, but then again, Adele Pennington was anything but normal.

“No, it’s over there.” He pointed back at the alley, and she immediately went over to pick it up. He followed her, worried. Maybe she was in a state of shock.

Adele retrieved the cell phone. She rubbed it with a clean corner of her shirt, making sure the screen wasn’t broken. “He put his hands on me,” she said with a grunt of disgust.

“Hey,” said Eric, walking over to her and lifting her head up delicately. His fingers were under her chin so that he could look her in the eye. The weak lamplight shone on her face. Her eyes were clear, trusting. Adele swallowed and her lips trembled a little, attracting his attention.

And then, before he could stop himself, Eric bent down and kissed her.

At first she didn’t move. Then she opened her mouth a little, but she didn’t respond to his kiss in any other way.

The impulse, born of a desire he’d been repressing for a long time, quickly turned to guilt. In a sober flash, he pulled away from her. Adele stared up at him, a look of astonishment on her face.

What on earth was he thinking? Someone had just attacked this woman, and the best he could come up with was to take advantage of her the moment her defenses were down?

He stumbled backward a couple of steps. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know what came over me.” Then he turned away, ashamed.

“It’s okay,” she said behind him.

Oh no, it wasn’t. “I’m mortified. Please excuse me.” Eric couldn’t even bring himself to meet her eyes as he said it.

“Really,” she insisted. “It doesn’t matter.”

He could hear her moving, so he started walking. He couldn’t stand to be close to her. He just wanted to get away.

“Eric!” Adele’s voice echoed down the alley.

He stopped. It was the first time she’d ever called him by his name. She had no idea what hearing his name come out of her mouth did to him.

A moment later her hand was on his shoulder, and a moment after that she was standing in front of him. She didn’t seem scared anymore, or in shock. She was the same old Adele, breathtakingly beautiful and tough as nails. Sure of herself.

A drop of rain fell on her face, then another. Eric felt rain on his hair as he watched it wet her face, falling harder and harder. Thunder rumbled across the sky above them. Lightning flashed.

Adele smiled and raised herself up on her tiptoes, her mouth open, as rainwater poured down on them both. She began laughing, and he did too. He’d moved from desire to guilt and then to this unusual sensation, at once pleasurable and comforting. Whatever was happening, whatever this was, he never wanted it to stop.

When Adele stepped back, their eyes met. Both were still smiling. Their clothing was soaked, but who cared?

He put his hands on her sides, and she put hers on his face. A tingle of desire, indistinguishable from the electricity already in the air. Finally their mouths met in a long, passionate kiss as a downpour thundered all around them, isolating the couple from the rest of the world.

For a little while time seemed to have lost all meaning. Then, once they were both out of breath, they pulled apart and stared into each other’s eyes.

Not long after that the rain began to peter out, and as it lessened, the sense of completeness that had filled Eric’s heart began to diminish, as did the smile on Adele’s face. The rain stopped altogether.

It was as if an enchantment had been broken. The couple pulled apart, disconcerted. They looked silently at one another for a few moments, before Adele looked away. “I think it would be better if I went home.”

A deep sense of disappointment threaded its way through Eric’s heart. No. He didn’t want her to leave. Maybe he should offer to give her a lift? But he didn’t have his car. What the hell was he thinking? He was what she was trying to get away from. He could see her regretting what had just taken place between them.

Adele took another step backward and began digging frantically in her purse. She removed her keys and, without even looking at him one last time, nodded over her shoulder, back toward the pub. She moved her lips slightly, like she was searching for the right thing to say, but in the end just murmured, “Good night.” She took off as if escaping.

He watched her go, wanting nothing more than to stop her, but he couldn’t say a thing. He stood there, immobile, until he couldn’t see her anymore. He heard the distant noise of an engine starting up, roaring, and then a car taking off with a screech of rubber. Only then did Eric move again.

He made his way back to the pub, but the last thing he wanted to do was go inside and celebrate.

Reluctant, he went inside and was immediately met with the happy roar of the crowd. It seemed like he’d been gone for hours. He’d tell Miriam he wasn’t feeling well and take a taxi back to the apartment.

“Hey, boss!” Martin Stern appeared at his side. “I didn’t see you come in.” This was a vaguely drunken version of Stern. He was unquestionably more carefree than usual, but that made him no less annoying to Eric at the moment. “You’re all wet. What the heck happened?”

Eric skewered Martin with an icy stare, and his colleague reacted as usual, despite the alcohol, by lowering his head in submission. “See you around, b-boss,” he stammered before disappearing into the crowd.

“Detective Shaw?” A man’s voice rose above the hubbub.

Eric turned around to see who was calling him.

“Right here, Detective.” A hand waved above people’s heads. Gavin Lennox’s face was beneath it. A group of people passed nearby, pushing him to one side, but Lennox kept coming toward him.

“You’re here too,” said Eric. It was half-question and half-statement. Jane really had invited all of Scotland Yard. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised to see the mayor’s head pop out from the other room.

“I was looking for you.” Now the two men were standing in front of one another, and Lennox could talk in a normal tone of voice.

Shaw’s brow furrowed. What the hell did this guy want now?

“Detective Leroux had to take off for . . . something urgent.” Lennox made a gesture. “She couldn’t find you anywhere, and she asked me to let you know.”

“Miriam’s already left?” It was a rhetorical question. What he really wanted to say was,
Why the fuck did she take off like that?

Lennox shrugged. “I don’t know why. We were talking, sort of. And at a certain point she glanced at her watch, then took off like a jackrabbit.”

CHAPTER 10

He grabbed his kit out of the trunk and handed another to Jane, and the two detectives headed for the entrance to the small house. That morning the sun had finally decided to break free of its cloud cage, and even though it was only ten in the morning, the day was already starting to heat up.

Eric sighed. He wished he could take his jacket off. “Are you sure this is the right address?” he asked, turning to look at his colleague. It was too calm. Where were the other squad cars?

Detective Hall nodded yes. That’s when he saw a uniformed policeman step out of the garden.

“Detectives,” said Agent Mills. “We’re all back here, on the other side. The crime scene is in the garage.”

“Okay. Lead the way.”

The man’s face was distraught. “I’d better warn you—it’s not a pretty sight.”

They followed the officer across the lawn. Once they’d passed a row of hedges, they could finally see the squad cars, all their lights still on and flashing, as well as the coroner’s van parked along the sidewalk. They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of the garage, its door stuck halfway open. They could see the legs of people walking around inside.

At that very moment Miriam bent down and came out of the garage, white as a sheet. She walked quickly, then started running, toward the little street. She threw a glance toward them but didn’t stop.

“What’s up with her?” asked Jane, turning to watch her go and practically running into Eric.

“No idea.”

Once she reached the street, Miriam bent over and vomited.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” said Eric, alarmed. “You go on ahead.” He ran over to Detective Leroux.

Miriam was steadying herself with one hand on the back of a car. She heaved, trying to vomit again, but nothing came out except a little bile.

“Hey, Miriam, are you okay?” Shaw handed her a tissue. He’d never seen her get sick at a crime scene before.

“Better than the guy in there, that’s for sure,” she responded, wrinkling her lips. She took the tissue and wiped her mouth.

Eric sighed. The day was off to a marvelous start.

“I feel like shit . . . ,” said Miriam in a low voice. She seemed angry with herself for her reaction. Or maybe she was feeling bad about something else?

“What happened to you last night?”

Miriam rolled her eyes and smoothed her hair. She didn’t seem in the mood to make conversation. “I had something to do.”

“What? And it popped into your head in the middle of the party?” He wasn’t really angry with her for having abandoned him the night before, even though she’d insisted on taking him. He wasn’t used to this kind of behavior from her, though. He was angry, but not with her.

“Jonathan called.” She waved her hand as if she wanted that to be the end of it, for that vague explanation to finish the conversation.

“Jonathan called you?” Eric said with an inquisitive tone. “Lennox told me that you glanced at your watch, then practically sprinted out of the pub. He didn’t say anything about a phone call.”

“What is this,” she demanded, annoyed, “an interrogation?”

Eric looked at her, saying nothing. He was waiting for an answer, and she knew it.

“He called me five minutes before that, and I told him to go fuck himself . . . Then I regretted it, okay?”

“How did it go?” he asked. Every time they talked about Jonathan, he wound up cutting her off. Who knew why? At this point, he was just curious.

“Oh, forget about it.” She made a grimace of denial. She wouldn’t say anything more about it. “I’m going to go ask the neighbors some questions. Have fun in there,” she said before walking away.

Eric could tell she was hiding something from him. She was nervous, preoccupied, but as long as she refused to talk to him about it, there was little he could do to help her.

Reluctantly Eric walked back to the garage. In order to get inside, he had to slide his kit under the door first, then bend over and scoot beneath the garage door.

What he saw when he straightened back up chilled the detective to the bone.

For a few brief moments horrible images from the past bubbled up in his mind and were superimposed on what he now found himself facing. Eric released a long, pent-up breath.

“Eric,” said Dr. Dawson by way of hello. He was kneeling in front of the chair the victim’s body was in—what was left of the victim’s body, at least.

A flash lit up the garage, blinding Eric for a moment and shocking him out of the stupor he’d slipped into. He blinked furiously. Once he could see clearly again, he realized Adele was there, circling the cadaver and taking pictures.

The body was misshapen and covered with blood. There was a bullet hole in the back of the head. The victim had been bound at the wrists and ankles, with another rope wrapped around his chest, strapping him into the chair and preventing him from falling forward. Jane was collecting the fingerprints spread out across the floor one by one with a portable tool.

“The house and the car both belong to a man named Tom Ridley, director of an art gallery downtown.” Mills was talking quietly, his gaze pointed at the wall. “Sixty-two, a widower, no children. We’re trying to track down a relative who can identify the body, unless we get something from the prints.”

Eric couldn’t stop staring at the corpse. He found it magnetic. “What else do we know about this Ridley?” He realized he was hyperventilating. He needed to calm down, immediately. “Does he have any priors?”

Agent Mills shook his head. “Nothing, not even a parking ticket. He’s clean.”

“You said he ran an art gallery,” said Jane. She had finished collecting fingerprints and was now loading the data into their server so that it could be forwarded to IDENT1. “Maybe he had something valuable in the house, or here in the garage.” She turned to look at the shelving—dusty but empty. “Did you see if there were any signs of robbery in the house?”

“Nothing obvious.”

“If it’s a robbery, it took a decidedly wrong turn,” said Dr. Dawson.

Hearing those words, Eric felt a wave of nausea rise up inside him. No, it couldn’t be true. Couldn’t be.

Another flash. Adele stepped in front of him and knelt down to photograph the hands.

“They chopped off his fingers with one clean blow. Likely with that,” said the doctor, pointing to a small bloody cleaver lying on the floor. “Given the amount of blood here, I’d say he was still alive while they were torturing him. And then . . .” The doctor stood up and reached out to the victim’s head with his latex-gloved hands, turning it a little. “They struck him repeatedly in the head with a blunt instrument.” He examined the wounds more closely, then used a pair of tweezers to pluck some wood fiber from one of them, tucking it into a little plastic bag.

“There are medium-velocity blood sprays in almost every direction,” said Jane. “He was struck repeatedly, over and over again, from different directions and just kept on bleeding.”

Adele took a picture of the floor where her colleague was pointing. Backing up, she bumped Eric’s arm for a brief moment, and their eyes met. He opened his mouth to say something, even though he had no idea what, but she turned away before he had the chance.

“Finally they shot him in the head,” concluded Dawson. “But you’ll have to wait for the autopsy before I can get the bullet.”

Shaw nodded slightly, still in shock. Deep in his heart he already knew what kind of weapon the killer had used. Now he understood that strange sense of familiarity he’d felt the day before during the meeting. The images of the three victims’ bodies marched through his mind, one after the other, followed by a little girl’s frightened eyes.