Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jonesy
I let myself into Lottie’s house, the fireplace roaring as Lottie, Caleb, Alfie, and his girlfriend Mia stand around talking. There is a significant lack of drinks and one fiery redhead missing from the scene, which I’m sure will soon be rectified.
“The she-devil on her way?”
“Actually, she’ll be a bit late. She wanted to go and check out a crime scene again—something about sifting through her thoughts,” Lottie responds, her usual wine glass in hand.
I frown, surprised that she didn’t ask me to join, but I’m interrupted by my phone ringing. I assume this would be her, but it’s an unknown number.
“Jones speaking.” I hold my finger up to the group and turn toward the kitchen in case it’s someone from work.
“Dr. Jones, my name is Kenny Miller. I’m the lab technician working on the evidence for the Maddox case.”
“Hi, man, what can I do for you?”
“Your boss, Colonel Rogers, gave me your number as a backup. I can’t seem to get hold of him, and he said he wanted to be the first to find out when the evidence results came back.
He was quite terrifying, actually.” The man gives a shaky laugh.
I know exactly what he means; Colonel Rogers isn’t the kind of man who hears the word no very often.
“Well, even though it’s now inadmissible in court as the original evidence was stolen, I had tested it before it was taken.
The DNA evidence found on the victim was Travis Marrs-Rogers.
He has a few prior arrests for assault and sexual assault against women; one of them was only sixteen at the time, and he was twenty-one. So a long time ago.”
“Wait, did you say Travis Marrs?” I say.
“Umm, Travis Marrs-Rogers, but yes, the report says he goes by Travis Marrs now. It looks like he dropped the second name.”
Son of a bitch. Colonel-fucking-Rogers has been lying through his teeth this whole time. Are he and Travis related? And maybe Travis knows something, so that’s why he was so eager to get it under military control. He was protecting a family member.
“What evidence was it?”
“Saliva on her neck,” he pauses for a moment to check. “And some skin under her fingernails.”
“It definitely belonged to Travis?” I scratch the back of my neck.
Katie was right the whole time. Her gut feeling knew that something wasn’t right; she’s been saying it from day one.
“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain, and that’s about as certain as you can get in these cases.”
Holy shit. The kid really didn’t do it. This will cast serious doubt on the Connor Maddox case if there is another suspect. I need to call Katie.
“Have you spoken to the detective yet?” I ask.
“No.” He chuckles awkwardly. “The colonel was rather insistent that he find out first.”
“Okay, I’m going to need you to call the detective immediately. Don’t call the colonel.” I’m moving around, getting my jacket and keys, heading for the door. Everyone else has stopped talking and instead watches me with confused faces.
“Sure, but don’t you want to know the results of Connor Maddox’s blood test?”
Jesus, bud, spit it out.
I run a hand over my beard, a chill sweeping down my spine. “Hit me with it.”
“He was roofied. By the timeline and amount still in his system when he got picked up a few hours later, he would have been experiencing memory loss, drowsiness, struggling to focus or keep his eyes open.”
Jesus. This would topple the entire case with the other evidence as well. “Could people have assumed he was drunk?”
“Absolutely. The effect would have been worse, considering his blood alcohol content was so high. Between you and me, the guy was so far over the limit, he wouldn’t have been able to cut up a sandwich, let alone stab someone.”
“Call the detective, Kenny. Let him know.”
“Will do. Thank you, Dr. Jones.”
I hang up on Kenny. I need to call Katie immediately.
“When did Katie leave?” I start dialing her number as I point at Lottie.
She stutters, her hands wringing in front of her stomach, her eyes darting around the room as Caleb puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I . . . I don’t know, maybe twenty-five minutes ago. She said it would take her about thirty minutes to drive there.”
“She’s gone to Connor Maddox’s house?” I shout, my eyes bulging.
“Y . . . yes, we were discussing the case. We were talking about the possibility of more bodies being in the house, as it would have been easier to conceal than in the backyard.” Her voice wobbles again, and Caleb pulls her in for a tight hug.
“And you let her go alone?” I snap. “To a crime scene where you thought there might be more victims.”
Caleb lets her go, taking a step toward me, blocking me from Lottie. “Hey, calm down. This isn’t Lottie’s fault.”
“We’ll get hold of her and ask her to wait in her car and meet us there. How about that?” Alfie says calmly, like he wasn’t barking orders at all of us when Mia went missing last year.
I push my fingers through my hair before wiping my hand over my mouth.
I need to find her.
I need to find her right fucking now.
Answer your goddamn phone, princess.
I grab my keys and head for the door. If I’m fast, I can get there in twenty minutes.
“We’re coming with you,” Caleb says, pulling on his jacket with Alfie close behind.
Alfie kisses Mia, and I almost lose it. “There’s no time for that. Stay, or I’m leaving without you.”
“Now, who has a stick up his ass? See you soon, love. Everything will be fine,” Alfie says, dropping a kiss to her forehead.
“Be careful, please.” She boops his nose in an infuriating display of intimacy when my girl could be walking into danger.
“Hurry the fuck up, Alfie.”
He gives me his signature eye roll as Mia gives me the finger.
◆◆◆
Caleb drives because I’m too wired, and even though he’s breaking the speed limit, it’s still not fast enough. Katie hasn’t answered her phone, which is not unnecessarily abnormal, but I’m not happy about it.
I spot Katie’s car, and as Caleb slows until he parks behind her, my seatbelt is undone, and I’m out of the car before he’s even come to a full stop.
“Jonesy, just wait a second.”
I’m striding up the driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots as Alfie and Caleb trail behind. Lifting the plastic crime scene tape, I pull the handle down and push the door open. It’s not locked, which means Katie definitely made it inside.
“Katie? Are you in here?” I call out. The one blessing about this fucked-up house is that there’s a lack of places to hide. By the time Caleb and Alfie are in the living room, I’ve checked the two bedrooms out, and she’s not there.
“I looked in the rooms: nothing. Not under the bed or in the closet. Let’s try the basement,” I say.
My lungs scorch, my breathing labored. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, and I’m half hoping the she-devil is going to pop out from behind a door and give me the fright of my life for all the times I’ve amped up the fear for her.
But with each passing second, there’s nothing. Not a single red hair to be found.
We make our way into the kitchen, where the door to the basement is located, and find it slightly ajar.
It’s only an inch or so, the darkness beckoning us.
I stomp down the steps, not waiting to think or check if there could be any danger.
I don’t care at this point, not until I get my hands on Katie.
The room is small, smaller than I imagined the basement would be in a house this size.
It looks like they’ve only built it half into the foundations.
The small amount of light streaming in through the tiny window illuminates a dank basement with very little in it.
It’s similar to upstairs in its sparsity.
The smell tickles my nostrils. This place has a serious mold problem, or a family of raccoons has moved in and taken refuge in this concrete pit.
I hold my finger to my mouth as I turn to the guys.
It’s small in here, I mouth as they both nod.
Fake wall? Alfie mouths back, and my eyebrows hike up. The bricks are different along one wall from the rest of the room. Surely the police wouldn’t have missed a fake wall? I assumed other victims would be beneath the concrete floor, but maybe the bricked wall has been used to hide a secret room.
And what the hell is that smell? It's a cross between bleach and a garbage truck.
I hold my finger to my mouth again, indicating to the boys to keep quiet.
“She’s not down here. Check the closet in the bedroom, under the bed. Try the yard too.” Hopefully, if there is anyone here, they’ll assume we’re leaving. Raising my voice enough that someone could clearly hear me, but not enough that it’s obvious I’m yelling.
Caleb starts to walk up the wooden steps to the kitchen, purposely thudding his foot as hard as possible.
I close my eyes for a moment as I lean my back against the wall, mediating my breathing as we wait for something—anything to happen.
A quiet snick has my eyes snapping open and the wall splits, parting an inch, the bricks purposely placed so the crease of the door frame is hidden by the running brickwork pattern.
Caleb yanks the door back, grabbing whoever was pushing it, and drags them out by their collar. His hand flies to his mouth, and I watch Caleb grimace as he pinches his nose. The smell is overwhelming, flies billowing out like a cloud, as if it were even too much for them.
“Where is Katie?” I bellow at the man.
Caleb cracks the guy in the face, and blood pours from his nose. He’s on his knees already, looking up at the three of us with a sick, twisted grin stained with his own blood.
His sandy blond hair flops over his forehead, and I shove past him to go into the hidden room.
With my face tucked into my inner elbow, I shine the torch on my phone into the darkness, fighting every instinct to get the hell out of there.
The light is weak, but my first image is a torso hanging from meat hooks, the metal sliding through a ribcage.
Internal organs have dropped to the floor beneath; it’s there I see another hand.
I swallow down any apprehension I have and run my torch along the body on the floor, praying, pleading that it’s not my Katie.
I reach the torso and watch the chest rise and fall.
I drop to my knees. Red hair, pale skin that’s ashen, a flutter of lashes, and a grimace as her brows scrunch together.
She’s alive. Fucking hell, she’s alive. Thank God.
She’s trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind.
My arm drops from my face so I can slide it under her body, lifting her so I can carry her out of this nightmare.
“No, no, no . . .” she mutters, her nails digging into my arms.
I can’t speak, my tongue thick and my throat clogged.
This infuriating woman just barrels through, after everything she knows about serial killers, after all the apprehension we had about Connor being the suspect.
She still went ahead and came here alone, and I almost lost her after I had just gotten her.
God as my witness, I’m going to punish her when she’s up for it.
I have to blink a few times, despite the tiny window, as my eyes adjust to the light again.
“It’s Jonesy,” I reply hoarsely. “You’re safe.
Caleb and Alfie are here. The police are on their way, medics too.
I’m here with you. You’re safe. You’re safe.
We’re moving through the basement.” I narrate everything, her hands curled into her chest. The stench is potent, and I fight the urge to hurl.
I walk her straight past the presumably real killer as Caleb holds him down on his belly.
“We’re heading straight up the stairs. Keep those eyes closed, princess.
Moving now.” Of all the training exercises I’ve been on, being overseas with the army, none of it, not a single second, prepared me for this.
She’s shaking, trembling, and I’m holding her as tight as I can, but my knees threaten to give way as we move past the man who put her in that room.
“You don’t want to know who he is?” Caleb yells out.
“No!” I snap, pushing through the door to the kitchen, taking long, purposeful strides as the low afternoon light pulls me to it.
If I can just get her out of here, then she’ll be fine.
She’s curling into me now. Christ, she smells bad.
She could only have been down there for a few minutes.
Maybe ten. How does she smell like she’s taken a bath with roadkill and then sprayed it on herself like a perfume?
We reach the front door, and I look at her hands with clear eyes. Sludge, meat, red . . . so much red.
I kneel, setting her down on the grass, pushing her hair back from her face. And it’s then I hear the sirens.