Chapter 62
“Ben! Ben!”
Ivy dropped down, placed her head to Dr. Moorehead’s chest. The paper crinkled.
No heartbeat.
She ripped the tape from the man’s mouth. A frothy substance spewed forth, and at first, she thought that he was actively vomiting.
Except Dr. Moorehead hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked. It was just some sort of bile foam that had been trapped by the tape.
“He’s gone, Ivy.”
Ivy started chest compressions while Vaughn went back to the shed or whatever the fuck it was and closed the door as best he could.
“C’mon, Ben—wake up!”
“He’s gone.”
Vaughn put a hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged him off and continued with the chest compressions.
Vaughn got on his phone, called it in.
When Ivy felt his hand on her shoulder again, she finally stopped and sat down. Started to take off her mask.
Vaughn stopped her.
“Best to keep it on.”
“It’s . . . it’s Dr. Moorehead,” she whimpered.
Vaughn nodded. He’d figured as much.
“If only I’d been faster. If only I’d figured the riddle out sooner.”
Ivy ripped the paper from her boss’s chest.
Cursed loudly.
Too late.
She crumpled the page, went to throw it, but Vaughn took it from her.
“I’m going to need that.”
Ivy handed it over and tried to stand. Her legs were like rubber, and she gripped Vaughn’s arm to hoist herself up. Braced herself against him to keep from falling down again.
“We need to turn off the gas.” Her voice sounded strange, mostly because of the mask, partly because of the surreal nature of everything.
They moved together, found the tank down the side of the shed. Like the others, it was hooked up to some sort of dryer exhaust tube.
Same digital, remote release valve.
Using the bottom of his shirt to cover his hand, Vaughn fiddled with the knob. When this did nothing, he tore off the digital valve and then turned the knob beneath one way, then the other. A sharp, intense whine, then the gas stopped flowing.
Ivy returned to Dr. Moorehead, hoping that, by some miracle, he’d be up, coughing and vomiting.
Pissed off.
Adding being abducted, tied up, thrown in a barn to his list of things he loathed.
He wasn’t.
Dr. Moorehead was completely still.
Ivy checked his pulse for the hundredth time.
She couldn’t believe it. The man she’d spoken to just hours ago—who had reamed her out—was dead.
Rebecca, too.
Her mind whirred, and she recalled what Vaughn had said in the car.
Or was it before that?
She didn’t know.
Everything was just so fucked up.
Was it Zeke? Could he have set this all up?
A car parked behind Vaughn’s, drawing her eyes, a reason to peel them away from Dr. Moorehead’s blue-tinged face. It was that asshole cop who had pointed his gun at her and her father, and Kachinski, too.
“Delaney!” Vaughn waved a hand. “Put your mask on and bring that fucking detector thing.”
Another vehicle—a black cube van—arrived behind the PPD squad car.
Delaney went to his trunk. Reappeared wearing a mask and holding a handheld gas detector. His footsteps faltered when he noticed Dr. Moorehead lying on the grass.
“Aw, shit—another game?” Delaney’s voice was oddly high-pitched, resonant.
Ivy couldn’t answer, even if she’d wanted to. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
But it had been a game, hadn’t it? The poem? Riddle?
Only Dr. Moorehead had no chance of winning this one.
It was on her.
This was all on her.
“We’re going to have to cordon this area off for a bit. Levels are too high,” Delaney said, his voice returning close to normal. His eyes were locked on the device in his hand. It was beeping incessantly. “Tell Landon—”
He looked up, noticed Ivy for the first time. Squinted at her, trying to make sure it really was Ivy behind the mask.
“Detective Ryan?”
Vaughn stared back.
“What?”
“Can I, uh, speak to you for a second?”
Delaney’s dark eyes flicked from Vaughn to Ivy and back again.
About her, the look said.
“You can speak in front of her.”
“You . . . uh, Captain Daniels . . .” His voice cracked.
“Just spit it the fuck out, Delaney.”
The officer cleared his throat.
“He’s on a warpath. Darnell mentioned Dr. Reeves at the last crime scene, and he lost it.”
Captain Daniels.
That name . . .
Ivy had a flashback to the night of the fire.
The telephone call.
Her father was a lot of things, but until that night, she’d never seen or heard him scared. And Gene had been terrified.
The rapid-fire instructions. Her trying to get a word in, him not letting her.
Telling her that it was all over.
Later, after Ivy had dragged the body out of the still-burning house, Captain Daniels had arrived.
“Delaney, we’ve got a fucking dead body here! And you’re worried that Daniels is pissed?” Vaughn shouted.
“I—I—I know . . . it’s just . . . I thought . . . Darnell—”
“Why the fuck did Darnell mention Dr. Reeves?” Vaughn’s face had turned scarlet.
“I—Vaughn, the kid—Zeke—his father is raising hell, too. Lawyers are barking shit about lawsuits. It’s a fucking mess.”
Ivy felt her hackles raise.
Delaney talking about a “fucking mess” back at the police station. Legalities, formalities, technicalities.
The fucking mess was right here.
The mess was Dr. Ben Moorehead dead on the grass.
That was the mess—none of the other bullshit mattered.
“What do you want me to do?” Delaney asked desperately.
Vaughn’s reply came immediately.
“Call the captain, tell him to get his ass out here. I’ll deal with him when he comes.”