Human Traffic (Detective Damien Drake Book 5) Read online

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked himself. “Just be normal.”

  As luck would have it, he’d arrived just in time for the 9 o’clock news report, which just happened to be about the Skeleton King. Screech turned up the volume and watched as a blond talking head stared awkwardly into the camera without blinking.

  He was half convinced that she was a robot.

  “I’m joined by NYPD Deputy Inspector Lewis Palmer who headed the investigation into the horrible tragedy at the farm just outside the city. Inspector Palmer, how did you first find out about this Church of Liberation?”

  The camera panned to DI Palmer and Screech felt his upper lip curl. The man looked as smug as ever.

  Heading the investigation? You didn’t want anything to do with it, you prick. It was Drake who did everything.

  “Please, Josie just call me Lewis. We first had an inclination that there was something sinister going on when we found the body of one of our own, NYPD Detective Simmons, who had been brutally slain. I immediately went to the mayor and asked for his full support, and he was very gracious in giving it. From there, we managed to trace the detective’s movements shortly before his death. And this led us to a specific religious group called the Church of Liberation, as you mentioned. After some very strong detective work by our men in blue, we were eventually led to a long-deserted farm. There, we found more than a dozen members of the church, along with its leader, a Mr. Ray Reynolds, all of whom were deceased.”

  Inspector Lewis was smiling as he spoke and Screech’s lip curl became a scowl.

  It was all bullshit, of course. All of it, every last word.

  Except for the dead. Screech had seen them with his own eyes.

  “Lewis, can you tell us a little bit more about Ray Reynolds? And maybe address the rumors that Ray Reynolds and the church was behind the if Skeleton King murders that took place over a year ago in New York City.”

  When the camera panned back to inspector Lewis, his grin was gone.

  “As the investigation is ongoing, there are only so many details that I can reveal at this time. At present, we believe that these are isolated incidents and not related to any previous crimes, aside from Detective Simmons’s murder. As for Ray Reynolds, we know that he grew up in New York, and his family owned the farm in which we found him and his congregants. We know also that Ryan Reynolds was an orphan at fourteen, but we’re not sure what happened to him in the intervening period prior to starting the New York Chapter of the Church of Liberation roughly five years ago. As I said, Josie, the investigation is ongoing.”

  Josie was looking down at her notes now and was unaware the camera was on her. Eventually, her unblinking eyes popped up.

  “And what can you tell us about this most recent report that Ray Reynolds had a relationship with Mayor Ken Smith… that the Church of Liberation made a significant donation to Ken Smith’s campaign last fall.”

  Lewis looked as uncomfortable as a man walking in on their parents mid-coitus.

  “I can assure you, Josie, that Mayor Smith did not know Ray Reynolds personally or have any interaction with the Church of Liberation. As you know, literally anybody or any association can make a donation to a campaign of their choice. Mayor Ken Smith, for instance, had more than 11,000 individual donors or groups fund his campaign. He is not responsible for, nor required to investigate each and every one of those donating parties. As you can imagine, Mayor Smith has more important things on the go, including keeping New York City safe by tracking down dangerous people like Ray Reynolds.”

  The sad smile DI Palmer offered after this little soliloquy was that of a cat who’d neglected to bury its own poop.

  “Well I’m sure we’ll find out more as this investigation continues, Lewis. Just one more thing before we go: there are rumors that not all members of the Church of Liberation were at the farm a week back. In fact, I’m getting a report that one of the members, an ex-NYPD officer, was not present. Can you corroborate these reports?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Screech hissed as he realized where this line of questioning was headed. “They’re going to pin this on him? Really?”

  When the camera eventually focused in on DI Palmer’s face again, it was clear that that was exactly what they were going to do.

  “Yes; although we are certain that there is no longer any threat to the public, there is one particular person that we are seeking for questioning. His name is Damien Drake — I believe his photo is on the screen? Ah, yes, there it is. While we don’t consider him dangerous, he is a person of interest. If anybody has seen this man, or know someone who has been in contact with him, please call the number on the screen now.”

  Screech leaped to his feet and threw the half-empty beer bottle at the screen. His aim was off and it smashed against the wall, sending glass shards and foamy beer to the carpet below.

  “That’s bullshit!” he screamed. “That’s bullshit! You—”

  “What’s bullshit?” A female voice asked.

  Screech whipped around so fast that he nearly stumbled.

  “What the hell? Mandy! What are you doing?”

  Chapter 10

  “So, that’s what happened,” Drake said still staring into his coffee. When there was no reply for several seconds, he finally looked up.

  Jasmine was crying, which is what he expected, but he was surprised that Suzan was crying as well.

  “What are you trying to say, Drake?” Suzan snapped, wiping tears from her eyes. “Are you trying to tell us that Clay was somehow involved with these people? With this fucking cult?”

  “Suzan…” Jasmine interrupted.

  “No, mom, I’m not going to be quiet, not again. I was quiet the whole time after dad died because I didn’t want to upset anybody. But here’s the thing, mom. I’m upset too, and have a right to know what really happened.”

  A photograph suddenly flashed in front of Drake’s eyes.

  A brick… Jasmine smiling, holding a brick of heroin… the same brick that Clay had confiscated from some addict…

  He swallowed hard.

  Did I really see that? Did Raul really show me that photo or did I imagine it?

  His brain still hadn’t fully recovered from the thrashing he’d given it, and he couldn’t be sure… and yet, the way Jasmine just did a one-eighty, going from crying to chastising made Drake wonder.

  Did she know more than she was letting on?

  He cleared his throat.

  What did it matter, now?

  “Suzan, you’ve got it all wrong,” Drake lied. “I don’t think Clay was involved with these people at all. I think… well, I know this is going to sound bad, but I think that your dad was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I think that night in the rain we were just getting too close to the Skeleton King and the Church of Liberation. I think that’s why they killed him. If he’d just had a better partner… fuck… I just… I just wish it were me.” Tears spilled down his cheeks, and Drake was helpless to hold them back now. “If had been me instead of your dad, things would have been different. They should’ve been—”

  “Don’t say that,” Jasmine whispered.

  Drake ignored her.

  “If it had been me that Kellington had shot and killed, imagine the pain and suffering that would never have happened to you guys, to everyone.”

  “Don’t say that,” Jasmine repeated a little louder this time.

  “If I’d just done my fucking job properly and watched Clay’s back, none of this had to happen — neither of us had to die. But if anybody deserved it, it was me.”

  Jasmine suddenly leaped to her feet.

  “Don’t say that! Don’t you say that!”

  Suzan, alarmed by her mother’s sudden outburst, which was very much unlike her, went to Jasmine’s side and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “Mom, please, calm down. You shouldn’t get this upset.”

  Jasmine turned to Suzan then with tears in her eyes.

 
; “Why shouldn’t I get upset? I’ve already lost one man I loved and I can see it in your eyes, Drake, I’m about to lose another.”

  Drake was floored. Jasmine loved him. Him.

  Why?

  “We caught them, Jasmine. We caught the bastards who are responsible for Clay’s death. Peter Kellington might’ve pulled the trigger that day, but it was this Church of Liberation that was behind it all. And there are no longer. The man,” Drake closed his eyes for a moment, and an image of his brother’s friend, of Ray Reynolds with the red plastic cup in his hand, flashed in his mind. “who ran the church… he’s dead now.”

  Suzan glared at him.

  “Is that supposed to make us happy Drake? Am I supposed to be happy that someone else had to die in this whole mess?”

  This response was as unexpected as Jasmine’s.

  Was it supposed to make them happy? Drake had spent the better part of two years searching for the person truly responsible for what had happened to his partner and best friend. But after Ray Reynolds had died, Drake didn’t feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.

  It’s because the real Skeleton King is still out there. Ken Smith and the other ANGUIS Holdings owners, whoever the fuck they are, they’re the ones who are really responsible. Ray Reynolds was just a stagehand, a tool that could be shaped and molded to do Ken’s bidding.

  Drake shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Suzan. I don’t know if it’s supposed to make us feel better or worse or indifferent. All I know is that it happened.”

  Silence fell over them then, one that seemed to stretch out for an eternity.

  It was eventually interrupted by Drake's cell phone buzzing in his pocket. It had been the fourth or fifth time since he’d arrived at Jasmine’s house that it had rung. All those other times, he’d simply ignored it. Now, however, it was a welcomed distraction.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “But I have to take this.”

  When no one protested, Drake looked down at his phone.

  It was Screech.

  He stood and politely moved away from the table.

  “Yeah?” he asked. “Not really the best time, Screech. What do you need?”

  Drake had expected that this was something accounting-related or perhaps about a new Triple D job. But when he heard the desperation in Screech’s voice, he knew that this wasn’t the case.

  This was something serious.

  “What do I need? I need you, Drake? Things are all fucked up and I need to see you. I need to see you, now.”

  Chapter 11

  “Wh-wh—what are you doing?” Screech stammered.

  Mandy stood before him, completely nude. Her long blond hair, now wet, hung past her shoulders, parting around small, perky breasts. There was a small tuft of matching blond hair between her legs.

  “You saved me,” Mandy said. She took a step forward, and Screech, unable to take his eyes off her, stepped backward.

  “You should put some clothes on,” Screech said. “Please, put some clothes on.”

  Mandy’s eyebrows knitted.

  “You don’t find me attractive?”

  Screech’s eyes wandered up and down the woman’s body; this wasn’t planned, but he had little say in the matter. It was simply natural.

  He swallowed hard.

  “You are very attractive,” he said under his breath. “But you are too young… too young for me.”

  Screech wasn’t sure why he said this last part, but he chalked it up to being shell-shocked by what was going on.

  Mandy shook her head.

  “I’m twenty-four,” she admitted with a smirk. “Is that too young?”

  Screech shook his head.

  “Please, just put some clothes on. Please. This isn’t… isn’t right.”

  When Mandy didn’t move, Screech grabbed a blanket off the couch and gently wrapped it around her.

  “My boss told me that men in New York like young women. I can be sixteen if you want. Fifteen?”

  Boss… More like pimp, Screech thought as he guided her toward the bathroom. Fifteen? Seriously?

  “No, no definitely not. It’s just—” Screech wasn’t sure how to continue. If Mandy really was twenty-four, that put her only two years younger than him. And she was literally throwing herself at him.

  But she’s also damaged and scared. And been through hell.

  “Please, put on some clothes,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time. “Drake will be here soon.”

  Mandy’s coquettish demeanor suddenly changed.

  “He’s coming? Drake’s really coming?”

  Screech recalled the man’s furious tone over the phone.

  “Oh, he’s coming all right.”

  ***

  Drake burst through the door to Screech’s his apartment.

  “Screech! Screech! Where the hell are you?”

  Screech appeared from around the corner, eyes wide.

  “Oh, fuck, thank god you made it. But now I think we should go, talk somewhere else — I don’t think it’s safe for you here. They’re bound to be looking for you here, at the office, at Jasmine’s place.”

  Drake was still trying to wrap his head around what Screech had told him over the phone.

  He was wanted for questioning? By that asshole Palmer? And the man had put his face all over the news?

  Drake wanted nothing to do with the DI, unless it was to punch him in the face.

  He closed his eyes for a second, recalling the pained expressions on both Jasmine and Suzan’s face when he told him that he had to leave again. They couldn’t believe it, and Suzan for one wasn’t shy letting her feelings be known.

  But there was also the matter of the girl, the one who had come looking for him. The one who knew about the Skeleton King.

  “Where’s the girl?” Drake demanded, his eyes darting around the room.

  “Drake, we gotta get out here—”

  “I asked you where the girl is.”

  Screech pressed his lips together and tilted his head toward a door on his left.

  Drake strode past Screech, took one deep breath, and then opened the door.

  A girl was seated with her back to him wearing a pair of track pants that were slightly too large and a T-shirt that was slightly too small. She was running a comb through her long blond hair and didn’t appear to have noticed the door opening.

  Drake hesitated and then announced his presence.

  The girl turned, a smile on her face. She was pretty, with smallish features and bright green eyes.

  “My name’s Drake,” he said. “My partner said you were looking for me?”

  The woman nodded and leveled her eyes at Drake’s.

  “They’re scared of you Drake, which means that I think you can help. I think you can help me find the pendejos who killed my friends.”

  Chapter 12

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Sgt. Henry Yasiv demanded as he stormed into the Deputy Inspector’s office. “Really? You’re really going to go ahead and put Damien Drake’s face on the news without even a discussion?”

  DI Palmer took his time shuffling the papers in his hands before placing them on the desk and finally raising his eyes. He had slicked black hair and hawkish features, and while his appearance generally annoyed Yasiv, it was his voice that was most grating. It was slow and monotone, suggesting that everything he encountered in life was an incredible bore.

  “Sgt. Yasiv, there was a discussion,” the man said flatly.

  With who? Yasiv almost blurted, but stopped himself just in time. That’s what the man wanted. He wanted Yasiv to question him so he could pull the ‘above your pay grade’ card.

  When Mayor Smith had first suggested that DI Palmer could help with Detective Simmons’s case, Yasiv had been grateful. After all, it was his first high-profile case after taking the job as sergeant. But after that case had been closed, it became obvious that DI Palmer had another initiative — a
nd that he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

  Things had come to a head when Yasiv strongly suggested that they just let Drake walk, forget that he was even at the Reynolds’s farm. After all, everyone in the Church of Liberation was dead. But Palmer was having none of it. In fact, he had wanted to ride in the ambulance with Drake. Shit, if Palmer found out that Yasiv had conveniently left his keys out in the open, right in front of Dr. Campbell, he would flip his lid.