Page 57 of The Drowned Woman
Pawns. A game.Chess.Energy surged through him as he jogged down the steps to the cyber squad’s office. “Sanchez, pull up that image of the area around Pier Four again.” Where Luka’s career had really started.
“ERT checked the wharf out—all of it,” Krichek argued, a phone in each hand, but apparently on hold on both. “There’s no one there.”
“Just do it,” Luka ordered Sanchez. A moment later the image appeared. “Zoom in over here and pan slowly. Across the river, opposite from the pier.” Warped reflections, truths contained in lies, and lies wrapped in the truth—these were Chaos’ real weapons, Luka realized.
“Boss, there’s nothing there.” Krichek joined Luka at the large screen. “Just the road. The mountain cuts too close to the river for any homes or businesses. And up the mountain is forest and abandoned coal mines. No way a Town Car could make it up there.”
“Stop,” he told Sanchez. Luka leapt forward tapping the screen. “Call McKinley, tell him to get his men over there.”
“Where exactly is there?” Sanchez asked. He blew up the image. “I don’t see anything but a small picnic area.”
“See that spit of gravel? It’s an informal boat landing. Called Rook’s Landing. Not enough room for boats on trailers. But canoes and kayaks launch there. There’s a dirt road leads to Route 11.” He turned to Sanchez. “Any cameras out there so we can get a live picture?”
“No, sorry.”
Krichek had lowered one of his phones to grab another handset on a landline, updating McKinley. Luka was already heading out the door.
“Call river rescue. Tell them I’m on my way,” he called back, hope lighting a fire in his veins. He did a quick mental calculation. The video camera had died eight minutes ago—given the cold water and the chance that an air bubble had been created when the car tipped to the side, Dominic Massimo might still have a chance.
A few minutes later as Luka drove over the bridge, he spotted the river rescue team streaming toward Rook’s Landing in their boat. By the time he’d steered his truck down the mud-slicked gravel road leading to the landing, the ERT van was also there and the siren from an ambulance sounded from behind Luka.
Concerned about blocking the paramedics, he pulled the truck off to the side, driving over a patch of dead grass. He hopped out and ran down the graded landing, splashing through puddles, until he reached the water’s edge. The divers had located the car, pushed by the current until it had gotten tangled in trees growing along the bank of the river about ten yards past the landing. The roof of the Town Car was barely visible above the murky water, but Luka was more concerned with the trunk.
He and the others watched and waited as the rescue divers worked below the surface to pop the trunk and release their victim. They made fast work of it, two divers supporting a man’s body, guiding it through the water to the waiting medics. Together they lifted him onto the medic’s transport cot.
The divers had cut the man’s bonds and he lay on the cot face up as the medics assessed him. Luka heard McKinley arrive, issuing orders to his men to help the divers winch the car onto dry land so that the CSU team could examine it. The noise and movement created a haze around Luka as he imagined another stretch of river, another car, another team of first responders.
He quickly shook himself free of the memory and stepped closer to where the medics were working. The man had been beaten, his face and body swollen with bruises. Yes, his scalp had been shaved, but when the medics moved aside to insert a breathing tube down his throat, Luka saw that he wasn’t Dominic Massimo.
It was Cliff Vogel.
“How long did you say he’s been down?” one of the medics asked Luka. They’d placed a machine to do chest compressions over Cliff’s sternum.
“We lost the video feed fourteen minutes ago. He was alive then. But he was in the water at least a half an hour before that.”
“He’s real cold,” the medic muttered as he used a small handheld drill on Cliff’s leg, hooking up a bag of fluid. “We got no vitals.” His partner finished inserting the breathing tube. “You in?” His partner checked a monitor and nodded. “Let’s load and go, we’ll call Good Sam on the way.”
One of the ERT guys drove the ambulance so that both medics could remain in the rear and work on their patient. As Luka watched them drive off, McKinley approached. “He gonna live?”
“They said no vitals.” Luka shrugged.
“So we’ve been searching for Vogel but really Massimo’s our man?”
Luka was silent, still trying to put the pieces together. Perhaps Chaos hadn’t liked the idea of Cliff spying on Risa. Leaving McKinley to process the scene, which would take hours, Luka jogged back to his truck and followed the ambulance, desperately hoping Cliff—the one person who might be able to identify the killer—lived.
Thirty-Four
Harper escorted Risa to Good Sam while Leah followed in her Subaru and Jack in his company van. Leah had shared Risa’s medical records with Maggie Chen last night, so while she waited for Risa to be signed into the ER, she gave Maggie a call and updated her on Risa’s most recent symptoms.
“I’m thinking nicotine poisoning,” Leah finished. “But I can’t remember its half-life. Think I can still get a viable sample this long after?”
“Hang on,” Maggie answered, followed by the sound of computer keys clicking. “Urine is your best bet. But given her other symptoms, I’d also run blood and hair.”
“Hair?”
“For heavy metals. When I plotted her symptoms on a timeline, it looks like a rollercoaster, doesn’t fit any single diagnosis. But if someone is dosing her with toxins, then it might not have always been the same one, right?”
“Which would explain both the erratic timeline and the changing lab results.” A nursing assistant escorted Harper, Jack, and Risa from the registration area to the nursing station where Leah stood.
