Page 73 of The Drowned Woman
“No. This is a different kind of drug. We found GHB in your tox screen.”
“The date rape drug?”
Leah nodded. “I was asking Jack if I could test him as well since he was with you last night. It would explain why the timing of the nicotine dosing was off and why neither of you remember much of last night.”
“I can’t remember anything. None of it makes sense.” A soft sob escaped Risa but she quickly cut it off. “I don’t understand any of this. Why involve me in the first place? What does Dom want from me?”
“I think, maybe, he was trying to give you a reason to live. He knew you weren’t happy not working at the job you loved, so he gave you a story to investigate, a puzzle to solve.”
Risa shook her head. “No. No, that’s insane.”
Leah agreed. But as warped as it was, it fit with Chaos’ twisted logic. “We need to get out of here.”
“If it’s me he wants, maybe I can make a bargain for you and Jack.” Risa sounded resigned to her fate—a fate Leah refused to accept.
“No. If he comes for you, you need to engage him. We’re not powerless here, Risa. You need to believe that. Believe in yourself.” Risa was silent, her chin dropping to her chest. “Listen to me.” Leah used her best trauma-command-doc voice—not loud, but also not easily ignored. “You are our best weapon, Risa.”
That got her attention. “Me? How?”
“You have a hold over him no one else has. If we know anything about this guy it’s that he’s obsessed withyou.Use that, manipulate him like he has you. All we need to do is buy enough time to escape and get help.”
“Leah, we could be anywhere.” Risa’s voice hardened. “I’m not sure escape is our best option. He’ll just run after us, or worse, he’ll hurt you or Jack. Like you said, that’s probably the only reason why you’re still alive.”
“Then what?”
“We have no choice. If we get the chance, we fight back. Even if we need to kill him.”
Forty-Five
As Luka drove down Old River Road, the ancient, potholed macadam tested the Impala’s suspension. The heavens opened with pelting rain, howling wind, and a stroke of lightning pierced the night.
Jack O’Brien had made it clear that he was no fan of Dominic Massimo, giving Luka hope that the chemist might be able to shed some light on the psychology behind Dom’s actions. At this point, any insights to help them find Dom would be helpful.
A sudden sheet of lightning illuminated train tracks crossing along the narrow bridge the railroad had finally built over the marshland once it realized that the depression-era pumphouse couldn’t keep up with the river’s stubborn, periodic flooding. Luka couldn’t help but think of Cherise—these same tracks, this same river marked her place of death, although forty-odd miles to the west.
Not her death, he corrected himself. Her murder.
Past the marsh, the road crossed over the tracks and drifted closer to the riverbank, close enough that he could see wind-whipped froth churning only a few yards away. He rounded a bend and turned onto a dirt drive, leading to the small two-story pumphouse ahead, a flickering light beckoning from a front window. Despite its utilitarian function, the building had been embellished with Victorian-style arched windows along the ground floor and a tiled peaked roof. Even the lower level that housed the pumping equipment and that sat partially submerged by the river had leaded-glass transom windows, high enough to avoid the water. Where a residential building would have a porch, the pumphouse sported a gingerbread-trimmed portico that functioned as a carport. Two vehicles were parked beneath it: the white-paneled Keystone van, sitting behind an old Honda Civic, its hood exposed to the rain, mere yards from the river’s edge.
Luka stopped the car at the edge of the trees and doused the lights. It was standard procedure, even for a benign witness interview: you never announced your arrival or parked directly in front of a building. As he trudged through the rain toward the other vehicles, another stray slap of memory came to mind—Cherise had driven a Civic almost the same color. Luka had the sudden feeling that if he edged his gaze as far as possible, he’d see her standing there, just out of reach, watching over him.
Luka approached the building cautiously, wondering to whom the Civic belonged. Then he remembered: Vogel had a Honda registered to him. If his car was here, was Dom here as well? He had only seen Jack driving the van, but Dom could have lured him out here.
Other than the dim light flickering from the front room, the building was completely dark, with no signs of life. Luka used the cover of the storm to sidle beneath the window, raising himself up just far enough to peer inside. He saw a battered couch, its back to the window, and a coffee table with an open laptop in front of it. A motionless man sat on the couch, his shaved skull bathed in the colors of the news video playing on the laptop.
It was Dominic Massimo, appearing remarkably relaxed for a killer on the run. Luka had found his killer, but the timing couldn’t be worse. He needed backup. As he slid his phone free, he saw that beyond the coffee table, the laptop’s glow illuminated an open door leading into a dark room. Another man slumped against the wall, in view of Massimo. Jack O’Brien, gagged, hands and ankles bound, motionless. The shadows were too thick to see what injuries he might have, or even if he was still alive.
Luka backed away silently. He had no cell service, but a text might still get through, so he alerted McKinley of the situation, hoping for a quick response that would assure him backup was on the way. Regulations dictated that he should watch and wait—in fact, that’s exactly what he would tell anyone else to do. No intervention unless the hostage was threatened.
But Luka had questions. Questions he’d waited seventeen years for the answers. Questions that would decide if Dominic Massimo lived or died.
Luka sidled beneath the portico and tested the front door. It was unlocked and made a tiny sigh as he pushed it open. He stepped into the dark foyer, closing the door quickly.
He stood in a narrow, darkened hallway. The only light came from the open doorway of the front room to his left. He took a deep breath, held his weapon steady, and glanced quickly inside. The door opened slightly behind the couch into the room where Massimo still sat, intent on the video coverage of his own crimes. There were no weapons in sight, but one could easily be hidden.
Once again, Luka had a chance to back out and let McKinley’s team handle the situation. Massimo hadn’t noticed him yet. He took a step away from the door, allowing the adrenaline to clear slightly. He had Chaos trapped; this wasn’t the time for unnecessary risks.
For years he’d had visions of confronting Cherise’s killer, of beating out the answers to the questions that had driven Luka all his adult life, even killing him… but they all faded like the adolescent fantasies they were.
