Detective Carson Ryder Thriller Series Books 4-6: Blood Brother, In the Blood, Little Girls Lost

We’d never find the time. I’d never speak to Vangie again, an incredible loss.

“When did you last see Dr Prowse?” Waltz asked.

“Two months ago. I was in the Montgomery area and stopped by. We shared a sandwich in her office, spent a half hour talking. That was all.”

There was more to it than that. Much more. But only five people in the world knew that particular secret. Evangeline Prowse had been one of them.

“Did she mention anything about coming to New York?”

“Vangie grew up in Queens, lived in the city until her early thirties. Coming here was a regular event, no big deal.”

“How about a professional angle? You and Dr Prowse weren’t working together? A case?”

“Not for a couple years.”

“You’re sure? Nothing?”

“Shelly, why the hell am I here? Why not a co-worker or a –”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “There’s a bit of a mystery going on. Follow me.”

I accompanied Waltz back down the elevator to where the other detectives were waiting. The sleek Alpha lady was leaning against the wall with studied nonchalance, legs crossed at the ankles, cellphone nudging a high cheekbone. “I dunno what the Southern guy’s supposed to do. I’m waiting for him to pull the magnifying glass from his pocket, ask if there’s any footprints he can follow …”

She hung up and tapped her watch with a crisp pink talon. “I’ve got places to be, Waltz. And given that goddamn convention, I expect you do, too. Let’s open and close this little play right now.”

Waltz pursed his lips and whistled. The young guy in the Technical Services jacket appeared, cradling the battery-driven video playback unit as if it was an infant. His nameplate read J. Cargyle. The kid held the unit at chest level. Waltz tapped Play. Everyone gathered close.

A shiver of electrons and my heart climbed to my throat: Vangie’s face in close-up, a white wall at her back. The camera’s tiny microphone distorted background sounds into a rumbling sludge. She was holding the camera close and her hands were shaking, her face moving within the frame. Vangie looked worn, her brown eyes circled with shadow.

“If you have found this recording, I ask that you contact Carson Ryder of the Mobile Police Department.”

I startled at my name, but kept my eyes on the screen.

“I have worked with dozens of specialists in the profiling and apprehension of the homicidally deranged. Detective Ryder is the best I know at understanding these people, a dark gift, but agift nonetheless. I am currently doing things that make little sense. But I needed a serious –”

A sudden thump, a noise like a growl. Vangie’s eyes widened and the camera spun. I saw the edge of a mirror, a seam of wall and ceiling. The thump and growl repeated. The screen showed a flash of palm and fingers, then went dark.

“It’s almost over,” Waltz said. “She put the camera in something. Her purse, probably.”

“What does it mean? Where was it –”

“Wait.” Waltz pointed back at the screen. As if adding a post script, Vangie lifted the still-recording camera from her purse and aimed it at her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

She said, “Carson, I’m so sorry.”

Chapter 2 (#ulink_d5bfa03d-2186-56cc-b346-e6da56eabd05)

“Do you know what she’s talking about, Detective?” Alpha Lady said, arms crossed high on her chest. “Outside of you being hotsie-totsie with the loonies?”

“No.”

“You have no idea what she’s doing that makes little sense?”

“No idea, Lieutenant.”

“Ms Prowse says, ‘I needed a serious …’ Something interrupts. Serious what?”

“How would I know that? Where was the recording found?”

Waltz said, “The memory card was in an envelope that read Open in Event of Emergency. It stood out, given the circumstances. I immediately had Tech Services play the video. One thing led to another and …”

“And now we’ve got an investigation on hold for hours and an outsider tromping through the scene,” the Lieutenant finished, shaking her head.

Waltz sighed and turned to the woman. “I’ve never heard of a case where the expertise of another detective was referenced by the victim. I thought it best to retain the death tableau and bring that detective here for a look. The ME’s people did their part, and forensic processing slowed but never stopped. If you have a problem with my decision, Lieutenant, I suggest you convey your displeasure to the powers that be.”

Waltz pulled a cellphone from his pocket, dialed a number. He held the phone up for the Lieutenant to take. The room was dead silent. I heard ringing from the phone, then a pickup.

“This is the office of the Chief of Police …”

The Lieutenant turned white.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

She snatched the phone from Waltz’s outstretched palm, snapped it closed, thrust it back at him: A surrender. She turned her anger from Waltz to me, her voice angry and demanding, pushing her frustration my way.

“What was left of her clothes looked like a runner’s garb. Like she went running, got grabbed off the street, brought here. Did she like to run?”

I said, “She ran marathons, even at sixty-three. She was a fitness junkie.”

“She ever run late at night?”

“She ran whenever she found the time, or was stressed. Were there any defensive wounds?”

“How about you shut up and let the Lieutenant ask the questions?” snapped a detective a few years past my age of thirty-four, a hulking monster with a Greco-Roman wrestler’s neck and shoulders. His face was pale and acne-scarred, making his small eyes look like green buttons floating in a bowl of cream of wheat. His hair was neither brown nor blond, but some shade in between, brond, perhaps. I’d heard someone call him Bullard.

Waltz said, “Her forearms are bruised, probably defensive. No tissue is visible beneath her nails. They’re cut close, unfortunately. The Forensics crew will vacuum the floor when we leave, maybe find something important.”

Another interruption from Alpha Lady. “Why did the victim give the big-ass sales job on your behalf? She was sorry about what?”

“I just got here. How would I fucking know?”

“Hey,” snapped Bullard. “Watch your goddamn mouth.” He stood to show me he was taller than me. Wider, too.

Alpha said, “Stay calm, Bubba. I’m trying to get a handle on things. Waltz told me about the box of crazies where she worked, this Institute. Is it possible a former patient might have held a grudge?”

I shook my head. “Couldn’t happen.”

“You psychic as part of your talents?”