She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,215

seconds had gone by or ten minutes.

Fogel didn’t move.

When she finally did move, it was because of one of the last things Trudeau said, a sentence that caused her heart to thud when she heard him utter the words.

We have confirmation. Both the boy and the Nettleton girl are on Whidbey, the remaining adults, too.

Fogel rose from her chair and rounded the desk.

The Nokia sat beside Trudeau’s lifeless hand.

Fogel picked up the cell phone, scrolled to the last incoming number, and called it back.

Someone picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Who is this?” Fogel asked.

“Who is this?”

“Detective Fogel, with Pittsburgh PD Homicide. Identify yourself.”

A male voice. A familiar voice. “Fogel? How…how did you get this number?”

“Who is this?”

Then she knew.

She recognized the voice. “Jack?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I…I don’t either.”

“Where are you? How did you find me?”

“Charter Pharmaceuticals. I hit redial on his phone, and it called you. Holy shit, he’s dead.”

“Slow down, Detective. Who’s dead?”

“The man in the white suit.”

Jack went silent for a second. “Detective, are you okay? You sound like you’re in shock.”

“He killed himself.”

“Who?”

“I…I don’t know where you are, Jack. But you need to leave. He said they’re coming for you. You and the Nettleton girl, and the adults. Holy Christ, he killed himself. Somebody there, where you are, called here, called this Charter place. He said they’re coming for you. Where…where are…”

Fogel wasn’t one to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time she shed a tear, but the flood works opened up then, and her vision went cloudy with it. Sobs poured from her throat. The emotional buildup of what just happened erupted from her in an explosion.

The Nokia beeped.

Low battery alert.

The call dropped.

13

Preacher came through the door as I hung up the receiver. His face turned red. “Who’d you call?”

“I didn’t call anyone, did you?”

He crossed the shed, went to the phone, and tore it off the wall. “Who were you talking to?”

I shook my head and knelt back down to my father. “We don’t have time for this. They’re coming. Help me untie him.”

He wanted to argue with me, I could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t. Instead, we worked the knots. Preacher’s gun dangled from a shoulder holster. I had no way to protect myself if he decided to draw it.

I gently gripped the sides of my father’s face and turned his head toward me. “Can you stand?”

My father nodded weakly, a firmer grip on consciousness now. We helped him to his feet.

He cleared his throat and spit blood into the corner of the shed.

I put his arm over my shoulder and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you back to the house.”

Inside, we found Cammie rifling through kitchen cabinets. Half the drawers were open, too. Her daughter (Darby, I learned) sat on a stool in front of the kitchen island, watching her mother.

Cammie looked up from under the sink when we came through the door. “Holy shit, he’s still alive?”

She rushed over to us. “My God, Eddie. What did they do to you? Sit him down. I found a first-aid kit.”

We helped my father to the living room and sat him down in one of the leather chairs.

The dead man was gone.

So was Stella.

“Where is Stella?”

Cammie knelt at the chair, opened the plastic box, found some cotton balls and antiseptic, and went to work on my father’s face. “I helped her to one of the bedrooms.”

I frowned. “You didn’t—”

“Touch her? No. I wore a pair of those.” She pointed to our box of latex gloves on the counter. “I found them in your car.”

“You went through our stuff?”

“You stole them from my house,” she countered. “Stella told me to wear them, told me where they were.”

My father sucked a breath in between pursed lips. He pressed a hand against his abdomen. “I think he broke a few of my ribs.”

Cammie shook her head. “Christ, we need to take his shirt off. That fucking bastard did a number on him.”

Preacher hovered over us. “I caught him on the phone, Cammie.”

“You didn’t catch me doing anything.”

“I heard it ring,” Cammie said. She turned and glared at me. “You answered? Are you fucking crazy?”

“You heard the phone ring all the way in here? I was out in the woodshed.”

She went back to my father’s face. He winced as she dabbed at a cut above his left eye. “There are extensions all over the house, every room. They all rang. Was it him? That kid, David?”

“No.”

Preacher clucked his tongue. “We need to tie him up,