Sigma2

By LS Sygnet

With the Snow investigation in limbo, Sandoval and Krypsek are called to an unusual scene where the victim was tortured before he died. Immediately, Krypsek understands they need expert assistance to sort through what clues might remain and calls London Winchester to help. The pathology is disturbing to everyone involved, but when London receives an odd threat, they know the killer is watching.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LS Sygnet
• Release date: Sep 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463638842

LS Sygnet

LS Sygnet was a mastermind of schoolyard schemes as a child who grew into someone who channeled that inner criminal onto the pages of books. Sygnet worked full-time in the nursing profession for 29 years before her "semi-retirement" in March 2014.She currently lives in Georgia, but Colorado will always be her home.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 1

Alec Krypsek

I felt stoned. Spaced out. Utterly disconnected from everything around me. Sometimes, it was the sensation that I could literally feel the world moving at 1000 miles per hour. Other times, the words seemed to bounce off me like I wore some sort of barely penetrable shield that prevented them from getting inside my head where I could decipher them.

It'd been three weeks since Ashley Snow confessed the bogus words designed to minimize her responsibility for the murders of eight people in Edgewater and Fielding. She laid that blame entirely at the feet of the still-missing Courtney Johnson.

I have a slew of little sisters, six at last count, though with my parents, one can never be certain another won't crop up. It's the running joke in our family. Everybody knows what their favorite pastime is: procreation, or at least practicing at it. With my dad, his days were done, but Mom was anybody's guess, given history.

A foot kicked my chair. Youngster, have you heard a word I've said to you?

Raun Sandoval is my new partner. Kyra Pepper, the cop who'd been by my side for the past two years, is still on unpaid administrative leave. Probably a major factor in my inability to focus at the moment.

One of the major factors.

The other one is God only knows where. We were supposed to follow through on this case involving the Snows together. And then nothin'. Not a text. Not a call. Eriksson ignored my pleas for information. Her brother, my boss' boss has been behind closed doors with the commissioner this whole time. My actual boss, Captain Tucker McAvoy, chief of detectives hasn't exactly been MIA, but he's as tight-lipped as everybody else.

Everybody but Sandoval, who has done nothing but bitch and nip at me for fifteen days of solid employment purgatory. I get it. He's not happy about the upheaval either.

He and Marquez used to be partners way back. Like when I was in high school or something. They'd both gone their separate ways after the first crumbling of administration at Central Division, but apparently, they'd stayed close.

And speaking of being ghosted, Kyra Pepper was ignoring me too. I'd reached out ten times a day the first week of her suspension. Crickets.

How, in the space of a few short days, had I managed to alienate every woman in my life?

Kid! Sandoval's boot sent my chair slamming backward into the desk behind me. I said, we've got a call. Or do you plan to sit there moping for the rest of your life? You wanna be a detective, snap out of it and do your job.

I tried to recover a bit of my shredded dignity. I bounced out of the chair and glared at him. Let's go then, old man. That is, if you think you can keep up.

I'm driving, he snorted. "And if you think you can stop daydreaming for five minutes, I'll tell you again what we're walking into."

He punched the button for the elevator, while I dashed down the stairwell. He might have more experience, and be this senior detective that I apparently need, but in a foot race, I beat him hands down every time.

I was waiting at the car, tapping one foot when he finally strolled into the parking garage that Central Division shares with Bay County District Court.

Yeah. That's one benefit I can think of in my current state of frustration. Spending every spare minute of my life in the gym has burnt off all that extra restless energy with the added benefit of a few more pounds of solid muscle. No way does this old guy Sandoval beat me in a race or competition of any kind. Well, at least not a physical one.

He unlocked the car and buckled up while I did the same. Instead of starting the engine, he simply stared at me.

What? I snapped.

I think it's time the two of us had a heart-to-heart about whatever it is that's eating you. I know it's more than the partner change.

I glared, but not at him, gritting my teeth and biting back a retort about him learning to mind his own damn business. Instead, the windshield bore the brunt of my frustration.

Listen, Lucky. I wasn't that much older than you were when I got my gig at Central Division. You think I don't understand your frustration? I was nothing more than Jerry Lowe's lackey, while his corrupt buffoons ran the real investigations. Like you have with Captain McAvoy, Elena and I thought we had an advocate too—Rodney Martin. He was our captain, but not the Chief of D's. That was Lowe's job.

I don't need a history lesson, I ground out the words like glass to sand. Everybody knows this shit, Sandoval. I thought you said we have a crime scene.

Patrol's got it under control, and Crime Scene Division is en route. We have time. Is all this hostility the biproduct of resentment alone? 'Cause if it is, that's cool. I get it. Been there, done that.

Right, I scoffed.

You know the history, smart-ass. Or how would you feel if someone like Flynn Myre outranked you in the grand scheme of any investigation in our division?

Who? I echoed, frowning.

A delusional schizophrenic—never mind. It's like having Barney from janitorial services outrank you. Capisce?

Seriously?

Yeah, seriously. I do understand that it was a blow, not just losing your old partner and being saddled with someone you see as an old man, but them's the breaks, kid.

That's the only thing that happens to make any sense right now, I muttered.

Does it? he reached for the ignition and pressed it. Because I think that's the most informative thing you've said to me since chief partnered us. And for the record, Elena's not any happier about this than you are.

I'm not unhappy about it, I admitted. Not really, anyway. I get that part, I do. Kyra and I were fine together in vice, but we'd been side by side for two years plus. This admittedly is a whole different ballgame. And I get it too. There were guys in vice more senior than us who weren't exactly thrilled that Tuck took us to robbery homicide.

Not the way I heard it, but okay. I'll accept your perception on that one. So what's got the bug up your ass?

Our case, I mumbled. "They said it wasn't closed. And then, BAM. I'm just frozen out of the whole thing."

Ah, he nodded. Well, that's another matter entirely.

One which you've clearly been ordered not to discuss with me, I felt my blood trip up from simmering to a full roiling boil. I don't think I did such a shitty job, Sandoval. Fuck. I wasn't the one who lost Courtney Johnson, was I?

He barked out a laugh. And do you think that loss might be why I've been saddled with half of division's newest rookie team?

My jaw dropped, and the anger spilled out. "You cocky shit! You think I'm your punishment?"

He looked over his right shoulder and started backing out of our space. Grinning like he was proud of the fact that he'd pissed me off. I reached for my seatbelt, ready to bail and refuse to work with him, even if it busted my rank back down to patrol. A guy has his pride after all.

Calm down. I was making a point.

That you're capable of pissing me off?

That you've got at least a little fire in your belly somewhere. Don't bottle this shit up, rookie. It'll eat you alive if you do. And if you learn nothing else from me, learn this: your partner is the one person in the world that it's absolutely safe to vent all that junk to, the stuff that pisses you off so bad all you can do is go to the gym and take it out on a heavy bag otherwise. Got it?

How did you know— I clamped my mouth shut.

I'm a member at Gold's too, he said. I know people. I know you spend hours there every day, and most of your days off. And even if I didn't have confirmation that way, it's pretty clear that you're packing on a hell of a lot of muscle. So I figure it's the only way you've found to cope with whatever has you off in la-la land all day on the job. And if I ain't the cause, you need to get whatever it is off your chest. You made a half-assed start. Care to share the rest of it?

I already told you, my anger diffused somewhat. "If my case isn't really closed, I don't think it's right that all of a sudden I'm the odd man out. It is my case."

And that's it? You're pissed because chief said it wasn't closed?

He won't talk to me about it. Eriksson won't return my calls, and…

He sighed. "And neither will she."

I think I just said Helen hasn't responded, I snapped.

What about Kyra? You still talking to her?

I shook my head. Brief responses to my texts that first week, but since the suspension became official, not a peep.

Not being a very good partner, huh?

I'm trying, I said.

It wasn't you I was criticizing, Lucky.

And I don't like being called Lucky, I snarled at Sandoval. How the fuck is anybody ever gonna take me seriously with that stupid nickname?

Fair enough. Now, you wanna tell me what's really eating at you?

Pretty sure I just did, I muttered. Jesus, how thick was this guy anyway?

Bullshit. You can't even say her name. You got a thing for the pretty little doctor slash lawyer?

No, muffled by my chin dipping. It's just that we were essentially partners on that case, the one they all insisted wasn't closed yet, but apparently wasn't my concern anymore.

Well, I know you have a good, close relationship with McAvoy, but you ask me, he was a complete shit for not telling you what's going on with the Snow case, Sandoval said. But for the record, you didn't hear this from me.

I turned to him and nodded. Swear to God, you told me nothing. What happened?

You sure you don't want to hear about this case we've been called—

Tell me about the Snow case first, I interrupted. Why hasn't anybody told me what's going on?

Nothing to tell. What I know is that Eriksson and Orion have been holed up with Tucker and Chief Conall for many meetings. Carpenter's been in on most of it.

What about London? it popped out before I thought better of it.

Sandoval shrugged. "Haven't seen her, but rumor has it from the eighth floor that she's in the wind. Was supposed to work on some new-fangled way she has of figuring out what triggers—

A behavioral timeline, I interrupted again. "What do you mean she's in the wind?"

Left town. Barnie says Tuck's been trying to track her down, but…

My heart sank.

Some sort of hush-hush case she got called in to consult on in Europe somewhere. Something terrorist related, or so says scuttlebutt. You know her. I saw her in passing only. You tell me. Would she decline a request for help trying to ferret out a terror cell before an attack anywhere in the world to sit around here twiddling her thumbs waiting for Ashley Snow's attorney and Zack Carpenter to hammer out some sort of plea agreement with Snow?

Plea agreement? I asked, utterly stunned. Plea to what? We had her for shit in the first place. Nothing higher than a D felony. What the hell is her lawyer angling for anyway?

My guess is community service, Sandoval grinned.

That's not funny, Raun.

His eyes widened as he flashed a quick glance in my direction. That's the first time you called me by my name. I was beginning to think you didn't know what it was. But you've again avoided answering my question.

About?

Dr. Winchester. Would she ignore a job where she might help prevent mass casualties to wait it out here in Darkwater Bay?

No, she wouldn't.

You seem pretty sure about that.

She's…

She's what? he pressed.

Dedicated.

And what do you suppose that means for the Snow investigation? he asked.

She didn't abandon it.

Or you, he said. Rumor also has it that she got back into town last night. Though I have my doubts that Barney knows what he's talking about all the time. I think the guy's starting to slip in the ol' noggin, if you know what I mean.

He'd kick your ass if he ever heard you say that, I grinned.

You ready to hear about this call now? Sandoval asked.

Uh, yeah. Sorry for being a shit about it. But part of me was even more distracted than before. Was she really back in town, and if so, would she finally respond to my messages? If she was off trying to help profile terrorists somewhere in Europe, she'd probably been too busy to bother with anything else.

Fingers snapped in front of my face. Don't bullshit me, Alec, Sandoval said. If you're not up to this because I extended you the courtesy of telling you what I know about this Snow thing, tell me now. Because this case is bad from what little I got from the officers on scene. I need your head with me, not up in the clouds dreaming of the girl. Okay?

I didn't bother trying to deny it. Apparently, it was obvious.

The body was found on the edge of Perryville. It's not the crime scene, just a dumpsite. Apparently, it's an older male, and evidence of torture.

Torture? Like…how?

Didn't say, but I can tell you this. The uniform that took the call from dispatch was pretty freaked out about it. As was the person who called in the report.

Where exactly was this guy dumped? I asked.

Right on the median of SR-28, he said. Dump site was about a hundred yards before the stoplight that turns right into Perryville. When the call came in to 9-1-1, the caller was just about speaking in a tone best heard by dogs.

Female caller? I asked.

Nope. Male. Truck driver.

Holy shit. Those guys see a lot.

Apparently outside the realm of torture, thank God.

I noticed he had lights flashing, sirens blaring for the first time since we left the parking building at division. We were speeding through traffic that at least had the good sense to get out of Sandoval's way.

I was almost startled to see we were nearly to the wooded area that separated Edgewater from Perryville.

A knot grew in my belly, accompanied by a cold sweat and a heart that felt like it might well pound right out of my chest. I could sense whatever lay ahead, it was going to be sick and sobering. I sensed it like nothing else in my limited experience. In that moment, I wished London was riding shotgun, filling my head with her cold statistics on what signifies true torture and why people do it.

Instead, I had a giant void filled with nothing more than the tension Sandoval and I felt so keenly, as well as the dry rasp of air as we breathed in tandem, not knowing exactly what we were about to encounter.

In the distance, I saw police vehicles blocking the highway, and behind those, the mobile command center from CSD.

Sandoval slowed the car. We rolled to a stop where the hoods of two patrol cars from Central Division parked nose-to-nose.

Sandoval shot out of his seat, and I quickly followed. No need to flash badges. We were expected. The officers standing back at the far end of the dump site varied in skin tone from ashen to gray-green.

This is bad, Sandoval, I said quietly.

No shit, he muttered grimly. And what is that God awful smell?

Curling from the weeds in the center island of the highway was a thin trail of smoke, like something still smoldered. That's when I noticed the fire trucks. And an ambulance. One of the paramedics was in the ditch opposite the median vomiting.

Fuck, Sandoval. What the hell?

I know. Best we get into it, Alec.

One of the techs from CSD wrote our names on a clipboard, noting the time of our arrival on scene. Ken Forsythe was a few feet in front of us, arguing with a man in firefighter gear.

Well what the fuck were we supposed to do, Forsythe? Let the body burn out? We used water—

And might've washed away crucial evidence!

Gentlemen, Sandoval stepped forward, cooler heads. Kenny, he's right. The longer the burn, the more evidence is lost. Nothing to be done about it now.

My eyes were riveted to the corpse on the median. A gaping hole remained of what was once an abdomen. I inched closer.

Nothing.

There was nothing in that hole. Not organs. Not blood. Nothing. It was as if someone had scooped out the poor bastard's innards and set him on fire.

My God, what kind of a monster…? Sandoval was standing to my right, slightly behind me.

I didn't have the first clue, but I had a pretty good idea who would.

Without permission, I pulled out my phone and made the call, praying nonstop that London Winchester would answer her phone this time.

Chapter 2

London Winchester

I could barely believe I'd let myself be talked into coming back to Darkwater Bay, but here I was. My flight landed around midnight, and I'd rented another car and was camped out at the Rosemont once again, a home away from home, it seemed, this presidential suite.

Helen Eriksson was waiting for me in the lobby before I could even check in and have the bellman deliver my luggage to the suite.

She looked more than a little unhappy.

Who told you I was coming back to town tonight?

I'm a highly trained investigator, young lady. What makes you believe I haven't known where you were every second of every day since you sneaked out of town three weeks ago?

You're not my mother, I said.

No, and I'd imagine that if Elle were here, she'd give you far more hell than I'd ever dream of doing. Honestly, London. What were you thinking?

That I had an urgent and legitimate request to help profile a terror cell in Brussels, and nothing was going to stop me from doing everything in my power to stop a bunch of jihadists from wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting public.

Her mouth twisted into a moue of irritation. I take it you were successful, since there hasn't been a peep about a new attack in the news.

I thought you didn't read the news, I said. Hadn't Alec mentioned that at one point in time?

Mythology, she snorted. I'm still mad at you, so don't let this by any means give you the notion that you're forgiven for bailing without so much as a word of notice, but good job.

Helen linked her arm with mine. What say we get you to your room?

In case you hadn't noticed, you pounced before I had the chance to check in.

Bah, she waved one hand before snapping her fingers at the young man with my luggage. Presidential suite, young man. To me, I re-checked you in on my dime the day you left. I didn't want anybody taking your rooms while you were away.

"You've been paying for my suite of rooms for three weeks?"

Her expression revealed her bemusement. Was that a bad thing to do? I mean, it really wasn't a big deal, London. It's not like they don't know me.

I shook my head, too tired from a flight that began nearly twenty-four body hours ago. I can hardly claim two suites on opposite sides of the world for the same period of time as a legitimate tax expense, Helen. I wish you'd have taken that into consideration—

You're fussing at me about the money? Good grief, it's not like I intended to send you the bill, honey.

The suite is nearly $700 a night!

She cringed. Is that a lot? Johnny's always getting on me about being clueless about stuff like this.

You dropped over 14 grand on a hotel and don't think that's excessive?

Helen grinned. I can get a better price, believe me. Don't worry about it. And I thought you did your homework on me before you were here the first time. You're lucky I didn't buy you a suite at Danny's resort on Hennessey Island instead.

Buy…

"Yeah, and believe me, I'd get the better than friends and family discount. Like the I owe you my life for rescuing me from the death penalty discount."

I stopped her from following me onto the elevator. "I'll call the front desk and have them start billing my card effective tonight, and I won't feel guilty since I didn't ask you to keep the room for me, Helen. In the future, don't do something like that again. If I end up spending more than another week in Darkwater Bay wrapping up this thing with the Snow case, provided you haven't already wrapped it up while I was away—"

She snorted. Ha!

In that case, I'll manage my own present accommodations. I am disinclined to see the need for a long-term arrangement.

Her bright eyes darkened. London…

"I'm tired, and you're pushing way too hard in the wrong direction right now. Let me get some sleep, a hot shower and an enormous breakfast before I call you and set up a time when we can discuss the case—and only the case. In the meantime, I'll let Tucker know I've returned. Apparently, he didn't tell you that at least he knew where I'd gone and why."

He told me. I just wasn't happy that you didn't tell me yourself.

No time, I said. Goodnight, Helen. I'll talk to you later, I glanced at my watch, this morning. Much later in the morning.

Fine, fine, she grumbled. But bear in mind that recent studies have shown that people who sleep more than eight hours at night are at increased risk for cardiac—

I waved at her as the closing elevator doors cut off whatever nonsense she was spouting. The bellman wore a barely disguised smirk on his face.

Don't do that, I said. "She's your city's problem, not mine. What an exhausting creature."

She grows on you, he chuckled. But yes, quite exhausting. I'd imagine her husband must have Herculean stamina to keep up with her.

I didn't bother unpacking. While I was in Brussels, I'd pretty much made up my mind that this trip back to Darkwater Bay would be extremely brief—long enough to write up some final notes on the Snow case and reject Tuck's third, and hopefully final offer to join the ranks of a police department and put down roots.

The thought of it nearly gave me hives.

It was bad enough working with Detective Krypsek for a few short days. The man was utterly relentless, digging for personal information, asking about my past, stuff that nobody could read about my life, or more specifically, my famous parents, on the Internet. He couldn't take a subtle hint, and when I'd been more explicit in setting him straight, he got rather irritated with me.

So the bags remained packed, but all the airline grime had to come off before I felt like I wasn't turning my soft bed into a Petri dish of all manner of infectious gunk. I showered, washed the wild mane of hair, braided it wet, and tumbled into bed so exhausted that I was certain my head hadn't even hit the pillow before I was out like a light.

It felt like no time had passed at all when my phone woke me. That woman! I grabbed the cell from my nightstand and barked, I said don't call! I'll call you when I'm ready, and I am not ready at— I squinted at the alarm clock. Ah man. It's noon?

Uh…

My heart sank. Alec. I'm sorry. I thought it was Eriksson calling to hound me. I'm sorry I didn't return any of your calls or texts. I've been—

Busy, he said. I heard. Just today, but I heard. I'm sorry. I'll call the Chief, and if he wants to ask you to give us a hand, he can call you.

Alec, wait, I said hastily as I struggled under the weight of the heavy down comforter on the bed and sat up. What's going on? Is this about the Snow case?

No, no, nothing like that. I guess…well, you were the first person I thought of when we got a look at this victim, so I thought I'd call and see if you could give me some quick info, you know, like a profile on the kind of person that tortures people before he kills them.

He had my instant full attention.

Torture? What makes you think it's torture?

I could hear a commotion around him begin to fade. Well, he said, for starters, somebody dumped the body in a place where it literally wasn't going to be missed, and then apparently set the corpse on fire.

Well, burning a body doesn't necessarily mean torture was involved.

How about scooping his guts out and starting the fire in the hole?

A person couldn't live through that kind of mutilation. You said torture.

Well, his hands are all mangled, like somebody busted the bones up pretty good. And the bottoms of his feet are all cut up and have these weird marks on 'em. I'm no expert, but it kinda looks like cigarette burns, only bigger. They're like, perfectly round, and seem pretty deep. He's got a bunch of ligature marks around his neck, wrists and ankles.

Okay, so torture is a fair assumption. What else? Clothing?

Naked as the day he was born, Alec said. And Jesus, the smell…poor guy was still smoldering when Sandoval and I got on scene.

How public was the dump site? I asked.

Know where Perryville is?

Not a clue. I know Darkwater, Bay View, Beach Cliffs, a tiny bit of Downey and that trailer park you took me to in Fielding. And Edgewater, I added.

Well, if you stay on the highway that goes north from Edgewater, Perryville is what's on the other side of the forest.

So Perryville? I asked.

Negative. The body was dumped at a stoplight where you turn to head east into Perryville. He's on the median just about a hundred feet from the stoplight. He was still…smoking when Raun and I got here about ten minutes ago. He paused. I know you just got back to town last night but…can you come?

Alec, I sighed, sort of groaned.

Sorry, guess I shouldn't have asked.

No, of course you can always ask. I'm still a mess, still on Brussels' time, jet lagged, cranky—

So in other words, no carbs or coffee yet?

I heard the smile in his voice.

I don't like swearing, but man, my brain had some choice words for Tucker McAvoy at the moment. Like cursing him for dragging me into this mess in the first place. Three short weeks passed between their last nightmare and what sounded like the beginning of another.

I climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, loading the Waterpik with warm water and Listerine. This is gonna be noisy, Alec, but talk to me while I floss, I said. I'm putting you on speaker, because even though this iPhone is supposed to be waterproof, I don't feel like testing the theory with my flosser. Tell me about the victim.

The jets of water pulsed into my mouth while Alec told me that they had no clue to John Doe's identity, since he was found naked, without anything like a driver's license or other identification on the body.

He's old, and doesn't look like he was in the greatest shape before someone went to work on him. He's maybe five-ten, five-eleven, thin, like wasted away.

How close to the body are you now? I asked through the garble of water in my mouth.

Ten, fifteen feet, why?

Go look at his eyes and the skin that isn't burned. Tell me what you see.

I couldn't hear anything over the sound of the motorized flosser, but in a few moments, Alec was telling me what he could see.

His eyes look like dead man eyes, London. Kinda milky colored. His skin is Caucasian, kind of thin and saggy.

Is his face intact? I asked.

Hmm, some bruises. Looks like maybe his nose was broken. He's got a cut right over the bridge of the nose, but no fresh bleeding or anything like that.