Chapter Six
Savannah, Georgia
Damn it’s good to be in the saddle again. River adjusted his shoulder holster, his fingers brushing over the Glock’s cold steel. The satisfaction of wearing a badge and carrying a gun again seemed almost miraculous. Maybe the nightmare of the high-profile Austin Internal Affairs investigation and the ensuing public outcry had at last ended.
“Want to get out, grab a sandwich or something?”
He looked across to the metal desk occupied by Detective Theodore Dauscher. It was the standard question the local detective asked in order to bond with the new partner. The linebacker of a guy shifted his gaze from his rapid-fire keystrokes, where he finished responding to an email, and scrutinized him with dark-brown eyes.
Rising from his chair, River grabbed his jacket. “Sure.”
Outside, they piled into Dauscher’s navy Taurus and pulled out of the Savannah Police Department’s parking lot.
“Anything you don’t like to eat?” His partner lowered sunglasses from the top of his head, adjusted them, and ran a quick hand through his tidy, light-brown hair.
River shrugged. “I eat pretty much anything. Except raw fish unless I absolutely have to.”
“Good.” He nodded. “There’s an excellent deli not far from here. Cold cuts, fresh bread, sides. Reasonable prices, too.”
“Sounds good.”
As Dauscher drove, River scanned the tight streets filled with cars and pedestrians and wondered how he’d earned a job on the east coast after the allegations he’d suffered in Texas. More, how he’d managed to retain his rank as detective. Typically, an officer started at a lower position when changing to a new station. His old boss, Captain Suarez, had known nothing—River had asked.
“You’re a damn good cop, mi amigo,” Suarez had said. “There was no way you had anything to do with that puta. But you understand, I had to follow procedure. You just got caught up in bad circumstances.”
The procedure had led to the department’s firm request he seek employment elsewhere. Which had led to innumerable days at The Yellow Rose and his liquor-induced downward spiral. Then he’d received a job offer out of the proverbial blue. A job for which he hadn’t applied.
With no prospects in the great state of Texas, and no other options, he’d traveled to Georgia and into one of the most humid cities in the state—Savannah. It would take a while to transition from the open rolling terrain and tall buildings of Austin to the low-hanging trees and narrow streets of Savannah.
Matthew’s cryptic words rushed back to him. Your life is about to change in ways you can’t imagine. He shook his head. The wealthy kook just had good timing. It was all a coincidence.
Dauscher turned onto East Oglethorpe Avenue, which boasted a string of ancient, moss-riddled oaks down the center, dividing the street in half, giving the illusion of a perpetual tree tunnel. He smirked. If he’d been claustrophobic, he might have had to seek employment elsewhere.
However, when he’d seen the marshes and the vast array of animals residing along the coast, he’d been hooked. The salty air had filled his head, seeped into his soul, and created a deep-seated connection to the area. Within a week, he’d rented a modest house on a canal and requested a buyout from the owner.
River glanced at his new partner as he navigated through the streets and decided since they were outside the station, it might be the time to discuss his background. If there was going to be a problem, he needed to know.
“You read my file?”
“Yep.” Dauscher slowed and stopped at a light.
“Guess you know why I left Texas, then.”
“Yep,” Dauscher said. “Gotta say, IA did their damndest to find a connection between you and the Valentine Killer. They cleared you, though.”
So, this is how it’s going to be. He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his anger in check. “That’s because there was no connection to be made.”
His partner nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Course, those people picketing the station didn’t help. After all those girls had been butchered, the killer ending up dead in some freak cave-in? The public wanted a head on a pike.” He shrugged. “Sucks for you.”
So, he knew everything already. Dauscher had tracked the case even before he’d known River would be his partner.
“You got a problem with any of it?” His words came out harsh, but he didn’t give a shit. “Because if you’re worried being partnered with a known associate of a serial killer might keep you from a promotion, let me know now. I’ll request a new assignment.”
“Nope. No problems.” His partner turned at the intersection just as his cell phone chirped. Pulling the Taurus to the side of the road, he answered. “Dauscher.” As he paused to listen, his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Mam-maw?” His partner’s tone raised half an octave. “Calm down, Mam-maw. What’s going on?”
Frantic buzzing emanated from Dauscher’s cell while his grandmother spoke.
“Okay, okay. I’m not far away.” He shifted the Taurus into drive and checked traffic before veering out onto the road. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Trouble?”
“My grandmother’s new neighbors are at it again.” He emphasized the word neighbors, reflecting his annoyance. “She’s called the police three times because of all the yelling and cursing, but they’ve never arrested the husband or wife. I know we don’t really do domestic stuff, but with her being my grandmother and all, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind tagging along. It’s over in Thunderbolt.”
“Sure.” River hated domestics. It was difficult to discern the transgressing party. Not to mention the possibility of a hidden steak knife or small caliber weapon as a surprise factor he’d rather not deal with. But how could he say no? This was his first day on the job, and his brand-new partner had asked him to lunch. He needed to help out with Dauscher’s grandmother. That’s what partners did.
They drove down a street lined with single-story houses amid a sea of well-manicured lawns, one flowing into the next. Dauscher reported their location to dispatch as he steered the Taurus into the driveway of a taupe-colored home trimmed in cream. A distinguished woman with light-gold, upswept hair, a pink velour jogging suit, and white tennis shoes left the covered porch and hurried toward them.
“Oh, Theo,” she said as Dauscher exited the car. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He leaned over and gave his grandmother a hug then gestured toward River. “Mam-maw, this is my new partner, Detective River Chastain.”
“Detective.” She acknowledged him with a quick blink of her bright brown eyes then rounded back to her grandson. “I’m glad you were wise enough to bring backup.”
River suppressed a grin. So, he was Dauscher’s backup? Good to know.
His partner peered at the house next door. “It seems pretty calm now.”
“You should’ve been here five minutes ago.” She clutched her grandson’s arm. “They were yelling and cursing. Words I’ve never even heard before. And throwing things. I heard a loud bang and glass breaking. It sounded like they were killing each other.”
“Maybe we should go over and check it out,” River offered. They were here to set the woman at ease, and the best way for that to happen was to talk with the neighbors.
“Yes.” She glanced at the house, her brow furrowing. “It’s so quiet. I don’t know. What if something bad has happened? Oh, Theo, what if he’s finally killed her?”
Dauscher patted her hand. “Now Mam-maw, let’s not jump to conclusions. Detective Chastain and I will go over and make sure everything is okay.”
She pulled him closer. “You be careful, Theodore. And don’t you let anything happen to him, Detective Chastain.”
River nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You stay here, Mam-maw.” Dauscher extracted her hand from his arm. “We’ll be back in a little while. You go on in the house, and we’ll check in before we leave.”
She nodded then raked her gaze over River. “You watch my grandson’s back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kept his tone and expression serious.
They waited until she’d closed and locked the door before treading over the fresh-cut grass toward the neighbor’s house. No noise emanated from the tidy blue and white ranch-style residence. No yelling or cursing. No breaking glass. Just another quiet day in a pleasant neighborhood.
“So, I need to watch your back, do I?” River said.
“What can I say?” The corner of Dauscher’s mouth twitched. “Mam-maw watches too many nighttime cop shows.”
“And here I find out I’m your backup.” He scanned the area while they crossed to the neighbor’s porch. “I thought I was your partner.”
“That’s what the paperwork says. Don’t know how things work in Texas, but here in Georgia, the new guy starts out as backup. Has to prove himself before working up to real detective status.”
River chuckled. “Good to know.”
They ambled up the walkway lined with sculpted hedges. Two fat ceramic pots, flanking the porch steps, held conical wire topiaries covered in ivy. From the eaves, large ferns hung, their long fronds dipping down to the railing. River followed Dauscher onto the wide wraparound porch, stopping in front of an enormous brown grass mat with “Welcome to the Beckindales” worked in a contrasting black.
“Seems pretty quiet.” River peered in the window, but cream-colored sheers diffused his view. “Maybe they left when your grandmother wasn’t watching.”
“Probably. But we’d better ring the bell, so we can tell her we tried.” His partner raised his index finger, aiming it at the doorbell.
Without warning, a fist-sized knot twisted River’s gut. The hairs on his neck prickled, straight pins piercing his skin. Something’s wrong.
When the button depressed beneath Dauscher’s finger and the first note of the doorbell chimed, River sprang toward him.
“Gun!”
He tackled his partner, the heat from the bullet singeing the rigid hairs on his neck. Two more shots ripped through the door in rapid succession, passing over them and ending up God knew where—or into whom. In a swift fluid motion, River rolled off his partner, pulled his Glock, and landed crouched, his gun aimed at the bullet-riddled door.
“You okay?” River barked in a hoarse whisper. Adrenaline pumped through his system, trying to ignite his flight response, but training kept his breath even, his hand steady.
“Yeah.” Scooting from the line of fire, he drew his .9mm Berretta. It had been too close, and Dauscher’s raised eyebrows and flared nostrils reflected intimate knowledge of the fact. “Son of a bitch!”
In two massive steps, River crossed the porch and flanked the right side of the door, his gun pointing toward the floor. He waited until Dauscher scrambled to the left side before calling out.
“Mr. Beckindale, this is the Savannah Police Department. Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up.”
Muted shuffles resonated through the holes in the door.
River tightened his fingers on his weapon. Shit, is the guy reloading? “Mr. Beckindale!” He counted in his head. If he made it to five, he’d kick the door in and they’d take the man down.
“The police?” a shaky voice said from within the house.
River met his partner’s surprised gaze.
The wife? he mouthed.
Dauscher raised a brow and shrugged.
“I’m really sorry,” she called.
“Mrs. Beckindale,” River amended in a stern tone. “You need to put the gun down. Come out here, so we can talk.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot at you.” A moan wafted through the door. “Oh God. I’m just so sorry.”
“We know you didn’t mean it, Mrs. Beckindale.” He kept his pitch even despite every muscle in his body being wound clock spring tight.
“I just…I thought you were Bobby.” A deep sob reached his ears. “I thought…I thought he came back.”
Crap. Her husband’s outside somewhere? He could be stalking them this very moment, using the wife as a distraction. River scanned the yard, the driveway, and across the street. “Bobby’s not here, Mrs. Beckindale. You’re safe. So open the door. Come out and talk to us.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she wailed. “I just…I just…I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Beckindale?”
No response.
River locked his gaze on his new partner. The guy he trusted with his life after all of three hours and forty-five minutes. Dauscher grimaced as though he’d just had the exact same thought. Then, with a curt tilt of his head toward the house, the decision was made.
Kick it. Go in. Take down the woman with the gun.
But before he could move, another shot was fired from within the house. River jerked, expecting a hail of splinters to erupt from the door. But none did.
“Oh, shit,” River murmured. Mrs. Beckindale hadn’t shot through the door this time. She’d shot somewhere else.
“Maybe Bobby came through the back door?” Dauscher suggested, in tune with his line of thinking.
“Or worse.” He rounded on the door, squared himself, and kicked. The wood cracked at the knob, where a gunshot hole had already weakened the area, and flung open. Mrs. Beckindale lay sprawled on the tiled entry, blood oozing from a bullet wound to her head.
“Call an ambulance,” he barked, forgetting this was his first day on the job and he was supposed to be following along, learning the ropes. He knelt next to the thirty-something woman while his partner dialed on his cell. River took her wrist, felt for a pulse, and noted the welt beneath her left eye.
With the phone to his ear, Dauscher stared down at the woman. “How bad?”
He turned Mrs. Beckindale’s head to the side. “I’m no doctor, but I think she’ll be fine.”
“What?”
“She missed.” He pointed at the bloody furrow in her hair. “Grazed her scalp. You know how head wounds bleed. Looks worse than it is.”
The big guy’s shoulders sagged. “Son of a bitch.”
River kicked the sleek, nickel-plated .45mm lying near Mrs. Beckindale’s side, sending it skittering across the floor near his partner’s feet. They would bag and tag it after the ambulance arrived, but for the moment the weapon was out of her dangerous hands.
As if on cue, the distinctive sound of sirens wailed in the distance.
“That was quick.”
“Yeah,” Dauscher said. “A little too quick.”
“Maybe they were in the neighborhood.”
“I’ll check it out.” As he stepped out onto the porch, the sirens grew louder. “They stopped next door.”
“Go ask what’s up,” River suggested.
Without waiting for further encouragement, Detective Dauscher holstered his gun and ambled down the steps. River remained with Mrs. Beckindale—he wasn’t about to leave her side until she was either strapped to a gurney in an ambulance or cuffed in the back of a squad car. A few minutes later, a heavy-footed jaunt sounded on the front steps.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Dauscher strode through the doorway, glanced at the still unconscious Mrs. Beckindale then turned to River. “The ambulance next door? It was called because the neighbor saw a man stumble into her backyard and keel over. Three guesses who the guy was.”
“Mr. Beckindale.”
“Ab-so-freakin-lutely.” Dauscher pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “Seems the blissfully wedded pair had a tiff and hubby smacked her. The wife here grabbed a gun, shot him, and he ran out the back door. Made it as far as the neighbor’s house before passing out.”
“Good thing he didn’t go the other way into your grandmother’s backyard,” River said. “That would’ve been bad.”
“She wouldn’t have thought so. She would’ve loved it.” A sly smile pulled the corners of his mouth. “She would’ve been the topic of conversation at poker night for at least a month.”
“We could get the paramedics to move him to her yard.”
Dauscher chuckled then shook his head. “Too much paperwork.”
Ninety minutes later, two ambulances departed, each with an injured Beckindale and a uniformed police officer. The paramedics had declared that with further medical attention they would both survive their injuries. A concerned Mam-maw had stood at a respectful distance, her keen eyes taking everything in. Afterward, she’d invited Theo and River inside to recount the events—the tone of her request leaving no choice but compliance.
“Man, your grandmother is tough.” River followed his partner to the Taurus. “I feel like I’ve been grilled by Internal Affairs all over again. But she sure makes good focaccia bread and French onion soup.”
“Yeah, Mam-maw can cook. But I doubt she’d have given us a crumb if we hadn’t found where the second bullet had landed.”
“She told me she wouldn’t be able to sleep.” River remembered how she’d whispered the words to him while Dauscher had spoken with the paramedics. Her concerned expression had urged him across the street in search of the stray slug. “I’m glad no one was sitting in that car when the bullet went through the trunk.”
“And speaking of bullets,” Dauscher said. “How did you know Mrs. Beckindale had a gun?”
River shrugged. “Like I told your grandmother, I saw it through the window.”
“No way.” Dauscher shook his head. “You were as surprised to hear a female voice come from the other side of that door as I was. So how’d you know?”
He glanced at the neighboring house, the memory of the knot ripping at his gut making him queasy all over again. “Instinct, luck, training. Take your pick.”
“Fine.” Dauscher gave him a skeptical look. “Luck, then.”
River slid into the passenger seat, closing the door while his partner inserted the key into the ignition. But instead of starting the engine, the big guy sat and stared at his grandmother’s house. His gaze narrowed, the area around his eyes crinkling like a twisted sheet of paper. Danger had brushed against his family. River waited in silence, allowing him all the time he needed to absorb the fact his grandmother was safe. Damn, he hated domestics.
“Well, hell.” Dauscher’s abrupt growl jolted River. “First day on the job and you’ve already saved my life.”
River looked at his partner, unable to gauge the scowl on his face. “Let’s not make a habit of it,” he replied in a similar ice-laden tone.
“Sounds good.” Dauscher started the engine, shifted into reverse, and backed down the driveway.
“So, I guess this officially moves me from backup to real detective status.”
The big guy stopped the car. The angry bulldog expression on his face vanished, replaced with a good-natured grin. “Hell, yeah it does.”
River smiled. “Good to know.”