The Scorekeeper Page 2

  “Not that I can recall, no.”

  Turning on the heel of her shoe, Langston looked at him squarely. “So can you please explain to the court what drew you to her car on the night in question?”

  “Billie did.” Pausing, he added, “She and I often work the overnight shift and spend a good portion of that doing patrols through Franklinton. We happened to be on foot at the time when Billie alerted on Ms. Crenshaw’s car.”

  “I’m sorry,” Langston inserted, “alerted?”

  “Yes,” Reed said, his focus never leaving the jurors, “which is a specific way of letting me know that she has picked up a scent that shouldn’t be there.”

  “And how did you react? Did you take her alert seriously?”

  Reed nodded. “Absolutely. Not once has Billie ever been wrong. My initial concern was actually that the car might be rigged with some sort of explosive.”

  “Which it wasn’t?” Langston said.

  “No,” Reed replied. “After the initial alert, her behavior indicated that it wasn’t a life-threatening concern.”

  Taking a step closer to the jury, Langston said, “At which point...?”

  “At which point, based on Billie’s behavior, I had probable cause to search the vehicle. Upon doing so, we discovered more than six pounds of heroin stored in the trunk.”

  Cutting his narrative there, Reed watched the jurors, seeing them react just as he would have expected. A few leaned back in surprise, a couple even cast accusatory glances toward the defendant.

  “Thank you, Detectives. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Chapter Three

  The flow of foot traffic out of Courtroom Three signified that the proceedings had come to a close. No more than a couple dozen people in total, they streamed out of the double doors, most banking a hard right toward the stairwell. A small handful went the other direction, most likely in search of the restroom.

  Standing against the wall on the far side of the hallway, Reed waited. With his hands shoved into the front pockets of the zip-up hooded sweatshirt he wore, he had one foot raised on the brick behind him.

  By his side was Billie, her ears twitching slightly as she surveyed the crowd.

  Not one person seemed to give either of them any mind until most of the crowd had dispersed and Lara Langston stepped outside. Folded over her arm was a black overcoat, a matching briefcase in her opposite hand.

  Behind her trailed a young woman that looked to be sub-thirty with blonde hair and enough makeup to join the circus.

  “How’d it go?” Reed asked.

  Closing the gap between them, Langston checked the crowd in either direction behind her before saying, “Easy conviction. By the time you were done, I could have moved for a directed verdict and the judge would have granted it.”

  Raising his eyebrows just slightly, Reed said, “Yeah, that was a pretty short deliberation. Couldn’t have been more than-“

  “Eight minutes,” Langston inserted. “Fastest one on my watch ever.”

  Shifting to the side, she motioned to the girl beside her and said, “Lisa Matteo, this is Detective Mattox, his partner Billie. Detectives, our new intern Lisa.”

  Moving to extract his hand from the sweatshirt, Reed saw the stack of papers the girl was holding and settled for a nod. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “You too,” she replied. “You guys were both great in there.”

  “Thank you,” Reed replied, feeling a bit of warmth come to his face. “But the credit goes to my partner and your boss here. I was just the translator between the two.”

  As it usually tended to, mention of Billie brought a smile to both women’s faces.

  “Is all that stuff really true?” Matteo asked. “What you were saying in there, about her brain and everything?”

  Feeling his eyebrows rise slightly, Reed flicked a glance to Langston.

  On her face was an expression that seemed to say, See what I’m dealing with here?

  “Every word,” Reed said. He didn’t bother to point out that he wouldn’t have said it otherwise, or that it could have gotten their case thrown out and let a drug dealer go free.

  Some things the girl would have to learn on her own over time.

  “Can I pet her?” Matteo asked.

  “Uh, sure,” Reed said, “just show her the back of your hand first.”

  Juggling the ream of paper in her arms, she managed to do as instructed, bending at the waist and holding her knuckles a few inches from Billie’s face.

  For a moment, the dog simply sat and stared before inching closer and drawing in several whiffs.

  “Lets her get your scent,” Reed explained. “Now she knows you, will recognize you if you ever cross paths again.”

  Content with whatever she found, Billie nudged closer still, coming within easy reach. In response, Matteo ran her fingers back over the thick hair between Billie’s ears, leaving deep furrows through it.

  “I sure hope so. That was amazing in there. The whole case was basically over the second you guys got done.”

  Again, Reed cast a glance to Langston. Just in his mid-thirties, it was amazing how young the next generation seemed to be.

  Judging by the look on her face, the prosecutor felt the same way.

  “Hey, speaking of which,” Matteo said, looking up from Billie, her hands still scouring the dog’s back, “some of us from the office are going to Rooster’s this evening. You guys should join us.”

  Across from him, the look on Langston’s face seemed to intimate that already her young charge had far outspoken her daily allotment.

  Not that it seemed to be doing much at all to slow her down.

  As if Pavlovian, Reed felt every preplanned excuse he had for such things rise to the surface. First in order was the fact that while Billie was a detective and allowed to go anywhere with him, that didn’t mean he liked to celebrate the fact.

  Or really, do much celebrating at all for that matter.

  “Thanks for the invite, but we’re actually on call tonight. I was just sticking around to check in with Lara about tomorrow morning’s hearing. Still set for nine?”

  “We’ll be here.”

  Chapter Four

  Consciousness came to Della Snow before she could so much as open her eyes. As if emerging from a deep slumber, her body seemed to pass through the thick veil of darkness, a spur of electricity roiling through her. For the first time in an unknown number of hours, she became aware again.

  Of her own body, of her presence in the world.

  Of the God-awful pounding in her head.

  Able to manage no more than a flutter of her eyelids, Della felt the pounding swell inside her skull. With it came a sharp increase in pressure, threatening to force her brain out through any possible opening.

  Her ears. Her nose. Even her mouth.

  It didn’t matter. There just had to be some respite from the intensity pressing behind her eyes.

  A low groan escaped her lips as she raised a hand to her head. Wanting nothing more than to massage her temples, to put some tiny bit of the pain at bay, her fist made it just a few inches before it smashed violently into a solid surface, agony shooting up through her wrist. Traveling along her ulnar nerve, she could feel it hum up past her elbow, disappearing into her armpit.

  Her entire left arm began to tingle as she jerked her right across to hold it.

  And again made it no more than a few inches, this time her shoulder colliding with the same hard surface.

  For the second time in as many seconds, painful tremors wracked her body, sucking the air from her lungs. Clamping her eyelids and teeth both down tight, she clenched her body for a moment before slowly letting it go, for the first time opening her eyes.

  And seeing absolutely nothing but darkness before her.

  “Hello?”

  Her voice no more than a rasp, it seemed to be swallowed up the instant it left her.

  The smell of dirt and pine filled her nostrils. The unforgiving fe
eling of wood dug into her shoulder blades and coccyx.

  “Hello?” she managed again, a bit louder.

  This time she pushed her hands out to either side, moving them slowly, fingers splayed. Just a few inches from either hip her search ended abruptly, the pads of her fingertips pressing into cool wood.

  “Is anybody there?”

  Warm tears rolled out from the corners of her eyes. They passed straight down over her ears, disappearing into the thick hair bunched on either side of her head. Shutting them tight for a moment, she shook her head hard twice, trying to expel the darkness that seemed to envelop her.

  And again opened them to find nothing but the same inky hue cloaking everything.

  More moisture spilled over her cheeks as her heart rate spiked. Fear and adrenaline both seeped into her system. Her breathing receded to shallow gasps, putting her on the verge of hyperventilation.

  “Anybody? Please?”

  Lifting her hands, she brushed the backs of her palms against the same wood that had gotten her before. Smooth and solid, it was just a few inches above her, as if the space had been designed to her specific dimensions.

  Inch by inch, she worked her hands up the length of it, feeling nothing – not even a seam – to mar the surface.

  Nothing but one smooth piece from her waist up past her head. Not even enough room to turn and lay on a hip.

  With both hands above her head, Della pressed her palms down flat against the wood above her. Using it for leverage, she slid her body down in the opposite direction, making it just a few inches before her feet connected with the far end.

  “Oh, Jesus.” This time, the words weren’t meant as a call for help. They were just barely loud enough for Della to hear herself. “Where am I? What is this?”

  Chapter Five

  The 8th Precinct of the Columbus Police Department comprised the area of Franklinton and a bit of Hilliard, two suburbs nestled tight to the west side of the downtown district. Split off from their more gentrified neighbors by the Olentangy River, it was that very geographic feature that many claimed gave the area the moniker most used when referencing it – The Bottoms.

  To anybody that had lived, or worked, or even passed through the area in the last twenty years, such a name would prove to have a much less gentile origin.

  While most of the greater Columbus area had seen a boon of investment and venture capital dollars, Franklinton had seemed to move in an equal and opposite fashion. What was just two generations before known as a haven for working-class families had seen the vast majorities of those move out many years before.

  In their stead was nothing more than crumbling edifices and rising crime rates, the latter now among the top few in the state, trailing only the roughest parts of Cleveland and Cincinnati for that dubious honor.

  A fact that many in local politics did everything they could to hide. That just as many in the media made a point of mentioning every time a story originated in the area. And one of the main reasons that Reed Mattox had decided to join the precinct upon the passing of his partner Riley Poole two years prior.

  Now seated inside the station house for the 8th, he stared back at the other main factor behind his decision.

  Captain Harold Grimes was just beyond his fiftieth birthday, a fact revealed by the steady influx of silver that now permeated his short hair. Adding to the impression were the heavy parentheses that framed his mouth and the tangle of lines underscoring his eyes.

  Since taking the new position, rare was the moment that Reed hadn’t seen him in full dress uniform, his crisp white shirt a stark contrast to his dark brown skin.

  Previously working as a sergeant in the neighboring 19th precinct, he had been requested by the brass downtown to make the switch when the position came open. Having worked with Reed and Riley for a number of years in the past, he had been the first to reach out when Riley passed away.

  It had even been his idea to consider working as a K-9 detective.

  Now long past the point of thanking the man every time he saw him, Reed was reclined in one of two matching visitor chairs inside the captain’s office. Double padded and covered in blue cloth, it was infinitely preferable to the seat he had taken in front of the courtroom hours before.

  On the floor beside him was Billie, her chin on her paws, appearing to be of the same opinion.

  “Everything go okay?” Grimes asked.

  “Langston said it was the shortest deliberation she’d ever seen,” Reed replied.

  Having assumed his usual pose of sitting with his fingers laced over the first signs of a budding paunch, Grimes tapped the pads of his thumbs together. “Langston?”

  “The woman that ascended after Heathcoat’s heart attack.”

  Reclining his head slightly, Grimes said, “Right, right. I had forgotten. She any good?”

  “Excellent,” Reed said. “Better than her boss, in my opinion.”

  There was no need to add that such an opinion was to stay between them. Over the course of their time together, the two men were beyond needing to point such things out.

  “Word is, he’s not doing so well,” Grimes replied. “Any chance we could keep her on for a while?”

  “Hope so,” Reed said. “I don’t know her that well, but if she doesn’t mind going through the hell of running for election, she could do some real good around here.”

  Shifting his focus toward the parking lot, Grimes grunted softly. “Did she have any thoughts on the case?”

  “For us?” Reed asked. “Seemed genuinely thankful, which isn’t that surprising. It was about the closest to a slam dunk as exists.”

  Flicking his gaze back to Reed, Grimes said, “Even still, always nice to be appreciated.”

  “That it is,” Reed agreed, his left hand reaching down and finding the thick hair behind Billie’s ears. Not wanting to point out that it was her that deserved the lion’s share of the credit, he pivoted, asking, “Anything on tap for us tonight?”

  “No,” Grimes said, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Actually, a pretty quiet slate. Lord knows we could use it.”

  Reed knew the feeling. The last few months had been nothing short of a tsunami, the opioid epidemic that has ravaging the state having finally found its way to their little corner of the city.

  As great as the bust they’d just executed had been, he’d give anything to have it have been one of the major drug runners they were actually looking for.

  “Glad to hear it,” Reed said. “We’ll be around if anything shows up.”

  Chapter Six

  The positioning of the car had been planned for more than a month. Done through the sort of painstaking research that had once made The Scorekeeper so good at his job – much better even than anybody realized – he had acquired the optimal vantage point to sit and wait.

  Two blocks down from the 8th Precinct, wedged in tight behind the same oversized sewage truck that parked there every day starting at half past five. Belonging to a crew that worked in the area, the enormous tanker was placed on an empty stretch of public street. Too large to be driven outside of the city and back each night, it was left there every day, the owner picking up his own sedan and driving off to wherever was home.

  A place The Scorekeeper guessed was well beyond the reach of Franklinton, the truck just providing a rare opportunity in the form of a necessary service in a region where most people wouldn’t dare venture.

  Nobody ever said capitalism came without the occasional concern.

  Once the truck was in position, The Scorekeeper was able to pull his own car up tight behind it. A Geo Metro that was last produced at some point in the nineties, the tiny ride was nothing more than an afterthought to the larger vehicle before it.

  And more or less completely hidden from view from any location further than a few feet away.

  Seated behind the wheel, The Scorekeeper waited with the front seat reclined slightly. Stowed behind tinted windows, he was armed with a liter-sized bottle of cola and a sac
k from McDonald’s, prepared to wait as long as it took.

  Which, to his surprise, was no more than a single carton of McNuggets.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” The Scorekeeper muttered, seeing the front door to the precinct open and what he was waiting on come spilling out.

  Gone instantly was any form of hunger, the fast food carton cast aside with the flick of a wrist. In its stead was a renewed animosity, the intensity of which still somehow managed to surprise him.

  Years had been spent waiting for this moment. Time enough for any initial wounds to heal, along with whatever residual festering there might have been.

  Still, it did nothing to relieve the hostility he felt as he sat and watched, the entirety of the show lasting no more than a couple of minutes.

  When it was over, The Scorekeeper sat in silence, the world growing dark around him. Drawing in deep breaths, he waited a few more minutes, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

  Once he started, there would be no turning back. Not even a chance to slow down until it was over.

  The thought brought a smile to The Scorekeeper’s face, the first such look he could remember in ages.

  Reaching into the middle console, he took up his cell phone. Thumbing it to life, he checked the time on the front screen, seeing it was just shortly after seven.

  Which meant he had much of the evening still to do as he pleased. Everybody was in position. He was like a conductor standing before an orchestra, every eye trained on his wand, waiting for him to give the signal to begin.

  The smile on The Scorekeeper’s face grew a bit more pronounced as he thought on that, relishing all that it would soon mean.

  Chapter Seven

  When Della Snow first awoke inside the box, she hadn’t realized she was naked. Stuck inside the darkened case, her initial concerns had been far greater than whatever clothes she was or wasn’t wearing. Not until a few minutes had passed, the initial bouts of screaming and crying subsiding, did she come to fully realize the extent of her situation.