Chapter Eighteen

Robin

"I want this bastard caught!" Captain Davis shouted from behind his desk. I understood he was receiving heat from the brass and city hall, but there was only so much I could do. This bastard was good. He left nothing behind. No evidence, minus the trident that he burned into the bodies; a key piece of evidence we'd kept to ourselves. God, I hated to think what the media would do with that information. Fuckers would probably name the bastard, giving credence to his kills.

"Listen, Calloway, if another kid turns up, I'm not gonna have a choice. The mayor is already on my ass for not calling the FEDs. We've got four dead kids. The youngest is eight years old. The only reason I've been able to hold him off is because those kids were homeless. And before you say anything, I already fucking know that shouldn't matter. Kids are kids. Doesn't matter the demographics. Where are you with this shitstorm?"

"Right now, the only thing linking all four crimes is his calling card. If we consider where he leaves the bodies, I'd say the asshole is homeless himself. But something feels off about that."

"Jesus, Calloway," Norwich groaned. "Fuck your feelings. Everyone knows the sick bastard is homeless. We need to scour the camps. Have every patrol out, rounding up every homeless bum aged between twenty-five and forty. Haul their asses in and question them."

Slowly turning to the annoying fuck, I gaped at him. "You can't be fucking serious, Norwich. Do you know how many fucking homeless men fit that profile? Let alone how many homeless men are in this city. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Plus, when the media finds out what we're doing, they will go nuts. The public will panic, and we will have more murders on our hands. No one thinks twice if a homeless man dies. No one will care. It will be like The Purge . All-out war against the homeless. And then what?"

"At least we would be doing something besides sitting on our asses waiting for the next victim to show up!"

"You are a fucking dick, Norwich."

"Enough," Davis barked. "Hate to say this, Calloway, but Norwich has a fucking point. We need to do something, and if bringing in some homeless guys appeases the brass, then that's what we're gonna do."

"You do that, Davis, and you will create a panic."

"The public is already panicking," Davis rebutted. "Norwich, you and Gregory get together and start rounding up the homeless around the latest kill sites. Bring them in, get what you can, then cut them loose. Anyone looks suspicious, hold them."

"Captain—" I protested, as Norwich smiled, getting to his feet. Smarmy bastard.

That stupid fuck was going to fuck up my investigation.

Davis held up his hand to stop me from saying anything else.

Sitting back, I shook my head.

This was not going to end well.

The second Norwich was out of the room, Davis sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands down his face. "I hate that fucking kiss ass. Look, Calloway, I don't care who you bring in on this. Call the FEDs yourself if you need their help. This city needs this killer found fast. Because as soon as Norwich starts rounding up the homeless, I won't be able to stop the press from running with the story. I know you, Robin. I know you are diligent and often one step ahead of the rest of us, so I'm only going to ask you this once. Is the killer a homeless man?"

"No."

Davis nodded, leaning forward against his desk. "Then find the son of a bitch. I know you've been sitting on his number. Call him."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

Getting to my feet, I walked out of the captain's office and headed for a quiet room.

Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I dialed the one number I promised myself I would never call again. It wasn't that I didn't want to speak to him; it was the fact that I knew he blamed me for what happened. Holding the phone to my ear, I took a deep breath as the call connected.

"Sons of Hell Motorcycle Club. You got King. What do you need?"

"Hello. My name is Robin Calloway. I'm a detective in the New York Police Department. Do you have a Shaw Dalton there?"

"What do you want with Priest?"

Sighing, I looked around the storage room before saying, "King, I need help. I need to speak with Shaw."

The man on the line sighed. "How did you get this number, Detective?"

"It's a long story, but the condensed version is my mother, Stacy Calloway, is friends with Matthew Law. She reached out and Matthew gave her your number. Is Shaw there?"

"How do you know Priest?"

I knew he was going to ask that. I really didn't want to rehash the past, and I wasn't sure how much Shaw told anyone. Knowing what I knew of him, I highly doubted he'd said anything. While I still warred with myself over my part in what happened, I wasn't going to out Shaw if he'd chosen to keep his past silent. That was not my story to tell. So, I stuck to the specifics. The shit that was public knowledge.

"We attended NYU together. I know the FBI recruited him right after graduation to find a copy-cat killer. Afterward, he left the FBI and disappeared."

"Like I said. What do you want with Priest?"

"I need his help to find a child killer."

"He doesn't do that shit anymore."

"King, please. I've got a killer on the loose in my city who is murdering children and leaving them in public places for everyone to find. They are kids who didn't deserve this shit. I want to give them justice, and Shaw is the only one who can help me. Please. If he is there, I really need to speak with him."

I heard King curse before he said, "Got your number. I will talk to him. Gotta warn you, Detective. Priest isn't the man you remember. He may walk away from this."

"I had to try. Please let me know what he decides."

The call disconnected, and I sat there in the storage closet, staring off into nothing. I hated this. I hated asking Shaw to return home, to where it all began. Shaw was a good friend of mine.

Honest and loyal to a fault and irrevocably in love with Phoebe.

Closing my eyes, a lone tear rolled slowly down my face.

The pain was still raw as I prayed I was doing the right thing, because the last thing I wanted to do was hurt one of my closest friends anymore. He'd already lost so much.