Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Frankie

I walk inside the precinct feeling good, thanks to the liquid bones, giddy from too many orgasms. The feeling is out of this world. Suddenly I understand those women in the office who can't stop smiling, who are always perky and smiling and honestly just fucking exhausting.

I feel like one of those women today.

And again, only some of it is because of a man. Well, the truth is that all of it is not because of a man, but two different men . My body feels good, and my mind is clear and focused because of Damien. But the rest? Well, the rest is all professional success because I finally have a lead on our suspect.

I strut through the glass doors, and it even feels like people are staring at me, but that might just be giddy projection. Either way, when I step inside our war room dedicated to solving this crime, I'm smiling wide. "Hope House!"

Fuck, that feels so good to say. After months of spinning our wheels, this lead feels important.

Jay looks up with one arched brow and an amused smirk on his face. "You finally going to rehab?"

"Ha! Funny," I reply in a deadpan tone as I roll my eyes. "If I went to rehab, you'd be lost without me," I joke. "But also no. Hope House is the hidden gem we've been looking for. It's the link between all the victims," I say, smacking my hand over each victim's face in dramatic fashion.

Jay's smirk fades. "We finally have a fucking lead? You're shitting me."

I shake my head. "I shit you not. Hope House is the link." Amelia's tip was spot on, and I already sent her a fancy schmancy basket that always makes her happy.

Jay leans back in his chair, swiveling back and forth while clicking his pen incessantly, a nervous habit he can't quit since giving up cigarettes. "So, they were all in juvie?"

My brows dip. "Nope. Foster kids, Jay."

"I know that, Frankie, but the shit that leads to most kids ending up in the system is usually a guarantee of future criminal activity." His brows pull together in a deep frown. "And if I remember correctly, Hope House is where they used to send problem kids."

I nod. "That was true for a brief period, but the late nineties saw a tough time for addicts and an overload of parentless kids in the system." Those thoughts make me think of Damien. And me. Good kids who'd also lost their parents and made it to adulthood without juvenile detention records.

Jay snorts. "Is that some of your PC shit?"

I roll my eyes. "It's called treating people like humans, and no it's not some PC shit . Some of the victims were in juvie, which is what led me to Hope House where they all stayed for at least six months. Some of them lived there for years. It's the one thing that connects them all. Hope House."

After I picked up the records, I spent hours looking through the files until I could cross off each victim's name. "None of the juvie stuff was anything serious, mostly petty crimes of unwanted kids pushing boundaries. They were all returned to Hope House without serving any serious time."

Jay's brows dip even more, and his eyes dart back and forth the way they do when he's deep in thought. With his history on the force, he could be thinking about anything, so I watch and wait until he's ready to talk. "You know what's really fucking weird?"

I snort. "Beyond the torture and murder?"

"Obviously," he says and waves off my sarcasm. "Hope House was one of the few coed group homes at the time, yet all the victims are male."

"So far," I add reluctantly. "All the victims so far are male." But he's right, it is an anomaly. "House capacity was twenty-five, housing boys and girls ages ten to eighteen when they aged out." I don't even want to think about what it means that all the victims are male, but I can't seem to stop my mind from going there.

"You find any names other than the victims?"

I nod, a proud smile spreading across my face. "Of course." I peel open the files I requested from the clerk and sift through each page. "The place doesn't exist anymore, so there are no actual records, but I filled in a few blanks by using court records from the time."

His brows shoot up. "Damn fine detective work, Frankie."

"Thanks. I learned from the best." But his words give me pause. "It's weird that there's almost no information about this place when it was owned and operated by the county and the state in a joint effort."

"Smells fishy," he grumbles. "One thing I learned during my time as a beat cop was that you don't fuck with the county and state shit. It's bad for your stress and bad for your career." His gaze shifts to one side and he shakes his head as if he's angry about whatever memory just popped into his head.

"You worked Hope House back in the day? Dad too?"

Jay shakes his head. "No. Why would you think that?" His jaw clenches in a rare show of emotion that gives me more questions than answers.

"I don't know. Just asking. I saw a lot of the same kind of kids on both sides of sex crimes." Prior to joining the homicide division, I spent a little over a year in that department.

Jay's gaze takes on a faraway look that lasts only a moment before he shakes himself out of it and comes back to reality. "Right. We can commiserate later. Now we ought to track down the people who lived there before the killer gets to 'em."

He's right, and I get to my feet just as quickly as I settled behind my desk. "Let's go."

Jay is smirking as he stands. "I take it you're feeling better?"

"Yeah," I wave off his concern. "It was probably just a bug or actual exhaustion. Crazy what a good night's sleep will do for you." I grab my jacket and make my way toward the door.

"Spare me the details," he grumbles. As soon as we're in the car, Jay shifts into drive and nods at me. "Background?"

Right. "Ezekiel DuBois goes by Zeke. He spent four and a half years at Hope House. No stints in juvie and no other worrisome behavior in his past."

"That's a change. Where are we heading?"

"He's a gaming streamer, spends most days online, so I think it's safe to say he's probably at home." I rattle off the address, leaving Jay to maneuver through traffic until we arrive at the ranch style home in a quiet neighborhood similar to mine.

"He plays games all day and can afford to live here?" Jay's disbelief is palpable. "This ain't your parent's basement."

"Nope, it's not." The house looks empty, like no one's home.

"You know he could be the killer, right, Frankie?"

I nod. "The thought crossed my mind, Jay." It was actually my first thought, but as we walk up the steps to the front door, something feels weird. I can't explain it, so I give myself a quick pep talk as we wait for Zeke to answer the door.

Focus on the interview, Frankie. It'll get you one step closer to the killer. Nothing else but this interview. Right here. Right now.

Feeling slightly better, I recount what I know before the door opens, thinking about everything I hope to learn from this interview.

The door opens and a guy with long dark hair wrapped in a haphazard bun opens the door. His blue eyes big and wide against his pale skin, his thick brows seem exaggerated as they dip into a frown. "Yeah?" His gaze bounces between me and Jay, trying to figure out why two cops are on his doorstep.

"Ezekiel DuBois?"

He nods and a moment later, his shoulders relax slightly. "Call me Zeke. How can I help you, officers?"

"Detectives," Jay clarifies. "We've got a few questions we're hoping you can help with. Mind if we come in?"

He shrugs and steps back, letting us inside. "Questions about what?"

"Hope House," I say casually, my eyes locked on him, watching for any flicker of a reaction that might give something away.

"What's that?" he responds instantly, the lie slipping off his tongue with ease.

"The place you spent four and a half years of your life. Ring any bells?" Jay typically plays the bad cop, but I figure a gamer like Zeke can appreciate a woman who doesn't hold back.

"Don't remember much about the place," he says in a much quieter tone.

"You familiar with Connor Donovan?"

He shrugs at Jay's question.

I move in closer to Zeke, invading his space. "How about Ryder Beaumont? Gavin Kowalski? Tristan Dupont? Any of those names ring a bell?"

He shrugs again.

I shake my head and turn to Jay. "He doesn't remember any of them. What are the odds?"

Jay smirks. "The odds are good that he's our only suspect so far."

"Hang on," he growls. "Wait one fuckin' minute. Suspect for what? Because I didn't do shit."

"Maybe," I shrug. "Maybe not. But we have a bunch of dead bodies and right now you're the only person alive that has any link to them."

"Dead bodies. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You told the judge that Nolan Petrovic was the reason you passed biology and chemistry."

He swallows hard and his eyes slide shut. "Yeah, okay, fine." His shoulders fall and his tone is full of resignation. "I knew those guys back in the day, but I don't know 'em now and I didn't kill them or anybody else."

Jay shakes his head, giving me a grave look as he drops down on the sofa. "That's what I'd say too," he says, more to himself than to Zeke.

"Look Zeke, I'll level with you. We don't actually think you killed anyone," I lie. "You don't fit the profile. But like my partner said, you're the only living person we've tracked down with any connection to all our victims. At best, it's merely suspicious. At worst? Well, you might find yourself on the wrong side of an interrogation room."

His eyes go wide, and he mumbles to himself before yanking an energy drink from the fridge. "Want one?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you."

"I'd love one, but the girlfriend says they're not healthy." Jay grumbles underneath his breath. Sometimes he loves being the good cop a little too much.

"What do you remember about Hope House?" That's as good a place as any to start. Background information.

Zeke shrugs again. "What's there to remember? I was a kid. The place was shithole run by deviants. If you made it out at all, you were lucky."

"It operated for a long time for a shithole," I offer, hoping for more details.

"And? No one gave a fuck about us, especially the assholes who ran the place. There was never heat or air, the water was brown, and our mattresses were full of bedbugs. They let us do whatever we wanted and for most of us that meant getting into trouble."

That's new information we didn't have, and I notice Jay jotting down notes. "But you never got into any trouble, did you Zeke? The only way I found you was because you went to help Adrian Sharma when he needed you."

"It was no big deal. I owed him for helping me pass my science classes. Failing a class meant extra chores and less bonuses like computer time."

"Still, you went on the record for him."

"So? Like I said, I owed him. He tutored me and that's about it. We weren't friends and we didn't hang out. I didn't have any friends back then."

"That had to be tough." Jay chimes in with a dose of sympathy at just the right time.

"It was okay. Most of the time, they left me alone. When I left, I didn't look back and I didn't keep in touch, okay?"

That sounds like bullshit. "You didn't look them up on social media? You weren't even a little curious?"

He shakes his head, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "No. I mean, that time in my life was hell and I didn't want to know anything about anyone from then."

"And when their names popped up in the news as murder victims you weren't even a little bit curious?"

"Or scared?" Jay asks. "I mean I'd be wondering what the fuck I might've done to land me on that exclusive list."

"Why would I watch the news? It's all depressing as fuck and I have to work." He's shaking his head vehemently at this point. "I didn't do shit to anybody. Ever."

"Okay." I lean against the counter just a few feet away from him. "Let's say I believe you, Zeke. Tell me why someone would want these guys dead and don't tell me you don't know. Hope House wasn't that big. You know something."

"I don't," he insists, but he's unable to maintain eye contact.

"You believe this shit?" I ask Jay, putting on a show to fuck with Zeke.

Jay shakes his head. "Not even a little bit." He makes a big show of pushing off the sofa with a grunt. "But if he's not the killer, then that's good news for him."

"Unless he knows why these guys were all murdered," I add. "Or maybe the killer just thinks he knows or is involved."

"I'm not involved in anything! I work from home, and I spend most of my time here other than the occasional gaming convention, okay?" His chest is heaving and sweat beads around his hairline. "I don't know anything, and I've worked really fucking hard to forget that time in my life."

"And I wonder why that is?" I ask sarcastically.

"Can you leave? Please?"

I shrug even though the last thing I want to do is leave. "If you think of anything you'd like to share, feel free to give us a call." I leave my business card on his countertop as Jay and I make our way to the front door.

I stop at the door and turn to look at Zeke. "You better hope, for your sake, that you don't know anything. What this killer is doing to your old friends? It ain't pretty." With those parting words, Jay and I leave.

"You think he'll call?"

I shrug. "He knows something, which makes me think he might have some clue who's doing this or why. Maybe both." His fear is palpable, and that kind of fear only comes from knowing the boogeyman is real. "We should see if we can catch up with the other two names, Laurel Kinney and Brittany Johns. If we can't get anything from them, we should swing back here before we call it quits today."

"Well, I definitely need more coffee before we dig into more group home horror stories. Beans & Things?"