Authors: Kelley Armstrong

Tags: #love_sf

Wild Justice (4 page)

BOOK: Wild Justice

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“So the ATVs are a big hit,” I said. “Thanks to you.”

Jack shrugged. He’d been the one who’d saved the secondhand—or probably twelfth-hand—vehicles from being a money pit, after my caretaker bought them and discovered new spark plugs weren’t quite enough to get them running.

“No problems?” he said.

“Just wear and tear, and I’ve got a kid from town who handles that. I’m not a fan of things with motors racing around the forest, but with restrictions on where and when they can be used, I’ll admit they worked out better than I expected. Which now has Owen eyeing a few used snowmobiles that ‘just need a little work.’”

“You want them? I’ll fix ’em. Thinking about coming up this winter. Couple weeks maybe. If that’s okay.”

“It’s always okay, and while you don’t need the snowmobiles as an excuse, I know that your idea of a vacation doesn’t mean sitting around ice fishing. I’ll take you up on that offer if you’re serious.”

“I am. Only tell Owen I’ll find the machines. He doesn’t know shit about motors.”

I grinned over at him. “I’ll tell him the first part and skip the last.”

Jack took the exit for Cleveland.

“Is this our destination?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

After a minute of silence, I said, “I’d love to ask what we’re doing here, but apparently, I’m not getting that. Just as long as there isn’t a surprise party at the end.” I paused. “Actually, I’d be okay with a party. Just no clowns. I hate clowns.”

Jack didn’t even acknowledge the lame joke. He kept his gaze fixed forward, his face tense. He drove down two more streets before pulling into a mall parking lot. I was about to get out when I realized he’d stopped to make a cell phone call. I motioned to ask if he wanted privacy, but he shook his head.

His voice took on a flat midwestern accent as he asked to speak to David Miller. His gaze slid my way, as if checking to see if I recognized the name. I didn’t.

“Yeah, I figured he was on duty today,” Jack said. “Can I leave a message? Tell him Ted called. He’s got my number.”

A pause. Then, “Thanks. Oh, and when does his shift end? It’s kinda urgent.”

He waited for a reply, then thanked the person on the other end again and hung up. When he did, he sat there a moment, staring out the windshield.

“Is that someone we need to talk to? A cop?”

“Yeah. Don’t need to talk to him. Just making sure he’s at work. Figure he knows a Ted.” He paused. “Speaking of names. David? Most popular male name for a guy his age. Miller? Sixth most common surname in the U.S. Put them together? Fifteen thousand Americans named David Miller.”

“That’s . . . fascinating. Either you’ve taken up a new hobby or this is a roundabout way of telling me it’s fake.”

“Yeah.”

“A fake name for a cop in Cleveland? That’s not easy to pull off.”

“Works in a small town nearby. He just lives here.”

I nodded. “It’s easier to get past background checks on a small force, but it’s easier to live anonymously in a big city. Still, becoming a cop with a false identity is tough. I’m presuming there
are
cops named David Miller somewhere. Probably dozens of them, which would make it an easy identity to steal.”

“Especially if you’ve done it a few times.”

“So we have a serial identity thief posing as a small-town cop in Ohio. Intriguing.” I glanced over at him. “You have a job for me, don’t you? A mission to take my mind off Michigan.”

He didn’t turn from the windshield. “Something like that,” he said and backed from the parking spot.

CHAPTER 6

Jack drove us to a section of townhouse complexes that looked like exactly the kind of place I’d find a single, middle-aged beat cop. Older, well-kept buildings with gardens and bikes in the front yards and five-year-old cars in the drives.

“Which place is Miller’s?” I said.

Jack gave a vague wave down the road as he pulled over.

“Is this a break-in or just reconnaissance work?”

A shrug.

I turned to him. “Okay, Jack, I need more here. Presuming this is a job, is it something you want
me
to do or am I helping
you
?”

He tapped his fingers on the wheel. Then he reached under his seat, withdrew a folder, and held it out.

“It’s your job, then,” I said. “You wouldn’t be this prepared if it was a spur-of-the-moment suggestion for me.”

“Not mine,” he said. “Just brought it. In case.”

I set the folder on my lap. When I went to open it, he reached out, his fingers holding the file closed.

“If you don’t want me to see this, Jack—”

“I do. You should. It’s just . . .” He looked me in the eye. “If I fucked up— I’m not trying—” He exhaled. “Fuck.” He pulled his hand away.

“Let me interpret,” I said. “You’ve brought me a file—a job, a case, something—and you aren’t sure how I’ll take it.”

“Yeah.”

“But you meant well.”

“Yeah.”

I looked at him. “I know that, Jack. You don’t need to explain.”

“I might.” He waved at the folder. “Open it.”

I did. There were photos on top. Surveillance shots of a guy in a patrol officer’s uniform. Getting into his car, talking with a girl on the street, then walking into one of these townhouses. All I could make out was that he had dark hair, was of average height and hefty build.

I turned to the next photo. It was a full-face shot, taken with a telephoto lens. Bushy brows. Thin mouth. There were lines around his mouth and gray at his temples, but I looked at that photo and I didn’t see a forty-five-year-old man. I saw one half that age. It didn’t matter if I hadn’t seen this face in nearly twenty years—my gut seized and I heaved for breath.

“Fuck,” Jack said. “Hold on. Just hold on.”

He slammed the car into drive.

“No!” I slapped my hand down on his, still holding the gear shift. “No. Don’t. Just . . .” I struggled to breathe. “I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I—”

“I know.”

“I didn’t—”

“Just . . . give me a minute.”

I lifted my gaze to the road, staring at a yard with no flowers, no bikes, just an empty planter. The photo from the pictures, the house he’d been walking into. I thought of him sauntering up that drive and—

My stomach clenched.

“Let’s go,” Jack said.

“No, just . . . just wait. Please.”

I took a few deep breaths, then lifted the photos, now scattered at my feet. I set them on my lap and stared down at the pile.

“David Miller is Drew Aldrich,” I said.

Jack nodded. I clenched my fists and fought for calm. When I found enough of it, I said, “I looked for him. After I became a cop. I don’t know what I planned to do.” I paused. “No, I’m pretty sure I know what I planned to do, even if I told myself I just wanted to keep an eye on him, wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else. But I couldn’t find him.”

“Wasn’t easy. Took me—”

I cut him off. “You said this isn’t his first alias. How many?”

“Four.”

“After the trial, he moved to the States. That should have been enough. So why take on an alias? Something else happened, didn’t it.”

Jack was silent for a moment, then said, “Your uncle went after him. Tracked him down. Beat the shit out of him. Someone intervened. Saved his fucking life. Unfortunately.”

“I never heard . . . They didn’t talk . . .” After Aldrich walked, I hadn’t heard another word about it. His name became taboo in our family. I thought they’d put it aside and moved on. I should have known better.

“So after Uncle Eddie went after Aldrich, he decided to change his name. But then he
kept
changing it. When did he become David Miller?”

“Not important. Point is, he’s Miller.”

I flipped through the file and found what I was looking for.

“David Miller joined the Newport police force four years ago,” I said. “My uncle has been dead for ten years. My dad died eight years ago. He wasn’t running from them.”

Silence.

“Did they ever find him after the first time?” I asked.

Jack exhaled. “Don’t see why—”

“You know why.” Anger shot through me. “Do you think I’m too stupid to figure out why he had to keep changing his name? Amy was just the first. He got away with it, so he didn’t stop. There were other girls.”

“Investigations, yeah. Statutory rape. Unlawful restraint. Always took off before he got charged. Ran. Changed his name.”

“Did any of those girls disappear?”

“No. Charges were filed by parents.”

“Who found out he was sleeping with their underage daughters, which doesn’t mean he
wasn’t
doing anything worse—just that he learned to hide it better.”

Jack opened his mouth then shut it again. There was no way to know, without a doubt, that he’d never killed again.

I fingered the folder. “He wanted to become a cop. My dad said he’d come around the station, asking if they had any openings. He even volunteered, thinking you could do that, like with firefighters. No one at the station would have anything to do with him. So now he’s fulfilled his dream.”

“Seems so.”

I felt a flash of anger. Aldrich should never have gotten a single thing he wanted from his life after he’d taken my cousin’s. But that’s not how it works.

“So he’s a cop,” I said. “That makes him even more dangerous. He can use his position to get close to teenage girls. And he can use it to make them keep their mouths shut.”

“Yeah.”

“So you brought me here to investigate him.”

He slanted a look my way. “You think so?”

I glanced at Aldrich’s townhouse again and my heart started to pound. Jack restarted the car.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Nothing more to see. Just wanted to . . .” He seemed to struggle for words. “Ease you into it. Didn’t know how to bring it up. Guess coming here . . .” He shrugged. “No point in it. Just . . .”

I lifted the folder. “What do you expect me to do with it, Jack?”

“What you want to do. What he deserves. Doesn’t matter if he’s a saint now. Still killed Amy.”

“And now you expect me to kill him,” I said, looking out the window.

“You can. I can. Whatever you want.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like deciding who was going to drive. It really was that simple for him.

I glanced down at the cup lid full of cigarette butts. This is what had been stressing him—bringing me here, telling me about Aldrich, not knowing how I’d react. The actual killing? That was easy.

How did I feel about Jack finding Aldrich for me? Confused. I suppose a firmer reaction would come later, but it wouldn’t be anger. We’d been dealing with this issue for years. To Jack, Amy’s death was a problem, and a problem needed a solution.

Why did he feel the need to solve it? Was he worried that this was my one weakness and it had to be mended before I imploded and he got caught in the fallout? If that was his motive, did it sting? Not really. He could have just walked away. Instead he chose to stay and fix the problem.

“Should go,” he said. “Start surveillance tonight. You want to do shifts?”

“Jack, I don’t think—”

“Yeah, should take shifts. You need sleep. Could use some, too.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Find a motel. No, a
hotel
. Nice place.”

It’s tough to babble when your sentences rarely exceed four words, but Jack was managing quite nicely.

“Jack, stop. I’m not killing Aldrich. That crosses a line—”

“Don’t need to cross it. I will.”

“You’ll cross it for
me
, which is the same, if not worse—”

“Then tell me not to. Forbid me. He dies? Not your fault?”

I looked sharply at him. “I hope you’re joking.”

He shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Then yes, you are joking. The only thing that would make me feel worse than asking you to kill Aldrich for me is pretending I don’t want you to, while hoping you’ll do it. I’m not a coward, Jack—”

“Not cowardice. Misguided morality. Misplaced ethics.”

I fought a lick of anger. “That’s my choice.”

“Yeah? You know what’s
not
your choice? How you’ll feel when Aldrich goes after another girl. He will and now you’ll know it. You’ll be watching. Something will happen. You’ll blame yourself.”

“I’m not walking away from this, Jack. I’m going to investigate and when I find something, I’ll turn him over— No, I don’t even need to do that. I can turn him in now. I’ll contact the police departments that were looking for him under other names, and I’ll tell them where to find him.” I leaned back in my seat. “That’s what I’ll do.”

“That’ll be enough?”

“It’ll have to be. I can’t justify killing him.”

Jack drummed the steering wheel. Then he put the car in gear, tires chirping as he swerved from the curb.

* * *

Jack was pissed. And I felt terrible, because I’d refused his gift. Yes, that sounds fucked up, calling it a gift. But it was. He’d given me Drew Aldrich on a platter. I couldn’t imagine how much work he’d done to find him and now I was going to turn Aldrich over to the police, as if he was just some random guy seducing underage girls. Jack had given me a chance for real justice, and I’d rejected it.

We drove around a bit after that. I asked Jack to take me to a car rental so he could go home. He didn’t answer. When the silence got awkward, I checked my phone and immediately wished I hadn’t. There were two voice messages and three texts from Quinn. I jammed the phone into my pocket, messages unplayed, texts unopened.

“Problem?” Jack said.

“No.”

“Lodge?”

“No.”

“Quinn?”

I said no again, but this time, there was enough hesitation to give me away.

BOOK: Wild Justice

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