Page 47 of Go Alone

Not so tired that he let Marcus escape, though. Marcus managed only one step toward his phone when the needle sank into his neck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Wednesday, March 17th

“Oh, God damn it!”

Kate jumped instantly out of bed, waking from a dream where she was chasing Elijah Cox through a condemned property while he insisted that his real name was Linus Varne and she had the wrong man. Marcus was out of bed, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other tugging on his pants.

“Are you fucking serious?” he thundered.

“What is it?” Kate asked.

“Guess,” Marcus snapped. “Son of a bitch.”

Kate slumped. “Another body?”

“Yep,” Marcus said. “All right, Anita, we’re on our way. No, don’t come get us, stay on the scene. We’ll meet you there.”

He hung up and jerked his pants over his waist, then grabbed his belt. “Martin Cole,” he told Kate. “Found dead in his own home. Same thing. Mouth full of potting soil, cipher carved into the coffee table this time.”

Kate frowned. “His own home?”

“Yep.”

Kate kept frowning as she dressed. “Why his own home?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus said curtly, pulling a shirt over his head and grabbing his vest. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”

Kate finished dressing in silence. She was crushed by the fact that someone else had been murdered, but it didn’t fit that he was killed in his own home. Brannigan in his office tower made sense because it used to be his neighbors’ homes, but Martin killed in his own home?

She needed to get to the bottom of that.

It was still dark when Marcus sped out of the parking lot of the hotel and pulled onto the highway to Columbus. “We should get a hotel room in Columbus,” he growled. “This drive is bullshit.”

Kate said nothing. She agreed with Marcus, but he was just angry now. She didn’t feel wonderful about the situation herself. They seemed so close to the answer when they found Curtis Dalby, and now here they were, twelve hours after finding that dead end and another body waiting for them.

The sky was just lightening to gray when they pulled in front of the home in Upper Arlington. Once again, the press was out, but police were waiting. They had a tight cordon around the scene, and when a half-dozen reporters tried to work their way around it to get to Kate and Marcus, they met firm resistance from officers who were very comfortable reminding them that freedom of the press didn’t include the right to trample through an active crime scene.

That was the silver lining they got to have. Police officers who could keep vultures off their backs.

Most of the vultures anyway. As soon as they walked into the house, they saw Anita standing in front of a red-faced woman in her early thirties shrieking at her like a banshee. Anita, to her credit, was unmoved by this display, but Marcus was in no mood to deal with some freaked-out friend or neighbor or homeowner.

“I don’t give a shit!” the woman cried. “That’s my mother’s stuff! I’m not going to wait weeks while—”

“Out of the house,” Marcus thundered, stepping close to the shouting woman. “This is an active crime scene. Leave now, or you’re going to be placed under arrest for obstruction.”

“Wait,” Kate said, stepping in front of Marcus and putting a hand on his chest. She turned to the woman. “You said this was your mother’s house?”

“Well, it was,” the woman huffed. “I’m just here for her things. The bastard stole them too.”

She thrust her chin at the body slumped on the couch.

“I told you,” Anita said. “Your mother can make a request to the Upper Arlington Police Division for her belongings.”

“Hold on,” Kate said. “Marcus, take pictures of the body and the scene. Anita, talk to the neighbors and see if anyone witnessed anything.”

Marcus stomped away, thankfully not choosing to press the issue. Anita nodded, still cool as a cucumber, and headed out the back door to avoid the gaggle of reporters outside.