“Rat blood.” Kevin took a swig of whatever was in his mug, then raised it at her. “Rat blood in her veins. Screw you, sister. We know what’s under your bed.”
“Hey, you moron,” Kellianne said. “I’m the one who-”
“Screw you. Not anymore,” Kev said. “Do it, Detectives. Look under her bed.”
This was going nicely.
“Kellianne?” Jake said.
“Yeah, well, you should look in their backpacks. See the scrips they swiped from every house we’ve done.” The girl planted her fists on her hips, stuck out her tongue at her brothers. “They get in early, take the good stuff from the medicine cabinets before anyone notices. They think I don’t know. Well, think again.”
She plopped back down on the couch.
“Hey, you can’t-” Kevin stood, glowering at her.
“What’re you trying to-?” Keefer got up and shouldered in front of him, interrupting.
Jake shot them a look. Make my day. They stopped. Closed their mouths.
“Family Feud,” DeLuca said.
“My favorite show,” Jake said.
It took Jake less than two minutes to find the brothers’ stash of prescription drugs, a ratty brown paper bag crammed with amber plastic containers, contents all still conveniently labeled. Oxycodone. Percocet. Oxycontin. Vicodin. Dilaudid.
All labeled with other people’s names.
“You’re all three under arrest for the illegal possession of class B narcotics.” Jake returned to the living room, holding up the bag. “Oh, and larceny. And suspicion of arson, since there are several bottles here labeled ‘Lillian Finch.’ Seems to me you’d have to be in that house to have swiped those. Did you know there was a woman inside during the fire? That’s gonna present another legal problem for you.”
“Screw you,” Kevin said.
“So you keep saying,” Jake said. “But wait. There’s more. Let me mention you’re also being charged with manslaughter in the death of Niall Brannigan. He had a heart attack, the medical examiner says. But she will testify someone dragged him-still alive-to his car. And there he died.”
“Yes. Yes. They carried him out.” Kellianne stood, raising her hand, like a little kid trying to get the teacher to call on her. “The old guy. They made me help them. And that’s all I’m saying until I get a deal.”
“Shut up,” Kevin said. He yanked her back down to the couch.
“Smartest thing you’ve said today, Mr. Sessions,” Jake said. “D, wanna take over from here? This is quite the drugstore our friends have accumulated. They’ve really-how shall I put it? Cleaned up.”
“They’re gonna love you at Cedar Junction,” DeLuca said. “Maximum security prisons always need experienced cleanup crews.”
As DeLuca read the three their rights, Jake headed for the back of the house. He guessed Kellianne’s bedroom was the one with the pink walls and the flowered bedspread. Lifting the edge of the spread, he felt around underneath the bed.
And pulled out a zipped tote bag.
73
“Well, who is on the city desk, then?” Jane checked her gas gauge as she started the engine. The Register receptionist was giving her a hard time. “Ginnie? It’s me, Jane Ryland. I need to talk to whoever’s making up the front page. I have the lede. But it’s like no one cares.”
Jane punched her phone onto speaker as Ginnie answered. “… take a message, that’s what I’ve been told,” she said. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Hang on, my call waiting is beeping in,” Jane said. “Maybe it’s Alex.”
“Yeah,” Ginnie said. “Maybe.” And she hung up.
“I’m on the way.” Tuck didn’t bother with hello. “But it’ll take us at least ninety minutes. Can you wait?”
Us? Interesting. That meant Carlyn was coming, too. Although how else would Tuck get there? Jane made the turn onto Route 128, the eight-lane highway that looped around the city. To get to the Brannigan was a huge pain.
“I’ll try,” Jane said. “But if anyone’s there, ah, I don’t know. I may have to go in myself. The Brannigan people are the only ones who have the answers.”
“The Brannigan people are the only ones who have the answers.” Jake pointed to the framed photo DeLuca was examining as Jake drove them across town. Jake had found it in Kellianne’s macabre tote bag of treasures.
Backup had finally arrived to cart off the handcuffed and cursing Sessions trio to lockup. Desperate for leniency, Kevin had ratted out Hennessey as their conduit and Internal Affairs was already into the cop’s records for evidence of kickbacks.
“Lillian Finch and Niall Brannigan, huh?” Jake considered the couple in the photo. “That’s a cozy little snapshot. Now they’re both very dead. Apparently Ardith Brannigan has taken over the reins at the agency. Very interesting.”
“And very guilty. Woman scorned, huh?” DeLuca held up the photo.
“Maybe.” They were only a few blocks from the Brannigan. Something he’d seen nagged at him.
D interrupted his thoughts. “Friggin’ Sessions.”
“Yeah. My favorite part was when Kellianne tried to explain how selling-what’d she call it? Murderabilia? Wasn’t illegal.”
“The look on her face when you explained how selling stolen property is illegal?” DeLuca put the photo back into the bag. “Worth the price of admission.”
“Now we can give Phillip and Phoebe back their teddy bears, at least.” Jake sneaked the cruiser through a just-changing yellow light. “Whenever the district attorney is done with them.”
He needed to call Bethany, too, check on those kids. And the baby. The brick edifice of the Brannigan appeared as Jake turned onto the tree-lined side street. Perfectly pruned evergreen shrubs, shaped without one stray branch, lined the flagstone path to the front door.
“So. Alvarez called undercover this morning, pretending to be a worried mother. Confirmed Ardith Brannigan is here. You ready for this? Think we can nail her for killing Lillian Finch?”
“Hell hath no fury,” DeLuca said. “And the killer could have been a woman, all right. Kat says it looks like Lillian Finch got a plastic bag over the head after a dose of sleeping pills. Then the pillows were taped around her head. No muss, no fuss. Female style.”
“It’s a wonder any pills were left for the Sessions to swipe.” Jake pointed left. “Let’s park over there. On the side street. No need to give them a heads up, right?”
One good thing about reporting for a newspaper. You didn’t need anything but a pencil and paper. You could do it with nothing more than a reliable memory.
Jane turned onto Linden Street, resisting the caffeine temptation of the Lotsa Latte on the corner. In the old days-less than six months ago-she’d have had to call Channel 11 and beg for a camera guy. Now she had only to tell the city desk where she was going. If anyone cared. Which, this morning, no one seemed to. Budget cuts, probably.
And there was the Brannigan, in all its austerely pruned glory. The Web site had listed the public’s opening time at ten, but Jane’s “Sorry, wrong number” test call revealed someone was already there.
She puffed out a breath, slowed her car to a crawl, deciding. Tuck and Carlyn had not yet arrived, nor called her back. Should she wait?
She’d wait.
Ten more minutes. She drove past the Brannigan, turned right. So no one noticed her, she’d go once around the block. Maybe twice.
On the other hand, having a camera guy with her made forays like this a bit safer. Hard to beat up a reporter when someone with a video camera was getting it all on tape. Hard to refute a lie you’d told while the camera was rolling.