Hollow Ground Page 2

  “Where?”

  “The kitchen. She says she witnessed a man in black clothes stabbing her mother.’”

  A male hollered from the direction of the lawn; his voice soaked with tension and fear as Vincent and Hawkins made their way back outside.

  “Where are they?” Tony Moretti hollered. The police were holding him back by his hockey jersey as he clawed and tore his way toward the crime scene. “I want to see my goddam family!”

  Vincent and Hawkins hustled up to the scene as neighbors watched on from their houses, and a news crew in the corner was setting up lights.

  “Where are they?” Tony cried out, face red and tears running down his face. “Where is my family?”

  Vincent grabbed Tony as Hawkins turned his attention back to the house and the investigation, blended in with the members of the Clarendon Hills Sheriff’s Department. “Mr. Moretti,” he said, “I’m Detective Edgar Vincent.”

  “Where are they?” Tony screamed, gripping the lapels of Vincent’s coat.

  Vincent drew a breath. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Moretti. There appears to have been a break-in at your residence. Your wife and your son.” He hesitated. I’m sorry they’re dead. I’m so completely sorry for your loss.”

  Tony opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked devastated to the point that he couldn’t conjure a whimper to convey his sadness. He collapsed into Vincent’s arms. Vincent held him close as he fell to his knees and the news crews, in typical heartless fashion, caught Tony’s entire breakdown on camera.

  The hand struck one o’clock in the a.m. as Vincent took a swig of the coffee that Hawkins had brought him from the hours-old pot in the Clarendon Hills Sheriff’s Department. He cracked his neck, mentally preparing himself to become involved in another heinous crime that only a man like him and a competent team could solve.

  “Mr. Moretti fell asleep in one of the back rooms,” Hawkins said. “His daughter is with him. I asked her if she was okay talking to us, and she said yes.”

  “You ask if she had an attorney?”

  “Will she need one?”

  Vincent nodded. “She’s the sole survivor of a crime scene. Everyone is treated as a suspect until we can narrow down who the real perp is.”

  Hawkins sighed. “Yeah. I know. I’m just anticipating the flack that we’re going to get from her and her father.”

  Vincent blew a hiss through his teeth. “Comes with the territory.”

  Seconds later, a woman emerged from one of the big offices in the back, her basic business suit and its rich earth tones complementing the tight bun of twists she had in her hair, relaying an attitude of an all-business, no-nonsense cop.

  She walked directly up to Vincent and Hawkins; wearing a black blazer, blue jeans, a white-collar shirt and the sternest of looks on her face.

  Vincent knew right away that this woman—whom he thought bore a striking resemblance to his friend Miranda Stone besides being a half a foot shorter and longer hair—was probably the woman who was in charge.

  “Detective Vincent,” she said, holding out her hand. “Pamela Grimes, chief of detectives.”

  Vincent took her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Thank you again for taking the time to let us pick your brain. Clarendon Hills isn’t prone to crimes like the ones that were committed here tonight.”

  “Hollow Green had a quiet reputation once. Now we seem to have become a haven for the bizarre.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  She gestured over her shoulder to her office. Vincent and Hawkins followed her to it. “I want to thank you for taking the time to help calm down Mr. Moretti,” Grimes said as she closed the door and leaned against her desk. “A lot of our people were scrambling this evening trying to keep our heads on straight.”

  “Your people did well,” Vincent said. “The media is at bay, citizens are compliant, and sweeps of the local neighborhood are happening as we speak.”

  “Thank you for assisting with that as well. Quite frankly, I’d like to know what else you think we can be doing. You have a sterling reputation for closing cases, Detective Vincent, and with someone of such talents in our midst, I think it would be foolish not utilize it.”

  “I understand. And I’d be more than happy to help. I took the liberty of calling up my chief over at Hollow Green to clear the time. I’ll need to check in with him in a few hours, but I’ll be more than happy for me to stick it out here with you people in the meantime.”

  Grimes relaxed. “That would very much welcome, detective. Is there anywhere you would like to start?”

  Vincent motioned over his shoulder. “I’d like to talk to Kelly Moretti. She’s our only eyewitness. The girl had a front-row seat to this whole thing.”

  Moments later, Vincent sat in a conference room with Kelly Moretti, her skin was pale, and hair was damp from the shower she’d taken after forensics collected every piece of evidence from her body that they could, a humiliating but necessary process that left Kelly Moretti in a half-dazed, zombie-like state.

  “I’m just going to try and go through everything with you,” Vincent said, seated across from her at the table, with Hawkins behind him and lingering in a corner. “If you feel frustrated, upset, whatever, we’ll stop immediately. You’ve been through a lot tonight, and I just want to make sure, above all else, that you’re safe and okay.”

  Kelly nodded and sobbed a bit but held it together as best as she could. “Okay.”

  Vincent asked, “Can you walk me through what happened tonight, Kelly?”

  “It was eight,” she said. “Nine, maybe. The time, I mean. I was listening to music and…”

  Kelly closed her eyes and fought to continue.

  4

  Hours Earlier

  Kelly knew something was wrong when she heard the scream of her mother through her earbuds.

  She stood up from her desk and shot out of her chair, pulling her earbuds from her computer, music blasted as she ran from her room.

  “Mom?” Kelly cried out as she ran down the stairs and stood in horror once she reached the bottom step.

  “Kellyyyyy!” Monica Moretti screamed, lying on her belly and reaching out a bloodied hand toward her daughter. A man, an intruder, was on top of her, dressed in all black, burying a knife to the hilt into her back over and over.

  Through desperate and blood choked words, her mother said, “Run!”

  The man jumped off her mother’s back and ran toward Kelly. Kelly was stricken with fear—but her feet still moved.

  She fled upstairs, intercepted her brother at the top, grabbed his arm, and tried to pull him along with her.

  “What’s going on?” Eric asked her, eyes wide, scared, and confused.

  The man dressed in black practically flew up the stairs with the knife in his hand. Once Eric saw him he fled toward his bedroom.

  “Eric! No!” shouted Kelly.

  But the man was now only a few feet away.

  Kelly turned toward her bedroom, ran inside, shut the door, and felt the impact of the man slamming against it. She turned the lock and pressed all of her weight on the door.

  “Go away!” Kelly screamed, her voice was hoarse from the strain as the high-tempo music added a sickly rhythm to the whole experience.

  He pounded his fists. He tried to kick in the door. He jiggled the handle and tried to find a way inside but abandoned his attempts once she heard Eric’s voice coming from the hallway, “Leave her alone!”

  The man stopped pounding on the door, and Eric screamed. The next thing Kelly heard was a loud and violent scuffle. Kelly listened on, shaking in terror.

  “No! No! No! Please!” She heard her brother holler in pain.

  Kelly covered her ears. The sound still bleeding in her head. The sound of her brother Eric being killed.

  She couldn’t move. Her feet were frozen in their place. She couldn’t comprehend why her knees were going weak while her brother Eric cries began to lessen — getting quieter by the moment.
She knew she had to move. But she just couldn’t.

  Ten seconds became ten minutes, before Eric’s cries died off and there was silence in the house. Except for the heavy footsteps of the intruder as he retreated. At least she thinks he retreated. She wasn’t so sure.

  Kelly twisted the lock, opened her door, checked her surroundings, ran into Eric’s bathroom and saw her brother in a heap in the tub. Blood was everywhere; up the walls and on the floor. She almost slipped in the blood as she knelt by his side. Her brother’s name wouldn’t escape her mouth. He wasn’t breathing. “Eric,” she said. “Eric?” He didn’t reply.

  It took Kelly over an hour to relay the story so that Vincent could write it all down, despite the recorder he placed in front of him on the table.

  “You did good, Kelly,” he said. “Not many people who were in your situation could recall such a traumatic event with such clarity.”

  Kelly just stared as if she saw through him. The way she moved her body in an almost sloth like way and the glaze over her eyes showed she was exhausted. “Can’t say the same for my dad,” she said with a slight croak in her voice. “He’s practically in a coma.”

  Vincent put his pen down and pushed his notes to the side. “Well,” he said, “you and your father have myself and the members of the Clarendon Hills Sherriff’s Department on your side. Whatever you need—we’re here to help.”

  Kelly weakly nodded. “Can I go home now?”

  “We’ve booked a hotel room for you and your father,” Hawkins said, taking a step forward. “We’ll take you there whenever you want, and we have two deputies who will stand guard there all night for your protection.”

  “I need another shower… I can…I can still smell…” Tears slid down Kelly’s raw and red cheeks, her skin was swollen from repeatedly wiping face. “I can still smell the blood…”

  Vincent looked to Hawkins. “We’ll be in touch,” Vincent said, helping Hawkins help her to her feet. “All you need to do now is rest. We’ll contact you when you’re better and more rested. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Kelly said, looking straight ahead and completely out of it.

  Hawkins escorted out of the room. Vincent followed out shortly after, and then met up with Chief Detective Grimes back in her office.

  “Anything stand out?” Grimes asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Vincent said. “It was very thorough. The girl remembers a lot. I do want to interview her and her father again and take another look at the crime scene once your people do another sweep. I’m going to check in back at home base and request a few days off to assist, if you want it.”

  “We do,” Grimes replied.

  “Then I’ll get right on it.”

  Grimes walked to the door and opened it, motioning Vincent out before walking with him to the parking lot out front. “First impressions?” she asked.

  “The only thing that I’m sure of is that there were two perps that assaulted that family. Not one.”

  “Kelly Moretti claims she only saw one assailant.”

  “I believe her. But the overall nature of that crime scene suggests more than one person.”

  “How’s that?”

  Vincent took a breath, struggling to find the words. “Hard to explain,” he said, “but give me a little time and I’ll come up with a solid reason why.”

  “Fair enough, Detective Vincent,” Grimes said, coming to a stop at the front door and shaking her head. “When can we expect you back?”

  “Twelve hours,” Vincent said. “But not longer than that. Just need to get refreshed and grab another set of eyes to help me out.”

  “Fine by me. Do you mind me asking who you’ll be bringing with you?”

  Vincent smiled before giving Grimes a name of someone he had come to respect, and someone he’s also come to like.

  5

  Detective Lindsay Brandt was rarely ever seen without a cup of coffee in her hand and a contemplative look on her face. Much like a writer, a midnight security guard, or any other nocturnal being, Brandt thrived off a good solid cup of black and bold, the stronger the better, with only one sugar and without any creamers.

  She sipped on her first cup of the day at her desk, tying her auburn hair into a signature ponytail while catching the eye of Officer Harris in the corner of the room. She had heard that he’s been working his way up to asking her out for months but was much too afraid to approach her in that sort of way.

  Brandt was a detective, after all, and Harris had been an officer for less than two years. He was a rookie cop when she was out solving murders.

  It was intimidating for most and a complete deal breaker for others. Especially when you factor in Detective Vincent. Being that Vincent was older, he was not only Detective Brandt’s partner and an ex-chief of police, but he was a mentor and at times a father figure to her. She would ask his opinion on the matter. The whole thing could be a potential office embarrassment.

  Her cell phone rang. Brandt snapped out of her thoughts and turned her head from the glancing Harris.

  “Hello.”

  “How much coffee have you had?” It was Vincent.

  “This would be the first.” Brandt held up her cup, not bothering to look up as her gaze became glued to the paperwork in front of her.

  “You’ll want more. Trust me.”

  “Why is that? Is the new boss getting ready to reprimand me or something? You know, that thing last week wasn’t entirely my fault. I seem to remember a certain detective having a hand in it himself.”

  “No. It’s not about that. She’s a pretty lenient lady. Which is also one of the many reasons she’s given my services to the Clarendon Hills Sheriff’s Department for the duration of their case.”

  Brandt looked up from her work. “What case?”

  “Double homicide,” Vincent said.

  “And the victims?”

  “Mother and a son.”

  “You walk the crime scene?”

  “I did.”

  “Bad?”

  Vincent drew a breath. “Let’s just say that even though we’re accustomed to this line of work, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me a little uneasy to see a young kid lying dead on the floor.”

  Brandt flexed her fingers. “So, is this the part where you say, ‘Hey, Brandt, I need your help’?”

  Vincent clicked his teeth. “Do I have to ask it like that?”

  Brandt took a sip of her coffee. “Just like that.”

  “Fine,” Vincent said. “I need your help, Brandt. I might even throw in a please.”

  Brandt groaned. “Problem is I haven’t had a day off in three weeks. It’s been case after case.”

  “Is that your way of saying no?”

  Brandt stood up and grabbed her jacket draped over the back of her chair. “Quite the opposite,” she said, already moving toward the door. “I hate breaks.”

  “Splendid.”

  Brandt fished the car keys out of her jacket pocket as she walked. “Where am I meeting you?”

  “I’ll text you the address,” Vincent said. “And has he asked you out yet?”

  “Say that again?”

  “You and that patrolman. The one that keeps eyeballing you every time I see him at the station.”

  Brandt couldn’t figure out how he knew. She felt a flutter in her stomach, both embarrassed and more than impressed that Vincent had asked. “I’m not understanding, detective,” she said, playing it cool.

  There was silence on his end, but only for a moment. “Cut the shit, Brandt. Everyone knows that Harris likes you. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. He thinks you look like a model or something, only tougher. Whatever it is, he has the hots for you bad. I caught him one time staring a hole in your back. Saw that I caught him and choked on whatever he was drinking. Kid turned redder than a fire engine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I just smiled and kept on walking. But trust me. That kid’s got it bad.”

  Brandt flushed, looked around, and tried to se
e if she could spot Officer Harris. He was nowhere to be found, but she could see him in her mind staring at her as she walked away.

  Brandt was a few minutes into her drive to Clarendon Hills with Vincent still on the phone and placed on speaker. “Give me the prelim. What are we looking at?”

  “Two murders,” Vincent told her. “Sole survivor was the daughter name’s Kelly. She witnessed most of what happened and fled the scene in the middle of the assaults.”

  “How much did she see?”

  “Pretty solid amount, but the shock is still a factor with her narrative.”

  “She get an ID on the suspect or suspects?”

  “No. Suspect was dressed in black wearing a ski mask. Claims she didn’t see the other.”

  “But you think there’s more than one suspect.”

  “I do. It’s only a hunch right now, but when we get to the scene, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Brandt knew her partner and knew him well.

  “My first impression is that this was something personal that was posed to look like a robbery. Jewelry and other smaller items were stolen, but the stuff was inconsequential that I have a hard time justifying these murders as someone just trying to take care of witnesses.”

  “How cooperative is the sheriff’s department?”

  “Very. They’re letting me take the lead on this. It’s a small and affluent town. They’re not accustomed to this level of crime.”

  Brandt smirked. “Sounds a lot like Hollow Green.”

  “Yeah. The thought had crossed my mind.”

  6

  A uniformed deputy from the sheriff’s department stood guard at the crime scene. Only three people were there: the deputy and two forensic technicians. Vincent and Brandt set foot on the scene.

  “Detective Edgar Vincent,” he said, showing the deputy his shield.