An Empty Hell Read online

  Charlie Noonan was Herrick’s assistant coach. He would need to fill Charlie in on some of the police stuff. But first, Sarah.

  “Listen,” he said. “Last night freaked me out.”

  She nodded. “With good reason.”

  “I called one of my police pals. They’re going to send a patrol car around for practice.”

  Sarah nodded. “Clear that with Mitch?”

  The St. Paul principal.

  “I’d have more luck talking to the nuns. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I have some paperwork to finish here.”

  “Happy hour?”

  Sarah shook her head. He felt his cheeks flush.

  Without saying bye, Herrick went to practice. He ran the kids hard. They responded. The first game was a week away, and they were chomping at the bit. They played so hard, they didn’t even notice how many times Herrick reached for his ribs.

  HERRICK STOOD at the door for the second night in a row and watched every one of his players leave practice. Only this time, he did it with ASP in hand. The cop car circled twice, the driver tipping his hat when he saw Herrick.

  The street was empty and quiet, the only noise the distant rumble of a highway. Herrick paced as each of his kids left. A few came over for a fist bump. One asked about the ASP. Herrick didn’t give them an answer for that. Just told them to get home safe. It was his usual goodbye, so the kids thought nothing of that.

  Once everyone was gone, Herrick waited, listening. The cop came around one more time and Herrick sent him home. He leaned his back against the bricks and exhaled. The crisp air settled on his skin and sent a chill through him.

  And then he heard the whistle. It sounded like an Irish shanty, bouncy and fast. Something someone coming home from a pub would whistle. There were missed notes and a ragged tempo. Herrick stood straight.

  St. Paul’s gym sat on the end of a T. There used to be a fence that blocked the parking lot from the outside world, but it was so old and decrepit, the school decided it would be cheaper to just tear it down. They never replaced it. The street that abutted the T was where Herrick saw him. A thin man, hands in his pockets, ambling forward. Maybe not ambling. Limping.

  This man’s right leg was injured. Herrick popped off the wall, body tensing. He snapped his wrist and the ASP extended. Which leg did he injure last night? Herrick couldn’t remember. The man kept limping toward him. The shanty grew louder. Herrick waited.

  The man reached the corner and stopped. He stared at Herrick. A shadow covered his face. Herrick counted.

  One, two, three, four, five…

  The man turned left and kept limping down the block. Herrick was about to follow when more movement caught his peripheral vision. He turned and saw another gaunt man. Another limp. This man came out from behind the school, but was across the road. He wasn’t whistling. The muscles in Herrick wrists were taut.

  This man limped to the corner and turned right, heading away from the school. Herrick watched him limp away into the darkness.

  What the hell?

  Now two more limpers came his way, one stepping around the man he just saw. One coming in the direction the whistler went. They both wore hoodies pulled up over their head. They passed each other. Neither looked at Herrick. A car drove past and honked the horn. Herrick jumped. The limpers just kept walking.

  And then his phone rang. Herrick didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

  “Did you see my friends?” the voice said.

  “Which Mosley are you? My guess is Lucas.”

  Silence.

  “I mean, if you’re trying to get in my head, you’re not doing the best job. Tonight’s work was a little silly, wasn’t it?”

  “I saw you. You were worried. That little stick of yours. It’s amazing what fifty bucks can get you. Four guys. Or was it three? Maybe I was one of them. Just limp down the road.”

  “You’re not going to stop me, Lucas.”

  Laughter. Not a guffaw. More a chuckle than anything else. “You’ve been doing some homework on me?”

  “Just a little.”

  “I’m glad. The longer you worry about me, the less time you’ll have to find him.”

  Herrick said, “Why do you care?”

  “I do what I’m paid to.”

  “You expense that fifty dollars tonight?”

  Another chuckle.

  “And where’s your brother in all this?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  The road was empty now. The limpers were long gone and the streets were empty. A streetlight flickered and went out. Herrick turned and went into the gym, pulling the door shut behind him. The smell of sweat, hot and acidic, caught him hard.

  “My brother is working a different case. You’ll never meet him. You’ll be dead long before you came back.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve got your number.”

  “No you don’t. And you’re my last target. I get to put all my effort in on you now.”

  “Who else were you chasing?”

  “My last one—oh, he was fun—I don’t think he’s even been found yet. Still warm as they say. You knew him.”

  Herrick’s stomach went rock hard. He tried to breathe, but it felt like the humidity in the gym was choking him. He prayed. Please don’t say a player’s name. He couldn’t take that. Not again.

  “Who?” Herrick spit the question out of his mouth like chaw.

  “You two had lunch today.”

  Herrick exhaled. All the air that was in him. He muscles relaxed and his eyes felt wet.

  Not the name he was expecting.

  Not the physical reaction either.

  Herrick pulled the phone away from his ear. As he fumbled for the END CALL button, he heard more words.

  “You’re next.”

  His finger missed the button.

  “But not before I have some more fun.”

  Herrick found the button and slumped to the ground. He let the room come back into focus. Deep breaths filled his lungs and his heart slowed. Before he completely caught his breath, Herrick was rushing to his car.

  He got behind the wheel, started the engine, and waited for the Bluetooth to connect. He was already two blocks away from St. Paul’s before it did. Herrick called Alex Robinson.

  The phone rang.

  Herrick came to a stop sign and barely paused. He turned right.

  It kept ringing.

  Herrick pressed the gas hard. He waited for voice mail.

  There was a clicking sound.

  Herrick hit the Turnpike entrance and took the ramp as fast as he could.

  “Hello?” The voice was gruff and familiar.

  Herrick tapped the brakes. His hands, wrapped around the steering wheel, were soaked with sweat.

  “Alex?” Herrick asked.

  The answer came back loud and clear. “Yeah. What’s up?”

  HERRICK SLAMMED on the brakes, jammed the car into reverse, and backed down the on-ramp. He prayed no one needed to get on the highway at that moment. He needed twenty seconds, God, just give him twenty seconds to get down the road.

  Praying rarely worked for Herrick, but it did that time.

  Aiming the car back toward St. Paul’s, Herrick floored it.

  “Matt? Matt, what’s up?” The voice reverberated through the car speakers.

  Herrick ran a red light. Somewhere nearby a horn blared.

  “What is it? Why are you calling me?” Robinson was shouting.

  “Lucas Mosley said you were dead. He said he killed you.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You’re clearly not dead.”

  This time of night, cops were at dinner or changing shifts. It was a good time to speed down Grove Street. Or rob a bank. Herrick kept his foot to the floor. But he had to slam on the brakes when a woman pushing a baby carriage tried to cross the street in front of him. The woman cursed at him the entire time she was in the
crosswalk.

  “Why did he say—is he coming for me?” Robinson asked.

  After some rattling, Herrick clearly heard a magazine pushed into a gun.

  “I don’t think he’s worried about you at this moment. Seems like he’s found a new plaything. Me.”

  Herrick hung a right and could see St. Paul’s at the corner of the T. He looked for more limping guests. No one was around. Meant nothing. Though it was nearly six, there were some lights still on in the building. Probably custodians. Maybe a go-get-em teacher working way too late.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why is he after you?”

  “Hell if I know,” Herrick said. “I gotta go.”

  He hung up the phone before Robinson could respond. Rubber burned as he pulled into the parking lot. He rammed the car into park, got out, and snapped the ASP into attack mode. Head on a swivel, he headed toward the building. No one was around, not even a bum. The gym door was open. Rarely a good sign, but Herrick couldn’t remember if he locked it in the first place.

  The lights were still on. Herrick’s heart was pounding, and there was sweat on the back of his neck. He focused on his breathing. That’s what they taught him in Afghanistan.

  Mosley’s taunt had to be a distraction. Get Herrick away from the school so Mosley could come and do something. But what? Herrick’s stomach twisted like a bread tie. His sneakers squeaked on the court floor with each step. Straining his ears, he still heard nothing. Give him something—a creak, a crash, or even a cough.

  But nothing came.

  Herrick moved toward the locker room, lightly tapping the ASP against his thigh. It’d been nearly a year since he used it, beating the hell out of someone who he thought would learn a lesson. It wasn’t a gun, though.

  Never again.

  Herrick pushed the locker room door open. Lights were still on there as well. He took a deep breath and stopped just inside the doorway. Listening. Looking. He raised the ASP, fully expecting to bring it down on some thin guy’s head. But the locker room was empty. It appeared that nothing had moved. Nothing had changed.

  Herrick exhaled.

  What was the phone call all about?

  Heart rate returning to normal, he realized he still hadn’t changed out of his practice clothes. He went to his locker, popped the lock, and swung it open. He pulled his clothes out. Then he returned the ASP to its safe position and put it down on the bench.

  Herrick took his shirt off and pulled his polo over his head. The fabric brushed against his knife wound, sending a bolt of electricity down his side. He caught his breath and changed into his jeans. He sat on the bench to put his shoes back on.

  After placing his gym shorts back into his duffel bag, he put his car keys into his pocket. A piece of paper tickled his index finger. Another jolt of electricity, and Herrick’s heart rate rose again. He pulled the paper. It wasn’t his. It wasn’t a surprise twenty-dollar bill or forgotten coupon. It was a small piece of loose leaf. It had a note on it, written in black ink and precise handwriting.

  “You are an interesting soul, Mr. Herrick. I’m going to need more time with you. Thanks for making a run for it. You love to run and hide. That gave me a few moments to look through your things. I found out more about you. There’s so much I don’t know.”

  Herrick read the note in the voice of the man on the phone. Lucas Mosley.

  “You are going to be worth every penny. My employer is going to want this done faster than I want to do it. No, I want to get to know you. Get in your head. I’m going to make it hurt, Mr. Herrick. I’m going to make you scream. Did he scream? The boy? Did he have time?

  “Believe me, you will have time to scream. Tonight was fun. Talk soon.”

  Herrick crumpled the paper in his hand. His breath was ragged and he focused on it, trying to bring it back to normal levels. He closed his eyes.

  Herrick was pretty sure the moment he brought cops in without clearing it with the principal, he was out on his ass. He couldn’t do that to the guys. He owed them.

  The door behind him creaked open. Herrick grabbed the ASP and extended it as he whirled around.

  Sarah Cullen stood in the doorway.

  “Jesus. I was knocking. For a while. Hoping you were decent.”

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  Sarah leaned against the door jamb and crossed her arms.

  “I was thinking about it,” she said. “I’m bored tonight. Let’s do happy hour.”

  Herrick’s heart sped up again. This time for a different reason.

  THEY MET at the Iron Monkey, a craft beer bistro downtown. In the summer, the Monkey had a rooftop bar, but this time of year—on a Tuesday, no less—it was closed. They took a high-top table at the downstairs bar. A few guys who’d come back from their day on Wall Street were finishing up their beers. A couple sat on a first date, fumbling through conversation.

  Herrick ordered a Hudson Valley bourbon. Sarah ordered a mojito. Who cared if it was a craft beer bar? After placing the order, she flipped through the food menu. Herrick tapped his fingers on the table. He watched the bartender pour two fingers. She rested the glass on the bar after it was full and then started muddling mint.

  “Why are you so jumpy tonight?” Sarah asked.

  “Work stress.”

  “The team’s going to be fine.”

  “Not that kind of work.”

  Sarah tilted her head. “It was a joke.”

  “How’d your date go last night?”

  “Terrible. He was a jerk.”

  “Sorry.” Not sorry.

  The bartender brought the drinks around and placed them on the table. She asked if they wanted to order off the menu and Sarah told her not yet. Herrick took a long pull of the drink, letting the burn rest on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. Lots of vanilla. Sarah stirred her mojito.

  “You don’t have to be,” she finally said. “Part of the deal with dating, right? Weed out the terrible ones?”

  Herrick nodded. The last time he dated, a friend tried to set him up on a blind date six months ago. The woman was nice, but asked too much about the war.

  “You want to tell me why he was a jerk?” The words felt wrong as soon as he said them. His cheeks felt hot. Quickly, he took another sip of bourbon.

  “No.” Sarah shot him a grin. “I want you to tell me what you’re doing that’s causing so much stress. Something’s wrong.”

  “It’s a high-profile case.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ve been looking in the paper.”

  Herrick shrugged. “It’s also top secret.”

  Sarah said, “Tell me.” And then took a sip of her mojito.

  Herrick leaned in over the table. Sarah giggled and leaned forward too. Her wrist bumped the drink she’d just placed down and it rattled, but didn’t spill. Her bangs fell in front of her eyes. Herrick tried to focus.

  “Do you remember Jackson Donne?” Herrick whispered.

  Sarah nodded.

  “I’ve been hired to find him.”

  Sarah leaned back and bushed her bangs back into place. “Jeez,” she said. “That is big. The cops gave up looking?”

  “They told me that at this point, after looking at all the evidence, they just want to talk to him. Take him in for questioning. He’s not a true suspect. They don’t like that he ran, though.”

  Herrick finished his bourbon and signaled for another. A short alarm bell went off in the back of his head warning him to watch it. But Sarah finished her mojito and signaled as well.

  “Two on a Tuesday. Work is going to be fun tomorrow.” She shook her head. “So where is he? Where is Donne hiding?”

  Herrick shrugged. “That’s the problem. I don’t really know. I don’t even have a lead.”

  “Come on, you’re better than that.”

  “I talked to his favorite bartender, the cops, his brother-in-law, and boss from way back. Neither of them gave me anything.”

  “Except a knife wound in your side.”

/>   “That was a mugger.”

  “Sure it was.”

  The bartender brought the next round and Sarah ordered nachos. They were topped with pulled pork. Herrick was surprised when she said, “We’ll have…”

  “What do you know about Jackson Donne? I mean really know.”

  “Not much,” he said.

  “When I was a kid …”

  “No, you don’t do that to me.”

  When Sarah talked to some of the students, and they were bonding, that was how she connected with them. How she gave advice. She always started with “When I was a kid” and then concocted a story out of thin air. The kids knew most of it was a bunch of bullshit, but they loved it anyway.

  “This is real,” Sarah said.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  She laughed. “Would you let me finish?”

  Herrick sat back.

  “When I was a kid.” She stifled a giggle. “When I was a kid, my mom’s sister ran away. My aunt. She had some stuff going on at home, things didn’t go well with her then-husband. I don’t know exactly what, I was little.”

  She stopped and sipped her mojito. When she finished, she licked her lips.

  “So my aunt runs away and my mom is crying and my dad calls the cops. They can’t help, she’s too old. She can take care of herself. But my mom is insisting something’s wrong, and that we have to find her. No cell phones, no apps. Nothing.”

  The bartender brought the nachos over. Sarah pulled a chip and popped it in her mouth. Herrick looked for the perfect mix of cheese, meat, and jalapeños before choosing his chip. It nearly buckled under the condiment weight before he got it in his mouth.

  “So my dad starts asking my mom about Carol—my aunt. He knew her well, but he figured my mom knew her better. And they started talking about when Carol and Mom were kids and how they used to spend the last week of August in Ocean City, Maryland. My mom hadn’t been there in years. Never talked about it. They stayed in this ratty hotel. And my dad called the hotel. The next thing I knew we were packed in the car and going on vacation. And, surprise, surprise, we met up with Aunt Carol. She just needed a few days away.”

  “That was family.” Herrick’s bourbon was nearly empty. He waved for one more.