Surgeon – Chapter Thirty-Three

**A/N: Thank you for your patience while I worked on this chapter. Two of my girls have come down with a mystery illness, and the only kid I was actually friends with in school who didn’t use and abuse me every day died in a car accident last Friday. This whole year has been a lot, and the last week hasn’t helped, to say the least. So again, thank you so much for your patience.

NOT EDITED

Chapter Thirty-Three

Saturday: January 18, 2020

8:00 AM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, PARKING LOT

With his own car in Clinstone, Bo had picked up a rental to drive to the police station. Bridget had done more than enough driving him around the day before. He could have walked from his place to the station with relative ease, but he hadn’t minded the possibility of getting stuck in traffic. Prolong the inevitable. Of course, that morning, traffic had moved along quite smoothly, and Bo had made it to the station without delay.

Go figure.

Bo shut off the engine and pulled the key from the ignition. He dropped his hands to his lap, blue eyes focused on the front doors of the station as he fiddled with his ID lanyard. Almost two years ago, Jamal and walked Kathy and Dallas through those doors in handcuffs. Bo wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to truly forget the daggers Kathy had shot at him as they walked past. He’d seen a lot of hatred in that woman’s eyes over the years, but it had truly all accumulated right there on her face in that moment. As if Jamal had told her on the flight back to Los Angeles that Bo was the only reason they were caught. Like it was all Bo’s fault. Like she hadn’t run away with a serial killer, fled the state, harbored a fugitive, and endagered her children in the process.

And maybe Jamal had told her all of those things. Maybe he had said it was all Bo’s fault, that he was the one to hate, to blame. Bo had never asked.

He’d never forget the smile Dallas had given him, either. Permanent nerve damage from his childhood made it so only one corner of Dallas’s mouth ever lifted when he smiled, but that hadn’t made the one he had given Bo any less bright. Or breathtaking. It had crinkled the corners of his eyes and shined so brilliantly through those crystal blues. Like it hadn’t mattered that he’d been arrested, that he was going to lose his children, that he was going to spend the rest of his life in jail. Hell, if Jamal had a true say in it, he would have found a way to legalize the death penalty in California again just for Dallas.

It had almost been like Dallas had been happy to be arrested. Maybe he had been. Bo was sure he had probably asked the man about that, or maybe Dallas had told him, but it was so incredibly hard to focus on what Dallas was saying nowadays. Over a prison phone. Behind bars. Behind bulletproof plexiglass.

It was hard to focus on his best friend’s words when they were coming out of a murderer’s mouth.

Bo blew out a harsh breath and lifted his ID lanyard over his head. He gave it a gentle tug to even out the sides, allowing the ID itself to rest dead center on his chest. He climbed out of the car, closed and locked the door, and pocketed his keys. There were so many times he had dreaded walking into the police station, and he couldn’t quite place a direct comparison for where today fell, but it was definitely toward the top of his list for ‘most dreaded’.

Inside the station, Bo hesitated outside the closed door of Jamal’s office. Maybe he’d do a lap around the place, just to fully settle things, make sure he was doing the right thing. He made his way downstairs to the lab. The lights were off, but the door was unlocked. Despite knowing Regina was dead, the emptiness still left him a little surprised. Though Regina hadn’t been the only forensic analyst in the West Department, she had been the one who spent the most time inside of the lab, even with an office of her own sitting upstairs. A part of him had almost expected to still see her there behind one of the tables. Maybe a part of him had even hoped Jamal had been lying about her death to try and lure Bo back to Los Angeles.

He and Regina hadn’t exactly been the best of friends or anything, but she had always been cordial and understanding and polite. She certainly hadn’t deserved to be murdered. Nobody did, for the most part, but Regina was one of the only bodies that had ever been in the LAPD morgue that he had actually, truly known. And there would always be something about the dead person being a familiar face versus a stranger that settled in his stomach a different way.

Bo blew out a breath and stepped into the room, flipping on the lights. No flickering. No buzzing. The floors, walls, and counters were clean. The drawers were well-organized. Everything was perfectly in its place. It smelled clean, but not the horrifically strong, overwhelming chemical smell. Just… clean.

Bo flipped off the lights and closed the door before making his way upstairs. He walked down the main hallway off the detective desk hub. It was still lined with newspaper articles of the achievements of the people who worked there. Including Bo’s. That… was surprising. His achievements had been noted there, framed alongside everyone else’s, before he had moved to the West Department, but Bo hadn’t spent much time down this hallway during his last several years at the station. He had entirely expected that Jamal had removed them during the Kathy and Dallas manhunt. Finding them all there, pristine and still in the exact place they’d been the last time he’d seen them was… shocking.

Bo stopped at his office door. His name was still stenciled neatly onto the window at the top of the door. Bo stuck his key in the door and turned, surprised once more to find that Jamal hadn’t changed the locks during the manhunt period of things. Or maybe he had, simply changing them back to the old ones when Bo had promised to come back to L.A. within a week of finishing the case in Clinstone.

He only bothered opening the door all the way to confirm his desk was still there, that his file cabinets were still locked, that Jamal hadn’t planted a booby trap in the room for when he finally returned. Everything was perfectly normal. But the way ‘normal’ made him feel in every corner of the station was more than enough proof that what he’d come here to do was still the right call.

Bo locked his office back up and made his way to Jamal’s. The door was still closed, but Franklin, Jamal’s personal… Assistant felt like the wrong word. Driver? Bo had heard ‘bodyguard’ tossed around a time or two by other people, but he wasn’t sure how true that was. Jamal could guard himself more than well enough without another man doing it for him. Regardless of his title, the man had just come back from the breakroom, two coffee cups in hand.

“Mister Austen,” Franklin greeted. “It’s good to see you.”

Bo offered a smile. “You too, Frank.” He nodded toward the door. “Is he busy?”

“No.”

“How… is he today?”

“No better or worse than usual, I suppose.” Franklin cleared his throat. “How are you, Mister Austen?”

“Oh, you know… Surviving.”

Franklin nodded, looking back at the door almost nervously. “I’ll come in with you.” Franklin spent the majority of his time in Jamal’s office, even for meetings Jamal had with other people, but something about the way he said it made it seem so damn ominous.

When Bo made no move for the door, Franklin opened it and walked into the room. “Mister Austen is here to see you, sir.”

“Well, send him on in,” Jamal said.

Franklin looked back at Bo. “Come in.”

Bo drew in a long breath before forcing himself to step over the threshold, out of the lobby and into the lion’s den. Franklin reached past Bo to push the door closed. He crossed the room to set one of the coffee cups on Jamal’s desk. He grabbed the newspaper from the corner of the desk and settled into the chair pushed against the wall opposite the door.

“Bo,” Jamal said after a moment. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. I figured you’d draw out the week after the case was over for as long as you could.”

Bo cleared his throat, fiddling with the strap of his satchel. “I considered it. But, in the end, I figured that… the sooner I get this over with, the better.”

Jamal’s hand, about halfway to grabbing his coffee, froze. His dark eyes lifted to Bo’s face. “What do you mean, ‘get this over with’? That doesn’t exactly sound like the words of a man planning on working at the station.”

Bo offered a smile. “They aren’t.”

Jamal stared at him for entirely too long before picking up his coffee. He took a sip, clearing his throat as he set the cup back down. “So what is this? You’ve come to tell me the CPD Dork Squad won you over?”

Bo couldn’t help but snort. “No. It isn’t about Los Angeles versus Clinstone. It’s just…” He let out a heavy breath, shoulders sinking. “I walked through the station to see if I was wrong. I went into the lab and the morgue. I went into my office. I walked the halls. I just… The West Department no longer feels like home to me. It’s cold and foreign a-and I don’t want that. That’s why I left. It’s why I left Clinstone too. I want… to belong, a-and I don’t… belong here.”

“You belong here just fine.”

“Respectfully, Mister Pitman, you have a funny way of showing that these days. The West Department hasn’t been my home in… a very long time.”

Jamal cleared his throat again. “What do you want me to do? Transfer you somewhere else?”

“No.” Bo pulled his ID lanyard over his head and walked up to Jamal’s desk to set it down in front of the man. He took a few steps away from him, tucking his hands behind his back. “There isn’t a department in the LAPD that would welcome me. For just a little while, I don’t want to live and breathe life as an outcast. I just want to be… free.”

“Free,” Jamal echoed. He glanced over at Franklin. If looks could kill, the glare Franklin met him with surely would’ve yanked Jamal’s soul right out of his body. “Well, you’re free to do whatever the hell you want, Austen. But when you decide that you can’t live without this place for the upteenth time, don’t come crying to me. I will no longer entertain your games, and this time, your job won’t be waiting for you when you’re done dicking around.”

The words stung, but they were far from the worst thing Jamal Pitman had ever said to Bo. Hell, they were far from the worst thing anyone had said to him. Still, the way those words affected him from anyone else would never compare to the way Jamal’s calousness made him feel. Once upon a time, Jamal had been a police chief who had hired a child genius fresh out of college without question. Once upon a time, Jamal had put his career on the line for a teenage forensic analyst making stupid, teenage decisions.

Once upon a time, Jamal had seen Bo as some sort of invaluable addition to the LAPD. But those days were long gone, and Bo was painfully aware of it.

“I understand, Mister Pitman.” Bo sunk his teeth into the scar inside his bottom lip, trying his best to keep his emotions in-check at least until he made it back out of Jamal’s office. “Thank you, umm, for taking a chance on me all those years ago. No matter how things… turned out between us, I will never forget the incredible opportunities you allowed me. And I thank you deeply for that.”

Something flickered across Jamal’s face before it was gone again, replaced with the hard, unreadable expression his face usually carried. “Your time at this station since Katherine and your BFF fled is more than enough proof that you wasted all of those opportunities you were given. You flushed everything you were ever given down the drain, and you were not worth the chances I gave you.”

Bo did his very best to bite back the pitiful sound that squeezed past the lump in his throat, but his best, as per usual, wasn’t enough. “Of course, sir,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you wasted so much time on me. I’m still grateful and thankful for… said wasted time, regardless.” He took a small step back before turning toward the door.

“Jamal is an alcoholic piece of shit.”

“Franklin,” Jamal bit out.

When Bo turned to face the man, he was still seated in his chair, newspaper unfolded in his hands. “Umm… pardon?” Bo asked.

Franklin cleared his throat, gave the newspaper a small shake. “Jamal is an alcoholic piece of shit who believes that his karma in life is to lose everyone he cares about. He believes that being an absolute horrid asshole to the people he cares about will prevent the universe from harming them, twisting them, or making them leave him. He, however, cannot admit that this is what he believes or what he does, because if he admits that, he would also have to admit that he has still lost people while being horrible to them, including you, multiple times, and if he admits that, then he would also have to admit that the way he has treated and continues to treat you has been entirely pointless and nothing but cruel and abusive. He would have to admit that he has never once protected you or kept you safe with this method, only harmed you and pushed you away.” Franklin turned the page of his newspaper. “But what do I know?”

Brow furrowed, Bo turned back to Jamal. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shooting daggers at Franklin. “Are you drunk now?” Bo finally asked.

Jamal’s gaze shifted to Bo’s face. “Get the hell out of my station.”

“He’s buzzed. You came in before he had the chance to spike his coffee,” Franklin said. “I used to spike it for him, but I stopped that particular form of enabling when he continued to be an old bastard even after the Silvers were convicted.”

A low growl rumbled in Jamal’s throat, but he didn’t offer up a defense.

“This… thing you do, thinking you’re protecting people? Your words eat me alive every single day. I wake up knowing that Jamal Pitman believes I am worthless. Useless. Not even worth the water it would take to extinguish a small desktop garbage can of fire. Who the hell do you have to protect me from for the way I feel to be worth it?” Bo asked, unable to stop the shake of his voice.

Jamal didn’t answer, simply picking up his coffee for a sip instead.

“Since you started acting upon this belief of yours? The only person in the entire world I have needed protecting from has been you, Jamal. You.” When Jamal stayed silent, again, Bo turned and left the office, closing the door behind him. He made it outside before his legs simply couldn’t carry him any further, and he sunk to the ground just outside the doors, his back pressed to the brick wall. He needed a moment to collect himself, and then… well, maybe he’d take a page from Jamal’s coping mechanism book and go get wasted.

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Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Four

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Surgeon – Chapter Thirty-Two

***A/N: This is the final chapter before the epilogue! I’ll give the rest of this week to vote for book two (which you can do here), and then I’ll hopefully write the epilogue this weekend!

NOT EDITED

Chapter Thirty-Two

12:30 PM; LOS ANGELES, RENEE AUSTEN’S HOUSE

Clearing his throat, Bo lifted a fist and lightly rapped his knuckles against the door. When the door opened, he found himself looking at an older black woman. She was about the same height as him, her natural, kinky curls forming a short afro on her head. Her brown eyes, soft and warm, lit up at the sight of Bo.

Bo offered a smile. “Hey, Mom.”

Renee Austen smiled widely, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Bo! Oh, come here, baby,” she said, holding out her arms. Bo walked into her embrace, quickly wrapping his own arms around the woman who adopted him after his birth parents gave him up for being abnormal. “I thought you left L.A.?” she asked as she pulled away, hands on his shoulders.

“I did. I was in Minnesota. But I thought visiting you was long overdue,” Bo said. “Very long overdue.”

“Well, I’m so glad you decided to drop by. I’m so happy to see you, sweetheart,” Renee said. “Would you like to come in?”

“Well, I was thinking we could go out to lunch, my treat.”

“I would love that! We have so much to catch up on,” Renee said. “Would you like me to call your father up? He’d love to see you,” she said. Bo smiled faintly. Bo was convinced that Renee and Denzel Austen had had the most amicable divorce in history. She had kept his last name, and they still had lunch together at least twice a week. The only thing that had truly changed was their shift to separate houses.

“Yeah, Mom, I’d love to see him too.”

“Great. I’ll get changed and then I’ll give him a call.” Renee looked her son up and down, a smile on her face. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom.”

She stepped away from the door. “Well, come on in and sit down while I get changed,” she said. Bo walked into the foyer, shutting the door behind him. “I won’t be long, promise. Oh, your father is going to love seeing you.” Bo smiled as Renee hurried out of the foyer and headed back to her room. No matter how terrible he believed California was, no matter how many bad memories he had because of the state, his mother always had a way of making even the dreariest of states seem bright.

1:00 PM; LOS ANGELES, SLICE OF LIFE DINER

The Slice of Life Diner in Los Angeles was important to Bo for precisely one reason. It was a small restaurant chain, and there was one back in Maryland, where Renee and Denzel had lived before moving out to L.A. when Bo went to college. The one in Maryland was the first place Renee and Denzel had taken him after they adopted him. They hadn’t even made him order lunch. They had ordered pie instead. Every year after that—at least until he moved away—they had gone back to the diner in celebration of the day they brought Bo into their lives, and they’d order the same pie.

Today was no different.

“So, Squirt, what have you been up to?” Denzel asked.

“I was in Minnesota since, uh, the first of this month,” Bo said.

“Oh, that, umm… Surgeon case, right?” Denzel asked. Bo nodded. “I saw that on the news. That, uh, Detective Mason spoke very highly of you in the press conference.”

“He did?” Bo asked.

“Yes. He said that, due to your hard work, you were able to stop another five women from being killed. He seemed very impressed with your work, Squirt.”

Bo chuckled, passing his fingers through his hair. “He was… on my side the whole time I was there. A few of the other employees were treating me like I was a…”

“Freak?” Renee asked. Bo nodded. “Oh, honey, come on. You know you’re not a freak,” she said. “You’re my favorite intellectual. You’re my favorite son too.”

“I am your only son,” Bo said, one eyebrow raised.

Renee smiled. “Shut your mouth,” she said, punctuating each word with a tiny shake of her head. “That doesn’t make it any less true.”

Bo smiled faintly. “I know, Mom. Thank you.”

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Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Three

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Surgeon – Chapter Thirty-One

***A/N: Reminder! There’s a vote for book two at the end of last chapter!

NOT EDITED

Chapter Thirty-One

Friday: January 17, 2020

8:00 AM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, LAB

As soon as Jacob stepped into the lab, he knew something was wrong, something other than the fact that Bo wasn’t sitting there. The lab was back in its usual state of disarray. What had once been organized and neat was now messy again. Jacob peeked into the morgue, finding the same kind of mess he had seen in the lab.

He headed upstairs. He knocked on the open door of Myra Cooper’s office. “Hey, Leu?”

“What can I do for you, Jake?” Myra asked, looking up at the detective.

“Where’s Bo?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Myra asked. “I thought for sure he would have. Bo went back to the LAPD.” She laughed. “Can’t take a man away from Jamal Pitman, no matter how hard you try.”

8:23 AM; LOS ANGELES AIRPORT, LOBBY

Bo set Acamas’s pet crate on the floor and pulled Bridget into a hug. “I really didn’t think you’d be here when I got off the plane.”

Bridget pulled back, slapping a hand against his chest. “Of course I would be here! I said that I would be.”

Bo smiled. “Yeah, I know. Just… thank you.”

“You are very welcome. I have missed you so damn much, Bo.”

“I know. I-I missed you too.” Bo cleared his throat, grabbing Acamas’s crate. “I’m sorry for… leaving without telling you. And cutting you off. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not angry at you. I was worried about you. But never angry.” She brushed his hair away from his face, a soft smile coming to her own. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Bo whispered. He nodded. “Following you.”

“I heard about that case you solved. That was impressive,” she said as they stepped out of the airport.

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” he said as Bridget unlocked her car.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take credit for the kickass work.” Bridget cleared her throat. “I can’t help but notice you’ve only got your laptop and a small bag with you. How long are you staying?” she asked, pulling open the back door.

Bo carefully lifted Acamas’s cage into the backseat. “I haven’t decided yet. I don’t plan on living here. I… I can’t,” he said, shutting the door. “It’s too much for me, you know?”

Bridget nodded. “I understand. It’s… a lot.” She waved a hand. “Come on. Get in.” Once they were both seated in her car, she sighed. “Where to first, Bo?”

Bo checked his watch, swallowing roughly. “The prison.” He cleared his throat. “Kathy.”

9:00 AM; LOS ANGELES PENITENTIARY, VISITING ROOM

Bo folded his hands in his lap, staring at the metal table. He felt like he had been sitting in the room for an eternity, waiting. He heard Kathy’s footsteps long before he saw her. He lifted his head just as she sat down in front of him.

Kathy smiled. “Bo,” she said, drawing out his name. “They didn’t tell me the visitor was you.”

He swallowed. “You look well,” he said quietly.

She snorted. “Thanks.” She reached up, tucking her brown hair behind her ears. If she truly had started chemotherapy, she must not have yet hit the losing hair stage. “You, however, look as though you haven’t been sleeping.” She circled a hand in his direction. “You look worse than usual.”

Bo tried not to let that bother him too much. He wasn’t here to let her get under his skin. He wasn’t here for her. He was here because Dallas would inevitably ask if Bo had seen her yet and how she was. “That’d be because I haven’t been. And I’m very aware of how I look.”

“Mm.” She leaned back in her chair, clearing her throat. “You seen Tex?”

“He’s my next stop.”

Kathy nodded. “Holden visits him for me sometimes, tells me how he’s doing,” she said. She tapped her fingertips against the table. “He adopted my children so we could make sure Jamal couldn’t take them. You know, after the whole… imprisoned thing.”

Bo shifted in his seat. “I had heard that. The, uh, adoption part. I didn’t know it was so Jamal couldn’t have them.”

“I will break out of here and kill that fucker before he ever gets to see my kids again.”

Bo cleared his throat. “They love him, you know.”

She laughed. “I don’t care. I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

After a moment, Bo offered a nod. “Dallas… will ask how you are. I need to know what you want me to tell him.”

“Mm. Let’s see… ‘Bo helped Jamal torture all of my dad’s family friends, got me tracked down, made my kids watch Mommy and Daddy get arrested, destroyed my name, dragged me through the mud, and got me locked up in prison. Oh, and I have cancer. But I’m doing so good because he came to visit me and tell me he’s sorry.’ How’s that?”

“I… actually didn’t come to say I was sorry. I did that in the beginning, and you rubbed my face in it every time we spoke afterward. So I don’t waste my breath on that part anymore. But I’ll be sure to tell him the rest.”

Kathy blew out a sharp breath as Bo rose to his feet. “I’d watch your back, Bo.” He stilled, but he didn’t turn back to face her. “There are still people out there that I know, people who knew my dad and absolutely hated everything about Jamal Pitman. People who would, well… kill for the opportunity to get their hands on the bastard who testified against me to get me thrown in here. I’d watch yourself. You know, if you gave two shits about keeping yourself alive.”

“Luckily for both of us, I don’t.” Bo tapped his fingers against the corner of the table and smiled. “See ya.”

10:32 AM; LOS ANGELES MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON, PHONES

Bo’s gaze remained focused on his lap as he pressed the phone to his ear. His heart pounded in his chest as he prepared himself to meet Dallas Silver’s gaze. Slowly, he looked up, locking eyes with Dallas.

Dallas, a tall black man, smiled, his blue eyes brightening. “You kept your promise.”

“Only as good as my word.”

“Yeah,” Dallas whispered. “How’s my best man, huh? You doin’ okay?”

Bo offered a faint smile. “I–I’m good. How are you?”

“Just talked to Jaeden yesterday. He’s doing great in school, loves being around Holden and the kids. Loves New York,” Dallas said. “I’m… great. Miss Kath, but shit happens. She’ll be out in a few years, you know, good behavior and whatnot. Jamal will realize he needs her, and he’ll work his magic and get her out.”

“Yeah,” Bo said after a moment. “I’m sure he will.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Yeah. Uh, she’s doing well. Chemo is… treating her well.”

“Good,” Dallas whispered. “Good. Thank you for checking in on her for me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dallas cleared his throat. “What about you, Bo? Finally got someone other than Acky in your life?”

Bo shook his head. “No, just… just me and Acamas.”

Dallas waved a hand. “Ah, that’s great. Don’t need a relationship with another person to add value to your life. Nothing wrong with being besties with your cat.”

“Thank you, Dallas.”

“Of course.” Dallas watched him for a moment. “How did the case in Clinstone go?”

“I… just finished it up yesterday.”

“Oo, tell me more, tell me more,” Dallas said.

Bo smiled softly. Dallas’s voice had jumped up in pitch ever-so-slightly, his own little way of referencing the movie Grease. “Our primary killer lost his wife and daughter in a car accident several years ago, and he didn’t want to give them up, so he was kidnapping women that looked similar to them and rebuilding, per say, his wife and daughter with the help of his son.”

“Dude, talk about fucked up,” Dallas said.

“I know,” Bo said, shaking his head. “I cuffed the son, though. He was holding the girl that was supposed to be his sister hostage and he had a gun on me. I talked him down and cuffed him with the handcuffs I stole off of the detective I was working with.”

Dallas grinned. “Did you unload the gun like I showed you?”

“Yes.”

“Austen, I have never been more proud of you than I am right now,” Dallas said.

Bo smiled. “Thanks, Dallas.”

Dallas nodded. “God, Bo, I have missed talking to you more than I have missed… just about anything since I’ve been here.” He shook his head. “No one in this place will ever hold a candle to you when it comes to smarts and conversation.”

Bo’s smile faded. “I’m sorry this happened, Dallas,” he said quietly. “I am… so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Life bites us all in the ass eventually. I’m just glad I got to have a family of my own for a little bit before that happened,” Dallas said. “You may not be able to tell because we’re staring at each other through a damn piece of plexiglass, but I had the time of my life with Kath, and that was because of you. I never would’ve ended up with Kathy if you hadn’t told me she had gotten divorced, if you hadn’t told me it was okay to pursue her afterward.”

Bo tried not to think about that, but it was one of many things that haunted him just about every night. “So stop blaming yourself for this shit, Bo. I’ve had a cell with my damn name written on it ever since my first kill, Bo. There’s nothing you could’ve done to change that. The only thing you ever changed was the quality of my life, and you only made it better. The only part of it I would change is making sure you knew who I was and what I was before Kathy made us run off. I would’ve never left you in the dust like that if I could go back and change it. But outside of that? Not a single fucking thing, Bo. Not a thing.”

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Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-Two

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Surgeon – Chapter Thirty

**A/N: Vote for book two is included at the end of this chapter

NOT EDITED

Chapter Thirty

7:12 PM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, LAB

“What you did today was unsafe, reckless, and stupid,” Jacob said, arms crossed over his chest.

“I know,” Bo said, shoving his laptop into his satchel.

“And so fucking awesome,” Jacob whispered.

Bo lifted his gaze to the detective’s face. “Now… I am confused,” he said. “Are you or are you not mad at me?”

“I’m mad because you could’ve gotten yourself killed,” Jacob said. Could’ve gone home in a casket, Bo thought. “But it was still awesome, not to mention incredibly brave. How’d you learn to talk to criminals like that?”

“I’ve talked down more than one criminal. The ones that don’t do it because they… get off on it are easier to talk with, easier to reason with.”

Jacob nodded. “Also, the fuck? I cannot believe you jacked my cuffs without me noticing. You could’ve been a criminal in another life.”

Bo smiled faintly, shaking his head as he shrugged his coat over his arms. “I’m just really good at doing things once I’ve put my mind to it.”

“Obviously. How’d you know Gordon didn’t want to do all of this?” Jacob asked.

Bo lifted his shoulders. “Lucky guess.”

“Nothing you do is a lucky guess.”

“That was. I saw an opportunity, and I took it,” Bo said. “What about Andrew?”

“Three officers are at the hospital to arrest him now,” Jacob said.

“Good.”

“You’re insane, you know. I didn’t want you in that building, you refused to stay in the cruiser, you wouldn’t take a vest, and then you got a damn gun pointed at you and walked your ass right up to the man holding it.”

Bo cleared his throat. “You do insane things when you aren’t sure you want to live, Detective,” Bo said, lifting the strap of his satchel over his head. He tugged on the strap, resting it snuggly against his shoulder. “And you never feel more alive than you do when someone else is finally in control of pulling the trigger that ends it all. That was the only time I have ever felt free in any recent history.”

“You’re still…?”

“On the edge?” Bo asked. “More or less. That feeling doesn’t just go away, Detective. I spent a long time believing I was worthless, and when I got adopted, I started to believe I was worth something. And then… Well, and then Dallas packed up shop and ran away without a single goodbye and someone convinced me I was useless again. The feeling’s always there, it just waits until I’m at my weakest to come back out. I don’t control that,” he said softly.

Jacob laid a hand on Bo’s shoulder. “You’re worth everything that every other person is, Bo. You’re a human being, and that makes you worth something.”

“Thank you,” Bo whispered.

Jacob nodded. “Take care of yourself tonight, Bo. You did a great job today. Hell, you did a great job every single day that you were here,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Get some sleep.” A pause. “And, uh, if things get too dark? Inside your head, I mean? Call me. No matter the time. Okay?”

Bo smiled faintly. “Sure, Jake.”

8:00 PM; CLINSTONE, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, KITCHEN

Bo ripped off a small piece of pizza crust and held it out to Acamas. With a short purr, she snagged the crust from him and lay down on the tiled floor, gnawing away at it. Bo smiled, biting into the end of his pizza. When his phone lit up, he set the slice down, wiping his hands on his napkin.

Bridget Decker had texted him two words: Of course!

Bo felt his shoulders relax. And for just one silent moment, he closed his eyes and threw out a thank you to any God that wanted to listen, a thank you for letting him know someone as judgment-free as Bridget Decker, who would still go out of her way to pick him up at the airport when he arrived in Los Angeles, despite how many months he had spent ignoring her texts and calls.

Thank Jupiter for Bridget Decker.

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VOTE FOR BOOK TWO

You should NOT need an actual account to comment on this site. If that has changed, feel free to send your vote to my Wattpad or one of my social media accounts

The Dollhouse Murderer (this is the original book two. This will become book three if it doesn’t win)

The other options are possible killers for a book that takes place between The Surgeon and Dollhouse

2. The Highway Butcher

3. The Widow Maker

4. The Alligator

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-One

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Surgeon – Chapter Twenty-Nine

NOT EDITED

Chapter Twenty-Nine

6:00 PM; CLINSTONE, ANDREW BATES’S HOUSE, DRIVEWAY

“Six o’clock is still a terrible time to do this,” Bo said. “Gordon is already here.”

“We’ve got guns for a reason, Austen,” Carter said.

“Well, you two do. I’ve just got my wits, and I’m not sure how far that’ll get me,” Bo said.

“You’re welcome to sit in the cruiser. I’d prefer it,” Jacob said, hitting his palm against the bottom of his Glock’s magazine.

“I’m not going to do that. I’m just expressing that… walking into a home while the killer is there is stupid. That’s all.”

“Just stay behind us, Bo. We’ve got you covered,” Jacob promised, meeting Bo’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Okay, but if you let me die in there, I’ll haunt you. Forever.”

Jacob snorted. “Deal. Let’s roll.” He pushed open his door and stepped out into the snow. He shut the door, holding his Glock in front of himself, aimed at the ground. After Carter was outside, Bo slid out of the cruiser with a sigh. He followed Jacob and Carter to the front of the house. Jacob leaned back against the house and nodded to Carter, pulling back on the slide of his gun. Carter reached out and grabbed the doorknob. He pushed the door open and leaned away from the door as Jacob went inside, gun raised.

Carter followed, quickly followed by Bo. What the hell am I supposed to do with my hands? They’ve got guns. They know what to do with their hands. Bo looked down at his feet as he heard a sound beneath them. It was quiet, barely there, but it was there. Gordon was in the basement. Carter opened a door. Bathroom. Jacob opened a door. Bedroom.

Bo cleared his throat. Jacob whirled around to face him. Bo gestured to the door on his right.

“Open it,” Jacob whispered. Bo gave a thumbs-up before pulling open the door. Jacob headed down the stairs, followed by Carter. Bo frowned. Gordon would hear them. Neither one of them was exactly light on their feet. Still, Bo followed, one hand brushing against the railing.

“Gordon Bates, you’re under arrest. Place your hands on the back of your head,” Jacob said as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Lower your weapons, or I’ll shoot her,” Gordon said. Bo peeked around the edge of the wall, his gaze landing on Gordon. He had a pistol pressed to Natalie’s temple. Her face, bruised and swollen from the reconstruction surgery done only a few days before.

“Mister Bates—”

“I’ll shoot her,” Gordon emphasized, digging the muzzle further into Natalie’s temple. She whimpered.

Bo slipped behind Jacob, easily snagging his cuffs from his belt, until Bo was directly in Gordon’s line of sight. “Put your gun away, Jake.”

Jacob shot a glare in Bo’s direction. “Get your ass behind me. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Jake. Put your goddamn gun away,” Bo hissed.

Gordon pointed the gun at Bo, the only one of the three men that wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest. That… was admittedly an oversight Bo would file away for next time. “Listen to blondie, over here,” he said. Jake held up both hands before shoving his Glock back into its holster. Carter followed suit.

“Good. Now we can talk,” Bo said. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Jupiter, that felt unnatural. “Gordon, I know this is hard for you. Losing Brooke once was bad enough, right? Your father would be broken if he lost his little girl all over again. And your mother? He’d be devastated.”

“What’re you trying to pull?” Gordon asked.

“You just don’t want to see your father like that. He’s all you have left, right? Besides your wife and your little girls, of course. But you don’t want to lose your father the way you lost your mom.” Bo took a small step forward, so small Gordon didn’t notice it. “You don’t want to lose him the way you lost your sister. You love him too much.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gordon said.

“You only help your father because he’s all you have. You love him. He’s everything to you, so you agreed to help him. You agreed to bring Mom and little sis back to life. You agreed to help with the surgeries, to help find the parts.” Bo took another step forward.

“No one is being brought back to life. They’re alive. They’re fine,” Gordon said.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I misspoke. You’re just fixing them back up, is all,” Bo said, taking another step. “You’re just making them look the way they used to. That’s all you two want. You just want the whole family back again, that’s all.”

“Shut up,” Gordon whispered.

“I’m on your side, Gordon,” Bo said, stepping closer. “There is nothing wrong with what you’re doing.”

“Y–you are? You’re on my side?” Gordon asked.

“Of course I am. They teach us to do anything for family, right?” Bo asked. He stepped forward. “That’s all this is. You’re doing everything you can for your family. Mom, Dad, Brooke. You just want them all to be okay again. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m on your side.”

“I just want us to be happy,” Gordon whispered. “He was so broken. I-I just need him to be okay.”

“I know you do. That’s normal. Anyone who loves their family just wants every member to be happy, to be okay,” Bo said. “Can I have the gun, Gordon?”

Gordon held his pistol out. Bo closed the distance between them and took it in his left hand. Bo lifted his right hand to the gun, leaving Jacob’s handcuffs in his pocket. He released the magazine into his hand, shoved it into his pocket. He pulled back on the slide, watching a bullet fall to the concrete floor of the basement. Clearing his throat, he shoved the pistol into his waistband, beneath his coat. Even through his shirt, the metal was cold against his back.

Bo shoved his hands back into his pockets. “See, now we can have a calm discussion about all of this,” he said. “You don’t really want to do this, do you, Gordon? It was Dad’s idea, and you agreed because you love him, right?”

Gordon’s eyes shifted to Jacob and Carter before he looked back at Bo, nodding. “I just want to help people keep their animals healthy,” he whispered.

“And you don’t want to go to jail, do you?” Bo asked. Gordon shook his head, his arm loosening around Natalie’s shoulders and chest. “You don’t want to hurt her, do you?”

“No,” Gordon murmured.

“I didn’t think so. How about you let her go?” Bo asked. Gordon released her. Natalie collapsed against Bo, wrapping her fists around the collar of his shirt. Bo wrapped his left arm around her. In one swift motion, he pulled the cuffs from his pocket and clasped one around Gordon’s wrist.

Jacob’s eyes widened as he patted his belt for his cuffs. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Bo said quietly. “Turn around, please?”

Tears welled in Gordon’s eyes as he turned toward the wall. Bo clasped the cuff around Gordon’s other wrist before wrapping his right arm around Natalie, burying his fingers in her hair as she sobbed against him.

Jacob crossed the room quickly, wrapping a hand around Gordon’s upper arm. “We are going to have a very serious talk when we get back to the station,” he said through his teeth, his gaze focusing on Bo’s face.

“Sure thing, Detective,” Bo said. His eyes followed Jacob for a moment before he sighed. “Natalie, sweetheart? I’m going to pass you off to Detective Lehmann so I can get Miss Marshall out of there. Is that okay?” Natalie nodded. Carter wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she moved away from Bo.

Cleo’s hands were wrapped around the bars of her cell, her watery eyes focused on Bo. “Thank you,” she whispered, holding a hand out through the door.

Bo squeezed her hand as he squatted down in front of the door. “You’re very welcome, Miss Marshall.” He pulled his lock-picking kit from his back pocket. “I’m going to let go of your hand and get you out of this place, okay?” he asked. Cleo only nodded, releasing his hand. Bo smiled softly as he set to work on picking the lock. “You’re going home, Miss Marshall. You’re going home.”

We’re almost done! Just a few more chapters to go. Which means it’s time for a vote from you guys for the first time in a while.

As is, book two in the Bo Austen series is The Dollhouse Murderer, which takes place about four months after this one. Do you want that to still be book two, or do you want to see whatever Bo’s doing in between the two Clinstone cases? I’m trying my best to phrase it in a way that doesn’t really spoil anything for people that haven’t read this series pre-rewrite. If you HAVE read the original and need a few more details to cast your vote, please feel free to message me on Instagram or Wattpad

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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Thirty

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Surgeon – Chapter Twenty-Eight

NOT EDITED

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Thursday: January 16, 2020

4:20 AM; CLINSTONE, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, BEDROOM

Bo opened his eyes as Acamas attempted to shove her nose up his. Gently, he swatted her away. “Why the hell do you do that, huh, baby?” he asked. Acamas let out a purr, kneading her paws against the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve got issues, Acky, serious issues.” He lifted her off his chest and got out of bed. There was no way he’d be getting any more sleep anyway. The second go-round at the nightmare of the horses from the Thanatos case stomping him to death while Kathy laughed had been good enough for him.

He flipped on the bedside lamp and headed for the bathroom. He turned on the light and kicked the door shut. As he turned on the water in the sink, he heard one of Acamas’s toys slide across the tiled bathroom floor. Acamas, who enjoyed hard plastic toys meant for human toddlers rather than cats, also enjoyed launching them under doors at Bo’s feet. Chuckling, he kicked the toy back under the door.

Bo leaned down and washed his face with cold water. The toy hit his heel. After shutting off the water, Bo kicked the toy back in Acamas’s direction. She shoved a paw under the door, curling it around the toy and pulling it back toward herself. Bo pulled the hand towel from its hook and lightly patted his face dry. He heard his phone ding in his bedroom.

He opened the door, stepping over Acamas as he walked into his room. He swiped his phone from the nightstand and smiled to himself. The program on his laptop had found a match. He walked out of his bedroom, Acamas following at his heels. In the kitchen, he leaned over the table and opened the lid of his laptop. He quickly typed in his password. As soon as the screen unlocked, he scanned the information on his laptop.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He fucking had it.

7:00 AM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, LAB

Bo didn’t lift his gaze from his laptop as the door to the lab opened. “Detective Lehmann,” he greeted.

“You know it’s me without even looking?” Carter asked.

“You put more weight on one foot than you do the other. The sound’s incredibly distinguishable when compared to Jake, and he’s about the only other person who would come down to visit,” Bo said. Finally, he looked up at Carter. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

Carter cleared his throat as he crossed the room. “I, uh, brought you coffee.” He set the cup down in front of Bo. “It’s the same thing Jake orders for you. It’s a, umm, peace treaty, I guess you could call it. I’d like to start over. I’ve been a royal dick, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. It’s just…” Carter sighed. “When I met Jake, he was helping Alice get this guy out of prison, and nearly every case we worked during that time dealt with this other man, our previous Lieutenant, Connor Anderson. I spent my whole time believing that Jake didn’t know what he was talking about, that Connor was innocent, that he wasn’t a bad man. I was wrong, and I didn’t want to make that mistake again with you, but if you were guilty of something, you definitely would’ve killed me or Gwen already for what we did. So I’m sorry.”

Bo nodded once and held out a hand. “I’m Bo Austen, forensic analyst. You are?”

Carter smiled faintly as he grabbed Bo’s hand. “Detective Carter Lehmann, Jake’s partner.”

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Detective,” Bo said softly, dropping his hand back to the table. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome, and… thank you for ‘starting over’,” Carter said.

Bo nodded once. “My pleasure, Detective.” He offered a faint smile. “I’m not the bad guy, here. I try to be as level-headed as I possibly can. No true grudges, no out of place anger. I may not be like you, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t understand you.” He shrugged. “I would’ve been suspicious of me too. I’m a little odd, in case you haven’t noticed, and it’s something I’m well-aware of. It takes a while to look past that and realize that I’m intelligent for reasons other than being a mastermind killer,”

“Lehmann, what’re you doing in here?” Jacob asked as he walked into the lab.

“It’s okay. He’s apologizing,” Bo said.

“Do you actually mean it this time?” Jacob asked.

Carter nodded as his partner moved to stand beside him. “I do. I promise, Jake, I’m done with the bullshit.”

“Awesome. Looks like you can be back on the case,” Jacob said. “You know, now that we all can be friends like mature adults.”

“I’m glad we’re all being mature,” Bo said. “But with that out of the way, my program got a hit this morning.”

“Oh, sweet.” Jacob rounded the table to stand beside Bo. “What is it?”

Clearing his throat, Bo brought up a news article. “I’ll save you the boring task of actually reading through the whole thing. Lauren Bates, mother of two, was driving late at night. She rounded a curb at about ninety miles an hour and rolled the car. She and her daughter, who was in the passenger seat, died. It was labeled as a suicide. Lauren had been depressed for nearly a year and had attempted suicide before the fatal incident.

“This was in 2017. The daughter, Brooke, was thirteen. Lauren was forty-two. The husband and son, Andrew and Gordon Bates, were left grief-stricken, obviously. Lauren and Brooke had a funeral and a burial, and Andrew and Gordon were out of work for almost two weeks.

“Brooke Bates was born on February fifteenth, 2004. Natalie Lambert was born on February eleventh, 2004. Lauren Bates was born on November seventh, 1975. Cleo Marshall was born on November 2, 1975. Andrew Bates is chief of surgery at Walker-Bates Memorial Hospital here in town. He has a scar on his thumb from a rogue patient who attacked him. Gordon Bates is a veterinarian at the place here in town, as well. You want two prime suspects without flaw? I’ve got them for you, and my system’s already voice ID’d them both to the nine-one-one calls. They killed, they called in, and they got themselves caught because they were stupid enough to call the cops to make sure the victims were found.”

“Bo Austen, take a fucking bow. Jesus Christ, you are amazing,” Jacob said. One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted. “I’m gonna talk to Leu and put in for a warrant. Austen, you’re amazing, honest to God. Thank you, you little genius. Thank you. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you, Jake,” Bo said quietly. With a wide smile, Jacob offered a two-finger salute to Bo before walking out of the lab.

“Can I ask you something?” Carter questioned.

“Yes.”

“Why do you hate taking credit for your accomplishments?” Carter said. “What you just did? That’s amazing, and you’re acting like it’s nothing special.”

Bo lifted his shoulders. “When it came to solving the biggest case in my entire career, I couldn’t do it. Everything I’ve done since then has been… mediocre, at best,” he said softly. “I don’t take credit for mediocre.”

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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Surgeon – Chapter Twenty-Seven

NOT EDITED

Chapter Twenty-Seven

3:23 PM; CLINSTONE, HANNAH FROST’S APARTMENT, BEDROOM

“She’s only been dead for about half an hour,” Bo said. “Lips removed, but no mark on her arm. No blood was drawn.”

“Why not? I mean, why forgo that?” Jacob asked.

Bo shrugged, squatting down for a side angle of Hannah Frost’s face. “Well, you know, I haven’t done the autopsy on Rose Anderson yet. It’s possibly they took three pints from her, which would’ve given them two extra pints of blood so that they didn’t have to waste time getting any from Hannah Frost.”

“A time saver? Why does that matter now?” Jacob asked.

“His lunch break, I assume. Two o’clock to three o’clock, give or take a few.”

“So he’s at work, killing people on his break?”

“Why not?” Bo asked. “He goes to work, kills a couple girls on break, and returns to work like nothing happened. It’s a shady alibi, but it is an alibi, because who in their right mind would kill people during their lunch break?”

“That’s a… fair point,” Jacob said quietly.

“Mmhmm.” Bo sighed, pulling off one of his gloves. He scratched the side of his head before passing his fingers through his hair. “Well, let’s get her back to the morgue so I can start the autopsies, see what we can see.”

6:05 PM; MINNESOTA, THE SURGEON’S HOUSE, OFFICE

“Do you work tomorrow?”

Gordon nodded as he lowered himself into the chair in front of his father’s desk. “Mmhmm, seven to three.”

He sighed. “I’m pulling double tomorrow. Six AM to ten PM.”

“When will we work on Brooke?” Gordon asked.

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his brown hair. “Around eleven tomorrow night, if that works for you?”

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll just tell Mish that there was an emergency at work or something,” Gordon said. “I’ll be here around ten-thirty, then. I’ll get her ready for surgery so she’s good to go when you get home.”

He smiled, his blue eyes softening ever so slightly. “Good. Thank you.”

“Sure, Dad. Anything to make Mom and Brooke whole again.”

His hand moved to the small vial of blood he wore around his neck, attached to a delicate, silver chain. His wife’s blood. Back in the day, it had been her idea. She had been wearing his blood the same way the day she died.

One of these days, Cleo Marshall would wear one around her neck too, and she would be complete.

6:30 PM; CLINSTONE, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, KITCHEN

Inviting the Mason family over to his house for supper had been odd for Bo, but he and Jacob hadn’t wanted to stop working on the case. Katie Mason, who was allergic to cats, had been on allergy shots for the last year and was finding that she enjoyed Acamas’s company slightly more than the small dog they had at home.

“What’s ‘N10 SK-slash-S’?” Jacob asked, his eyes skimming the sticky note at the top of the page in Bo’s notebook reserved for Rose Anderson.

“Number ten surgical knife-slash-scalpel.”

“Got it.” Jacob cleared his throat, flipping to the next page. “Okay, so Rose was missing three pints, and Hannah wasn’t missing any?”

“Right. Except the normal blood loss from the lips removal,” Bo said. He scratched at his hairline, clearing his throat. “Or… whatever you would consider ‘normal’ for that.”

“Right. Now what?” Jacob asked.

“I’m going to digitally add the features to Natalie’s face, smooth it all out, and compare it to the faces in the system. We find out who Natalie’s supposed to be, we find out all the possible people that would feel a need to recreate it,” Bo said.

“You can do that?” Jacob said, setting Bo’s notebook on the counter. “Actually, never mind. Why am I even surprised?”

Bo chuckled. “Good question.”

“Daddy?” Katie asked from her seat at the table.

“Yeah, baby?” Jacob asked.

“What’s two twenty-one minus one forty-six?” Katie asked.

Jacob snorted. “Baby, I haven’t done math without a calculator since—”

“Seventy-five,” Bo said. “It’s seventy-five.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you were a calculator too,” Jacob said. Bo only chuckled.

Katie frowned. “I keep getting one eighty-five,” she said quietly.

“Stir this?” Bo asked, holding a spoon out to Jacob.

“Gladly.”

Bo walked over to Katie, pressing a hand to the table as he leaned over her shoulder. “Oh, here you go. When you turn the one into an eleven, you have to turn this two into a one. You left it as a two and turned it into twelve,” he said. “You just aren’t carrying it over. Otherwise, you got it down great, kiddo.”

“Oh. Our teacher just writes the instructions on the boards, and I… don’t follow written directions too well,” Katie said quietly.

“Dyslexia,” Jacob said from the stove.

Bo smiled faintly. “Well, keep it up, Katie. You’re doing great.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Good job, kiddo.”

8:07 PM; CLINSTONE, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM

“You’re really good with kids,” Jacob said.

Bo shrugged, his gaze focused on his laptop screen as he worked to soften Natalie Lambert’s features. “Dallas had kids,” he said offhandedly.

“And?”

“And… I helped sometimes. I always helped the oldest with his homework.”

“Do you ever want kids, Bo?” Alice asked, a sleeping Elijah cradled in her arms. Katie, sitting in the arm chair with her earphones in, was holding Charlotte.

“I’ve, uh, never thought about it, no.” That wasn’t quite true. In a fertility center somewhere in California, Bridget Decker’s fertilized eggs sat in a freezer, waiting for at least one of them to decide they wanted kids. At the time, when Bridget had needed chemotherapy, he hadn’t even considered saying ‘no’ an option, and saying ‘yes’ hadn’t even been a question. But they had been young, and Bo hadn’t been beaten down by Jamal Pitman, Kathy Baker, and the country-wide manhunt for his best friend-turned-serial-killer.

“I prefer to be alone,” Bo finally said. Acamas stepped onto his lap. She lay down, resting her head in the crook of his arm. He smiled softly, doing his best to move his arm just a little less than before.

Jacob reached over and scratched Acamas’s head. She purred, the sound vibrating against Bo’s arm. “Well, at least you’ve got a cat. She’s nice.”

“She broke into my home back in California,” Bo said. “She climbed up onto a shelf on my porch and turned the doorknob enough to get inside. I pick locks, she opens doors. I’d say we were a pretty good match.” Acamas rolled onto her back, batting lightly at the necklace charm hanging from Bo’s neck. Because she kept her claws retracted, Bo did nothing to stop her. It wasn’t like those soft little mittens were going to do any harm.

“Even your cat’s a genius,” Jacob said.

Bo chuckled. He leaned back against the couch, resting his free hand on Acamas’s stomach. “There. I’ve got it running through the system. It’ll take a while, as I didn’t change her actual facial structure or nose much.”

Jacob nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Call me if it gets anything before work tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.” He smiled. “Thank you for supper, Bo. And for helping Katie. Math is very much not my strong suit.”

Bo offered a smile. “You’re welcome, Jake. I’ll see you in the morning.”

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Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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Surgeon – Chapter Twenty-Six

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Chapter Twenty-Six

12:45 PM; CLINSTONE, THE JOHNSON HOUSEHOLD, LIVING ROOM

“Whatcha thinking?” Jacob asked, tilting his head to the side.

“That the younger guy killed one girl this morning, and the older guy killed two people an hour ago,” he said. “Besides that, I’m still working out how this went.”

“We don’t have to know exactly how it happened. We never really do unless there’s footage, you know? I just have to know how they died and when they died.”

“I know that. But… I have to know how it happened. It’ll drive me insane otherwise,” Bo said. “Okay, Surgeon peeks in through the living room window, sees that Marion and Mike are asleep in their chairs, an old movie playing on TV. He comes in through the patio door, sneaks up behind Mike, Hypodermic to the neck. Mike wakes up and shoves Surgeon back before he can press the plunger down.”

“So… Mike wasn’t injected with etorphine on the first try?” Jacob asked.

Bo shook his head. “No, there’s more than one puncture mark on his neck,” he said, touching all three marks on Mike’s neck with his gloved fingers. “Mike stands up with enough force to knock his chair over,” Bo said, nudging the arm chair with the toe of his shoe. “The commotion wakes Marion up, and she runs out of the room. Mike and Surgeon fight and Surgeon goes through the glass coffee table. Mike doesn’t have the wounds to have been the one to go through it. Just like his fingerprint, his blood’s not in the system. Mike’s winded, so Surgeon gets him in the neck again. Mike fights him off and runs into the kitchen to retrieve a knife.

“Surgeon follows him—he’s bleeding, as you can see,” Bo said, tracing an invisible line over the blood drops on the carpeted floor. “Mike has a knife by the time Surgeon gets in here,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. Jacob followed, gaze focused on the blood trail as he stepped over it. “Mike gets one good swipe in on Surgeon before the etorphine is successfully injected into his neck. Adrenaline keeps him from going down right away. Surgeon grabs the knife and drives it into Mike’s abdomen. Mike hits the ground, back against the counter, and bleeds out in three or four minutes.

“Surgeon walks down the hall and finds Marion in the closet.” Bo stepped into the bedroom, peered into the closet. By all the clothes and hangers she’s pulled down in here, she grabbed ahold of everything and anything she could to try and keep him from pulling her out. He chloroforms Marion near the closet and carries her back to the bed. He draws her blood, inner arm. I’ll find out how many pints back in the morgue. He injects her with etorphine and removes a two inch square above her lip and onto her cheek.”

He tossed an open wallet to Jacob. “It’s a beauty mark. That’s what he removed. Natalie Lambert, whoever Surgeon wants her to be, is supposed to have a beauty mark.”

“Your ability to walk through a scene like that amazes me every single time,” Jacob said.

“It’s not me. It’s the blood. You just… You have to let the blood talk to you, and if you do that, you can piece together anything,” he said softly.

2:05 PM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, MORGUE

“Mike Johnson. Seventh found victim. Time of death, around eleven o’clock this morning. Drugged with etorphine, killed by blood loss. Abdominal wound caused by a fully serrated, four and three-quarter inch full tang point steak knife,” Bo said. “Marion Johnson. Eighth found victim. Time of death, roughly eleven-forty AM. Chloroformed, two pints of O-negative blood taken, drugged with etorphine. Beauty mark above lip removed with a number ten scalpel.”

Jacob nodded. “Breasts, brows, beauty mark…” With the items ticked off on his first three fingers, he raised an eyebrow in Bo’s direction. “What’s left?”

Bo leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Lips, ears, nose,” he said. “Unless Natalie’s nose needed to be substantiously larger than it is, I imagine he surgically ‘fixed’ her nose. If it needed to be smaller or straighter or more angular, it would’ve been easier to do by chiseling and carving rather than… slicing and dicing and implanting,” he said quietly. “Cleo Marshall, however, has a very dainty nose, and I guarantee you that in the next few days, someone is going to lose a nose to replace Cleo’s current one.”

“Ah… lovely,” Jacob said quietly.

“Right.” Bo cleared his throat. “Do you think you could get me the nine-one-one call for the Johnson scene?”

“You betcha. Can I ask why?” Jacob asked.

“I checked the Johnson’s home phone for prints, just to see, and… I found nothing. It had been wiped clean. Your average person isn’t going to wipe down their phone, especially the part that doesn’t touch their face.” The corner of Bo’s mouth scrunched up. “I think the Surgeon called it in, and if I can just hear his voice…”

“You want to memorize it,” Jacob said.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, kid, I’ll get it for you.”

Bo had given up on reminding Jacob he was not the young college student he appeared to be. Instead, he took the compliment. He didn’t get many that weren’t about his brain, anyway. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Jacob cleared his throat. “You want a coffee refill?”

Bo shook his head. “I don’t drink coffee after noon.”

“All righty. I’ll go talk to dispatch. Be back in a few.”

2:57 PM; CLINSTONE, ROSE ANDERSON’S APARTMENT, BEDROOM

“Rose Anderson, twenty-one years old,” Bo said quietly, snapping a picture of the side of Rose’s head. “Ears removed, couple extra centimeters of skin removed around the base of each ear.” Pressing a knee to the side of the mattress, he leaned across Rose’s body to get a picture of the other side of her head.

“So… the next victim will be missing her lips?” Jacob asked.

“That would be my assumption.” Bo dropped his foot back the ground, wrapping a hand around the lens of his camera as he looked around the room. “He was able to sneak up on her without any troubles. There are no signs of struggle.”

“And ‘he’ would be the younger one in this case?” Jacob asked.

“Correct.” Bo picked up the cell phone on the nightstand, dropping his hand from his camera. It thudded dully against his chest before settling in its place. He pressed the home button and tilted it down until the light in the room reflected on the screen.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Cracking her passcode. One. Four. Six. Zero,” he said quietly. He tilted the phone back toward himself, using his thumb to try the first combination. One-zero-four-six. The screen unlocked and took him to the home screen, a picture of Rose and a boy, presumably her boyfriend.

“One try?” Jacob asked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bo snorted. “Practice, Jake. Lots of practice.” And a hell of a lot of luck, but for theatrics, Bo chose to keep that one to himself. He opened up her phone application and scrolled over to the recent calls section. “Nine-one-one was the last number she called, and I guarantee you that she wasn’t the one that called it in.”

“Which means we might just have both of their voices on record,” Jacob said.

Bo cracked an extremely faint smile. “Bingo.”

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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Surgeon – Chapter Twenty-Five

NOT EDITED

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wednesday: January 15, 2020

3:00 AM; CLINSTONE UNIVERSITY, DORM ROOM 202

Bo squatted down beside the twin bed in the dorm, tilting his camera for a better picture of the victim’s face. In the hall, he heard the victim’s roommate let out a quiet sob.

“It’s okay, Miss Roth. Take your time,” Jacob said softly.

“My classes don’t start until noon today, so I was out late,” Helen Roth said.

“Were you drinking?”

“Umm…”

“I’m not here to arrest you, Miss Roth.”

“Yeah, I was… Yes,” Helen whispered.

“And your roommate, did she go out?” Jacob asked.

“No. She stayed in. Homework. She was getting ready for bed when I left around ten.”

Bo frowned, snapping another quick picture of the victim’s face. Paula Gold, eighteen years old, O-negative blood type, eyebrows and nearly a square inch of skin around each brow removed. Number ten surgical knife. Bo rose to his feet, leaning over to snap a picture of the puncture mark on Paula’s inner arm. Sixteen gauge needle. Bo assumed two pints of blood had been removed, like usual. He’d confirm to the best of his ability with the autopsy.

Leaning down, Bo took a picture of the mark on Paula’s neck. Twenty-six gauge Hypodermic needle. Half inch long. Etorphine.

The hand on his shoulder caused him to stiffen as he slowly straightened himself back out. He turned around, coming face to face with Carter. Bo frowned, wrapping a hand around the lens of his camera before pressing it against his chest. “I wasn’t aware Jake had called you.”

“Oh, he’s ‘Jake’ now?” Carter asked.

Bo lifted a shoulder. “He asked me to call him Jake, so I did.”

“Ah.”

Bo cleared his throat, shoving his free hand into his pocket. Why do normal people stand like this again? It’s uncomfortable as Hell. “Did Jake call you?”

“Hell no. I heard it on the scanner.”

“And… do you enjoy obeying orders from your partner? From your boss?” Bo asked.

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s nothing to me. I’m just curious.”

“Curious, my ass. You just like to be in everyone’s business. You’re a nosey little gossip.”

Bo offered a smile. “Detective Lehmann, in case you need a refresher, you and Miss Tanner are the ones who read through my notebooks in order to be in my business and gossip about me and the inner workings of my brain, not the other way around. If anyone is doing any snooping within another person’s business, I assure you it isn’t me.”

“Lehmann, I don’t believe you were signed off to enter this crime scene,” Jacob said as he stepped into the dorm.

“Legally, your presence here without being signed in does make you an official suspect,” Bo said.

“Oh, shut up, Austen. Jesus.”

“Oh, shut up, Lehmann,” Jacob mocked, tucking his notepad into the pocket of his suit jacket. “Protocol says Bo’s right. Get your ass out of here. It’s my case, and your presence is contaminating it.”

“Hanging around this kid has turned you into a real ass,” Carter said.

“Only two years younger than you, Detective Lehmann,” Bo said, though he knew it was pointless.

“And if you think I have turned into an ass, you need to look in a mirror, Lehmann,” Jacob said. “If anyone in this whole situation has turned me crueler, it’s you, not Bo. So get outta here so he can work.”

After Caleb left, Bo cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Jacob flashed his usual charming smile. Even at three in the morning, it easily brightened his whole face. “You betcha. So, walk me through, Mister Austen. You’re the genius.”

5:30 AM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, MORGUE

Jacob crossed the room, setting a cup of coffee in front of Bo. “Here. Thought you could use a refill.”

Bo smiled. “Thank you, Jake.” He cleared his throat, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. He washed his hands before sitting down in his usual chair, pulling the cup closer to himself. With a short sigh, he took a sip. He yawned, holding the back of his hand to his mouth.

“Am I boring you, Mister Austen?” Jake asked.

Bo laughed. “No.” He shook his head. “They took three pints from, umm….”

“Paula.”

“Yeah. Paula,” Bo repeated. “She’s Natalie’s blood type, so I don’t have a reasoning for the extra blood. She could’ve lost more blood than anticipated the first time around, or…” He shook his head, fighting back another yawn. “Or they’re planning on doing the rest of the surgeries in one go so they don’t have to keep waiting to have her ‘fixed’.”

Jacob’s brow furrowed. “You okay, Bo?”

Bo nodded. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping much.” He chuckled. “I think I was getting more sleep than this when I was trying to track down Kathy and Dallas.”

“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep before our shift actually starts,” Jacob said.

Bo waved a hand. “I’m good. Besides, I’ve got a bad feeling about today. If you want my honest assumption, this isn’t going to be the only dead girl we find before midnight.”

12:15 PM; CLINSTONE CEMETERY

Bo squatted down beside Tess Brown’s headstone, laying a bouquet of flowers on her grave. “I hope you like the headstone I picked out for you. I made sure it matched the ones on your parents’ graves. I had them bury you next to your mother. From what I’ve seen and heard, you were… close with her,” he said softly.

He hadn’t wanted her to sit in the morgue, hadn’t wanted her to go unclaimed. Tess Brown deserved more than to be cremated in a few weeks, thrown in with all the other unclaimed ashes, and tossed into the river or an ocean at the end of the year. Hell, she deserved to still be alive, but he couldn’t change that. The only thing he had been able to change was how they honored her death.

So he had filled out the paperwork yesterday to claim the body, and they had buried her that morning without a funeral service.

“I put flowers on some other graves too. It, uh, it was in your honor. Your mother, father, and your boyfriend. If there is an afterlife, Miss Brown, I hope you find them all, now that you’ve been laid to rest.” He frowned as his phone buzzed in his pocket. “I’m so sorry, Miss Brown. This is very rude of me,” he said, pulling his phone from his back pocket. “Work always calls when I’m trying to be respectful,” he murmured.

He rose to his feet and walked away from the grave before finally answering his phone. “Austen.”

“Hey. Where are you?” Jacob asked. “I went down to the lab, and you weren’t there.”

“Lunchbreak,” Bo said.

“You went out for lunch?”

Bo looked back at Tess Brown’s headstone. “More or less. What’s up?”

“New scene,” Jacob said. “Marion and Mike Johnson.”

“Marion? That name hasn’t even been on the US charts since the 1980s. How old was she? Late thirties, early forties?” Bo asked.

“Thirty-nine. Mike, the husband, was forty,” Jacob said quietly. “Sorry, do you just keep name facts on the ready for when someone dies?”

“I mean, umm… depends on the name?”

“I doubt that.”

Jacob was right. It very much did not depend on the name. The name Marion had peaked in the 1910s. Two thousand one hundred and eighty-seven babies named Marion per every one million babies. Mike peaked in the 1960s. Jacob peaked in the 1990s.

Why are you still pretending you’re not you around him? You are full of useless information, and he doesn’t have a problem with it! Stop lying to the only guy who’s on your side.

Bo cleared his throat. “I’ll meet you at the station in a few. I just have to finish something real quick, okay?”

“Sure, Bo. I’ll text you the address. See you in a few.”

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Six

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Surgeon – Chapter Twenty-Four

NOT EDITED

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tuesday: January 14, 2020

7:00 AM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, MORGUE

“Hey,” Jacob greeted as he stepped into the morgue.

“Hi.” Bo raised an eyebrow. “Have you brought breakfast into my morgue?”

Jacob smiled. “You eat breakfast all alone down here every single day at seven.” He crossed the room and slid into the chair beside Bo. “Thought I’d join you.”

Bo chuckled. “Thanks, Jake. You don’t have to be here, though. I’m okay.”

“Oh, I know I don’t have to be. But I want to be. ‘Cause we’re friends, and friends like to eat breakfast together.”

Bo smiled faintly. “Again… thank you.”

“You betcha.”

“This doesn’t change the fact that I’m going back home after this case is over,” Bo said.

“Hey, that’s fine. You do what you have to do, Bo. I’m not a dictator.”

“I know.” Bo cleared his throat, wrapping a hand around his coffee mug. “So, uh… I took your advice of standing with my hands in my pockets.” He shook his head. “That feels unnatural.”

“Anything you’re not used to doing is unnatural,” Jacob said. “For what it’s worth, you shouldn’t have to change yourself in the first place. I only told you that because you asked me to be completely truthful, and I didn’t want you to be mad at me for telling you not to change who you are or how you are.”

“I know. That’s why I asked you. Because you’d tell me what I wanted to hear, regardless of how you felt about the situation.”

Jacob shook his head. “One of these days, Bo, I hope someone knocks some sense into you and tells you that no one can be normal.”

“I would say… good luck with that.”

“I know, unfortunately.” Jacob cleared his throat. “So, umm, once you go back to California… If anything bad happens, will you call me again?” Jacob asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“I’d prefer it, truthfully.”

“I will… do my best to call you if something goes south.”

Jacob breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thanks, Bo.”

“You betcha,” Bo whispered.

12:00 PM; MINNESOTA, THE SURGEON’S HOUSE, OFFICE

“Did you take her food down?” he asked.

Gordon nodded. “Yeah, Dad, and I made sure she ate it.”

“Good. She needs her strength.” He cleared his throat. “She’ll eat again at six tonight, and her surgery will begin tomorrow morning at six, if that works for your schedule.”

Gordon glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. He looked back at his father, nodding. “As far as I know, that fits. If something comes up, I’ll tell you.”

“Good.” He shifted in his chair. “You’re going to want to go out for at least one or two before the surgery. There are four that need to be retrieved tomorrow.”

“Which ones?” Gordon asked.

“Paula, Rose, Marion, and Hannah. I’ll grab Marion in the evening, but the other three are younger than I am comfortable with.”

Gordon nodded. “Sure, Dad. Do you need any more etorphine?”

“Not today. I still have a dose or two here. I’ll let you know.”

Again, Gordon nodded. “All right. Well, I gotta get home. The kids are getting out of school soon due to snow, so I have to pick them up. I’ll be back tonight.”

He smiled softly. “Sure, Gordon. Tell them Grandpa loves them.”

Gordon chuckled, offered a smile of his own. “You could come by, tell them yourself.”

“Oh, I can’t. Not until your mom and sister are back. And then… then we’ll all be together again, and then I’ll come by. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sure, Dad.”

11:40 PM; CLINSTONE, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, BEDROOM

The usual jolt that awoke Bo from his nightmares was softened by the gentle tickle of Acamas’s whiskers on his cheek. “What’re you doing, Acky?” he asked roughly, cracking open one blue eye to look at his cat. She stood on his chest, her nose pressed against the end of his own, her eye locked on his. She purred, arching her back in a stretch. She lay down on his chest, stretching her paws out against Bo’s throat. Bo chuckled, lifting a hand to scratch the cat’s head.

He closed his eyes and shifted to run his hand over the cat’s spine instead. Bo may have had a less than ‘excellent’ life, more or less, but in more ways than one, Acamas was like a bright light at the end of the tunnel. And even though this house wasn’t home, Acamas was, and that made Clinstone, Minnesota just a little more tolerable.

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I’ll add the chapter links and whatnot later tonight when I’m on the laptop instead of my phone. Just wanted to make sure to get the update out, and it’s not guaranteed if I don’t do it while I’m thinking about it, haha

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Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Five