Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

  “Did she keep animals?”

  “Only chickens and goats when I lived with her. She was more into growing her own crops: sweetcorn, potatoes, pumpkins, that kind of thing. She would sell them at the weekend farmers’ market to supplement her income. Illustrating children’s books doesn’t pay well.” She sighs. “Once we’re finished here, I guess I’ll sell up.”

  She doesn’t say it, but she’s relieved to have an asset at last. The proceeds from selling the farm could really help her start afresh. Hopefully with her son by her side. She pulls out a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke with the window down?”

  “Sure.”

  The closer she gets to Steph’s place, the more she craves a cigarette. Cursing herself for giving in yet again, she lights one. The first drag is always amazing; it calms her immediately, making her wonder why she keeps quitting. Then she remembers she’ll never live to see forty if she returns to smoking the way she was doing in prison. And she has to stay alive long enough to find Owen again.

  She looks out of the open window and up at the sky. The rain clouds are thickening. It’s been so hot lately they could do with a good downpour. A few heavy spots of water splatter on the window. She watches as a white Toyota overtakes them. It’s doing way over the speed limit and nudging everyone out of its way. It’s quickly followed by sirens.

  As the patrol vehicle speeds by, she can’t help but watch, fascinated. It’s an LCPD squad car, but it’s going too fast for her to identify the driver. That used to be her. She used to chase assholes like that with no regard for her own safety. She’d have to pull them over, figure out whether they were armed and then cautiously approach the driver’s window, all the while hoping they wouldn’t shoot her dead and leave her son motherless. She takes another long drag of her cigarette and shakes her head at the irony that her son was left motherless in the end anyway. But not thanks to a criminal; thanks to the team who were supposed to have her back.

  Her thoughts turn to the long list of things she needs to do now she’s home. It’s overwhelming. Her first visit has to be to Mike. When he initially called her to say he’d found Stephanie dead at her home, Madison was too distraught and guilt-ridden to ask how it happened. But she wants to help Mike find whoever killed her, and for that she’ll need to see his case files and the crime-scene photos. If he’ll agree to show her. He may take some persuading, seeing as she’s no longer on the force and they haven’t seen each other in seven years.

  Stephanie was estranged from her entire family, so Madison also has to arrange her funeral. She doesn’t want the state to give her a basic burial or cremation with no guests and no minister or words said for her. Even after they split, Stephanie would babysit Owen while Madison worked the late shifts. He loved her. And Madison did too.

  Thinking of Owen fills her with longing. She has to find him. She can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. Child services refused to tell her who he went to live with after her conviction. She knows he was moved away from Lost Creek, because otherwise Stephanie would have spotted him and told her during one of her prison visits. Madison has no idea if she’d even recognize him in the street now he’s seventeen.

  She realizes then that Owen probably wouldn’t recognize her either. Before her conviction she was a little overweight, with dark blonde hair that was always tied back for work and rarely trimmed. After almost six months of waiting tables in California, she’s now sporting a golden tan and her hair is more Malibu blonde, thanks to the sun-kissed highlights. As she’s been broke for some time, she’s also slimmer. Her transformation should buy her some time before word begins to spread that she’s back in town.

  She sighs. The most logical person to contact about Owen is Kate Flynn, as she has access to all kinds of information in her role as local reporter. But if their friendship can’t be saved and Kate refuses to help, Madison has one last resort. Someone she’s dreading seeing even more than Detective Douglas.

  11

  Mike hangs his suit jacket on the back of the chair and sits at his messy desk. He’d rather be at home eating a microwave dinner and video-calling his daughter, but he’s got reports to file, as always. He checks his cell phone. Madison hasn’t replied to his text. He disclosed the contents of Stephanie Garcia’s last will and testament and thought she’d reply immediately, considering she’s the main beneficiary.

  He needs to talk to her as soon as possible to see where her head is at these days. He doesn’t know if she’s just coming back to say her final goodbye to Stephanie or whether she’s holding on to some resentment for what happened in the past. Either way, he knows he needs to keep an eye on her. He’s probably her only friend in town.

  As he glances around the station to see who else is about this evening, he realizes the place is almost empty. Everyone must be on call-outs. Either that, or they’ve left early to nurse their hangovers. Even the phones are quiet while the town recovers from yesterday. Then he remembers the McCoys’ latest fundraiser was today over in Gold Rock. He was supposed to attend on behalf of LCPD and get his picture taken with them for the paper.

  Chief Sullivan wheezes by on his way to his office. He’s the same guy who was in charge when Madison worked here, although he’s set for retirement in a couple of months. He’s only fifty-three and on the outside he looks good for his age—slim, well groomed, sporting an all-year tan—but he’s a chain smoker and has some serious lung problems, evident when the whole department has to listen to him coughing violently all day. Tonight, he looks like he’s pissed off at something, but then he resents having to leave the building to indulge in a cigarette, so maybe that’s it.

  Mike wonders how the chief will react when he finds out Madison’s back in town. The pair of them never worked well together. Sullivan is full of his own self-importance and Madison was headstrong. She worked hard and outshone most of the department. That doesn’t always go down well in law enforcement.

  He himself never had any beef with her, though. She could take a joke and she was quick to volunteer for jobs no one else wanted. She also knew how to follow the rules whilst looking for ways to improve them. He expects that helped her get paroled early, as she served just six years of her ten-year sentence. Either that, or it was down to prison overcrowding. More criminals are being released early these days. Makes him wonder why he works so hard to put them away in the first place.

  He watches as Officer Shelley Vickers walks up to his desk. Being in her early thirties, Shelley’s still enthusiastic about her role. She reminds him of Madison when she first started here, probably because Madison mentored her when Shelley first got out of the academy.

  “Hey, Detective. Do you want me to keep looking into that illegal dumping next to the McCoys’ ranch?”

  He nods. “That’d be good. I’ve had Wyatt chewing my ear off about it.”

  The McCoys are one of the few remaining original families living in the old gold-mining town of Gold Rock, located between Prospect Springs and Lost Creek. It’s one of those ghost towns you’d see in a Wild West movie, or more recently in one of those shows that hunt for paranormal activity. Wyatt McCoy is a prominent businessman who runs several different operations, including a prosperous scrap metal business and auto repair shop. He’s also head of the foundation for the preservation of Gold Rock, and his wife, Angie, is on the board of a number of charities. Everyone in LCPD knows it’s good to keep the McCoys happy as they are well loved in the community and can be relied on to help people out when times are hard.

  Mike checks the time and groans. Almost 8.30. There’s still time to make it to the fundraiser just before everyone starts heading home. He can’t remember what they’re raising money for this time, but if he doesn’t go, Chief Sullivan will lecture him for the millionth time about how they need to have a community presence at these kinds of events. He never sees the chief attend any, though.

  “Check the discarded items for paperwork, stickers; anything that could help identify where they came from. If it�
�s not obvious, we’ll just have to arrange for the whole lot to be moved and drop the case. We don’t have time for small nuisances like that right now.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Shelley walks away just as Detective Douglas arrives. He heads straight to the kitchen, so Mike follows him.

  “How’s it going?”

  Douglas glances at him. “Not good. The knife still hasn’t turned up. You need to take over at the amusement park because I have somewhere I need to be and the uniforms are currently there alone.”

  “Great,” mutters Mike. Unlike Douglas, he’s been working since the call-out to Nikki Jackson’s discovery early this morning.

  “While I was there, I was approached by two workers; a couple of teenagers. They seem to think Nikki Jackson’s death was a suicide pact gone wrong.”

  “Really?” Mike doesn’t believe it. “Could they just be spreading rumors?”

  “They said she has a boyfriend who also works at the park, but they wouldn’t give me his name as they didn’t want to get him into trouble. We need to check it out.” Douglas rubs his face and sighs. “As well as all the other shit we’ve got going on, Stephanie Garcia’s murder and Nikki Jackson’s death need closing asap. Let’s split them. I’ll continue with Garcia; you take the girl.”

  Mike thinks about it. Knowing Madison is coming back, and assuming she won’t want to liaise with Don, he says, “I’ll take over with Garcia. I knew her, so it makes sense.”

  “Fine,” says Douglas. “But you still need to babysit the uniforms at the park tonight. We need that knife.” He checks his watch. “Shit, it’s past eight. I need to get out of here.” He grabs his coat.

  Mike thinks this might be the right time to tell him about Madison’s impending return. He wasn’t sure she would actually come back, so he’s been holding off. “You remember Madison Harper, right?”

  Douglas stops and turns. “Of course. How could I forget a cop killer who shamed our department in the eyes of the community and the media?”

  Mike doesn’t like the way Douglas stares at people. It’s too intense and makes him feel like he’s a new recruit in the army, with Douglas the overzealous drill sergeant. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Douglas laugh in all the time he’s worked here. The guy needs to lighten up a little. “Well, she’s on her way home.”

  “What do you mean?” Douglas’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “It’s not been ten years yet.”

  “I know,” says Mike. “She got paroled early. She first contacted me just before Stephanie’s death. Said Steph was being hassled by some guys who were looking for her.”

  Douglas interrupts him. “Hang on a goddam minute. What was our victim doing talking to Madison Harper?”

  “They used to live together. They split up a few years before you came to town and they weren’t together at the time of Madison’s arrest.”

  Douglas’s face is getting redder by the minute. “And you never told me this? Don’t you think it’s pertinent to the homicide investigation to inform me that the victim’s ex-girlfriend was Madison Harper—the woman who killed her last lover in cold blood? Or have you forgotten that fact, Bowers?”

  Mike shakes his head. If this guy doesn’t get out of his face he’s going to react. He can feel his hands twitching. “I haven’t forgotten. Unlike you, I worked with Ryan Levy for five years and knew him well, so don’t act enraged on his behalf. You barely knew the guy.”

  Douglas turns away, taking a few steps toward the door.

  “Madison wasn’t in town at the time of Stephanie’s death, so it wasn’t her,” Mike continues. “Like I said, she contacted me last week and tried to get me to carry out welfare checks on Stephanie before the murder.”

  Douglas rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Bowers. How can you be so gullible? Just because she told you she wasn’t in town doesn’t mean she wasn’t, and it doesn’t mean she didn’t hire someone to do it for her. You should’ve told me who the victim’s ex was.”

  Mike tries to calm him down. “Listen to me. She’s coming back to bury Stephanie because there’s no one else to do it. She’s probably too ashamed to show her face around here for long, so I doubt she’ll stay more than a week. She served her time; now cut her some slack.”

  Looking like he has a renewed enthusiasm in the homicide now he knows Madison’s somehow involved, Douglas says, “I’m keeping the Garcia case. You can take the teenage girl.”

  Mike watches him leave, realizing he’s started a chain reaction that’s going to have explosive results.

  12

  The rain has eased, but it’s dark when they reach Stephanie’s road. Nate’s under strict instructions to turn the headlights off as he drives past the other homes and pulls into Stephanie’s driveway. They sit in the car for a minute before getting out. The radio is on low. He’s about to switch it off when a newsflash makes Madison stop him.

  “We have some breaking news for you now about the deceased teenage girl found at the Fantasy World amusement park in the early hours of this morning. Police have released her name—Nikki Jackson—and confirmed she was a local girl who was working at the park on the night she died. Her death is thought by detectives to be a tragic suicide with no one else involved, but local unsubstantiated reports now suggest the incident may have been either a suicide pact gone wrong or, in fact, a homicide. This is down to reports that the knife used in the incident is missing from the scene. Detectives Douglas and Bowers have yet to respond to these new claims. We’ll have more for you as soon as we get it.”

  Madison looks worried. “Did you hear that? She might have been murdered. Why else would the knife be missing? What if it’s linked to Steph’s death?”

  Nate’s not so sure. “Why would they be linked?”

  She looks away. “I don’t know, but two murders within a few days of each other isn’t common around here. Or at least it wasn’t. I need to find out the cause of death in both cases to see if there are any similarities.”

  He stays quiet. He doesn’t want to point out that she doesn’t have access to case files and witnesses anymore and isn’t in a position to interview anyone. Not in this town where people will remember what she was locked up for.

  Sitting on her hands and leaning forward, she’s having a good look at Stephanie’s house. “Ready to face your past?” he asks.

  She shakes her head. “Not really. It’s been over ten years since Owen and I lived here with Stephanie.”

  Brody whines softly from the back seat. He’s ready to get out, so they open the doors.

  Nate looks up at the house Madison has inherited. It’s a two-story with peeling white paint on the wooden exterior and a wraparound porch with a couple of potted plants and hanging baskets to cheer the place up. He can’t see any of the neighboring houses or farms from here, and with no street lights in the area, it’s mostly in darkness except for a single bulb burning orange outside the front door. They retrieve their bags from the trunk and walk up the steps to the porch.

  Torn crime-scene tape hangs from the front door and flutters gently in the breeze.

  “Wait here a minute,” Madison mutters.

  Brody follows her around to the side of the house, sniffing everything as he goes.

  Nate reaches for the yellow tape and balls it up in his hand.

  When Madison returns with a set of keys, she takes one off the ring and gives it to him. “You might need the spare at some point.”

  She opens the front door, but pauses before going in, then shudders. “It smells of her.”

  Nate’s not sure if she means it smells of Stephanie’s dead body, or of their life together. They walk through the door and into the hallway. That’s when the smell hits him: stale blood.

  He waits for instructions as Madison silently goes around shutting drapes and blinds. Then she switches the overhead light on, illuminating the spacious living room. Nate spots two lamps shattered on the floor and a large potted plant tipped on its side. The room is
nicely decorated, homely, with throws and books everywhere, but it’s hard to see past the evidence markers, the carelessly discarded latex gloves and the blood. There’s so much blood. It’s crusted into the carpet and there’s spatter over the upturned coffee table. He knows Madison didn’t ask her contact at LCPD how Stephanie died—she said she didn’t want to discuss it until she saw him in person—but judging by the amount of blood, he thinks it was brutal.

  He glances at Madison for her reaction.

  Her face is completely white apart from her red-rimmed eyes. She storms past him without comment and he hears her banging around in what must be the kitchen. Brody enters the living room and heads straight for the dried blood. He sniffs excitedly before sitting next to it and looking back at Nate over his shoulder. He barks once.

  “I know, boy. She died in here.”

  Brody barks again. He’s expecting a reward for his find, so Nate pulls out a pack of beef jerky he carries in his pocket as a treat. The dog immediately takes the strip from his hand. “Good boy.”

  He goes to find Madison. “Are you okay?”

  She spins around to face him, clearly angry. She throws the washing-up bowl into the sink. “The assholes couldn’t even get the room cleaned before I got here? Mike knew I was coming!”

  He moves toward her. He’s not a natural hugger after years of solitary confinement, but he wants to comfort her.

  She pushes him away and ignores the tears running down her cheeks. “No. I need to clean it up. We can’t sleep here with that.” She motions to the front room.

  “You can’t clean it up unless Mike gives you the all-clear. They must still be working the scene.”

  Madison turns away from him and leans against the sink. Her shoulders dip. She looks defeated.

  Brody walks up to her and paws her leg. She pushes past them both and heads upstairs.