Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

  As they reach the ticket booth for the Wonder Wheel, they see a sign indicating that it’s closed. The lights are on but the huge structure is eerily still.

  “This is where the girl was found,” Madison says. The yellow crime-scene tape means no one can get too close. But there are teenage boys taking selfies in front of it, obviously for social media. She shakes her head at them and they walk away grinning. She spots two girls crying as they light a candle on the ground near the ticket booth, next to some flowers, but as she moves toward them, they scurry away, embarrassed.

  Brody, who has been trailing behind Nate and stopping to lick up any spilt food or discarded hot dogs, walks past them and under the barrier for the Haunted House. He vanishes into the darkness.

  Madison looks at Nate. “Is he allowed in there?”

  He smiles. “Guess he wants to find a ghost. Come on, let’s make sure he doesn’t scare any kids.”

  They approach the ticket booth. A girl takes Nate’s money and lets them into the house. She doesn’t mention Brody, so it looks like he went unnoticed.

  Inside the house, it’s pitch black and the floor is purposely uneven to make them feel disorientated. Madison can’t see Brody because she can’t even see her hand in front of her face. Pre-recorded screams erupt all around them, along with random banging on the walls and flashing light displays, trying to scare them into believing the mannequins dressed like monsters are real. It’s only when someone runs past her in the darkness that Madison actually screams and turns to Nate, trying not to grab him.

  He’s laughing. “I didn’t think this kind of thing would scare you.”

  She holds her hands to her chest as she continues through the maze, cursing Brody under her breath. There’s only one direction to go in. They climb four steps into a hospital operating room, where an actor has a girl tied to the table. She’s screaming for help and it’s so convincing that Madison gets as close as she can to check she’s not a real victim about to be murdered.

  “Hey, lady. Step back would you?” says the doctor. “You’re ruining our act.”

  They continue forward into a room lit by battery-operated candles. She can see Brody ahead of her.

  “What’s up with him?” asks Nate.

  The dog is sitting next to a coffin with his back to them. He looks over his shoulder and barks. Chills run down Madison’s spine. He did that when he found Stephanie’s blood in the house.

  Just then the coffin lid swings open and a mannequin dressed as a vampire springs toward them. It makes her jump, and Nate laughs.

  “Brody?” The dog jumps into the open coffin and sniffs the interior. Then he jumps out and barks again. Madison leans forward to see what he’s found, mindful that the mannequin is probably about to fall back and the coffin close any minute. She spots a pocket knife. It has something on its blade but she can’t tell what, as the lighting in here is too poor. She turns to Nate, who’s peering over her shoulder. “It’s part of the act, right?”

  Brody barks again, louder this time.

  Nate pulls out his cell phone and uses the flashlight to examine the knife. “That’s a real knife. And Brody can smell blood.”

  “Shit.” Her first thought is: what if it’s the knife used to kill Nikki and it has Owen’s prints on it? But she can’t believe her son had anything to do with his girlfriend’s death. The way Luke described their relationship, they were practically joined at the hip. Which means the prints on this knife could actually clear her son as a suspect. She needs to give it to Mike. She doesn’t know if she can trust him anymore, but she knows for a fact she can’t trust Douglas.

  She has no choice. She pulls out her phone.

  42

  As Mike walks into the fully lit Haunted House, he sees the cheap facade behind the clever light displays and shadows. The rooms are dingy and dirty and the mannequins all look like they’ve seen better days. A dog he recognizes from Madison’s house approaches him with a ball in its mouth. It doesn’t wait for a pat on the head. Instead it turns, leading Mike toward the voices.

  When he enters the room, he spots Trevor kneeling on the floor next to a coffin, fiddling with some mechanical device. Madison’s talking to a tall guy with brown hair and broad shoulders.

  “You must be Nate,” he says.

  “The one and only.” There’s no move to shake hands.

  “Thanks for coming, Mike,” says Madison.

  She doesn’t smile, and he senses an underlying tension after what happened out at the McCoys’ place.

  “We’ve found a knife with remnants of dried blood on it, and because of the Nikki Jackson case I thought you’d want to have it tested for DNA and prints before anyone else stumbles across it.” She points to the coffin, where a vampire mannequin is standing glaring at him.

  “If I lean in, is this thing going to fall on me?” he asks.

  Trevor stands up, screwdriver in hand. “No, I’ve switched him off.”

  Mike’s a little annoyed that Madison found something his team have been searching for. The officers obviously didn’t look everywhere. Maybe the coffin was closed when they came in here, but still, they should have opened it. That’s the problem with a small team: not enough staff for a thorough job. He looks at the dog. “Did he find it?”

  “Yeah, he’s a cadaver dog,” says Nate. “He could smell the blood.”

  Mike raises his eyebrows. “So you’re a cop?”

  Nate looks disgusted at the suggestion. “No. Brody’s previous owner was a cop. I’m an investigator.”

  A private investigator? Mike suddenly realizes why Madison’s been travelling with this guy. She’s hired him to look into her case. That pisses him off. Most PIs he’s met who weren’t cops themselves at some point tend to have a thing against law enforcement, assuming they can do a better job. In Mike’s experience, they’re more like paid vigilantes. He wonders why Nate and Madison came here tonight; it clearly wasn’t to enjoy themselves.

  “Let me take a look.”

  Trevor steps to one side as Mike pulls out a pair of latex gloves and crouches down next to the dog, who makes no attempt to move out of the way. Instead he bites into his ball, which makes a high-pitched squeal right next to Mike’s ear. He winces. “None of you have touched the knife, I assume?”

  “Of course not,” says Madison. “Do you think it’s the same knife used on Nikki?”

  “Well, if not, it could mean there was another crime committed here at some point. There could be a second victim somewhere.”

  “Shit, I hope not,” says Trevor. “I could really do without more bad press right now.”

  Madison is peering over Mike’s shoulder, and he can tell she’s excited to be at a potential crime scene for the first time in a while, but she has no right to any information. “I’ll bag it up and give it to forensics.”

  “Would that be Alex?”

  He’s surprised. How does she know that? “Yeah. I find him irritating, but you’d probably get on with him.”

  Madison almost smiles and Mike can tell that Nate’s suddenly uncomfortable. He wonders why. Are the two of them screwing each other? Maybe that’s how she’s paying him.

  He uses his cell phone to snap some photos of the knife and its location before turning an evidence bag inside out to pick it up. Then he stands. “Thanks for calling this in. I’ll get Alex in to do a sweep of the place.”

  “No problem,” Madison says.

  Trevor excuses himself. “I’ve got to go put out the next fire.” At the door, he turns back. “Just do me a favor, Detective: let me know when I can reopen this building to customers, would you? I’m already losing money while the wheel’s closed. That was my biggest earner.”

  Mike nods. “Sure.”

  When he’s gone, Madison steps closer. “Has there been any progress on the guy Douglas was questioning for Steph’s murder?”

  He sighs. “I really can’t tell you that, Madison. You know the drill.”

  “I’m not asking for his na
me, but you could at least tell me if he’s confessed. I mean, Stephanie was my friend, and let’s not forget I was considered a suspect at one point. I’d like to know if that ridiculous assumption is off the table now so I can tell my attorney I won’t be needing him again.”

  He knows she’s right. “He hasn’t confessed, but you’re no longer considered a suspect. So if you want to leave town, you’re free to do so.”

  Clearly annoyed, she shakes her head at him. “If you want me to leave town then help me find my son and I’ll happily leave tomorrow. With Owen.”

  He tries to hide his irritation. He doesn’t like her talking to him this way, especially in front of the PI. “I’m not going to argue with you, Madison; it’s getting late and I’ve had a really long day. I’m glad you called me about this,” he waves the knife, “but I’ve got to go. Nice meeting you.” He nods to Nate.

  As he walks out of the Haunted House, he finds himself wishing Madison would just leave town already. She’s causing more trouble than she knows.

  43

  Angie’s sitting on the porch with her morning coffee, watching the horses frolic in the paddock as the sun rises above them. There’s a chill in the air and she’s struggling to wake up after a bad night’s sleep. Trying to relax, she focuses on the birdsong and the horses gently neighing, but it’s spoiled by the tinny echo of the radio in the repair shop, along with the staff’s crude laughter and the sound of the car crusher sporadically grinding steel and shattering glass.

  She sighs in frustration. She never gets any peace around here. What she’d give for another woman in the family, someone to empathize with her. Someone to complain to. Not for the first time, she resents not being able to get pregnant. She would have loved a daughter.

  Wyatt approaches and takes a seat in the wicker rocking chair next to hers. He places his coffee on the small table and removes his dirty baseball cap to wipe the sweat from his brow. He’s been working since the crack of dawn. If she were him, she’d leave the real work to the staff and enjoy the fruits of their other business. But she’s glad he doesn’t. It’s bad enough having him close by every day, but actually in the house? They would have killed each other by now.

  He was impressed that she’d got Mason out of the way before the cops—or Madison—could track him down. But he pointed out that it wasn’t an adequate long-term solution to the mess the boy had got himself into. She had to agree.

  Before they can discuss it again, she hears footsteps on the graveled driveway. She looks up and is shocked to see Mason walking toward them.

  She stands up. “What do you think you’re doing here? You’re supposed to stay in hiding.” She looks around to see if they’re being watched. No one can see them on this side of the house, unless one of the guys from the scrapyard comes looking for Wyatt, but she knows they’d keep their mouths shut.

  Mason climbs the steps to the faded wooden porch and leans against the railing. Wyatt says nothing, but he’s watching his son with a hard stare. She doesn’t think Mason realizes how bad this could be.

  “I don’t want to live in hiding,” he says. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s not the point, for God’s sake! The cops are going to try to pin that girl’s death on you. What part of that don’t you understand?”

  He looks like he didn’t sleep a wink last night either, and she feels for him, but she’s trying to protect him.

  “She’s not ‘that girl’; she was my girlfriend. I want to explain myself to the cops, to stop the media making me out to be a murderer.” He nervously looks at his dad.

  Wyatt laughs, but it’s not jovial. “Are all teenagers this goddam stupid, or is it just you?”

  Mason looks away. “I’m not being stupid. It’s called doing the right thing. I’m going to speak to the police. I’ve seen what that reporter’s been telling people about me on the news.”

  “You mean you would seriously have us risk all this?” Wyatt motions to the property. “I’m telling you now, Mason McCoy, you need to do what we say and lie low until they close the case. That girl killed herself, it’s obvious, so the fact that they want to speak to you about it tells me they’re up to no good. They want to use her death as a motive to get a search warrant for my property and my businesses. You know what can of worms that would open?”

  Mason’s face is red with pent-up anger. “If you had nothing to hide, they wouldn’t be after you. That’s on you, not me.”

  Angie shakes her head. Challenging his father like this is going to end—at best—in tears. But she can’t help feeling this conversation is long overdue. She steps between them, as it’s undoubtedly going to get ugly.

  Wyatt stands up. He’s four inches shorter than Mason but about ten times meaner. “It’s time to pick a lane. We’ve been too lenient until now. You need to quit that shitty job of yours at the park, stop dreaming that you’re going to be a goddam lawyer of all things and help me run this place full-time instead. Maybe if you prove your loyalty I’ll let you help with the other side of things too.”

  Angie knows this is Wyatt’s last-ditch attempt at keeping Mason with them. He wants his son to stay forever; he wants someone to leave all this to when he retires. He wants the McCoy name to continue long into the future. But if Mason chooses wrong now, Wyatt won’t give him another chance. Despite everything, Wyatt loves his son, but he can’t understand how the two of them are so different. Angie knows it’s because Mason spent longer with his mother. Madison has clearly rubbed off on him, despite their attempts at making him a McCoy.

  Mason’s shaking his head and his eyes are wild, but he doesn’t speak. Angie can tell he’s considering his options. He takes a step toward his father, making her catch her breath. He’s not the kind of kid to stand up to a bully. Wyatt would have him on the ground in seconds.

  She pulls on his arm. “Help me in the kitchen for a second, would you?”

  “That’s right. Go help your momma clean dishes like a good little girl.”

  “Screw you!” shouts Mason. “You don’t even care what I’m going through! My girlfriend died. She was…” He stops as if realizing there’s no point trying to explain her qualities to his dad. He’s right, Wyatt doesn’t care. “Nikki was worth ten of you, you asshole. We were going to leave this dump. We were going to escape both of you!” He looks at her. “And now it’s ruined.”

  Wyatt glares at him and Angie can tell he’s as surprised by the outburst as she is. Then he lunges forward and her heart jumps into her mouth.

  “Wyatt, he’s just a kid. Leave him alone.”

  Wyatt’s eyes are mean. “You thought some tramp was going to save you from your family? Let me be real clear, boy: your choices in life are limited. You either work for me or you’re on your own. I won’t pay a red cent toward you from this day onwards. You won’t be able to afford to finish high school, never mind go to college, and I’ll make sure no employer in Colorado will hire you. Not even Taco fucking Bell. You’ll be blacklisted, just like your bitch of a mother.”

  Mason gasps.

  “So go make out with your little high-school girls and find out if love pays the bills.” Wyatt picks up his coffee cup. “Now you better get out of my sight before I whip your ass.”

  Mason’s eyes are red but he’s never looked more like his father. He looks like he could kill right now. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that.” Tears are threatening to spill from Mason’s eyes. He pushes past Angie and heads into the house.

  44

  Angie hears Wyatt laughing as she follows Mason inside, up to his bedroom. She’s worried that if he leaves now, she’ll never see him again. He pulls out a large sports bag and starts stuffing it with clothes. Then he fills his backpack with his laptop and more expensive items.

  “Mason, please don’t go. You can’t leave me with him. Not like this.”

  He spins around and she stops dead in her tracks, worried he’s going to hit her, completing the transformati
on into his father.

  “I want out of here, for good!” he yells.

  “Please, just calm down.”

  He’s breathing hard and returns to pulling things out of drawers, but more slowly now. She thinks he’s listening. There could still be hope.

  “Don’t do anything rash. You have to believe him when he says he’ll cut you off. You can’t do anything in this country without money, Mason. You know that. Why do you think I stay with him?”

  He turns to face her, calmer now. “Because you’re as bad as each other.”

  She takes a step back, his words like a slap to the face.

  Mason appears instantly regretful. “Why is he like this? If he didn’t want me living with him, I could have lived with Stephanie!”

  Anger bubbles in her chest at the thought of Mason going to live with that woman. He was devastated when he read about her recent death. He disappeared all day and wouldn’t talk to her about it when he returned. It was only the next day that she was able to explain to him that Stephanie Garcia was more than likely murdered by someone who worked for his mother; someone Madison had paid to kill her. He couldn’t argue with the fact that if his mother could kill a police officer, she was capable of killing anyone.

  She thinks about Madison being back in town. If Mason finds out, he’ll undoubtedly want to see her. When he first came to live with them, his mom was all he ever talked about. Her and Stephanie. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see them anymore, so Wyatt explained what Madison had done, even though the social worker had told him not to. She had said it would have serious consequences for his mental health to know at that age that his mother was a killer. But they had to get him to stop asking after her and to move on with his new life with them.

  He didn’t believe them for the longest time. He said his mother would never have hurt Officer Levy because they were friends. After Madison was convicted, and child services had approved him living with them, he stopped asking after her. He finally accepted he had to live with his dad, and things slowly got better. They settled into their new routine and it was like he’d always lived with them.