The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1)

by B. C. Lienesch

  Nightfall had crept over Harrisonburg and Jackson was losing sight of Daniels as he stepped in and out of the street lights overhead. Jackson pulled his FLIR monocle out of his pack and aimed it down the street. Against the cool front yards and vacant cars, Daniels was a fiery human-shaped blob on a dark blue sea. He came to and walked past the Parkers house without so much as look at it. When he turned the corner and took a left on Wolfe Street, though, he disappeared completely. Jackson dropped the monocle and sped up.

  When he got to Wolfe Street, he stopped and looked, spotting Daniels continuing to walk. Jackson turned and followed a couple hundred feet further before pulling over. He parked, got out, and continued tracking Daniels on foot.

  Cross traffic at High Street forced Jackson to draw an even distance with Daniels. They were standing in front of the crosswalks now on opposite sides of the street. The bill of his hat pulled low, Jackson watched Daniels out of the corner of his eye. If the man had spotted him, he wasn’t letting on.

  When the lights switched, Jackson walked as slow as he could without it looking out of place. Soon enough, Daniels had regained some distance on him. Jackson continued to follow from across the street.

  Maybe he was going to the microbrewery, Jackson thought, looking for a nightcap to wash down that greasy fast food. But fifty feet short of the brewery, Russell Daniels turned suddenly and crossed the street. Jackson stepped sideways, ducking quickly behind a small tree and trash can, worried Daniels would see him. But Daniels didn’t look his way. He got to the curb and didn’t slow down. The hairs on Jackson’s neck pricked up again. Russell Daniels stepped into the parking lot of Eddie’s Appliance Repair, heading for the back of the shop. Jackson reached for the P320 concealed in the small of his back and disengaged the safety.

  Now walking as fast as he could without running, Jackson rapidly closed the distance between Daniels and him. When Daniels disappeared around the corner of the building, Jackson broke out into a full-on run. Posting up against the side of the building, he drew his gun.

  He turned the corner quietly. Daniels was doing something with the back door to the repair shop. Distracted and with his back turned, Jackson made his move on Daniels. In a split second, he was on him, pinning his face against the door. Jackson pressed the cold steel of the gun against the back of Daniels’ neck to make it abundantly clear he was armed.

  “Put your hands out at your side,” said Jackson.

  “Please, I didn’t do anything,” begged Daniels.

  “Hands. Out. Now,” ordered Jackson again.

  Daniels splayed his hands against the door, palms open.

  “Please, officer. I didn’t do anything,” Daniels said.

  “I’m not the police,” Jackson replied.

  “Well I don’t have any money, man,” said Daniels.

  “Stop. What are you doing back here?”

  “What do you mean, man? I work here.”

  “Bullshit, you work at a cell phone store across town.”

  Daniels’ expression was a mixture of panic and confusion.

  “How did you—wha—I work here, too,” Daniels said.

  “It’s not listed on your sex offender registration.” Clay replied.

  Panic overtook the confusion.

  “Please,” Daniels said, “I don’t know what you—”

  “Sara Beth Parker,” Jackson said.

  “Who’s that,” Daniels asked.

  “She’s the girl that disappeared right here three weeks ago. And now here you are, a registered sex offender, after hours, lying about working here.”

  “I—I do, though.”

  “If you worked here, this address would be registered. Or you’d be in jail. Or do I need to call someone to clear that up?”

  Daniels breathing became erratic. He looked like he was on the verge sobbing.

  “I do work here. I swear to Christ, man,” said Daniels, “Just not, like, for real. I come in after hours, clean up the store and stuff. The guy here, he leaves me some cash.”

  Jackson was starting to piece it together.

  “The owner’s paying you under the table,” Jackson said.

  “I asked him for a job,” Daniels managed to say in between short, panty breaths, “He said he would never hire a pedophile like me. That’s what he called me. To my face. Then later he called me and said if I took out the trash and stuff after hours, he’d give me some cash. It’s almost nothing, but it’s tax free and I need it. So I do it.”

  Jackson engaged the safety on the P320 and dropped it to his side.

  “So that’s why you’re here now,” said Jackson, “To clean the place up?”

  “Yeah, Eddie told me to come after the store’s closed,” Daniels answered, “I guess so people don’t ask about me.”

  Daniels motioned with the keys in his hands towards the door, as if to ask Jackson if it was okay if he open the door. Jackson nodded.

  “Your sexual assault conviction. What was that,” Jackson asked.

  “Eleven years ago, I was at a bar,” Daniels began, “I started talking with this girl, I thought we were hitting it off. I had been drinking a bit and at one point I grabbed her inappropriately. She got scared. I said I was sorry, but she ran out. Next day, I wake up to cops at my door telling me she was 17. She had gotten in with a Fake ID. I’d assumed her being in the bar meant she was at least 21. When she told her parents what happened, they called the cops. I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

  Daniels got the door open. A few trash cans sat at the back door with a message taped to them. Daniels pulled it off and read it. He shook his head.

  “Asshole,” Daniels muttered under his breath as he shoved the note in his pocket.

  A small part of Jackson felt bad for Daniels. He’d made a mistake at an age where people make mistakes. That didn’t excuse what he did, but there were far worse people who hadn’t paid the way Daniels had. Now Jackson knew what Cole meant about not seeming like the type.

  “That’s why I didn’t say anything to the police, in case you’re wondering,” Daniels said.

  “What,” asked Jackson.

  “When I saw the cops were looking around here for her,” Daniels replied, “I asked Eddie if I should say something but he told me to shut up and keep my head down. So, I did.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you have talked to the police?”

  Daniels looked at him with a puzzled expression. He seemed surprised Jackson didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Because,” he said, “I was here that night.”

  29

  Scott pushed the tower of chairs he had just stacked over to the corner of the room, looking back to double check he hadn’t missed any.

  “Is that all of them,” asked Jeff Isaacs.

  “I think so,” replied Scott.

  On Sunday evenings, Isaacs held a weekly support group for parents or loved ones of missing children. It was an open-ended invitation, not just limited to the organization he had founded, but Scott had a sneaking suspicion that Isaacs saw it as a way to subtly indoctrinate those who attended.

  “Thanks for helping clean up,” said Jeff.

  Jeff placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder and gave him his signature wholesome grin.

  “Not a problem,” replied Scott.

  Isaacs was always quick to offer a hug or an arm around the shoulder. Scott personally could do without it, but he felt like Jeff meant well, so he went with it.

  After all, Jeff had done more to help them than most. The news and the media had moved on. Neighbors still wished them well, but they had their own lives. Even their interaction with the authorities had grown sparse. But Isaacs had remained. And with his wife at home mostly walling herself off from everyone, Scott, at least, was grateful.

  “You want me to hit the lights,” asked Scott.

  “No need,” replied Jeff, “The pastor said to go ahead and leave them on. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  The meetings were hel
d in a banquet room attached to Dogwood Mennonite Church on the edge of the Eastern Mennonite University campus in Harrisonburg. Scott had never met anyone involved with the church personally, but Isaacs had told him how supportive they were, going as far as to even pass along funds the church had raised to help PACTV spread the word when a child had recently disappeared.

  The two men were leaving the church, making small talk as they went, when a car parked curbside caught their attention. Detective Angela Cole was leaning against her unmarked police car. She gave them her professional smile as they waved at her.

  “Detective, what a lovely surprise,” said Jeff.

  “It’s good to see you again, too, Mr. Isaacs,” replied Cole, “You too, Scott.”

  “Good evening, Detective,” said Scott, “What brings you out here? You working tonight?”

  “I’m always working, I’m just not always paid for it,” replied Cole, smiling again.

  Isaacs laughed much harder than the silly joke warranted. Making an effort to be friendly as always, Scott thought.

  “No, actually I wanted to talk to you,” said Cole, looking at Scott.

  “Oh, okay, sure,” replied Scott.

  The conversation paused, neither wanting to make outright eye contact with Isaacs.

  “Ah, right,” said Isaacs after allowing the awkward moment to linger a little too long, “Well, I’ll be off then. Have to hurry home to feed the cats, anyway.”

  “Have a good night, Jeff,” said Scott, “And thanks again.”

  “Don’t mention it,” replied Isaacs, walking towards his car, “See you later.”

  Scott leaned up against the police car next to Detective Cole. The two of them watched as Isaacs climbed into his car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Didn’t figure him for a pet guy,” said Cole.

  “Yeah,” replied Scott, “Can’t blame the guy. Must get lonely after all these years.”

  Cole nodded at the church.

  “How are these things going,” she asked.

  “They’re alright,” replied Scott, “They fill the time.”

  “Anne not going anymore,” asked Cole.

  “No, it’s not really her thing. I got her to go to the first one. Now, she just says I’m wasting my time. I don’t know. Maybe I am, but I can’t just sit at home and wallow.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s like she goes deeper and deeper into her own little world every day. I just figure when she’s ready to talk, we’ll talk.”

  Detective Cole nodded without saying anything more. She’d never been married and certainly never had a child of her own disappear. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the despair Anne Parker must be feeling.

  “So, what’s up,” said Scott.

  “Right,” answered Cole, “Well, I just wanted to tell you we haven’t given up on Sara Beth. I haven’t given up.”

  “No, I know,” replied Scott, “And listen, if I haven’t expressed how grateful I am, how grateful we are, that’s on me.”

  “No, no. You’re fine. I just meant I wanted you to know that there are people still looking for her. People more than just myself.”

  “I know, we really do appreciate it.”

  Cole smiled at him and nodded again. She wanted to just come out and level with him. That for whatever reason, something inside her told her this case was different. She wanted to tell him how far outside the box she was on this one. How far she was going for them. And maybe also herself.

  “Well, I better get going,” Scott said, “Anne’s probably waiting for me.”

  “Sure,” replied Cole, “Tell her I said hi. And you know, what I said.”

  “I will,” said Scott, “Have a good evening.”

  “You too,” Cole said.

  She watched from her car as Scott climbed in his and pulled out just as Isaacs had, waving as he went by. She waved back. Tonight, would mark 20 days since the man’s daughter, Sara Beth, disappeared. A fellow detective told her she should be bracing herself to find a body. That anything short of that would be a miracle.

  Cole closed her eyes, praying for that miracle.

  30

  Jackson stared at Daniels as he processed the man’s admission.

  “What did you say,” asked Jackson.

  “I said I was here. The night that girl was taken,” Daniels answered.

  “And you saw something,” Jackson said.

  “Yeah. A van.”

  “They didn’t see you?”

  “I guess not, I didn’t open the door. I looked out through the viewing slot.”

  Jackson looked at the back door. It had a speakeasy style peephole covered by a metal grate. Jackson’s face had been no more than a few feet from it outside and he hadn’t noticed it. Someone in a car wouldn’t have seen it, either.

  “Okay, a van,” said Jackson, “Anything else?”

  “No,” replied Daniels, “I heard the engine outside. I thought it might be Eddie coming to check on me or something, so I looked out the slot. When I saw it wasn’t him, I thought it might be someone trying to jack the place. So, I hid.”

  “You hid where,” asked Jackson.

  “Inside the store. Behind the register up front. I figured if they came in, I could break a window or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, I was scared.”

  “But no one came in.”

  “No.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Nothing. Maybe like half an hour went by. I wanted to leave out the front, but what if it was nothing, you know? Somebody calls the cops on me or tells Eddie I was out front? I wasn’t about to risk my job or jail, man.”

  “Okay, 30 minutes went by. And what?”

  “I don’t know, I heard a couple doors slam shut and they left. They didn’t rob the place or do anything to the back of it. I figured what I didn’t know couldn’t get me in trouble, you know? Then, the next day I heard a girl was missing from right around here.”

  “You saw them leave.”

  “I saw them pull out of the lot. I was looking from the front of the store.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Up that way.”

  Daniels pointed towards High Street, the direction he and Jackson had come from. This was something. Even without anything else, now there was a van and a direction of travel. It was a start.

  “The van, what did it look like,” asked Jackson.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t see it that well,” Daniels answered.

  “Well was it white, black, blue, purple, what,” Jackson asked.

  “It was dark. Black. Or maybe like dark blue. I don’t know.”

  “And it turned that way towards High Street?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you see anything else?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Did the van have anything that might identify it? Writing on the side? Noticeable damage?”

  “Um, Its lights, kind of. It had those crazy bright headlights. The ones that are like bluish white.”

  “Xenon?”

  “I guess. They aren’t like regular headlights.”

  “I got it. Anything else?”

  “No. That was it.”

  Jackson stepped back, giving Daniels room. He saw the keys Daniels dropped on the ground, picked them up and handed them over.

  “Is that it,” asked Daniels.

  “For now,” Jackson replied, “I know where to find you if I need more.”

  Daniels rolled his eyes before turning for the back door. Jackson watched as he fumbled with the keys, searching for the right one.

  “Russell,” said Jackson, “Let’s keep this little meeting between us.”

  “Fuck man, you think I want to tell someone,” asked Daniels.

  Jackson gave him a nod and began walking back the way he’d come. When he was out of the lot and back on the sidewalk, he pulled out his phone, punched in Cole’s number, and put it to his
ear.

  “It’s Clay,” he said, “I’m going to need traffic camera video from the night Sara Beth was taken.”

  31

  Sara Beth listened as the van slowed. They’d put her back in there, the same one that’d taken her from everything she knew and everyone she loved at some point long ago. She wasn’t sure how long, though. The construct of time was a house of cards to her that had since collapsed.

  After being separated from Meghan and Keera, she’d been moved to a windowless room where she was moved out of the dog crate. Inside what was little more than a glorified broom closet, her disorientation continued. Her mind would switch back and forth, telling her the room was her sanctuary then turning around and screaming at her that she needed to get out. Without warning, her heart rate would spike and she’d struggle to catch her breath. The men outside who’d bang on her door and tell her to knock it off made it only worse.

  She’d started to refuse to eat. When the door opened and two men grabbed her, she’d assumed they were about to force feed her to keep her alive. Instead, though, they’d shoved her back in the van and left the place with the crates and tiny rooms behind.

  Now the two men held her down in the back of the van as it turned. She couldn’t see their faces, just the leather vests and jeans they were wearing. Neither of them said anything except the occasional ‘stop it’ when she tried to move around.

  They had their collective weight on top of her when the van’s brakes wailed in pain. They came to a stop. Sara Beth’s heart rate ramped up again and her breathing became shallow just as it had in the windowless room.

  “She’s fucking freaking out again,” said one of the men as the van doors opened.

  Standing in the opening was a third man, large and hairy with a handlebar mustache and receding hairline. Darkness surrounded him. Wherever they were, it was night out.

  “She’ll get over it,” he said.

  Sara Beth recognized his gravelly voice and southern accent. The man squatted down to Sara Beth’s level as she laid on the floor of the van. He waited until she calmed down enough and met his eyes with hers.