The Elephant Bowl

by Charles Prandy

  August concluded the interview thinking that Justin would have gotten away with murder if it wasn’t for the Endearment Diary. When Mia wrote, He told me that I was his Superwoman and he was my Superman, August remembered the t-shirt that Briley had worn on the day the body was discovered. August had heard myths of the dead speaking from the grave, but in this instance, Mia’s words, written seven years earlier, had brought her justice.

  The End

  Between the Trees

  A Short Story

  Part of the Detective August Miller Series

  By Charles Prandy

  Chapter One

  As he walked down the narrow hallway, Carter Wyatt whistled a tune. He ignored the first two doors he passed, making his way right to the end, where he wrapped his hand around the final knob and jiggled it slightly. The door opened, and a flood of light from the hallway disturbed the darkness of the room, causing the young woman in the bed to squint. Carter walked to the bed softly.

  “Thought I heard you,” he said, as the young woman rubbed her eyes. “Bad dream, again?”

  She nodded, and Carter sat on the edge of the bed and gently ran his fingers through her hair, like a loving father.

  “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe.” He noticed that her eyes were moist and slightly red. “What was the dream about?”

  “My mother,” she murmured.

  “Miss her, don’t you?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “I know the feeling,” Carter said. “I miss my mother, too. Hard to believe it’s been ten years since her passing.”

  The girl whimpered and her eyes moistened.

  “Shhh, shhh… it’s okay.” He gently rubbed the back of his hand over her cheek and felt the wetness of her tears against his skin. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

  He leaned in and kissed her on her forehead. When he pulled away, she was looking at him as though she wanted to ask for something.

  “It’s okay,” he said again. “Please, let me know what you want.”

  She hesitated, but eventually said, “Can I sleep without the handcuffs?”

  He looked at her wrists and then followed the chain to the metal bedframe.

  “Are they too tight? They look fine.”

  “No, they’re not too tight. I was just hoping that I didn’t have to wear them tonight.”

  Carter studied her for a moment and didn’t see any deception in her eyes.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ve got to skip out for a few minutes. When I get back, if you’ve been a good girl, I’ll take them off. But you’ve got to promise to be a good girl.”

  She nodded, saying, “I promise. I’ll be good.”

  A smile crawled across his face.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  He stood from the bed and reached for the light switch. The bedroom immediately lit up. He looked at the bed, inspecting it for the slightest change, and then walked to the window on the far wall. He looked at the window and its casing, rubbing his finger around the window’s edge and then fiddling with the lock. Nothing appeared disturbed.

  “You see,” she insisted, “I’ve been good. There’s no place on earth I’d rather be.”

  “What about your mother?” he asked, turning.

  “It was just a dream.”

  “But you miss her?”

  She hesitated.

  “I’d miss it more if I wasn’t here with you.”

  Carter glanced at the window again before walking back to the bed.

  “Okay, when I get back, I’ll let you sleep without the handcuffs.” He raised his hand and pointed his index finger. “You’ve earned my trust. And I’m sure you won’t revert back to the time before that was true, will you?” She shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be back after a while.”

  Carter turned the bedroom light off and closed the door as he left the room. He whistled again as he walked along the hall, keeping up the tune as he crossed through the kitchen and into the garage. In the garage were two white, upright freezers placed beside each other. Carter opened the first freezer, in which the body of a frozen young woman was curled in the fetal position. On the floor in front of the freezer was a large plastic tarp. Carter pulled the body from the freezer, laid it on the tarp and began to wrap it up, all the while whistling the same tune.

  Chapter Two

  Three Days Later

  The rhythmic chimes from my cell phone woke me from a deep sleep. I’d only been asleep for about two hours, but I must have settled into REM, because my eyes burned and I felt exhausted as I lifted my head from the soft pillow. My shift wasn’t longer than any other, but I’d been on my feet most of the day, canvassing the streets for leads in the disappearances of three women. I was spent, maybe more emotionally than physically, knowing that three young women had been kidnapped, and I felt like I could have slept for two days. My bed had been a welcome sight, and I wanted to lay in it for as long as I could.

  “Hello,” I said, my voice heavy with exhaustion.

  “Hello,” a woman’s voice replied. “Is this Detective Miller?”

  I sensed hesitation and nervousness in her voice, which woke me up a little quicker.

  “Yes, this is Detective Miller. Can I help you with something?”

  “I’m at Motel 6 in Gaithersburg. A guy recently checked in. He was kind of creepy looking. I watched him go into his room. The girl he was with, she… I don’t know. She looked scared. I think she’s in trouble.”

  “What guy? Who is this?”

  “He’s in room three-sixteen. You’re the detective investigating the disappearances of those girls, right?”

  I was about to respond, but the caller abruptly hung up. I looked at the phone a moment, making sure that I wasn’t dreaming. What the hell? I quickly pulled up the notes app on my phone and wrote down the name of the motel and the room number. I’d given out my card to countless people over the past few days, so there was a possibility that this could be a legitimate lead. I dialed the hotel, having Googled the number, hoping that I’d hear the same woman’s voice on the other end, but a man answered. I told the man who I was and asked if a man and woman had recently checked in. He hesitated a moment, and I sensed that he didn’t want to give me the information.

  “Sir,” I said, with more authority. “Did a man and young woman recently check in?”

  “Yeah, not too long ago.”

  “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Carter Wyatt.”

  The name didn’t sound familiar.

  “Okay, I’m sending over a patrol car. Don’t disturb that room, understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  I dialed dispatch and gave them the information that had been relayed to me, telling them to have the officer call me when they got there. I was still tired, but definitely more awake than before. My eyes still burned though, and I yawned and stood from my bed. I quickly went to my bathroom, turned on the shower and tore off my clothes. I didn’t turn the knob to hot, hopping into the shower and yelling as the cold water beat against my warm skin. I climbed out shivering, but it had done the trick; I was awake.

  As I dried off and began dressing, my phone rang again.

  “Detective Miller.”

  “Hey, August, it’s Mason.”

  Mason Brady was a patrol cop who’d attended the academy with me.

  “Hey, Mason. You got the call?”

  “Yeah, we’re here at the motel. I double-checked with the guy at the front desk and confirmed that a Carter Wyatt recently checked in with a girl. He said this Carter guy looks like he’s mid-thirties, and the girl looked underage.”

  “Okay.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  I thought about the missing girls and wondered if this could be a solid lead. There are only so many reasons a thirty-something man would take an underage girl to a motel at this time of night.

  “I’m on my way. Call in another car and hang b
ack until I get there.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot. Motel 6 was three stories tall and shared a parking lot with a Chevrolet dealership. Walking over to the two squad cars, I greeted everyone, but gave most of my attention to Mason.

  “Any movement?”

  “None,” Mason said, pointing to a room on the third floor. “Light’s been on, but other than that, nothing.”

  “Okay. How about we introduce ourselves and see how this thing goes?” I said.

  Mason and I walked to the room and knocked on the door. A tall, lean man opened the door. He was shirtless and had a salt-and-pepper goatee, with dark brown hair that hung a little past his ears. Beyond him, a girl was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had her head down, but glanced up at us. I took out my badge.

  “I’m Detective Miller.” I was about to say something else, but the man cut me off.

  “Greetings, Detective,” he muttered, smiling slightly.

  “Are you Carter Wyatt?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  I looked at the girl.

  “What’s your name?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “She’s shy,” Wyatt said. “Her name is ‘Claire’.”

  “Is your name ‘Claire’?” I asked, looking at the girl. She didn’t look at me, but shook her head. “What’s your name?”

  “Camille,” the girl said softly.

  I looked at Wyatt; he still had the slight grin on his face.

  “How old are you, Camille?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Are you with this man willingly?”

  “No,” she gasped, and tears began to fall from her eyes.

  “Mason,” I said.

  “Sir,” Mason said, “please turn around and place your hands on top of your head.”

  Wyatt did so without a fight. I stepped into the room and stood next to the girl as Mason wrapped his cuffs around Wyatt’s wrists.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said to Camille.

  She leaned her head against my waist and cried harder.

  Chapter Three

  In the interrogation room, Carter Wyatt kept his eyes on me the entire time. He wasn’t overly emotional, or aggressive, or stoic; he stared at me as if he was looking into my soul. His grin hadn’t changed since he opened the door, and it made me uneasy, almost like he knew something I didn’t. I’ve found, over the years, that some men feel they can intimidate me because I’m a woman. They’ve tried tactics like aggression or threats to get me off my game, but it’s never worked. The way Wyatt stared, though, it didn’t feel like he was trying to intimidate me. Instead, I felt like he was studying me, and it creeped me out.

  The girl’s full name had turned out to be ‘Camille Hayes’. She had been kidnapped a week earlier on her way home from school, but she said that Wyatt had never touched her sexually. She also told us that he’d taken her to the motel as a treat for being obedient.

  “Why did you kidnap Camille?” I asked him.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “Had you seen her before?”

  “Nope. She was walking. I asked her if she needed a ride. I was surprised that she said yes. I guess the whole ‘stranger danger’ thing doesn’t get through to teens, these days.”

  His grin grew wider, and I sensed that he thought he was funny, but I didn’t. For a man in his mid-thirties, Wyatt looked young, and the car he had at the motel was a totally refurbished 1967 Ford Mustang. Even knowing the dangers better than most, I could see how a seventeen-year-old might accept a ride from a good-looking guy in a fixed-up hotrod.

  “Why’d you take her to the motel?”

  “Wanted a change of scenery,” he replied, shrugging.

  “Did you touch her?”

  “Nah, not my style.” With each answer, his eyes stayed trained on me. “I’m not a sexual deviant.”

  “What were you planning on doing with her?”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t sure. She’d been a good girl. Maybe I might have let her go.”

  I felt his candor was sincere, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing; he just wasn’t afraid of the truth. My mind had been turning ever since the anonymous call. Could Wyatt be behind the other disappearances, too? If he was, I got the feeling that he wouldn’t hide it.

  “Do the names ‘Faith Tremble’, ‘Ashley Calloway’ and ‘Isabella Montoya’ mean anything to you?”

  “Do you expect them to?”

  “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

  “Who are they to you?” Wyatt asked.

  I hesitated, caught off guard by the question.

  “Let’s stick with me asking and you answering.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “For now.”

  “Do you know those names?”

  “I do.”

  “How?”

  “I killed them.”

  Once again, I was caught off guard.

  “They’re dead?”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Why’d you kill them?”

  “Why do human beings do anything? Because we can.”

  “So you killed them just because?”

  “I’m sorry that I don’t have a more elaborate explanation. But yes, just because.”

  “Where are their bodies?”

  For the first time, he hesitated before answering. He sat back in his chair and briefly looked away from me.

  “Aren’t you curious as to why I’ve been staring at you?” he asked.

  “I told you, I’m the one asking questions.”

  “You were a victim once, weren’t you?”

  A chill ran through my body, goosebumps crawling up my arms. It felt like time momentarily stood still, as memories flashed through my mind.

  “What’d you say?”

  “It’s in your eyes. I’ve seen it before. It’s understandable if you don’t want to answer,”

  I looked up towards the camera at the top corner of the room, knowing that other detectives were watching. I kept my cool and checked my emotions.

  “Where are the bodies?” I asked.

  Wyatt smiled, but he didn’t push his question again. He told me where they were and how he’d killed them. We talked for another forty minutes, until I felt like I had enough information to conclude the interrogation and charge him with murder and kidnapping. I told him that I was done and then stood up from the table. As I was about to leave the room, Wyatt said something that made my blood run cold.

  “Don’t you want to know about the fourth?”

  I took a deep breath, startled by the question.

  “There’s another one?” I asked. Wyatt smiled, and I looked towards the camera again. “Who was the fourth?”

  “You mean, ‘who is the fourth?’”

  “She’s still alive?”

  “Well, I think so. You caught me before I had time to check on her.”

  “Where is she?”

  Wyatt’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head forward. The smile was now a devilish grin.

  “You seem like a pretty smart woman,” he said. “So now it’s time for me to ask a question.”

  “I’m not doing this,” I barked. “Where’s the fourth victim?”

  “But you see, if you want to know where she is, you are going to ‘do this’.” He cleared his throat. “Were you once a victim?”

  I looked towards the camera for a third time.

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Yes, it is,” Wyatt laughed.

  “Tell me where she is.”

  “Were you ever a victim?”

  I nearly threw my notepad at him, but managed to keep it in my hands.

  “Where is she?”

  Wyatt leaned back in his seat and studied me for a moment.

  “I can tell that you’re going to need a little warming up, so I’ll start with a clue. But if you want to find her before it’s too late, you’ve got to give something up.”

  “Where. Is. She?”


  “Between the trees.”

  “What?”

  “That’s your clue. You might have time to find her, you might not, but if you answer my question, I’ll tell you right now where she is.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “I am, but I’m not in the saving lives business, though.”

  I stormed out of the interrogation room, nearly pulling the door off its hinges as I left.

  Chapter Four

  I drove to Carter Wyatt’s home. He lived in a ranch-style house on a three-acre lot in Damascus, Maryland, about fifteen miles from my station. Wyatt’s house sat on a slight hill, surrounded by trees, and the driveway was long, about fifty feet into his property. The area was rural, with a lot of woodland, and I kept thinking about him saying, “Look between the trees.” His yard was covered with trees, and I wondered if it was already too late for his latest victim. Worse, it was still dark, but the morning sun was on its way, offering a funny sort of backup.

  It wouldn’t be enough on its own, though, and I was glad I’d primed the station to await my call for assistance. Pulling to a stop, I got in contact and told them I’d need a search team and forensics at Wyatt’s house, right away. Given the size of his property and the amount of trees that covered it, finding victim number four would need as many people as possible, but I felt optimistic that she was still alive. Wyatt had said he planned to check on her after the motel, and we’d interrupted his evening before he’d been planning to leave.

  A search team of a dozen officers arrived within twenty minutes, and the sun came with them. The air was crisp, and I could see my breath with each exhale. Being that it was late fall, the ground was covered with burnt orange and light-brown leaves, which was going to make it that much more difficult to see if there had been any recent disturbances in the ground.

  The larger team began to search the property, while I took a few officers into Wyatt’s home. The interior was like a flashback to the eighties; yellow linoleum counters and dark brown cabinets filled the kitchen. The floors were hardwood, which looked original to the house. At one time, the paint had probably been white, but the walls were now a faded grey. The bedrooms were all off the same narrow hall, with all of the doors closed. Given Wyatt’s admissions, I wasn’t sure what I’d find behind the doors.