The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

  Seven hours prior, the information would have stunned Reed. His eyes would have bulged as he tried to ascertain why the chief was refusing to delve into something so heinous.

  Having now met him, he wasn’t quite as surprised.

  “If he acknowledges it, he’s expected to solve it,” Reed whispered, moving ahead. “Let me guess, blaming the girl, saying she likely ran off with a boyfriend or something?”

  “That’s part of it,” Wyatt acknowledged. “The rest is citing an unreliable witness.”

  A fellow law enforcement agent was often considered the definition of a reliable witness. No alcohol was involved, and there was zero personal attachment to the town or the victim.

  Reed only wished some of the witnesses he dealt with could be considered as trustworthy.

  His rear molars came together as he clenched his jaw tight, letting the tension encompass his entire upper body. Fixing his gaze on the front of the home, he held the squeeze for a moment before slowly releasing.

  “Wonderful,” Reed said.

  “Yeah,” Wyatt agreed. He raised a finger, pointing to the alley Reed had been studying a moment before, and said, “I talked to Herc at the Sinclair, and he said Serena cuts through the alley to get home most nights after work.”

  “Work?” Reed asked.

  “Hanley’s Diner, right across the street,” Wyatt replied. “Spoke to the cook there, guy named Curt Walton. He confirmed she handled closing last night. He left just after nine, she was just a few minutes behind him.

  “Which...”

  Not needing to finish the thought, Reed nodded. That would have been directly in line with when he was there, explaining how she had appeared so suddenly behind him.

  Working past the information, Reed thought on the two people Wyatt had just alluded to. He would need to speak with each of them in the coming hours, though for the time being, what Wyatt had already done would be sufficient.

  “You talked to the family yet?” Reed asked.

  Lifting a hand, Wyatt scratched at the top of his scalp, a long sigh sliding out. Glancing over, he said, “Mixed race, quite the scandal twenty-five years ago, I’m sure. Father was from the reservation, killed in a car accident eight years back, when she was a junior in high school. Mother drank herself into a stroke afterward, never fully recovered. Serena still lives at home with her, basically raises her two sisters.”

  How Wyatt knew all of this, Reed didn’t bother to ask. He could imagine that in a town like Warner, the story had been front-page news for the gossip mill, everybody knowing what happened even as it was still playing out.

  “Girls are twins, now both fourteen,” Wyatt added. “I stopped by this morning, but they were already off to school. Not sure the mother even knew who I was.”

  “Also explains why Ecklund isn’t pressing too hard,” Reed said. If the family was well-to-do or calling every few minutes, he would have no choice but to take the matter seriously.

  Given the story Wyatt had just shared, there was little risk of such a backlash rising from the Gipsons.

  “Yep,” Wyatt agreed.

  Flicking his gaze to the clock embedded in the dash, Reed asked, “What time does school get out?”

  Doing the same, Wyatt said, “Finished fifteen minutes ago. If they’re not home now, they will be soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The initial meeting had gone much like The Bear expected based on how the girl had handled her first moments after waking up. While she might have sat on the bed and called out, asking for help, imploring anybody within hearing distance to come to her aid, the instant the door opened and she saw him, any fledgling resolve melted.

  Tears returned, her legs quivering, unable to support her body. From there, she had crumpled to the floor, reduced to a blubbering mess.

  How the girl had any moisture left in her body, The Bear didn’t feign to know. The better part of a day, most of which was spent sobbing uncontrollably, had passed since she’d had any water.

  As fast as the encounter had started, it was over. The Bear still had no interest in watching such drivel and exited the room. Returning to his sanctum next door, he reclined in his seat, watching the muted screens for the better part of a half hour as the girl went through all the expected paces a second time.

  Curling into a ball on the floor, she hugged her knees to her chest. She eventually made her way back up to the bed, where she continued to sputter.

  And she had finally found some tiny bit of the wherewithal she had shown a few minutes before.

  Part of the preparation The Bear had made was in anticipation of such a display. Armed with a loaded mini-fridge, he grabbed a bottle of RC Cola and a roast beef sandwich wrapped in deli paper, a late lunch, while the silent movie played out around him.

  There was a time not that long ago when even the thought of a human being enduring such a thing would have overwhelmed him. Especially one who looked the way she did.

  He would have sprung from the chair and sprinted into the opposite room, removing the shackle and rushing her to the closest medical facility.

  And he would have paid for the entire thing, apologizing to her a thousand times throughout. And later, when the authorities asked what happened, he would have shouldered complete responsibility, even taking on things he had nothing to do with.

  But those times were gone.

  Long buried and left behind, they had hardened him into the person he now was.

  A man who would eventually turn this girl into the woman he wanted her to be.

  Knowing he had the rest of the afternoon, that his schedule had been prepared for this very thing, The Bear took his time with the sandwich. He savored the cool saltiness of the beef and the tang of the mustard, knowing that the girl would probably enjoy some of it as well. Or a swig of the cola he washed it down with. Or even a damned saltine and glass of water right about now.

  Such things were still a long way off for her, though.

  Training was only just about to begin.

  Finishing his meal, The Bear stuffed the garbage into a plastic sack and dropped it on the floor by the door. Rising from his seat, he reached out and flicked on the sound to the monitors, standing in silence, his gaze tracing over each of the screens before him.

  As best he could tell, the emotional outburst had passed. No sounds of crying found his ears, not even the ragged breathing of someone just a few moments removed.

  Instead, he heard nothing but silence, the quiet matching her pose as she sat on the bed. One leg folded beneath her, the opposite knee was raised, her chin balanced atop it. Staring straight ahead, she made no effort to glance around, her hair hanging lank around her face.

  Not the most submissive of poses he’d ever seen, but close enough.

  Heading for the door, The Bear stepped from the room out into the narrow corridor. Cut entirely from concrete, the floor had been blown free of any dust or chafe. The pale glow of overhead industrial lighting illuminated the space, the total length more than thirty yards in total.

  The faint smells of fertilizer and diesel fuel found his nostrils, their familiarity pushing renewed resolve through him.

  No matter how the room he was about to step into was made to look, this place was his element. It was cut from a spot he knew well, no amount of wallpaper or hardwood or oil soap was ever going to change that.

  Things were on his terms now. A fact he had forgotten long before and had paid dearly for.

  In ways far outstripping any number of slaps to the face.

  Taking a step forward, The Bear slid each of the metal latches holding the girl’s door to the side, hearing them pull free with an audible click. Shoving it inward, bright light flooded out around him, his eyes dilating as he paused, both sides appraising the other.

  In his life, The Bear had made mistakes. Many of them. He’d been neglectful, naïve, overly trusting. He’d been blinded by the wrong things, relishing money and beauty, allowing them to control him.

>   Just as he was sure the girl before him had made mistakes.

  And like him, she was about to pay for them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The previous night, Reed had only gotten a brief glimpse of Serena Gipson as she walked by. Just long enough to get a basic approximation of her appearance, he was left with the impression that she was in her mid-twenties, tall for a female – especially one wearing sneakers – and in a hurry to get somewhere.

  And that she was pretty in a natural sort of way, free of heavy makeup or a fussy hairstyle.

  Beyond that, whatever he’d gotten were platitudes, things like dark hair and a dark complexion, obvious descriptors that could confirm an identity but were too broad to ever pick someone from a crowd.

  Characteristics exactly matching those of the young girl standing before him. Looking even younger than the fourteen years Reed knew her to be, the Native American ancestry was obvious as she peered out from the narrow crack along the side of the door. Her eyes wide, she glanced in quick order from Wyatt to Reed and Billie standing a step lower behind him.

  “Yes?” she asked, her voice threaded with a fear that permeated her features.

  “Good afternoon,” Wyatt opened. Unclipping his badge from his belt, he held it up for her to see and said, “My name is Officer Wyatt, with the Warner Police Department. I stopped by this morning and talked to your mom about the call you guys made about Serena, but she said I should come back this afternoon to talk to you and your sister as well.”

  Reed knew the explanation was completely made up, the sum total of what Serena’s mother shared being far less than even that. Still, he had to admit, the delivery was smooth, Wyatt clearly having worked with children before.

  “These are Detectives Mattox and his partner Billie. They’re here from the city to help us find your sister.”

  Once more, the girl went through the procession, checking each member of the trio before her. As she did so, a second face appeared behind her, a mirrored copy of the first.

  Together, they both stood in silence for a moment before the girl pushed the door open a bit wider. Standing to the side, she said, “Okay, come on in. But please be quiet. Mama is taking a nap.”

  Allowing Wyatt to lead the way, Reed brought up the rear with Billie. His pupils dilated as he entered, the interior of the home dim to the point of being almost dark. Only after a moment did his vision adjust, allowing him to make out his surroundings.

  The cause of the low light were the blinds lowered over each of the windows in the house. Atop them were heavy curtains pulled to within a few inches of each other, keeping all but the slightest bit of ambient glow from entering.

  The floorplan was designed to open wide to either side. On the left was a living room setup, replete with a sofa, recliner, and coffee table. Along the far wall was a wooden TV stand with a flat screen resting on it, the item easily the newest thing in the home by at least a decade.

  To the right was an open kitchen and dining room housing a single table and four wooden chairs. Piled high on every horizontal surface was a menagerie of items, ranging from school books to jackets, making it clear that it had been quite some time since the family had sat down to a meal together.

  Not entirely surprising, given the recent history that Wyatt had shared before entering.

  Extending straight back from the front door was a hallway, Reed imagining bedrooms and bathrooms jutting off to either side.

  Overall, the place was decorated in a way that reminded Reed of the homes of some of the older witnesses he’d visited over the years, many of the furnishings seeming to be from a different era. Brown and green were the predominant colors, the walls void of paintings or even photographs.

  A place that Reed would not generally envision as the dwelling of four women, three of whom were under the age of twenty-six.

  Heartache and tragedy had a way of doing such things, though, bringing the world to a stop, freezing it in time.

  An eventuality Reed had seen too many times to count.

  Standing on a small linoleum foyer just inside the door, he glanced to Billie. “Down.”

  On cue, Billie dropped to her haunches, her backside planted on the yellowed plastic mat. At the sight of it, Wyatt and both girls all paused, looking at Billie before glancing up to Reed.

  As a working detective, there were very few places that Billie wasn’t allowed to go. With the exception of fresh crime scenes, where the risk of contamination might be too great, Reed made a point of bringing her wherever he went.

  Much like Riley, she was his partner, entitled to be by his side.

  Even if it was a little startling to people unfamiliar with how the K-9 patrol worked.

  “She won’t bother anything,” Reed said, looking to the girls. “She’s very well-trained, won’t move an inch until I tell her to.”

  In unison, both girls nodded, the one that had opened the front door asking, “Can I pet her?”

  “Of course,” Reed said. Seizing on the opportunity, he glanced to the other one. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you show Officer Wyatt Serena’s room while we do that? I’d hate to take up any more of your time than necessary.”

  “Sure,” the girl replied, glancing to her sister before turning toward the back hall. Without saying another word, she disappeared from view, Wyatt doing the same a moment later.

  Pausing as he exited, Reed looked to the remaining sister and said, “Show her the back of your hand first.”

  Extending his own, he bent toward Billie, showing her what he meant.

  Watching for a moment, the girl gingerly inched forward. Hunched at the waist, she matched Reed’s pose, her arm held out, hand limp at the wrist.

  Stretching her neck forward, Billie put her nose within an inch of the girl’s fingers, breathing deeply.

  “This is Billie,” Reed said, reiterating what Wyatt had said on the front step. “What’s your name?”

  “Maisie,” the girl replied, her posture still rigid, her focus square on Billie.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Maisie,” Reed said. His attention on Billie, he said, “Billie here is a Belgian Malinois, which is a very specific type of police dog, trained to smell things there’s no way you or I could. Did you know her nose is almost forty-five times more sensitive than ours?”

  Chancing a quick glance away from Billie, Maisie looked his way, her eyes widening a touch. “Really?”

  “Really. Almost two-thirds of her brain is dedicated entirely to what she smells.” His attention still on Billie, he watched as his partner completed her initial assessment. Pulling back, she stared intently forward. Her tongue flicked out over her muzzle, a single flash of pink against her solid black coat.

  “That’s why I had you show her your hand first,” Reed said. “That way she can get your scent, make sure you’re not a threat in any way.”

  “Oh,” Maisie said, still pitched forward slightly at the waist. “So I can pet her now?”

  “Absolutely,” Reed said.

  Taking another step forward, the girl dropped to a knee. She ran her palm back over Billie’s head before moving down the length of her neck.

  The girl asking to pet Billie had been the perfect opening for Reed. Many times before, he’d attempted to interview multiple witnesses, often finding that the two seemed to muddle one another more than help. Each person often wanted to prove that they had seen or heard everything the other had, usually diluting the amount of usable information.

  Not that the part he mentioned about wanting to save time wasn’t true also, even if it was more for their benefit than the Gipsons.

  “Maisie, do you mind if I ask you some questions while you do that?”

  “No,” the girl replied, her focus fully on Billie. “Go ahead.”

  “Okay,” Reed replied. “Which one of you called in to the police station about Serena?”

  “Josie,” she answered.

  Assuming that to be her sister, Reed asked, “What time w
as that? Do you know?”

  “Sometime before school this morning,” Maisie said. “I was in the back with Mama, helping her eat breakfast. That’s when we thought something might be wrong. Serena never misses feeding times.”

  Nodding slightly, Reed continued, “Has she ever stayed out all night before?”

  “Mmm, not really,” Maisie said. Tilting her head to the side, she flexed her fingers, working them along Billie’s ribcage. “She stays up super late all the time studying, but she’s never gone overnight.”

  “Never?” Reed pressed. “Not with her friends or a boyfriend or anything?”

  Pausing her onslaught on Billie’s fur, Maisie looked over, her features solemn. “Serena has friends at school and at work, but that’s the only time she gets to see them. She hasn’t had a boyfriend since...”

  Unable to bring herself to finish the statement, Reed nodded in understanding. He didn’t need her to complete the thought, already knowing where it was going.

  Reaching out, he ran a hand down Billie’s spine, feeling the vertebrae beneath his palm. Stroking the length of her back twice, he waited until the moment was past, until the girl began to do the same again, before asking, “Can you tell me, have there been any strange phone calls since last night?”

  “We don’t even have a phone,” Maisie said. “A friend from class lives next door and let Josie use his. Serena has a cellphone she lets us use if we need to call our friends or talk to somebody from school, but that’s all.”

  His next question already answered, Reed asked, “Could I get you to write down Serena’s number for me before we go?”

  “Sure,” Maisie replied.

  Nodding, Reed fell silent a moment. Working through the checklist he’d put together in his mind on the way over, he couldn’t think of anything more to ask at the moment, having hit the high points for an initial interview.

  There was no boyfriend, not a great deal of friend interaction, and thus far nobody had tried to contact the family. Just a single glance around proved why, the likelihood of there being any money to speak of quite remote.