Nature of Darkness

by Robert W. Stephens

  “They won’t find anything on her SUV either,” McMahon continued. “He probably punctured her tire right before she left the bar. He wouldn’t have needed to touch the SUV with his hands. She pulled over and he grabbed her.”

  “I know you have to go to D.C. You need to lead that team, but I can’t help you up there, not any more than your agents. There’s somewhere else I should go.”

  “Marcus?”

  “It’s bargaining time and I know what Marcus wants,” Penfield said.

  “You’re talking about Angela? How the hell am I supposed to get Jenna back if it means I have to produce a dead woman?”

  “Angela’s not dead.”

  “And you’re sure of that? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you can find her?”

  “Yes, I can. I’m not telling you this to bullshit you about Jenna. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. Jenna is a pawn to him, nothing more. I’ll make it clear that we won’t play their game unless she’s returned to us.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t heard anything yet. Hell, he could have been watching us in Hope Mills for all we know,” McMahon said.

  “Then let’s make contact before they have a chance. Let’s go on the offensive. We’re almost to Richmond. Drop me off and I’ll drive straight to Marcus.”

  “All right. I’ll call Dr. Mata and make this meeting happen as soon as possible.”

  Penfield turned from McMahon and looked straight ahead. Instead of seeing the road, he saw the bars of a cage. Ever since Agent Porter had read aloud the killer’s note at Kara Carr’s crime scene, Penfield had known it was Jenna who’d been taken. There were very few people who could relate to the horror McMahon’s daughter was feeling, but Penfield was one of them.

  I have her, Agent McMahon.

  That one sentence had pushed Penfield back to his childhood. He’d trembled on the inside as the memory of the man’s hands grabbing his shoulders returned to him. He’d been in the woods, a shortcut on the way home from school, when the abduction had occurred. The woods were not very different to where the MAI killer had left Kara Carr. Penfield remembered the sweet fragrance that had flooded his nostrils and made him grow dizzy as the man pushed the wet cloth against his face.

  He could see the man’s black eyes staring at him through the bars of his cage when he woke in the man’s house. He could see the greasy strands of the long dark hair that framed the skeletal face of his abductor.

  Finally, Penfield recalled the feel of the coarse surface of the wooden box the man had buried him in. Penfield screamed inside, a loud primordial scream of terror that no one could hear.

  Jenna was out there somewhere, and Penfield swore he would find her. He would beat it out of Marcus Carter if he had to. Still, there was a stop he needed to make before going to Central State. Marcus Carter wasn’t alone, and Penfield needed help.

  It wasn’t the type of help an FBI agent could provide, though. There was the shadow that had loomed over everything and it was the true cause of this horror. Penfield had finally accepted that, and it scared the hell out of him.

  20

  Henry Atwater

  After McMahon dropped him off at the Park & Ride, Penfield drove to the Church Hill section of Richmond. It was one of the older neighborhoods in the capital of Virginia and had had a resurgence in recent years. The area was now home to several quaint restaurants, bars, and stores, including clothing and antique shops. Many of the old homes, which had once stood in disrepair, had been brought back to life by both real estate investors and people anxious to rebuild a neighborhood with so much potential.

  Penfield had been to Henry Atwater’s home on a number of occasions, but he still had a feeling of apprehension in the pit of his stomach as he drove down Richmond’s side streets. His relationship with the old man defied easy classification. Atwater had helped Penfield solve a few of the toughest cases of his career, yet there was another reason that he was in the former cop’s life.

  He was the so-called psychic who’d found the kidnapped Penfield as a child. Atwater had been arrested afterward, the consensus being that there was no way he could have found the young Alex Penfield unless he’d been the one to bury the boy in the wooden box.

  Three decades passed before an adult Penfield showed up on Atwater’s front porch, seeking help with a case. Penfield and Atwater had worked out an odd partnership of sorts without the need to bring up Penfield’s childhood trauma, which had become Atwater’s trauma as well.

  Penfield parked his car on the street in front of Atwater’s house. It had been a few months since he’d last been there, but everything looked the same. The yard was still a mess of overgrown grass and weeds, and the home’s faded and chipped paint job hadn’t been addressed. It was an ugly sight on a street that had otherwise been fully restored to its original glory.

  Penfield climbed out of his car and walked the long sidewalk up to the house. He stepped onto the wooden porch and the boards creaked under his weight. He knocked on the door and the old man answered several seconds later. Henry Atwater was a tall man, standing eye to eye with the six-foot-three-inch Penfield. Still, the muscular Penfield probably had forty pounds on the rail thin Atwater.

  “Hello, Alex,” Atwater said.

  His voice was always soft, as if he felt the need to whisper everything he said. It had the result, intended or not, of forcing the listener to step closer to hear what was being said. Penfield always felt like an animal being lured nearer for the kill.

  “I apologize for coming by unannounced. There’s been a development in a new case I’m working,” Penfield said.

  “Please, come in.”

  Atwater stepped back and allowed Penfield to enter. He followed the old man down a dusty, narrow foyer that led to the living room. The curtains on the large rear windows were open and soft light flooded the room. Penfield and Atwater sat on two high-backed chairs near the windows.

  Penfield stared at the old man. He had his usual five days’ worth of gray stubble on his face. His hair was a mess, as if he’d just crawled out of bed. He wore a black V-neck sweater and faded jeans.

  “What is this case?” Atwater asked.

  Penfield told Atwater about the decade-old investigation that had culminated in Marcus Carter’s arrest. He spoke at length about the new string of murders and the FBI’s working theory that Marcus Carter was somehow still involved.

  “How do you think I can assist you? I assume that’s why you’re here,” Atwater said.

  “Something happened today, something that changed this case completely.”

  “Which is?”

  “The daughter of the lead FBI agent has been taken. I know this young woman and I’ll do anything to get her back,” Penfield said.

  “It’s been many years since I’ve found someone. We both know why I stopped trying to help.”

  “I understand.”

  “Even if I was willing, I probably wouldn’t be able to find her. I need a connection of some kind to the victim. I can’t explain it.”

  “I don’t expect you to locate her for me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I’m expecting a phone call any minute from the FBI telling me when I can speak to the man who I believe is behind this abduction. I want you there with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve spoken to him two times before. Something happened on the last visit.”

  Penfield paused a long moment.

  Then he said, “I saw something. I can’t explain it.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “There was something you said to me during our first case together. You said when there is great suffering and death, sometimes that can create an energy – another living thing so to speak.”

  “This other living thing, you believe you saw it?” Atwater asked.

  “If only for a brief moment. A second, maybe two.”

  “What did it look like?” Atwater asked.

  Penfield h
esitated. He was about to answer when Atwater cut him off.

  “No, I suspect you still like to test me.”

  “It’s not that,” Penfield said.

  “Whatever the reason, say no more about this vision. Let me go in there with a clear mind.”

  “Thank you.”

  Penfield was about to stand when his phone rang.

  “Excuse me a moment,” he said to Atwater, and he answered the call.

  “Hello, Doug.”

  “I just got off the phone with Dr. Mata. You can go there anytime you want to see Marcus. Does an hour from now work for you? I have Agent Santos heading to Central State now to meet you.”

  “An hour from now is fine,” Penfield said.

  He was about to bring up Atwater, but McMahon continued.

  “We found the location where Jenna was taken. There are drag marks in the dirt on the side of the road.”

  “What about her SUV?” Penfield asked.

  “It was found in a tow yard. The FBI has taken possession. The forensics team is already printing it. No sign of blood anywhere.”

  “And Cameron? How is she holding up?” Penfield asked, referring to McMahon’s wife.

  “I’m heading home now. She needs me. I hate to say this, but I’d rather be with you interrogating Marcus.”

  “I understand. Agent Santos and I will get the information and we’ll call you as soon as we can.”

  “Thanks, Alex. I owe you.”

  “You owe me nothing,” Penfield said, and he ended the call.

  Penfield turned back to Atwater.

  “Will the FBI have a problem with me being there?” Atwater asked.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. All I care about now is finding that girl.”

  Penfield and Atwater left his home and drove south to Petersburg. They were silent for the entire drive.

  When Penfield pulled into the parking lot, he saw Agent Santos’ vehicle. Penfield pulled into a space a few down from Santos’ car. He turned to Atwater.

  “Remember, there’s going to be pushback with you being here. We’re not going to let that stop us.”

  Atwater nodded and they both climbed out of the car. They walked into the lobby of the Central State building. Santos was already waiting, and he walked up to them. He glanced at the old man and Penfield registered the look of confusion on the agent’s face.

  “Agent Santos, this is Henry Atwater. He’ll be joining us at my request.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Penfield, but you and I are the only ones cleared to speak with Marcus Carter.”

  “Yes, I know, but I require Henry’s assistance.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “He’s provided valuable information for me on past cases. I believe he can help with this one.”

  “I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.”

  Before Penfield could respond, Dr. Adina Mata entered the lobby.

  “Can you come with me? Something has happened,” she said.

  She turned without getting a response from them and started walking back to her office. Santos looked at Atwater again and then at Penfield.

  “After you, Agent,” Penfield said.

  “He’s not speaking with Marcus Carter,” Santos said.

  Penfield didn’t respond.

  Santos took after Dr. Mata, followed closely behind by Penfield and Atwater. They reached her office and found Dr. Mata already standing in front of her desk. Penfield could tell something had shaken her.

  “What is it, Doctor?” Penfield asked.

  “I received this text a few minutes ago,” she said, and she turned around to face her desk.

  She picked up her cell phone and walked toward Penfield. Santos intercepted her.

  “May I see that, please?” he said.

  Dr. Mata handed him her phone. He looked at the display. Then he turned to Penfield.

  “Is this Jenna?” Santos asked.

  Penfield stepped closer to the FBI agent and Dr. Mata. He looked at the display and saw a photo of a terrified Jenna McMahon sitting in front of a black background.

  “Yes, that’s Agent McMahon’s daughter,” he said. “It looks like a photo of a photo. Look at the low resolution of the image. It was probably taken with a Polaroid camera so there would be no geotagging on the original image.”

  “What’s that?” Atwater asked.

  “Cell phone photos have all sorts of metadata on them, including the location of where a photograph was taken,” Santos said, and then he turned back to Penfield. “He could have turned off the geotagging, though.”

  “You still could have traced the phone’s location through the number. He’s being extremely careful. My guess is that he bought that phone months ago. He probably took the Polaroid of Jenna, traveled a couple of hundred miles and then photographed it with the burner phone.”

  “I don’t understand. Agent McMahon’s daughter was taken? He didn’t say anything about that when we spoke an hour ago,” Dr. Mata said.

  “He wouldn’t. The less people who know the better,” Penfield said. “Is Marcus ready?”

  “Yes. I’ve already had him moved,” Dr. Mata said.

  Penfield turned to Atwater.

  “Are you ready?”

  Atwater nodded.

  “I already told you. He’s not going in there, not without prior written authorization,” Santos said.

  Penfield pointed to the doctor’s cell phone still in Santos’ hand.

  “Listen, Agent, I suggest you take another look at that photograph of Jenna McMahon. Do you want to explain to her father why you didn’t do everything possible to find her?”

  Santos didn’t respond.

  Penfield turned to Dr. Mata.

  “Dr. Mata, am I correct in assuming that patients here are allowed visits from friends and family members?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I believe I’ve established that I was a colleague of Marcus Carter’s, have I not?” Penfield asked.

  “You have.”

  “Then I’m saying to you now that Henry Atwater is also a colleague. Will you grant him permission to see Marcus Carter?”

  Dr. Mata glanced at her phone in Santos’ hand. Then she turned back to Penfield.

  “As the medical director here at Central State, I hereby authorize you and Mr. Atwater to see Marcus Carter.” She turned to Santos. “Agent, based on prior meetings with Mr. Carter, I suggest that you and I stay in the observation room and allow just Mr. Penfield and Mr. Atwater into the meeting with Marcus.”

  Santos took a step closer to Penfield.

  “McMahon will hear about this.”

  “Now’s not the time to follow standard protocol. He’ll understand.”

  Santos didn’t respond.

  “I suggest you have your team trace that phone number,” Penfield continued. “And get on the phone now with McMahon. Let him know his daughter is still alive.”

  Penfield turned to Dr. Mata.

  “We’re ready.”

  21

  Nothing Like Us

  Dr. Mata led Penfield, Santos, and Henry Atwater to Marcus Carter’s interview room. The walk down the hallway was quiet with the only sounds being their shoes striking the white tiled floors. Penfield could feel the anger from Santos as if it were an energy wave reaching out toward him.

  “I think I should be in there, Penfield,” Santos said as they reached the door.

  “I disagree,” Penfield said without turning to the FBI agent.

  Penfield reached for the door handle but then stopped. He turned back to Atwater who was off to his right side.

  “Slight adjustment to the plan. I think you should go in the observation room with Dr. Mata and Agent Santos. When I glance at the mirror, that will be your cue to come in.”

  “I understand. Good luck,” Atwater said.

  Penfield nodded and then entered the room. As before, Marcus was already seated at the table with his wrists secured to a metal ring on the table. Penfield sa
t on the opposite side and Marcus looked up at him.

  “Something’s happened,” Marcus said.

  “Where is she?”

  Penfield watched as Marcus studied him for a long moment.

  “Something is different. Tell me what’s happened,” Marcus said.

  “So, we’re going to keep playing games? What is it you want in return for the woman?”

  “Damn it, Alex. We don’t have much time. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “Jenna McMahon, the daughter of Agent Doug McMahon has been abducted. I know your accomplice has her. What do you want?”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Really? I thought you said we didn’t have much time. Why continue to feign ignorance of a plan you orchestrated?”

  “Let me ask you a question. You’re one of the best detectives I ever worked with. How am I orchestrating anything from in here? I’m sure the FBI has reviewed all of the surveillance video of my cell. I’ve been monitored every second of the day since I’ve been here. Who have I talked to? Who has talked to me? You’ve run background checks on every employee who works here, I know you have. You didn’t find anything, otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me again. You have no leads, no forensics evidence worth a damn. It’s the same as last time. Do you know why that is?”

  “Tell me,” Penfield said.

  Marcus leaned closer to Penfield.

  “I didn’t kill those women ten years ago, just like I’ve got nothing to do with these killings now, or the kidnapping of Jenna McMahon.”

  “Yet you somehow knew the name of the next victim before the FBI found the body. How do you explain that?”

  “I’m a prisoner. Not just in these walls. I’m a prisoner inside my own head. I don’t know what it does unless it lets me know.”

  “It? What are you talking about?” Penfield asked.

  “Now who is being deceptive? You saw it on your last visit. I know you did. I saw the look on your face. It’s the same thing I saw the day my grandfather died. I told you before. It was waiting for me. It revealed itself to me and then it took control. I worked that case with you and Angela a decade ago, not knowing what it was. It wasn’t until the end that I learned the truth. By then it was too late.”