Penfield left the study and walked back into the foyer. He walked up the stairs to the second floor. He found five bedrooms in all. The first bedroom he came to had been used as a makeshift closet. There were several rows of women’s clothing hanging on portable clothing racks. Penfield knew that Dr. Bachman’s wife had died. He must have refused to get rid of her things.
He walked to the far end of the room to make sure there was nothing concealed behind the tall racks of clothing, and he found a full-length mirror that had been shattered. It looked like something had been thrown at the center of the mirror for the cracks of the shattered glass spread out from there.
Penfield left the room and walked farther down the hallway. The second and third bedrooms were apparently used for guests. The furniture looked dated and there were no personal items to be found. Each guest room had a private bathroom, but there were no toiletry items on or under the sinks, nor was there any soap or shampoo in the showers. That made sense since he doubted Bachman would want guests in his condition. Penfield assumed the rooms had been used before the attack.
The fourth bedroom was completely different and its contents shocked Penfield. He found a child’s bedroom. The bed was small, and it had a New York Giants bedspread. There were also several posters on the walls of Giants players. Penfield had done a lousy job of keeping up with current sports, but he recognized these players as having been from teams that played at least twenty years ago.
He walked over to a dresser and pulled the top drawer open. It was filled with boy’s clothing. He found one t-shirt that had a superhero on the front. Penfield recognized the older style of the animated character as matching the same time period as the New York Giants posters.
Things got even stranger when he picked up a baseball trophy on top of the dresser. The award was for the Petersburg Pirates Little League baseball team. The boy’s name under the team name was Timothy Bachman.
Penfield left the room and walked to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. This space was as large as the other four bedrooms put together. There was a king-size bed against one wall with two nightstands on either side. A flat-screen television was mounted to the wall on the opposite side of the bed. Penfield flipped the lights on before entering and the two lamps on the nightstands lit up.
Penfield saw a large wooden dresser at the opposite side of the room. He walked to it and opened all of the drawers. It was filled with men’s underwear, socks, and t-shirts. He saw a door off to the side of the dresser. He opened it and found a walk-in closet. He turned on the light and saw long rows of men’s clothing hanging on both sides of the closet. At the opposite end, there was a floor-to-ceiling rack of men’s shoes.
He looked through the clothing and found it an interesting mix of old and new. That was true for most people’s closets, but Bachman had organized them so that all of the new clothing had been placed closer to the door. In fact, there were several new items that were still in their packaging, including expensive men’s suits, dress shirts, and ties.
Penfield couldn’t understand why a man who’d secluded himself in his home for the better part of a decade would want to buy clothing items that were only worn at either a business event or a potential night out on the town.
As he exited the closet, he saw something else that was even more bizarre. There was a full-length mirror leaning against the wall near the door. He’d missed it when he’d first entered the room. This mirror wasn’t cracked like the one he’d seen in the first bedroom.
Penfield looked at his watch. He’d been in the house for close to twenty minutes, twice the amount of time he’d set for himself. He walked downstairs and exited the house through the kitchen, careful to remember to turn the lock on his way out.
He jogged through the yard but made his way to the front of the house since the brick wall was too high for him to jump. He’d seen a control panel for the gate inside the property during his first visit. He approached the panel and saw a single red button. He pressed it and the gate swung open.
He walked through the gate and then jogged to the side of the Bachman estate where he’d left his car. The street was still deserted. Penfield climbed inside and maneuvered the car back onto the road. He turned left and drove to the front of the house to verify that the security gate had closed on its own.
Penfield drove a mile down the road and turned into an empty parking lot for an out-of-business grocery store. He pulled out his phone and called McMahon.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Doug. I’ve just come from Dr. Bachman’s house.”
“Why did you see him?” McMahon asked.
“I didn’t. He was gone, but I let myself in.”
“Gone? I thought you said that guy never leaves.”
“He’s not supposed to, but he wasn’t there, neither was his son, only I’m not so sure that was his son that I met the other day.”
“Why not?”
“Because I found a boy’s bedroom that looks like it’s been frozen in time. Everything in the room, from the boy’s clothing to the bedspread to the posters on the wall, is at least twenty years old. It’s certainly not the room of an adult man.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know, and unless Timothy Bachman is sharing his father’s closet, I saw no evidence that he stays there overnight.”
“Does he have his own place?” McMahon asked.
“He might, but he told me he lived there. Also, that wouldn’t explain the boy’s bedroom.”
“You’re right.”
“There’s something else. If your face was deformed from an attack, what is the last thing you’d want in your bedroom?” Penfield asked.
McMahon paused a moment.
Then he said, “A mirror.”
“Yet Dr. Bachman has a full-length mirror not far from his bed. Also, I found a mirror that had been destroyed in another room. It was hidden behind some clothing. Why destroy that one but not the other?”
“That’s a good question. I’d love to ask him.”
“So would I. Bachman is still involved. But a guy who looks like him can’t go many places and not cause a stir. Can you see if you can dig up any information on other properties he might own? And can you send me Dr. Mata’s personal contact information? I’ll see if she knows anything about Bachman’s son. She’s been the medical director there for a long time. She’s bound to know some personal details about Bachman.”
“Sounds good. Let’s reconnect in an hour,” McMahon said.
Penfield ended the call and a few seconds later a text appeared with Dr. Mata’s contact information. It was nearing ten o’clock by this point. He immediately phoned her, but the call went straight to her voicemail.
“Dr. Mata, this is Alex Penfield. I urgently need to speak to you about Dr. Peter Bachman. He’s gone missing. Please call me,” Penfield said, and he left her his cell phone number.
He thought about going back to his hotel so he could use his laptop to search for more information on Bachman and his family, but then his phone vibrated. It was Dr. Mata.
“Yes, Dr. Mata, thank you for calling me back so quickly.”
“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t take your call before. I tend not to answer calls at night if the person isn’t in my contacts list.”
“I understand.”
“What is this about Dr. Bachman having gone missing?”
“I went by his house tonight. He’s not there.”
“Why did you go to see him? Marcus Carter is dead,” Dr. Mata said.
“Yes, but I was reviewing my notes from my meeting with Dr. Bachman. I wanted to talk to him about some things he said, especially since Jenna McMahon is still missing.”
“He may still be home. He’s probably just asleep.”
“It’s possible,” Penfield said, not wanting to reveal to Dr. Mata that he’d broken into Bachman’s home. “But his son wasn’t there, either.”
“His son? You must be mistaken. Dr. Bachman has no son.”<
br />
“I met his son on my first visit there. He introduced himself as Timothy Bachman.”
“You must have heard wrong, Mr. Penfield. Dr. Bachman’s son died twenty years ago.”
“How do you know?”
“It was not long after I started at Central State. I distinctly remember it because Peter took a few months off after it happened. He and his family were driving home from dinner. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit them. His son died in the hospital a few days later.”
“Do you know how old he was at the time?” Penfield asked.
“Maybe eight to ten years old. It was horrible. Timothy was their only child.”
“What about the boy’s funeral? Did you go to that?”
“No, I wanted to, but Peter said that only family members would be present.”
“What about Dr. Bachman’s wife? Is that how she died?” Penfield asked.
“No, she survived the car accident, but I heard she died a few years ago. I was told it was cancer, but I never spoke with Peter about it personally. I still feel guilty about that, but I was trying to respect his privacy. He wanted to be left alone after the attack. I tried reaching out to him in the months right after he left Central State, but he would never call me back.”
“When I went to his house, I met a man who resembled Dr. Bachman. My best guess is that he was around forty. Short, dark hair. He was tall, maybe around six-one.”
“I don’t know what to say. Either Peter lied about his son dying all those years ago, which would make no sense, or the man you met is lying about his identity. But why would he do that?”
“Is it possible Dr. Bachman had another son?” Penfield asked.
“Anything is possible, but again, why would that man introduce himself as Timothy?”
“Did you ever hear anything about his caretaker? Someone had to have been assisting him all of these years.”
“Yes, I heard he’d hired a nursing service, but I don’t know which one. Usually home health care services like that rotate the staff, but it’s certainly possible Dr. Bachman hired a private nurse. Perhaps that was who you met.”
Which brought Penfield right back to an earlier question Dr. Mata had asked. Why would a caretaker pretend to be Peter Bachman’s son?
“Do you have any idea where Dr. Bachman may have gone? Did he ever talk about going to another property like a vacation home?”
“No, never, and I remember having several conversations about what we liked to do during our time off. If memory serves, he and his wife liked to go to Florida. I believe it was Miami to be precise. I think there was a specific hotel they liked to stay in, but I don’t remember the name of it.”
“Is there anything else he might have said at one point that could help me find him?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anything,” Dr. Mata said. Then she asked, “Agent McMahon’s daughter, Jenna, is there any hope of finding her?”
“We haven’t given up yet.”
“But you think Dr. Bachman knows something?”
“I do.”
“Will you do something for me, Mr. Penfield? Will you call me if you find Dr. Bachman? He was a dear friend.”
“Of course, Dr. Mata, and thank you for your help.”
Penfield ended the call. He had close to fifty minutes before checking in with McMahon, so he put his car in drive and went back to the hotel. After getting to his room, he logged onto the internet and searched for information on Dr. Bachman’s car accident. He couldn’t find anything, which didn’t surprise him since the accident had happened so long ago and certainly wasn’t national news.
He was also unable to find an obituary listing for Timothy Bachman. That didn’t mean the boy hadn’t died, though. Bachman and his wife may not have wanted to make their son’s tragic death public knowledge. Penfield was able to locate an online obituary for Bachman’s wife.
According to the posting on the funeral home’s website, she’d died a few years prior. There was no mention of the cause of death and Dr. Bachman was the only family member listed as a survivor. The obituary also stated that the funeral would be private, which coincided with what Dr. Mata had said about Dr. Bachman’s son’s funeral.
Penfield then did a quick search for home health care services in the Petersburg area. There were four listed, but several more popped up for the Richmond area, which wouldn’t have been too far for a health care provider to drive. It would take too long to contact them all and they wouldn’t be open this late anyway.
He shut his laptop in frustration. A second later, his phone vibrated on the table.
“Hey, Doug.”
“Were you able to reach Dr. Mata?” McMahon asked.
“I was,” Penfield said, and he filled him in on the revelation that Timothy Bachman had died twenty years ago.
“Strange news indeed, but it also makes sense given what you found in the kid’s bedroom. Bachman turned it into a shrine for his dead boy. What I want to know is, who was the guy you met?”
“He has to be involved, Doug. I don’t know how, but he is.”
“Do you think he’s forced himself into Bachman’s life? If he did, then why didn’t Bachman say something to you when you were in the room alone with him?” McMahon asked.
“He might have been too scared. He could have thought I wouldn’t have believed him. I mean why would I have, especially after the physical and psychological damage he’s been through? He would have assumed that I’d question his son, at least the guy who said he was Bachman’s son, and that guy would just laugh it off.”
“It’s a sound theory and that’s probably what I would have done too.”
“Were you able to find anything about Bachman’s property?” Penfield asked.
“I did and I’m already on the road. The only property I found registered to Dr. Peter Bachman is his house in Petersburg, but I did find a listing for his wife. She owned a home several miles outside of the city center. She either purchased it herself or it was left to her.”
“With her deceased, it would have almost certainly gone to Bachman.”
“Exactly. I looked it up online. It’s a large property, close to thirty acres, probably a farm. There are several others out that way.”
“A farm, which means no neighbors right on top of you. Plenty of privacy.”
“A thousand bucks says he’s holed up there with the guy claiming to be his son,” McMahon said.
“Have you called in your team?”
“Not a chance. I’m off the case and all they’d do is put the brakes on it. There’s nothing solid that ties Bachman to anything. We’d never get a search warrant.”
“You’ll still need backup.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Where do you want me to meet you?” Penfield asked.
34
The Field – Part 2
Penfield climbed inside McMahon’s SUV.
“This is the address,” McMahon said, and he handed Penfield a slip of paper. “I wasn’t able to find much on it beyond what I told you on the phone.”
McMahon put the vehicle back in gear and exited the parking lot. He merged onto the road a moment later. Penfield heard the vehicle’s engine rev and McMahon pushed down hard on the accelerator.
“Do you really think this is it, Alex? I don’t think I can take another dead end,” McMahon continued.
“Bachman’s false son is involved. He knows something and he’s going to tell us.”
“I keep asking myself why he allowed you to meet with Bachman in the first place.”
“It’s a game. You know that. He wanted to size me up and see if he could learn anything about the FBI investigation.”
Penfield googled the address on his phone and saw that the Bachman farm, if that’s what it indeed was, was ten miles from Central State. It appeared to be surrounded by several other farms that were much larger. Penfield couldn’t see any structures, like stores or a government building, that would attra
ct many people to the area.
“How do you want to approach this?” Penfield asked as they got closer.
“I say we go at him directly. He’s met you before and he sure as hell is going to recognize my FBI badge. We’ll see how he reacts.”
Penfield didn’t respond. It was about the only thing they could do. They still had no hard evidence on Bachman. It wasn’t like they could show up and kick down his door, especially if they’d gotten this all wrong.
An uneasiness settled into Penfield’s stomach as the GPS app on his phone indicated they were less than three minutes from the farm. What if the home was empty? What if the real killer was hundreds of miles away with Jenna still at his mercy? He didn’t even want to consider the option that she was already gone.
Penfield tried to push the doubts to the back of his mind. He pulled his gun out of his side holster and double-checked the clip. He put the Sig Sauer back into the holster. He felt the inside of his jacket pocket. The lock-picking kit was still there. He looked at his phone. Sixty seconds from arrival.
The SUV’s headlights barely made a dent in the darkness of the narrow, two-lane country road. It was a full moon, but the moon’s light was hidden behind a wall of clouds that threatened a storm. The area was as secluded as they’d thought it would be. They’d passed a handful of large signs with the names of the corporate farms, but they hadn’t seen anything for the last few miles.
“There,” Penfield said, and he pointed to a small mailbox on their left.
McMahon slowed their vehicle.
“2825,” he said, reading the black metal letters on the white post.
“That’s the address.”
McMahon turned off the paved road and onto a dirt one. The road was rough, and it had several large potholes that looked like they should have been filled with gravel years ago.
Penfield watched for the house as they drove. The headlights showed that the land on both sides of the dirt road was flat. There was no apparent vegetation.
“Looks like it might have been a while since this farm grew anything,” McMahon said.
They drove for another two minutes until the road ended at a large dirt patch. Penfield saw an old tractor off to one side. There was a white SUV on the opposite side. In the middle was a small, two-story farmhouse that had to be over a hundred years old. There were no lights on inside the house, but a small outdoor light illuminated the front porch.
Nature of Darkness Page 26