Never Forget Me: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 7)

by Dan Padavona

  Thomas reached into his pocket for a notepad. “Would anyone want revenge after all these years?”

  “Sure, the entire school.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. None of them changed. I ran into Tenny and Little around town over the years. Same jerks they always were. You assume people grow up after graduation, but not everyone does. And I never bought Garraway’s act on the news. All those crocodile tears when tragedy struck. Leave it to Tina Garraway to build a reputation over people’s suffering.”

  “So Garraway was a bully, too.”

  “The worst. That girl started more fights than the rest of the school combined.”

  “She ever hurt anyone?”

  Kiermayer shrugged a shoulder. “Lots of bloody noses and hurt pride. I always knew when Tina was beating some poor girl up, because you’d see Tenny and Little circling around to watch, shooting warning glances at anyone who thought about intervening.”

  “What about Georgia Sims? Was she friends with the others?”

  Kiermayer peeked down the hallway and ensure nobody eavesdropped. He scratched his cheek. “Georgia was part of their exclusive group. But she wasn’t like them.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Georgia realized her friends had gone too far and tried to talk sense into them. She never let the popularity go to her head. The girl had a conscience. I wasn’t surprised when I read Georgia took a position at Ascend. She genuinely wants to help people.”

  “Think hard, Mr. Kiermayer. Was there somebody Tenny, Little, and Garraway crossed who’d seek revenge eleven years later?”

  “I’m certain the entire graduating class would have loved five minutes alone with any of them. But enough to kill?” Kiermayer shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

  Two minutes later, Thomas concluded the impromptu interview and hurried to the parking lot.

  As he started the engine, he glanced at the school. For many graduates, Treman Mills High provided cherished memories and feelings of nostalgia. But for one person, high school had been a prison, a private hell.

  He needed to identify that person before the killer struck again.

  39

  The evening crowd gathered inside Level 13 when Aguilar and Lambert stepped through the doorway. The deputies refused the bouncer’s demand for fifty dollars, instead flashing their badges. Moving away from the door, the bouncer pleaded that he didn’t want trouble.

  A deejay worked the crowd from a stage along the far wall. Aguilar, wearing a faded jean jacket, blue jeans, and sneakers, muscled her way across the dance floor with Lambert trailing. Lambert also wore street clothes—khakis, sneakers, and a fashionable collared shirt. Aguilar’s partner appeared uncomfortable and out of his element inside Level 13, wound tighter than a cheap watch.

  Aguilar glanced at the women near the bar. All eight wore alluring outfits—miniskirts with high heels and fishnet stockings. None appeared a day over twenty-one.

  She tapped Lambert on the shoulder. “See those girls?”

  “The hotties beside the bar?”

  “Hookers.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Aguilar leaned toward Lambert’s ear to be heard over the clamor. “I recognize a few of the faces. Those are 315 Royals girls.”

  Lambert scanned the crowd. “The Royals are here?”

  “Possibly. Keep your eyes open.”

  Aguilar squeezed between two men nursing bourbon glasses. One man ogled Aguilar before he spied Lambert. Then he pulled his buddy aside and gave the deputies room. A blonde woman with a gap between her two front teeth worked the bar, polishing a glass with a white cloth.

  “Help ya?”

  “I’d like to speak with the manager,” Aguilar said as Lambert dropped onto the neighboring stool.

  “Oh, you must be Karen.”

  “That’s funny. I like you.” Aguilar set her badge on the bar. “Who runs Level 13?”

  The bartender swallowed and ran her eyes over the crowd. “Put that badge away. You want to start a riot or something?”

  “Those girls,” Aguilar said, tilting her head at the hookers. “They hook for the 315 Royals. Three girls I recognize from Harmon, and they’re under twenty-one. Now, you can either lead me to the manager, or we can check IDs.”

  A pinched expression formed on the bartender’s face. “Okay, okay. Keep your voices down. I’ll take you to Jesse. Just don’t start a fight. Some of our customers aren’t fans of law enforcement.”

  The woman tossed the rag on the counter and motioned for a younger man with brown hair to take over at the bar. She led Aguilar and Lambert toward a staircase. Two men who looked like football players guarded the stairs. Aguilar lifted her gaze to the closed doors on the second level. Her body tingled, wondering what dangers lay hidden upstairs.

  “Who are these guys?” a bearded bouncer asked the bartender.

  “Let us through, Lou. They’re here to speak to Jesse.”

  Lou and his partner glared bullets through Aguilar and Lambert. The two goons moved aside, and Lambert patted Lou on the shoulder.

  “Having a fun time tonight, Lou?” Lambert grinned.

  “The fun’s just starting, pig.”

  Their shoes clomped up the staircase. Another bouncer glared at them from the end of the second-level corridor. A door opened, and a woman in her early twenties peeked her head through. She quickly shut the door and turned the lock, but not before Aguilar spied a man in bed, pulling the covers up to his navel.

  “What kind of business are you running here?” Aguilar asked the bartender.

  The woman clamped her lips together and knocked on the third door on the left.

  “Come in,” a man’s voice said from behind the door.

  Aguilar touched the weapon concealed beneath her jacket.

  “These officers wish to speak with you, Mr. Fairbanks.”

  Jesse’s eyes widened. He stuffed a folder inside his desk. Jesse Fairbanks, manager and owner of Level 13, had a dark, receding hairline and sausage-like fingers. The obese man sat behind his desk and swung his gaze from Aguilar to Lambert, before shooting the bartender a reproachful glare. The woman raised her hands and shook her head, signaling that the officers hadn’t given her a choice.

  “Leave us alone,” Jesse said.

  “Want me to send Lou upstairs?”

  “Unnecessary. I’m certain we can clear up whatever concerns the officers have.”

  Music poured inside the office when the bartender opened the door. After it shut, the walls continued to rattle from the bass. Aguilar stood with her body angled between the desk and the door, in case someone burst inside.

  Jesse clasped his hands on the desk. “How may I help you, officers?”

  “I’m Deputy Aguilar with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department, and this is Deputy Lambert.”

  “Sheriff’s Department? That’s a first. Local PD stops in from time to time, but never the sheriff’s department. What may I do for you?”

  “We’re looking for a man named Osmond Bourn.”

  Jesse’s eye twitched before he composed himself. “I’m afraid I don’t know that name.”

  Lambert moved a step closer to the desk. “Don’t play dumb, Mr. Fairbanks. We have witnesses who placed Osmond Bourn inside your club on multiple occasions in the past week.”

  Jesse smirked. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but Level 13 is packed with customers every night. I don’t know their names.”

  “I’m positive you’re familiar with Mr. Bourn. He spends a lot of time on the second floor. Only VIPs pass the security check, am I right? By the way, what goes on upstairs?”

  “Nothing. I have my office, and the other rooms are for VIPs who wish to escape the noise.”

  “So they’re not having sex with the prostitutes who hang around the bar?”

  “What prostitutes? I’m not running a brothel, deputy.”

  “Strange that you have beds inside the VIP rooms. Do your customer
s require naps?”

  Jesse straightened his collar. “Enough with the baseless accusations. Unless you have a warrant, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “Not until you tell us where to find Osmond Bourn,” Aguilar said.

  “I told you, I’ve never met anyone named Osmond Bourn.”

  “Bourn works for a mobster in Coral Lake named Hunter Dalbec, and those girls downstairs are prostitutes with the 315 Royals. I spied one half-naked with one of your VIPs. I could shut you down right now.”

  “If those women are hookers, point them out. I’ll have my men toss them out of the club.”

  “You’re dealing with a dangerous man, and that makes me wonder if you’re affiliated with Dalbec, too.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve never heard the names Hunter Dalbec or Osmond Bourn. Go back to your station, deputies, and don’t return without a warrant.”

  Sweat glistened over Jesse’s brow. He reached for a paper covered with financial figures.

  “If that’s the way you want to play this,” Aguilar said as Jesse made a shooing motion with his hand. “You know, Lambert, I dig this club.”

  Lambert grinned. “So do I.”

  “I could get used to hanging out every night. What do you say we show up in full uniform tomorrow, hang out at the bar, and hobnob with the patrons?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Jesse brushed the paper aside. “This is harassment.”

  “It’s a free country,” Aguilar said. “I can visit any club I wish.”

  Eyeing the door, Jesse wrung his hands together. “All right, all right. What do I need to do to stop you from visiting my club every night?”

  Lambert crossed his arms. “Give us Osmond Bourn, and we’ll leave you alone.”

  “Would you lock the door, deputy?”

  Aguilar and Lambert shared a glance. Lambert placed his ear against the door before he threw the bolt.

  The owner rubbed his eyes. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Then tell us the truth,” said Aguilar.

  Suddenly, Jesse appeared twenty years older. His eyes hung with mental exhaustion. “I’m losing Level 13.”

  “That’s impossible. With all those customers crowding the bar and dance floor, you must rake in big bucks.”

  “Sure, if I kept my money.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You need to promise to protect my family if I tell you the truth.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  Jesse sighed. “Six months ago, this big lug visited the club after hours and demanded I pay him ten percent to stay in business.”

  “Osmond Bourn.”

  “He claimed it was protection money,” Jesse said, making air quotes around protection money. “I asked him who I needed protection from, and he claimed the 315 Royals were moving in on my block and wanted the club. I told him to leave. Then the next night, one of my security guards ended up in the hospital with fractured ribs and internal bleeding. Said a bunch of guys he didn’t recognize jumped him in the parking lot after closing time.”

  “You didn’t call the police?”

  “Bourn threatened he’d go after my wife and kids if I did. So I paid the man. Then ten percent turned into fifteen, and fifteen into twenty. Turns out we had nothing to fear from the Royals, because the Royals work for Bourn and his boss. In exchange for Level 13 staying open, Bourn and the Royals run a prostitution ring inside the club. They keep the profits, and I keep my business. Those monsters guarding the stairs aren’t my guys. Bourn replaced my security with his goons. Now they run the show.”

  “How often does Bourn collect his money?”

  “Once per week.”

  “When is the next payment due?” Lambert asked.

  “Tomorrow night at ten o’clock.”

  40

  The Wetlands Brewery off Route 7 was a long wooden structure with plenty of windows that let in natural light. Patrons filled every table inside the brewery. Servers bustled from one table to the next. Outdoor seating at picnic tables handled the spillover. The lawn offered spectacular views of the Nightshade River, and a food truck in the parking lot served sandwiches, lobster rolls, all-beef hot dogs, and chicken barbecue.

  Chelsey exchanged messages with Brynn Ortega until she located the woman at a picnic table on the grass. Brynn seemed all bones beneath her jeans and T-shirt. She wore her blonde hair in a bun, and her eyes appeared two sizes too large for her face. The woman worked on a grilled vegetable sandwich and a side of fries as Chelsey arrived.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Chelsey said, setting her bag on the bench. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”

  “No problem. I just ordered.”

  “What’s good?”

  “The veggie sandwich rocks, but I recommend the lobster roll. They get a truckload from Maine every morning.”

  A server with a mid-afternoon shadow on his cheeks took Chelsey’s order. She opted for the lobster roll and a fruit juice.

  “So you want to talk about Georgia Sims?” Brynn said, eyeing Chelsey over her drink. “Gotta admit, I haven’t thought about Treman Mills High in a long time.”

  “What do you remember about Georgia Sims?”

  A smile formed in Brynn’s eyes. “I grew up down the street from Georgia. We were as thick as thieves during our younger days, what the kids today refer to as besties. Sleepovers, bike rides, giggling about cute boys. Stereotypical best friends.”

  “Did you remain friends throughout high school?”

  Brynn lowered her gaze to the table and set her sandwich down. “Georgia grew into her body at thirteen. Me, not so much. I’ve always been the scrawny, mousy type. Georgia discovered boys and forgot about me. Once middle school started, she rocketed up the totem pole and left me behind.”

  “You mean she became popular.”

  “Very. And she changed, too.”

  “How so?”

  Brynn brushed a stray hair off her forehead. “She stopped talking to anyone outside her circle of friends. For a while, she was a real snot, stuck on herself and in love with her newfound popularity. It hurt to lose Georgia’s friendship, but I wanted nothing to do with the people she hung out with. I lost touch with Georgia in high school. We’d see each other in the halls. Most of the time, she looked the other way, like knowing me embarrassed her. But she softened before graduation. She even waved to me a couple times.”

  “Who did Georgia hang out with?”

  “All the popular kids. But her closest friends were Tina Garraway, Harding Little, and Wade Tenny.”

  And all three lay dead.

  The server returned with Chelsey’s lobster roll. Chelsey waited until he departed before continuing.

  “Did you stay in contact with Georgia after high school?”

  “No. I left for college early and moved into student apartments that July. There was nothing for me in Treman Mills. I waitressed summers at a bar off campus. Never came home except to visit my family on odd weekends.” Brynn set her hands flat on the table and tossed her hair back. “But things eventually worked out between Georgia and me.”

  “Oh?”

  “At our ten-year reunion, yes. Wow, that was already a year ago. Georgia spent the night apologizing for the way she treated me. Which struck me as weird because she blew me off during high school, but I can’t honestly say she acted mean. She remembered how close we were before middle school, and that meant a lot. Georgia said she worked to turn her life around after high school.”

  “So she’s making amends.”

  “More than making amends. She became a person with a purpose. After she told me she worked at Ascend and counseled battered women, I almost cried. As beautiful as Georgia always was, she was more so inside. I’m proud of her.”

  Chelsey finished her meal and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Tell me about Georgia’s friends.”

  “Ugh.” Brynn waved a hand through the air. “Georgia was best friends with Tina Garraway. I still can’t believe Tina died.
And now the sheriff’s department is calling it a murder? Wonder who she pissed off.”

  “I was hoping you might tell me. The same person who murdered Tina might want to hurt Georgia.”

  “Are you sure? Georgia hadn’t contacted Tina in years. She told me at the reunion.”

  “What about her other friends, Harding Little and Wade Tenny?”

  “Two class-A jerks and the biggest bullies in the school. I can’t say anything nice about either. It’s crazy what happened to Harding Little. Did he really jog off a cliff and fall into a gorge? I never liked the guy, but I wouldn’t wish something like that on him.” Despite the sunny warmth, Brynn rubbed a chill off her arms. “So weird, Tina and Harding dying in less than a week.”

  “And Wade Tenny.”

  Brynn swallowed her drink down the wrong pipe and leaned over, coughing. “What? Wade died? Since when?”

  “Treman Mills PD found Tenny dead in his kitchen. The rumor is someone might have poisoned him.”

  As the after-lunch crowd thinned, Brynn searched the faces, as though she sensed eyes watching her. “That’s not a coincidence. Georgia was friends with all three. And you say someone is harassing Georgia?”

  “There have been multiple break-ins at Georgia’s house. So far nobody has attacked Georgia, but the intruder killed her fish.”

  “Oh, my God. She must be horrified. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “There is. Brynn, think back to high school. Did Georgia’s friends make an enemy who might seek revenge years later?”

  Brynn sat back in her chair, her face blank. “I can’t imagine anyone from school committing murder. But people change.”

  “I know you said they bullied everyone in school. But was there one person in particular? Some boy they tortured worse than the others?”

  The woman stared into the distance, remembering. Then her eyes lit, and she snapped her fingers.

  “Do you remember someone?”

  “Not a boy, but a girl.”

  Chelsey clicked her pen and opened her notepad. “Who was it, Brynn?”

  “Kendra Harmon. She was overweight and had a terrible stutter. Tina Garraway’s life mission was to make Kendra miserable. Tina chased Kendra and beat her up on multiple occasions.”