His Sweet

by Hildur Sif Thorarensen

  “Guys, we’ve got a problem.” Detective Matthews had just arrived, wearing an uncharacteristically grim look.

  “What?” Yolanda knew she could hardly take any more setbacks at this point, but she also needed to know everything possible, even if it meant losing ground on the investigation.

  “I just got off the phone with Eddie; he was working on this all night, and neither the partial plate number nor the ones from the traffic cameras match any of the new guys either.” He looked exhausted, like a man trapped between hope and disappointment, working on little sleep and drinking coffee that no longer helped. The look on Matthews’ face and the collapsed hunch of his shoulders bypassed Yolanda’s intellect and went straight to her heart. She realized that this case was personal not only to her; he had been looking for Lily for years.

  “I’ve got another list Eddie might be interested in working on.” Yolanda spoke before she could stop herself. “It’s not fully fleshed out—I just started looking at it yesterday, but it may be worth taking a glance at. That is if Eddie doesn’t have anything more urgent.”

  “No, no, of course. Let me see.”

  They went over the names Yolanda had collected and the sheet of companies that she had written to, as well as the immense number she had yet to contact. Meanwhile, the FBI agents continued to work down the list of patients, even those without a connection to the partial license plate number. They couldn’t be sure that was relevant.

  Yolanda and Detective Matthews decided that Eddie would continue sending out her email template to the other engineering firms, as well as looking up the names she had already gotten, comparing them to the plate numbers. He would then run those names against the list of patients they had. Yolanda had created a fake email account for this endeavor in case somebody might recognize her real name, so she just needed to give Eddie her login information, and then she could be on her merry way with the FBI.

  Somewhere inside, there was this glimmer of relief, as if she had made the right decision and set a series of events in motion that would eventually lead to them solving the case. Whether the feeling was real or not, it felt satisfying, and that was more than she could have hoped for on a day like that.

  ”Please settle down, sir. We’re not here to invade your privacy; we just wanted to have a little chat,” Agent Johnson said and motioned Yolanda to stay behind him.

  “You get yo’ ass off my property, ya hear? Or I’ll shoot!” A man in his mid-forties was aiming his double-barreled shotgun at them, huffing and puffing aggressively after finding them in his house. Penny, his adolescent daughter, had moments before let them in to have a look and now stood next to her father, desperately trying to calm him down.

  “Daddy, they’re the police. You can’t aim a gun at the police.”

  “I can do what I damn well please! This is my house. They are on my property. They’re trespassing, and I should shoot them right where they stand.” His hands were shaking, and he seemed to be in a rather disturbed state of mind. His daughter had told them she wouldn’t been expecting him until late in the afternoon when he normally returned from work.

  “Sir, I’m asking you nicely. Put the gun down.” Yolanda could see the agent’s gun in his holster from where she was standing, but he hadn’t had time to reach for it, as the man had come swooping in with his own weapon cocked and ready. Johnson was edging his hand ever closer, and truthfully, she wasn’t sure whether it was the right move, as it might just escalate the situation even further.

  It all happened too suddenly. Her radio made a sound, Detective Matthews letting her know that Eddie had found something. Agent Johnson took advantage of the distraction to reach for his gun, only managing to pull it halfway out of the holster before the shotgun went off, forcing him into Yolanda, who fell onto the coffee table behind her, smashing it on impact.

  Her instincts taking over, she jumped to her feet and pointed her gun at the perpetrator, ready to take a shot. He didn’t say a word, just put down his weapon, leaned onto the kitchen table and bawled. Yolanda quickly removed his weapon and secured the area, handcuffing his arms behind his back before proceeding to attend to Agent Johnson’s wounds.

  Thankfully, the homeowner was a terrible shot, but he had still managed to hit the agent in the shoulder, the spray catching a bit of his torso. She grabbed her receiver and called it in while examining the wounds. She then pulled her shirt off and placed it on the wound, not considering for even a moment that she’d be showing off her bra, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

  “The ambulance is on the way, as are Agents Philips and Montello. How bad is it?” The concern in Tyne’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Not sure. How long until they get here?”

  “Five minutes tops. Are you safe?”

  “Yes, we’re safe. I’ve got the gun in my possession, and the perp is handcuffed to a chair. He isn’t showing any signs of further violence.”

  “I didn’t mean to... I swear... I just... I was just defending myself... he was gonn... shoot...” she could hear the homeowner say between the sobs.

  Shit, what a mess, she thought to herself, hoping the ambulance would get there soon and that Agent Johnson wasn’t badly hurt. Looking at the spray of shot, it was hard to say what kind of damage had been done. Considering the close range, she hoped he wouldn’t lose the use of his arm.

  Time almost stood still while they waited for the other agents to arrive, with the paramedics following close behind. Everything that followed was a big blur. She remembered being edged aside while they took over. Releasing the perp from his chair, Agents Philips and Montello pushed him roughly to the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back before pulling him to his feet and marching him unresisting to their car. Getting out of the way, Yolanda unconsciously took a few steps back, backing into a corridor that revealed the stairs. Penny was sitting on the steps, her face a mixture of shock and terror.

  Yolanda exhaled and took a seat next to her, gently stroking her arm. Only then did she notice that a couple of pellets had apparently passed Agent Johnson to find their way into her own upper arm, but she didn’t pay it any mind, just sat there, comforting the young woman and telling her it would be all right.

  “Is my daddy going to go to jail?” she asked, eyes full of tears.

  Yolanda knew the answer to that question. Shooting an FBI agent, even if he hadn’t killed him, meant only one thing—prison. She still didn’t think this was the right time to tell the daughter, who was obviously in shock and needed to gather her wits before facing the music. She was worried the girl wouldn’t forgive herself for letting them in, somehow putting the blame and weight of events on her own shoulders. She decided then and there that she’d do everything in her power to help Penny get through whatever was coming.

  “Honey, that’s not something we should be thinking about right now. I’m going to help you. No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you. You hear?” She looked the girl in the eyes, making sure that she knew those words weren’t empty.

  “You promise?” Penny sniffled.

  “I do promise. Whatever happens, we’ll tackle it together. Us girls. Now let’s start by getting a hold of somebody from your family. Where’s your mama now? Can we maybe give her a call?” She tried to sound uplifting.

  “No. Mama’s in heaven.” She didn’t seem very saddened by that fact, which meant that her mother had likely passed away a while ago.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What about grandparents or siblings?”

  “There’s only me, but I have a grandma in Montgomery. She’s really nice. Always bakes me cornbread when I visit.” The girl smiled and brushed away some tears from her cheeks.

  “Well, let’s call her then and see if you can stay with her for a few days while we sort this out with your dad. How about that?”

  Penny gave her a nod, and with her help, Yolanda called the grandmother, calmly explaining the situation. The teen
packed a few things into a bag while a medic tended to Yolanda’s arm as well as getting her a new shirt from her car. When they were both ready, Yolanda decided she’d take Penny to her grandma’s, seeing as her car was still parked outside, and she didn’t want to hand the kid over to one of the detectives after promising her that she would be sticking by her.

  The girl was quiet on the drive, speaking up only to give directions, and they were soon pulling up in front of her grandmother’s house, which looked nice and neat. There was a small garden at the front, with flowerbeds and a porch with a rocking chair and a small table next to it. The grandma had white hair wrapped in a bun and wore a blue rose-flowered blouse with black pants. As they arrived, she was crouching by one of the flower beds. Penny ran toward her, hugging her. Yolanda followed after, holding the girl’s bag and handing it to the grandmother, who asked her granddaughter to go inside and make some lemonade while she had a word with the sheriff.

  After explaining the situation to the older lady and giving her a few moments to grasp what had happened, Yolanda was about to drive away when her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, so she hesitated to answer, not feeling up to dealing with a scammer, but as she recognized the number as originating from Alabama, she felt she had to take it.

  “Hello?” she answered, questioning.

  “Is this Sheriff Yolanda Demetriou?” a male voice asked from the other end.

  “This is she.”

  “Good day. This is Jacob Price. You came to visit me a week ago. I’m the one with the historical models.”

  “Yes, I remember.” She didn’t understand why he was calling her, as he had made it abundantly clear that he had nothing to do with the case. She had believed him, and a part of her hoped he wasn’t about to crush that belief.

  “I’m calling regarding that picture you showed me...”

  “Yes?”

  “I now remember where I saw it.”

  Yolanda swerved onto the highway, resisting the urge to break the speed limit on her way over to the other side of the state, to a town called Butler. It was a small town in western Alabama, a quiet and relaxed place where houses were few and far between.

  As she drove, Yolanda thought back over what Jacob Price had said on the phone moments earlier about the picture they had shown him. Apparently he had seen the girl in it before, and that had happened at work. It took him a while to piece it all together because it had been so many years back. At first he thought she was the child of one of his coworkers. During the week since Yolanda and Solomon’s visit, he had asked around, showing people the picture he’d taken of it with his phone and not getting anywhere with it. Then it finally struck him. He hadn’t seen the girl herself but just a picture of her. A picture that had fallen from a wallet.

  He remembered bending down to pick up the Polaroid and handing it back to the wallet’s owner. Even at the time it had struck him how unusual it was to see a Polaroid photo anymore—they had been so ubiquitous in his youth. He remembered remarking on the prettiness of the girl; he could even envision the man’s face as he received the picture and crammed it back into his wallet. His expression had been one of shame, and that’s why the picture had stuck with Jacob. It was so odd that the father of such a beautiful girl would be ashamed, but now he knew why. The man wasn’t the girl’s father but her captor. Price said he had even wondered why that man had taken such a chance as to carry her photo around. Maybe he was becoming overconfident that he wouldn’t get caught, or maybe the urge was just so strong that he couldn’t bear to be apart from her, even when he was at work.

  Yolanda shuddered at the thought, and she could hear in his voice that Jacob was just as upset by it. He said this man was an engineer. He had come to work on construction of a new loading station and had been there for a few months, administering the project. The only reason Price had spoken to him was because he had wanted to do some renovations himself and had wondered if the guy could assist him, maybe point him in the right direction of where to start. The engineer had been very friendly, had given him loads of great advice, and not for a moment would he have thought this man capable of causing another person harm. He just hadn’t appeared that way.

  Yoly knew those bastards often didn’t seem threatening, and that was why they got away with so many horrible things. Some of the worst serial killers even had wives and children. Hardly imaginable, how heartbreaking it must be for the family to find out something like that about their loving husband or father.

  Jacob had really done his due diligence; not only had he remembered where he saw the picture, but he had also asked around for the guy’s name, going as high up as the executive director of the company to find out. He had finally gotten the name and called Yolanda the moment he did. By then, he had become convinced that the child in the photo was in serious danger and wanted to help.

  With the guy’s name in hand, Yoly called Solomon, relaying it to him and asking him to look up the man’s address. To her surprise, he already had it. It had turned out he was one of the engineers on Yolanda’s list, one who lived just a few miles outside of the defined search radius, and they had just matched him to the partial license plate and looked up his whereabouts. Solomon gave her the address, and as Butler was closer to Montgomery than to Crowswood, she said she’d drive ahead, but Solomon was going to follow suit. He made her promise not to do anything before he was there to back her up—one injured officer was enough for the day.

  Yolanda promised but did so only half-heartedly; it didn’t take a nuclear physicist to figure out that if she saw a reason to go in, she would. Remembering Jacob’s words as she gunned it down the interstate, a cold shiver ran down her spine:

  “Be careful, he is a big man and seemed strong.”

  Yolanda pulled up to the curb and took a long look at the house before exiting her vehicle to approach it. It was so normal, just like any other house on the street. Neither well nor badly kept, just ordinary. In the driveway was an extremely big jeep, one of those extended monster trucks that were useful when going off road. The man could very well be a hunter, something she’d keep in the back of her mind, not wanting him to pull a rifle on her.

  She wondered what she should say to him and how to go about being let in. She quickly thought up a lie, one that would get her in the door. Grabbing an old brochure from a box in the back seat, she left the safety of her car to approach the entrance. The door was painted black with a golden door knocker in its middle, and it looked quite nice—she could easily envision a Christmas wreath swinging there during the holiday season.

  She hesitantly tapped with the door knocker, heart pounding in her chest. Should she have waited for Solomon? Was this madness to go in alone? She knew it was but didn’t want to wait any longer. Lily had been locked in for way too long, and Yolanda wouldn’t accept her being there a minute longer than necessary. She heard movement from inside the door and unconsciously placed her hand on her gun, unbuckling the top flap of her tactical holster, ready to draw the weapon if necessary.

  The man opening the door came almost as much of a shock as the enticing smell rushing out toward her. He seemed to have been in the process of cooking a stew, which smelled absolutely delicious. Jacob had been right; he was a big man, but she guessed he had been even bigger when he was working on the expansion at the trucking company. The cancer was obviously starting to get the better of him—his clothes looked too big, and his face was becoming hollow.

  “Yes, how may I help you?” He spoke with a soft and soothing voice. Very friendly indeed.

  “Good afternoon, sir. My name is Ann, and I am the new deputy in the county. I just wanted to talk to you about what the sheriff’s office does and how we can be of assistance to you.” She pushed a brochure toward him. The brochure was from a “Know how to act” campaign they had run in her own county a while back; it had a picture of the former sheriff on the front page with a big smile on his face. She hoped the man wasn’t familiar enough with the local sheriff’s per
sonnel to know any better.

  “Oh,” he accepted the brochure, barely glancing at it. “I’m afraid that I am ill-prepared for guests at the moment. Would you mind coming back at another time?” He smiled, obviously hoping to brush her off and get on with his culinary activities.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I only need one more house to meet my quota for the day. Could you please let me give you the introduction? It doesn’t have to take long. Five minutes, maximum.” She sent him a pleading look, opening her eyes wide in an attempt at a puppy-dog look.

  He mulled it over, flipping through the brochure as he did. “Oh, all right. Do you like stew?” Perfectly natural friendliness seemed to just ooze out of him.

  “Oh, I love stew. As a matter of fact, it’s one of my favorite dishes!” It almost pained her to play so nice with this man, but she wanted to get in, keep him occupied, and make sure he wasn’t anywhere near the girl when her backup came. A cornered animal tended to get desperate, and she definitely didn’t want to give him an opportunity to do anything before he was handcuffed and booked.

  “Well, come on in then. Just sit yourself down in the kitchen and tell me all about the sheriff’s office in our great county.”

  She wiped her feet on the doormat and followed him into the kitchen. Everything inside the house was neat, almost uncomfortably so. It reminded her of one of those minimalistic advertisements she had seen on TV, except it was homelier—not a bland mixture of black and white but nice lacquered wooden furniture and lounge chairs with quality leather. It was a wonderful home, and even though she despised this individual, she understood why no one suspected him of doing anything bad. He painted the perfect picture to keep everybody in the dark.