by L. T. Ryan
I said, “Is she a suspect?”
Pennington made eye contact briefly. “Not judging by the condition of her room.”
“She’s missing,” Cassie said.
The men nodded, their gazes traveling toward the table.
“And you want me to determine whether she’s dead or alive.”
“We know she left alive.” Pennington flipped open the folder. There were pages of notes, which he cast aside. He rifled through the series of photos of bloodied and battered bodies, three young women whose futures were stolen. Hopes, dreams, spouses, children all orphaned that night. The carnage on the floors and walls showed just how much rage the murderer had pent up inside. He held nothing back. Well, almost nothing, since it seemed he took a victim with him.
Pennington set a photo on the table and angled it so the bottom pointed toward Cassie. I leaned over her shoulder and studied it. It was taken near an exiting door. There were two distinct sets of bloodied footprints on the floor. One in shoes, the other bare feet with what appeared to be high arches.
“She walked out,” I said.
“That’s right,” Pennington said.
“An accomplice?”
“About ten feet back there are two lines, like someone had been dragged. Whether it was her, we can’t be sure, but at the point the lines stop, the barefoot prints start. At this time, we’re treating it like a missing person. From what we’ve gathered from the families, these women had been close since their freshman year at SCAD. Two of them, one of the murdered and our missing person, had gone to school together since second grade. Best friends. Planned on starting a design business together after graduation.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, you and I both know how those relationships can break down.”
“Sex, money, power.” Pennington scattered a few photos across the table. “I’m guessing money and power had nothing to do with this one.”
“Three dead women, one missing?” I said. “This guy is all about power.”
Cervantes backed up in his chair, dragging the legs across Cassie’s tile floor, causing a screeching as loud as a banshee. I imagined trenches an inch deep being dug.
“You got a problem with us, Big City? You think we don’t know how to do our jobs?”
“Cerv.”
“No, forget that, Penn. Big City here thinks we’re just some dumb hick cops. Don’t know what the fuck we’re doing down here. Christ, what the hell we even talking about this in front of him for?”
“Look,” Pennington said. “If Cassie vouches for him, then—”
“Damn you, Penn.” Cervantes jumped out of his chair and headed toward the front door. He stopped and looked back at Cassie, his stubby index finger aimed at me. “We’ll be back for you in the morning for a walk-through of the crime scene. He better be gone.”
“Don’t worry, man,” I said. “I’m booking my flight out soon enough.”
The front door opened and then slammed shut with enough force to rattle the wall. A framed cross-stitch that said, “I Know the Voices Aren’t Real, But They Have Some Really Great Ideas!” shook and ended up off-center.
Pennington rose and said, “Again, sorry about him. He gets worked up. Kinda has a chip on his shoulder.”
“You sure it ain’t a boulder?”
Pennington smiled. “Cassie, we’ll see you tomorrow. And Detective—”
I threw up my hands. “Don’t worry about me, man. I got no desire to stick around where I’m not wanted.”
Pennington nodded with his lips pressed tight, and followed his partner outside.
After a few seconds, I glanced over at Cassie. Her eyes were fixed on the table where a single picture remained. It was of an empty bed with bloodstained sheets. One pillow on the floor, the other against the wall. A pink and blue bra in the middle of it all.
“Make sure you check the dresser,” I said.
“What?”
I pointed at the picture. “The dresser drawer is open. Maybe she left, I dunno, a psychic imprint on it, or something like that.”
Cassie smiled at me like I was a child telling her that the clouds were made of cotton candy.
“I’ll do that, Mitch. And if I forget, you can remind me.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What do you mean, ‘remind you’?” I said.
“You’re going with me.”
“I’d rather bathe in rubbing alcohol after dancing with a porcupine.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.”
“Neither does being around a jackass that calls me ‘Big City’ all the time.”
She laughed, a rare occurrence for Cassie. It almost looked unnatural. At the same time, it gave her a light, airy look that made her even more attractive.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She regained her mental balance. A moment later, she added, “I know he’s a bit much, but he’s a good cop, Mitch. Once you start working together, you’ll see that.”
“No, I won’t, because there won’t be any working together. They don’t want me there, and I don’t want to get involved. I’ve had enough of these in my day. You know what a case like this can do to you.”
Her hand went to her chest as her gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “I do. You know I do.”
I reached over, wrapped my hand around her wrist. “Sorry, Cassie. I know you feel this as much, if not more than we do.”
“So humor me and stay.” Her gaze intensified. She wasn’t pleading with me as much as allowing me to feel how deeply she wanted me there.
I rose and walked past her. “I don’t think I can.”
“You have to.”
“Why?” I grabbed the top of the trim surrounding the doorway to the hallway, digging my fingertips in as I stretched my shoulders.
“I caught something from the postcard.”
I felt like my stomach dropped into my scrotum and my heart rose into my throat. I tried to speak, but ended up sounding like a baby seal.
“It wasn’t enough for me to pinpoint anything precisely,” she said. “And now, with this other case, and what I’m feeling, I don’t know if I can get it back. At least, not until this is resolved. This case is… How do I put it? Taking over my mind. And I need your help, Mitch. If you help me, the sooner we find this girl, the sooner I can help you locate your son.”
I didn’t know how to react. It felt like she was extorting me, and it pissed me off. But the look in her eyes revealed pain and sorrow and the desire to help me. I felt it deep within my own being. I wondered about the world that surrounded her. The one the rest of us weren’t privy to. Don’t for a minute think I was jealous of her gift. Not for a second. There’s no way I could handle all that contact—whatever it was—and the responsibility that came with it.
I lingered there, my arms stretched out and my head resting against my right bicep. It had to have been years since the last coat of paint was applied to the trim, but it smelled strong. There were traces of dark still visible underneath the white that she, or the previous owner, had used.
Cassie looked away from me. Shallow breaths and a constant drumming of her fingertips against the tabletop indicated she was anxious for an answer. Was there any but the obvious? If I had any chance of finding my boy, I needed Cassie’s help. And time mattered. The sooner she had the case resolved, the sooner she could assist me. The decision was made the moment I decided to fly down to Savannah.
“All right, Cassie. I’ll stay.”
Through the chaos of the detectives’ visit, Robbie’s postcard had remained on the table where Cassie had dropped it. She stared at the writing, her hand shaped like a claw, perched halfway between it and her body.
She glanced up at me. Her eyes misted over. “You know what can happen when I pick that up, right?”
I nodded, slowly, understanding what she meant. “If that’s the case, I need to know. One way or another, I need to know. Every fiber of being in my body tells me my son is alive and waiting for me to show up and take
him away from the insanity that is his mother. But if that’s not the case, if something has happened to him, I will hunt her down along with anyone associated with harming him and end them.”
It appeared as though Cassie had to will herself to touch the postcard again. She grabbed it by the corner and pulled it close to her. She didn’t read it. Didn’t have to, I supposed. With her eyes closed, she felt it, ran the tips of her fingers across the front and the back. Her touch was drawn to the spot where he signed his name.
This went on for a solid five minutes. Not a word was spoken. The house took on a life of its own. The vents spewed cold air, speaking in some hushed language that perhaps Cassie understood. Hell, what did I know? I still had trouble believing anything was actually happening when she went into her trance. If it weren’t for the results, I’d have laughed in her face.
“It’s faint, Mitch.”
The sound of her voice lulled me from a false state of serenity.
“I’m getting something,” she said. “But still unsure of what, where, or who.”
I rose from my chair, securing the postcard and stuffing it back in my pocket.
“Then I suppose we should both get a good night’s rest so we can figure out what happened to that girl as soon as possible.”
Chapter Fourteen
I had spent a couple of hours driving around before returning to my rental apartment. There was something about the lowlands at sunset. I pulled to the curb. All the windows in the old lady’s place were dark. Asleep, I figured. And why not. It was after ten p.m. She had no need to be up past that. The city was reserved at this time of night for the freaks, partiers, college kids, and the folks waiting around the block for a scoop or two of ice cream from Leopold’s.
Sleep was not easily attained, but once under, I was out until my alarm went off at five-thirty a.m. After a quick shower and shave, I threw on a pair of dark jeans and a grey button-up shirt and was out the door.
The old woman threw hers open about the same time. Had she been waiting for me?
“Coffee, Mr. Tanner?”
“I would, ma’am, but I’m kinda in a rush this morning.”
“Please ignore anything you might have heard last night.”
I stopped and glanced back at her. Her smile betrayed her narrowed eyes and tight-knit eyebrows. Even the wrinkles in her forehead thinned out. What did her words mean? Were they as simple as what she stated?
The smile faded. “Well, you just knock if you’re around for dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
The street was empty. Quiet. No sounds of a saxophone from a nearby square. The freaks and partiers and college kids had retired hours ago. The wind tore through the late autumn leaves, spinning them up and down the street. Sounded like a dozen joggers rushing past.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and then drove straight to Cassie’s. The sun crested over her roof, shaking off the morning chill in the air. Clouds turned from silver to blaze orange. I headed up the driveway to avoid the heavy coating of dew on the grass.
Cassie opened the door, waved, then backed into the darkened hallway. The smell of bacon hit me before I reached the porch. By the time I stepped foot in the kitchen, she had a plate of bacon and eggs on the table with a steaming mug of coffee next to it. I practically responded like a dog.
“They are going to meet us here in half an hour,” she said. “I already warned them that you’d be around. Go ahead and eat up.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I scarfed the food, had another five strips of bacon, and downed two mugs before the detectives arrived.
We met them outside. There were minimal greetings between the detectives and me. Their interactions with Cassie were subdued as well. Too somber a morning for anything more. This wasn’t about any of us and we all knew it. Faces were long and drawn with the thought of what was ahead. I had a feeling I’d regret eating before the walk-through.
Cassie rode with me in the rental. Each of us made lame attempts at conversation that quickly died while we followed the detectives. After twenty minutes or so, Pennington pulled their sedan over in front of a small house with a fence that wrapped around the entire property. Doors opened. Shoes hit the ground. We were still a block away. Cassie sat with her eyes closed.
In a cracked, breathy voice, she said, “This is the place.”
I idled in the middle of the road. “I’m not a psychic and I could’ve told you that.”
She turned her head toward me, slowly opening her eyes, the look on her face indicating she did not find my comment amusing.
Pennington stood at the front of his car, directing me to pull in front of them. After parking the rental, we convened at their trunk. The lid was popped open. Inside were a black and two blue milk crates filled with various items. Pennington tossed us each a pair of booties and gloves. I would have preferred the shotgun he had tucked in there, too.
“I don’t need to go over the instructions with you, do I, Tanner?”
I blew a puff of air into each glove in preparation of donning them. “I think I got it.”
“Follow me, then.” Pennington waved over his shoulder and led us to the crime scene.
Cervantes had already entered. His shadow lingered in the doorway while we approached. It vanished before we stepped off the sidewalk. Why did he want to get ahead of us? I dove down the rabbit hole as we crossed the yard. Cervantes knew his partner. Knew Pennington’s tendencies. The things the man would miss. He didn’t know me, though. What if there was something in the house he didn’t want me to notice?
He was waiting near the back wall of the room when we entered. His gaze drifted from me to Cassie, where it remained for a few seconds too long. His expression was neutral, making it difficult to gauge his intentions.
“Everything good?” Pennington asked.
“Yeah,” Cervantes said, keeping his focus on Cassie. “No one’s been in here. Looks like forensics finished up, and managed to do so without destroying anything.” He nodded slightly, then added, “We figured keeping the scene as true as possible might help you, Cassie.”
“I solved a ten-year-old murder for you when all we had was a fragment of bone and two small squares of fabric from a red-checked flannel shirt,” she said. “I don’t think it matters.”
“Whatever.” Cervantes turned and left the room in the direction of the kitchen, muttering something under his breath.
“It’s a tough house to be in,” Pennington said. “Even for us vets. Know what I mean?”
“That I do,” I said. Didn’t matter how many times you saw the sights. Each case had the ability to affect you in a new and even more disturbing way. Sure, we joked while in groups, attempting to stifle our true thoughts and feelings. But you can’t escape demons. They have a way of lingering and overstaying their welcome. Even the ones that don’t belong to you. Sometimes especially so.
“You feeling anything?” Pennington asked Cassie.
She reached out and traced her fingertips along the wall. Up as high as she could. Down to the chair rail. She dug into the groove and walked forward.
I followed Pennington to the kitchen. Bloody footprints staggered across the linoleum. Two distinct sets, for sure. One barefoot. With the benefit of sunlight, I looked back and saw how they approached from the hall Cassie had disappeared down. There, the person owning the size twelves walked while the other had been dragged, leaving a crimson trail in their wake. Had it been her blood dripping down her legs, or the blood of another that she’d been pulled through?
The sink looked undisturbed. White. Not a stain on it. Odd, I thought. The guy didn’t bother to wash off in it. He wouldn’t have taken the time to clean up the mess there and not the rest of the place.
“Was the sink like that from the beginning?” I asked.
Pennington nodded. “He was in a hurry to get out of here, not wash off. Pretty big risk.”
“Guess he figured if he got pulled over the bloody girl in the backseat would g
ive it away.” I walked over to the sink, stared out the case window above. Cervantes stood in the back corner of the yard, smoking a cigarette. He let the smoke slip out of his mouth and nose. Looked like a deranged bull in a cartoon. Was he always this anti-social? I was about to ask Pennington when something pulled me back.
The sound of Cassie’s hurried footsteps echoed off the walls. I spun around. She stood in front of the hallway, pale, gasping for breath. I rushed toward her. Pennington did too.
Chapter Fifteen
Cassie squinted her eyes against the brightened room, struggling with the constricted feeling throughout her body. It felt as though the sun had come down and engulfed her. Mitch rushed over from his position in front of the sink, reaching for a holster and pistol that weren’t there. Pennington pulled his handgun and wove past Cassie. The man’s cologne overwhelmed her, bringing her the rest of the way back to reality. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him blocking her from whatever he thought might be at the other end of the hallway. His physical presence could do nothing to stop it.
“What’s wrong?” Mitch said.
“It’s okay.” She squeezed his forearm.
Mitch leaned back, his head quivering slightly as though he were trying to shake free of whatever thoughts had been there.
“It’s okay, Mitch. I just need to be alone.”
“What?” he said.
Pennington, having seen Cassie like this before, backed off and holstered his weapon. He walked to the back door. “We can go, Tanner.”
Cassie reached for Mitch’s arm again, tracing her fingers gently against his bare skin. They’d worked together several times over the years, but mostly from a distance. He’d never seen her up close when pushed this far on an investigation.
“I’ve got something here,” she said. “I need to be alone now to get the most out of it. I’ll be outside when it’s over. Okay?”
Mitch mumbled his acceptance and took a few steps back. His intense stare made her cheeks burn.