by R. H. Herron
It was a big house, but it was trim and tidy, the paint fresh, the yard neat. It was a wonder he could still afford it—this was too expensive a neighborhood for a liquor-store security guard. A trio of elderly women trot-walked down the sidewalk, their arms swinging industriously.
Laurie’s heart rate accelerated. Jesus, if he weren’t home now but pulled up? How could this possibly go well? What the hell was she thinking?
Ahead of her, Jojo got out of a black SUV. “Mom.”
Laurie tugged Jojo roughly against her. “I love you.” They felt like the most important words, the ones she wanted to say over and over again. What if she forced Jojo back into her car and they drove north? What if they crossed the Canadian border and never came back? Screw all of this. They could live in a cabin, and she could keep Jojo safe forever. If Omid recovered, he could come, too. Maybe.
“Love you back.” Jojo pulled away. “We have to get inside. Kevin’s in there—he didn’t think it would be safe to have him come in and out.”
So Laurie followed her up the walk and right in the front door, as if they had a right to be there. We do. We have every right.
In the entryway with the door closed firmly behind them, Laurie whispered, “Are you sure he’s not here?” If a cop—any cop—heard noise in his house, he’d come out shooting more often than not.
“We’re sure, Mom.”
Kevin stood a few feet away, watching them with wary eyes. “Mrs. Ahmadi—”
Laurie rounded on him. “Jojo says you did nothing wrong.” And Jojo was growing up. She knew things the way an adult did. It was still a hugely difficult leap to make, to trust Jojo’s intuition. “I’m trying to believe what Jojo’s told me. Not going to lie, though, I’m having a really fucking hard time with you being here.”
“He drove me here, Mom. He’s the one who put it together. He saw Dixon drop Harper off at a couple of meetings.”
“You did?” Laurie kept her eyes on him, willing him to stay still, to not move. The weight of the gun got heavier under her armpit. If he made one false step . . .
Kevin stayed completely still. “I just thought he was her dad. I didn’t think much about it.”
“Mom, are you okay? You actually went to jail?”
Laurie didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s fine. I’m out now. How was Colson?”
Jojo’s eyes widened. “He was weird. Super weird.”
Goddamn it. “Is he one of them?” Not Mark. Please, not him, too.
“I don’t know.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just do this.” Jojo took several steps farther into the house. “He has a picture of her, framed. In his bedroom. Come look.”
Jojo had said that in her text message, but the sheer gall of it hadn’t registered until this moment. How had Dixon ever worked for the department? Where was Harper? “Show me in a second.” Carefully, she unboxed the camera and powered it on. “Where should we start?”
“Let’s just go through every room, systematically, looking at every wall.” Jojo pointed to the left.
The sheer horror of the fact that her daughter was saying these words—that she’d even thought to ask for a thermal camera—made Laurie want to cry. And perversely, she felt a certain pride that Jojo had been thinking so clearly. “Let’s do it fast and then get out of here.”
Jojo said, “What if we find her?”
“If she’s here, we don’t leave without her.” Or her body. Though of course the thermal camera wouldn’t show a cold, dead body, only a recently deceased one before it cooled. What if Harper were dead and cold inside these walls? Or out in the garage?
The living room was clear, as were the dining room walls. They found nothing in the kitchen.
Laurie pointed the camera at Jojo to make sure it was still working. It showed Jojo as a red-and-orange blur of motion. Laurie pointed it toward another wall that showed nothing. “What if the walls are just too thick?”
They all froze in place for a split second, and then Jojo said, “I’m going into the next bedroom. Check if you can see me.”
And Laurie could. The heat register of her daughter’s body was much smaller, as if Jojo had turned back into a child on the other side of the thick wall, but it was visible. “I’ve got you!” called Laurie, wishing she really did.
They cleared every other room, moving slowly through the master bedroom. Nothing.
“Look, Mom. It’s her.” Jojo pointed to the photograph. “I know it.”
The picture of the girl on the nightstand could have been Harper.
It also—easily—could have been someone else.
Kevin was the one whose idea it was to go up into the crawl space, but it was empty of everything except cobwebs and two empty suitcases. (Laurie didn’t ask Kevin to open them. He just did. They all had the same fear.)
The three of them were quiet as they walked back through the house.
A normal person would call the police, Laurie knew that.
But not now. This wasn’t her jurisdiction, and she wouldn’t know whoever answered the 911 call. She wouldn’t be able to explain it shortly enough, clearly enough. The dispatcher wouldn’t believe her, anyway. Dispatchers, as a matter of habit, believed very little.
“The garage?”
Kevin and Jojo were at her heels. All of them looked over their shoulders when they heard a car drive past the front of the house, but it didn’t stop.
The garage was accessed by a shallow set of stairs off the kitchen, and Laurie had to steel herself before pushing open the door.
But the garage was mostly empty. Two piles of boxes sat in one corner, and a large Ping-Pong table stood near the far wall. The washer and dryer looked clean, and there weren’t even spiderwebs overhead.
Laurie used the TIC to check the walls, the ceiling, even the floor.
“Nothing.” Jojo’s voice held equal parts relief and disappointment. “This isn’t right. He has her. Obviously. He’s Ray. He’s the boyfriend.”
5211 LOG-ON—DARREN RAYMOND DIXON. Laurie could see his badge number and full name scrolling across the computer screen—she’d logged him in for so many years and had barely ever thought of his middle name.
Laurie reached a hand to touch Jojo’s wrist, but Jojo jerked away.
“What do we do next, Mom?”
Laurie had no fucking idea. God, she wished Omid would wake up, and be healthy, and fix this. At the same time, she hated how much she wanted him to fix everything—he who had broken everything by keeping secrets. “Is there anything in his backyard?” She pulled open the back garage door. There was a small wooden patio and a large, unkempt lawn.
In the very back stood a small red shed, almost hidden behind an overgrown oak tree.
“Mama.” Jojo’s voice was just a whisper.
Laurie took a breath. “Stay behind me.” She pointed the camera at the shed.
One red flare glowed.
A person.
They walked on the grass, avoiding the crushed-rock path, which would make noise. Laurie didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she saw spots dance at the edges of her vision.
Somehow the camera was on the grass and her gun was in her hand. She didn’t remember sliding it out of its holster.
Laurie pulled her jacket sleeve over her left hand and turned the knob of the shed.
She pushed.
And there he goddamn was.
FORTY-SEVEN
INSIDE THE SHED Darren Dixon snored.
He was laid out along an old brown sofa, one arm hanging off the edge, his mouth wide open, a dried slug trail of drool shining along his cheek. The room stank like cigarettes and old sweat and beer dregs and something harsher, vodka or rye. On the floor next to him were half-crushed beer cans and a full ashtray.
The room was lined wit
h tools, the floor piled with magazines. One ratty brown armchair stood under the lamp. It was Darren Dixon’s man cave, and he was the hibernating bear.
Behind her, Jojo pulled on Laurie’s jacket as she whispered, “Mama, let’s go.”
Laurie shoved the gun back into her underarm holster. “Dixon!” she barked. “Wake up.”
The man came to slowly, blinking in confusion. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up. “Who’s here? Who’s that?”
“It’s Laurie Ahmadi.” She made a shooing motion with her hands to try to get Jojo and Kevin out—they didn’t need to be so close to him. Harper wasn’t here. Laurie could handle a drunk Dixon. “Remember I saw you at the liquor store? I’ve got some questions for you.”
“The fuck?” Dixon rose on unsteady legs. “What the fuck?”
“How do you know Harper Cunningham?”
“Get out of my house.”
Laurie felt fear course through her blood, but although he was big, he was drunk as hell. His reflexes would be slow.
“She’s missing. We know about her and you.” It was a bluff—he wasn’t on the list. That photo could easily be someone else. “Where is she?”
To Laurie’s shock, tears rose in Dixon’s eyes. “I don’t know. I lost her. I think I lost her.”
What did that mean? Laurie’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to speak around a leaden lump. “How did you lose her?”
“She just stopped calling me. After that big black guy . . .” His eyes appeared to focus, and he craned his neck to look around Laurie. “Is that him? The one that raped your daughter, right? You fucking with me? Is that your daughter? Little Jojo? And you’re out driving around with her rapist?” He fumbled with his zipper, as if his fly were down, which it wasn’t. “You gonna stick it in her again, boy? Yeah?”
Laurie heard Jojo make a small whimper. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk until I tell you to.” She raised her chin and took a step closer to Dixon, keeping herself out of the danger zone of a sudden swing of his fists. “Where have you hidden her?”
But doubt filled her, cold and dank.
This guy could barely keep his pants up.
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m saying. I love her, and if that”—he jabbed a finger toward Kevin—“if he touched her sweet ass even once, I swear I’ll kill you, boy.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Laurie saw Kevin strain toward Dixon and then rein himself back in. A small, upsetting flash of disappointment rushed through her. She wanted to watch Kevin beat the shit out of this man. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that Darren Dixon had always scared her. Something about how his look always slid to the side, something about how he never made real eye contact had always given her the heebie-jeebies.
“Just tell us where she is. I swear, I’ll leave you out of it.” Lies. And he’d know it. “We just want her back safe.”
He laughed, a crackling, wet sound that made him seem twenty years older than he was. “Yeah, wouldn’t you like that?”
She flushed with rage, feeling anger heat every inch of skin. “We saw her picture next to your bed.”
“Oh, isn’t she pretty?” he slurred, wobbling back and forth. “I don’t know who that girl is, but she reminds me of somebody. Does she remind you of someone, too? Maybe someone’s taking care of her someplace else. I bet she’s fine. Like, you know, really fine.” He cupped his crotch again.
Jojo leaped forward, but Laurie was just as fast, pushing her daughter backward. Kevin caught Jojo’s other arm. Jojo shouted over Laurie’s shoulder, “Did you kill her, you sick fuck?”
Dixon wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about, baby girl, but I’m sure wherever your friend is, she’s doing better than you are. I’d lay money on it. Of course, that’s just my gut talking”—he patted his stomach contentedly—“and I’ve learned over the years to trust this belly of mine. And belly wants beer.” He leaned down and picked up a beer can. He shook it, the contents sloshing around inside, then tipped the rest into his mouth.
Kevin continued to hold Jojo back. Laurie didn’t know how he was managing it—what if this man was the person who’d killed Zachary? If she were Kevin, she’d have wanted to kill Dixon, just on the off chance that vengeance would be served.
But Dixon didn’t have Harper. This guy was just broken.
Dixon tottered backward and collapsed onto the battered couch. “I should press charges. I should have you arrested.”
That would be the capper on this day. Getting arrested twice within twenty-four hours. She gestured for Jojo and Kevin to leave the shed first. “Let’s go, we’re done.” She stepped backward, unwilling to turn her back on Dixon.
His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, but he raised a hand. “That girl’s a good fuck, Jojo! You tell your friend she’s a really good fuck! Tight little cunt. Are you like that, too? Not too stretched out? Not yet?”
Something snapped inside Laurie with an almost audible crack. “Outside,” she said to Jojo and Kevin. “Shut the door.”
Kevin shook his head. “Mrs. Ahmadi, we’re not going to leave you in—”
“Do it.”
Jojo tugged Kevin outside. Laurie jerked the door shut, her breathing fast and high in her chest.
She turned to face Dixon. “Tell me what you know.”
He laughed again.
Motherfucker.
He reached for a cigarette and lit it with a snap. “I’ve always hated you, you know.”
“Mutual.”
“I hate your husband worse, though.” The slurring was less now. Was he putting the drunk thing on? “I hear he’s dying. Or died? They got him back? Too bad.” His eyes were closed as he inhaled deeply.
He’d only fucking know that if he still had connections. Not even Jojo knew that her dad had been technically dead for almost a minute.
As if Laurie had willed it out from the holster and into her grip, her right hand suddenly held the gun again. She could almost feel the chambered bullet burning in the barrel.
She leaned close—too close. If he wasn’t really drunk, this would be too dangerous. He could snatch it away from her, turn it back on her.
For a brief second, she wished he’d try. Give her a reason to shoot.
“Open your eyes, you piece of shit.”
Dixon did. “Ah, damn.”
“Who has Harper?”
“You ain’t gonna use that on me.”
“Who has Harper?” The gun was steady, pointed directly at his head.
“Fuuuuck you, Laurie. You were a terrible cop, you’re an awful dispatcher, your husband’s a terrorist, and your daughter’s a whore.” He wasn’t slurring at all.
With a twist of her wrist, she spun the gun so that she held it by the barrel. With a cold fury, she hit him across the face with the butt of the gun. Her arm reverberated with pain, and Dixon flew sideways, the far side of his head hitting the metal edge of the table next to the couch.
He might not have been slurring anymore, but he bounced like a bobbleheaded drunk.
While he was still leaning against the table, she hit him again. Same side of his head. She heard something crunch.
Blood flowed in a stream from his eye down to his nose. He held up his hands. “Stop,” he whispered.
“Who has Harper?”
“I’ll tell on you. I’ll report you to the department. You’ll be fired so fast—” He slid farther into the couch, pulling up his legs.
The gun jumped in her hands as if it were coming to life. It would be so easy—so fucking natural—to turn it around and pull the trigger.
“Who has Harper?” Her voice broke.
“I’ll report you. Please don’t hit me again. Please.”
He was in the fetal position now, and his whole body shook. She thought he mig
ht be crying, and she was glad.
And then she heard a gasp behind her.
The door to the shed was ajar.
Jojo had seen her.
FORTY-EIGHT
AFTER JOJO PEEKED into the shed, Mom had come out, shut the door, and steered them down the sidewalk to their cars. Mom had her by the wrist, but Jojo was numb, every nerve turned off.
“But my car is over th—” Kevin started to say.
“Just get in, come on.” When they were both in Mom’s car, Kevin in the backseat, Mom slammed it into reverse and backed up until they were out of sight of Dixon’s house, blocked by the neighbor’s hedge. “He’s not in any shape to drive, but we’ll be able to see if he tries to leave.”
Jojo’s breath wheezed high at the top of her lungs, her heart flapping so hard she thought it might rip. She was sweating out of every pore, but she was freezing and shivering, too. She’d seen Mom hit a person so hard it looked like she meant to kill him, and while Jojo wanted nothing more than to find Harper, she couldn’t handle the fact that Mom could . . . that Mom had the ability to do . . .
“Joshi, breathe. It’s okay.”
She pulled in another breath as slowly as she could.
“Can I do anything?” Kevin reached forward to touch her shoulder.
“N-no.” Jojo’s heart still slammed in her ears, but the band of pain in her chest was releasing slowly. She yanked on the seat belt. “Can we go? Kevin, can you take me?”
“No.” Mom hit the door locks, which choonked into place.
Jojo grabbed the handle, but Mom had the childproof lock on. “What the fuck?” It sounded like a gasp instead of the shout she’d meant it to be.
“We have to talk.”
It was probably true, but Jojo didn’t want to. “You can’t trap us here!”
“I wish you hadn’t seen what you saw.”
It wasn’t the same thing as saying she wished she hadn’t done it. “You beat him.”