by Mira Gibson
“Okay,” she said, demonstrating she was with him if not hanging on by an apprehensive thread.
“Both Dalton and Blake were blackmailed into participating.”
“Blackmailed?”
“It’s fair to assume they were targeted because of their pre-existing relationship with Kendra, selling her meth and what-not. Apparently, prior to being approached, Dalton and Blake got lured into an incriminating transaction which was later used to blackmail them.”
“So they know who approached them?” Her heart was in her throat.
“No, whoever’s behind this is careful and smart.” Cody paused, thought twice, checking himself in a way that made Hannah’s guts twist. Then he met her gaze, winced, green eyes burning. “Blake said he received a letter in the mail.” He paused.
“I can handle it, Cody, just tell me,” she said impatiently. The anticipation had to be worse than the information.
“Let me just preface this by saying we both know Candice is downstairs right now. She’s safe and fine.”
Hannah’s eyes went white all around and her mouth wouldn’t close, but drifted open, gaping. “What are you telling me?”
“The letter told him to come to the house-”
“My house? The shack?”
“Yes. It noted a date and time. It was signed by Mary.”
“What?”
“Now, Blake said it was signed by Mary, but he’d never seen her handwriting before.”
“Okay?”
“The letter implied Mary wanted to have sex with him. That she was kinky and he’d have to be game for that. It also said he’d have to burn the letter and like a God damned idiot, he did.”
Sickness roiled through her.
“When he got there he said no one was home. Then her heard a girl calling to him from the woods at the edge of the lake. He figured it was Mary. It wasn’t. It was Candice." He paused as though he already regretted telling her the next piece. "She was naked. Blake said she looked scared, like she didn’t want to be doing it.”
“Oh Jesus Christ.”
“She touched him. By his account he didn’t touch her.”
Cody gave her a minute to process that much.
“So how was it blackmail?” she asked, sickened.
"Someone took photos." He took a breath as though he needed to recover as badly as she did. “They got to him in the mail about a week later. They had instructions and made clear the threat he’d go to prison if he didn’t obey. And like the first letter, it said to burn it, but Mary hadn't signed it. It came completely anonymously. Now, by this point Blake didn’t think Mary had anything to do with this. If you ask me, that’s up for debate. But I’m focusing on one thing at a time. Blake roped his cousin Travis in, because he wanted someone to have his back. Blake lied to the kid about money and kept him high. Apparently Travis was the worst addict of the three.”
“I hate to ask this, but was Dalton blackmailed with the same thing? Did Candice have to...?”
Holding her gaze was enough of an answer. Hannah sprang up, desperate to distance herself from this as if such a thing were possible. As soon as she did, she saw a shadow in the hall beyond the doorway and rushed out.
Her heart skipped a beat when she locked eyes with Mary whose expression was neutral, impossible to read. Then Mary tipped her chin down, glaring at her. And in a tone so devoid of emotion that it made Hannah’s blood run cold, she asked:
“What are you guys talking about?”
***
The next morning, Hannah functioned like a soldier - stoic, steadfast, and on high alert.
Her sleep had been plagued with nightmares and she’d woken with a dark sense of foreboding that rattled her bones. Despite her unease, she got the kids up, handling Mary with extra caution, keeping her distance and limiting eye contact. When they were fed and dressed, teeth brushed and textbooks collected, she ushered them to her car and drove them across town, all the while remaining reserved in her interactions, direct with her orders and quick in her responses when Candice had a question or Mary sought fit to make a snide comment about school.
So badly she wanted to believe Mary was a victim in all this, far better than Kendra’s abductors and no worse than the mechanic, whose blissful ignorance had helped harbor a wanted vehicle. But the clenched pangs in her gut told her the girl was warped. And with warped calamities occurring all around her, she couldn’t trust mere coincidence would explain it.
At the school, she pulled up curbside behind a bus and put her Taurus in Park.
“I’ll be here at three-thirty,” she said.
“Three fifteen,” Candice corrected her.
Then from the passenger’s seat Mary told her in a flat tone, “My building’s around back.”
“How about walking? Get some fresh air?”
Mary feigned agreement, suppressing an eye roll and popping her door open.
“Have a good day, girls,” she called out, though Mary had already slammed her door.
“Bye Hannah!” Candice was sure to meet her gaze before she shut the back door and took off running into the herd of students who were filtering through the entrance doors.
Hannah pulled out, creeping around the school bus as kids hopped off. She lost sight of Mary until the girl cleared the bus then spied her rounding the side of the school building. Hannah eased through the parking lot, crawling around the corner to tail her.
When she couldn't drive any further she squeezed the brakes and checked her rearview to be sure she wasn’t blocking traffic, then watched Mary stalk off down a cement path that flanked the building.
Wind blew her blond hair sideways, exposing the delicate nape of her neck and bringing a torrent of red leaves falling across her path.
Were men obsessed with her? Was infatuation with Mary an infectious disease? Was it common knowledge far and wide that all males were afflicted and by mere signature of her name tacked beneath suggestive instructions they’d blindly volunteer themselves for heinous acts they’d never consider otherwise? Was she oblivious to this? Or was it a skill she exercised?
A rusted out Jeep lurched at Mary then slammed on the brakes, skidding as she yelped then keeled over in laughter. A boy jumped over the passenger’s side door and rounded the hood with swagger.
Mary indicated her building with an apologetic shrug and the kid seemed to jostle her, trying to convince her to get in. She gave him a playful shove and he walked backwards, grabbing his heart as if she’d broken it. Then he climbed back in and they took off, pulling a U-turn for the road.
As she watched her, Mary didn’t hook around the right side of her building towards the entrance, but rather waited until the boys were out of sight. When they were she walked to the road and looked up the street, tapping her foot. At times she glanced towards her building like she needed to get somewhere before one of the school administrators caught her.
A moment passed and Hannah wracked her brain to recall whether or not the girl had a cell phone. She’d never seen her with one. If she was waiting for someone, then who? And how had she contacted them? Cody’s landline?
Then a black vehicle that Hannah identified as a late model Saab, sleek and classy with tinted windows, rolled up. She pulled the passenger’s side door open before it came to a complete stop and hopped inside.
As soon as it drove off, Hannah hit the gas, slowing only to take the turn onto the road, then started off following the Saab at a good twelve yards clearance.
The straight road soon turned winding, bends and curves and dips and hills, as the woods - grand plumes of bright foliage, thickened on either side. The Saab came in and out of view with each crest, each turn, until the woods gave way to a playground on the right up ahead and the Saab pulled off, kicking up dust as it rolled to a stop.
Rusty swings, tattered rope climbs, and dingy seesaws no parent would want their child to touch for fear of infection, the playground was a wasteland. Its dusty perimeter was littered with syringe-needles, which ma
de sense considering the patrons. On one of the benches a man seemed to ooze sideways, riding a high like nobody’s business. At another corner, a cluster of kids were huddled near the foot of a slide and passed a bowl around, billows of smoke rising up in gritty puffs after each hit.
Hannah stayed on the road, but pulled over keeping her sightline clear for the Saab. A minute passed before Mary got out. She’d discarded her coat and sweater, wore nothing but a skimpy undershirt as a top, which she’d tied into a knot beneath her left breast to expose her midriff.
With hips swaying and her hands clasped together behind her back, she approached the cluster of kids, all boys, Hannah noted.
The tallest kid, who also appeared to be the oldest, took the initiative, smiled crookedly, leering at her. He put his whole head into it as he looked her up and down. She offered her hand, but he hugged her instead, lingering, the guys behind him whistling and hollering. When he released her Mary felt his muscle under his sweatshirt then pressed up against him, whispering something in his ear. The kid's brow shot straight to the sky after that. He eyed the Saab up the way. Then eyed her, lifting the bowl as if to offer it. But she shot her thumb over her shoulder, again indicating the Saab.
Next, Mary took the bowl, extended it in the general direction of the other kids and one of them took it. Then she cupped her hand between the kid's legs and whispered in his ears some more.
That was all it took. He was sold, which was clear when he followed her over to the Saab and climbed in the backseat after her.
As soon as the back door closed, the Saab reversed out of its spot, easing through the dusty parking lot. Hannah ducked behind the wheel when it drove past her vehicle then checked her rearview to watch it disappear around a curve.
She threw her car into Drive, but hadn’t gotten her foot on the gas when her cell rang inside her purse.
“Shit,” she muttered, riffling through her bag, gaze locked on her rearview, hoping not to lose the Saab. “Yeah?”
“It’s Cranston. Is now a good time?”
“Yesterday would’ve been a good time.” It wasn’t easy letting go of her itch to take off after the her sister so she reached for her flask, twisting off the top one-handed and bringing it to her mouth.
“Sorry about that. Believe it or not I have things to do here.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, ” she said, apologetically enough.
“When are you coming back by the way?”
Christ, she hadn’t been keeping track of the date. Quickly she thumbed into her calendar on her cell. “Shit, three days from now.”
“Well, they're eager. Homicide has turned into a Goddamn circus without you.”
“Cranston?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m smiling.” And she was.
“It’s not meant to flatter. It’s meant to get your ass back here. Anyway, you got a pen?”
“Hang on.” She clamped her cell to her shoulder, dumping the contents of her purse onto the passenger’s seat, and fished out a pen. When she found one she pinched up a crumpled receipt, which she rested against the center of the steering wheel. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“Looks like your Dad's in Sanbornton-”
“Really?”
“I said looks like,” he corrected her.
She wondered what bug had crawled up his ass.
“Legal name Walter Warfield-”
“Warfield?” The irony was palpable. “No kidding?”
Cranston sighed into the receiver and she expected a sarcastic remark, but apparently he could do without. “Walter Warfield. Date of birth-”
“Don’t need it. What’s his address?”
“74 Circle Point Road.”
Gradually, her brain grasped hold. “That’s on Hermit Lake.”
“If you say so.”
“Did you get anything else?” she asked eagerly. “Do you know where he works? Any arrests?”
“He might be retired. His employment history went cold after 2005, but when he was working he was a veterinarian. And no, no arrests, no history of drug abuse or alcohol, no record of domestic violence, clean on paper.”
“Married?”
“Nope.”
“Kids?”
“Other than you?”
“Point taken.” She eased back in her chair and tucked the receipt with the address into the breast pocket of her coat.
Cranston took on a gentle tone, no longer irritated by whatever had been gnawing at him. “How are you doing over there?”
“Two sheets to the wind if I’m being honest with myself.”
“God, Hannah. I thought you were done digging yourself out of that hole.”
“Maybe I’m exaggerating. It’s probably just one sheet at this point, a small one like the white flag of mercy,” she sighed. “I don’t know.”
“What about the Police Academy? You can do it. It can be more than just something you talk about at the water cooler.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it.”
When she trailed off into silence he told her, “We’re all praying for you.”
“Yeah, a lot of that going around. Not seeing the effects yet.”
He held the silence with her.
“Thanks, Cranston. I’ll see you soon.”
She let him hang up before doing the same then sunk into her seat, resting her head back as she took to aspiring towards that third sheet, knocking booze down her throat and pondering how in the hell her father had managed to exist right under her nose all her life without her awareness.
Her cell rang between her legs, but she wasn’t about to deal with it. The trees were too pretty. She watched their leafy tops sway in the breeze like they were waving at her, hello or goodbye or hang in there was anyone’s guess. Her phone quieted then bleated one long tone indicating she had a voice message.
She needed to drive over to Circle Point, face her father, get some semblance of his sordid history with Kendra and hope like hell it'd shed light on any of this.
So she dug deep, mustering what little gumption she had left, and rolled across the street, cutting around to head back from where she’d come.
As she drove, the voice message nagged at her. She fought, but eventually gave in when she came to the intersection that would take her towards the lake. After banking a left, Hannah darted her gaze from the road to her cell and back again, as she punched in her voice mail code then set her cell on speaker.
A man came whimpering on the line that she soon realized was Dale.
“Hannah,” he squeezed out a whining cry then sucked it up. “Hannah it's your step Daddy. Kendra!” More groaning cries then a loud burst, “I found her in the lake!” Wailing cries, snotty gurgling gasps. “On the shore. She’s dead, Hannah! I, I, I can’t even speak of what they did to her.” A pause then an explosion, “I need my girls! Bring me back my girls! Hannah!”
He cried her name out long and hard, but her heart had already stopped beating, as Dale’s voice echoed through her mind.
Dead?
Chapter Nineteen
The Kendra Cole case was now officially a homicide.
Two officers, Sanders and Calhoon managed to quarantine Dale and his abominable hysterics inside the house, giving Cody the peace and quiet he needed to investigate the scene undisturbed until forensics arrived. The officers seemed leery of the shack, haunted by flashbacks of diarrhea-brownies past, but Cody reminded them no one had put a gun to their heads. “Don’t eat anything,” he’d said, as though the solution to their problem was obvious.
Sanders had seemed skeptical of the advice. “Mary isn’t going to be here?” he’d asked, implying he was powerless in the face of a voluptuous blonde.
“Christ,” Cody had muttered, indicating Sander’s skull. “Your brain is up there.” Then he’d stalked through the door and across the yard, Dale wailing all the while for his girls as though they were the air he breathed and without them he’d surely die.
Convenient timing, Cody thought,
as he stared down at what was left of Kendra and worked through the timeline. Hannah had taken the girls then Kendra turned up dead and Dale was using her in his plea to get the girls back. The man’s twisted logic set Cody’s teeth on edge.
Kendra was lain face up on the shore, her head in the mud, her legs bobbing in the water. He took an overall impression - dirty and torn clothes, boots loose on her feet, a few bruises to her face, her chin and left eye specifically. There was dingy gauze banded around her left wrist and when he scrutinized it further he could see the bandages were covering the stump where her hand used to be. Other than the fact of the gauze’s weathered state, there’d been precision in its application. Whoever had dressed her wound knew what they were doing, medically speaking.
Then he kneeled down, getting a closer look at her. She had a fair amount of color to her pallor, couldn’t have been dead that long. He’d like to think she looked peaceful since her eyes were closed, but he could see the matted hair at the sides of her head, bloody. Her hair must have congealed to the wounds.
Mud had seeped through his jeans at the knee so he stood up and found a pair of latex gloves in his inner pocket. As he worked them on, he scanned the mud and soil looking for footprints, but the entire expanse of the shore had been thoroughly treaded through.
Dale had told the responding officer he’d been at his church then came home but went straight inside. It hadn’t been until he’d come out for a little late afternoon target practice that he rounded the house and caught sight of her in the water.
No alibi had been the sum total of his drunken proclamations.
He’d gone on to declare he hadn’t touched her, but ran back inside to call Hannah. Then he’d called 911.
The Pastor over at the Church of God had yet to get back to him, but Cody had a feeling that portion of Dale’s time line wouldn’t hold water.
Gingerly, he inched his fingertips along her hairline towards the back of her skull and continued exploring in a circular fashion to investigate if she’d received any blows to the head. At first blush, her cause of death wasn’t obvious. He felt no gashes or lacerations, so he ventured to lift her shirt from the bottom, though it was intact without signs of stab or gunshot wounds.