Chandler moved closer to Jack.
If it weren’t for the fact that it was on the ground, it would have looked like a freshly turned-down bed with the top blanket folded back. Nothing more than two blankets on the floor and another on top. The flashlight reflected off metal and sparkled. Near the head of the “bed” was a stack of aluminum cans, meticulously arranged.
Jack moved closer.
A crinkling behind him made him spin around.
Chandler put the last bit of the protein bar in his mouth and stuffed the wrapper in his pocket. “Sorry.”
Jack shined the light on the stack of cans. “It’s a little stockpile,” he whispered. “They’re not open.”
The flashlight focused on the single can at the top of the pile, a soda can, slit down the middle. A candle had been placed inside.
“Look,” Chandler whispered. “That’s the same kind of candle we found in the encampment, near where…you know…”
The flashlight blinked twice and shut off. Jack chuckled nervously.
“Jack. If this is a joke, I’m going to kill you. Turn the flashlight on.” Chandler’s voice was low and strained.
“The batteries are dying. Calm down.”
“Shake the flashlight!” Chandler’s voice rose.
Jack shook the flashlight and tapped the side with his hand. It lit for one brief moment, but then they were plunged into darkness again. “It’s okay,” said Jack. “We’ll just feel our way back up.”
Somewhere in the darkness, a man growled.
For a frozen moment there was no sound, except each other’s ragged breathing.
Then the door at the top of the stairs clanged shut.
19
I’m Looking
Footsteps descended the metal stairs. Jack moved blindly in the dark toward the wall.
“Stop!” yelled a man’s voice.
Jack froze, but only for a second. He tried to calm his breathing as he snuck toward the wall again. “I just wanted to ask you a question,” he said.
“Why are you here? You’re not police.”
“Listen.” Chandler’s voice was loud. “Our friends are waiting for us outside.”
Jack winced. He knew what Chandler was trying to do, but starting off with a lie was not the best way to begin a conversation.
“That’s not true. I watched you come here. You drive a blue Impala.”
Damn.
Jack heard Chandler’s sneakers slide along the cement.
“Stop moving,” the man said. “I’m looking.”
“Jack?” Chandler’s voice was even, but Jack heard the fear in it.
“Are you afraid?” the man asked.
Jack felt his heartbeat shift up a gear. Sweat poured down his back. He took another step, and at last his hand touched the wall.
“Stop moving,” the man repeated.
“You can’t see me.” Jack took another step forward as quietly as he could.
“I can hear you,” the man said. “I’m looking. Are you afraid of the dark?” The question hung in the air.
“I got locked in a supply closet when I was a kid,” Jack said. “The light was on a timer. It shut off Friday night at five o’clock.” He continued forward with one hand against the wall, talking fast and loudly to mask the sound of his footsteps. “She didn’t come and get me until three twenty-seven Monday morning. It was this dark the whole time.”
Jack stopped and listened.
“Why did she lock you in the closet?” the man asked.
Jack tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. It echoed off the walls, but he guessed the man was at the base of the stairs. He started talking and moving again. “She wanted to go out, but there was no babysitter, so she locked me in there. I don’t know how long it took, but if you spend enough time in the dark, it stops scaring you.”
“Oh, yeah, how long will that take?” Chandler muttered.
Jack stopped and listened. His heart pounding in his ears was the only sound he heard.
A flashlight turned on. Jack’s breath stuck in his chest. Hollow dark-brown eyes stared at Jack from only inches away.
“You could trip in the dark.” The man marched around Jack and walked past Chandler, who looked ready to bolt. “I told you I was looking. For my flashlight. Found it. I have another light over here.”
The man lit the candle in the can. In its flickering light, Jack scrutinized him. He appeared to be in his thirties, but his face was weathered and worn. A long black ponytail hung down his back, and he wore an old camouflage jacket.
The man set the homemade lantern down on the stack of cans. “Are you on assignment?”
Jack’s mind raced for an answer to the odd question. “On assignment?” Jack repeated, hoping for more information.
“I heard you outside. You two are in the Army. Are you on assignment?” the man asked again.
Jack hesitated and finally replied, “We enlisted.”
“Yeah, Army. Thanks for the light.” Chandler gave Jack a look that screamed: Should we run?
Jack shook his head slightly. He looked at the man’s jacket. “Were you in the Army?”
“Marines. I’m still in. I’m on special assignment.” The man snapped to attention and put his hands at his sides. With his shoulders squared, he looked powerful. “Names. Now.”
“Chandler Carter, and he’s Jack Stratton,” Chandler blurted.
The man stepped in front of Jack. “Stratton? I had a teacher named Stratton. Ted Stratton. Math.”
Chandler looked like a man who’d just been pardoned; his whole body relaxed. “That’s Jack’s dad.”
Jack held his breath. The fact that this was an old pupil of his father’s brought him no comfort. Please don’t be some crazed ex-student my dad flunked. Please don’t be.
“Really?” The man scanned Jack like a drill instructor looking over a fresh recruit. His eyes looked as cold as the cement, and almost as lifeless. “He talked about you. You’re the son he adopted.” The man seemed to relax somewhat. “Tell him Alex Hernandez said hi. Third-period calculus.”
Alex Hernandez? Jack had heard the name before, and he struggled to remember where.
Alex reached out and took two cans from the stack. “Soda?” When he held out the can, the candlelight flickered off his gold wedding band.
Anne. Jack gasped. Anne Hernandez’s story was infamous in Fairfield. A new bride, murdered. Brutally. Jack absently took one of the cans and tried to remember details.
Her husband was a soldier…
Jack’s breath came in strained puffs. There had been a lot of local coverage, and he had watched a TV show about it years ago. The details were long forgotten, but the images were still raw in his mind. The show had included a reenactment, and actual pictures…serving up fresh nightmares for months. And right now, in this dark cellar, those nightmares felt all too real.
Alex stepped forward and set the cans on the floor. Jack cautiously picked up one. Chandler looked down at the other can as if it were a grenade. When Jack glared at him, Chandler scowled back and picked up the can, leaving as much distance as possible between himself and Alex.
“Your dad brought a picture of you into class,” Alex told Jack. “The day after you came home.” He arranged the remaining cans to fill the gaps. “Wait…was it your mom who locked you in the closet?”
“No. No.” Jack shook both his hands in front of himself. Some of his soda spilled. “Sorry,” Jack muttered as he wiped at the puddle with his sneaker. “That was my…” He struggled for a word. He never called his birth mother anything close to the word ‘mother.’ “That was a different lady. Before I was adopted.”
Alex nodded. He looked up at the ceiling. “I forgot to lock the door. You two shouldn’t be down here. I could lose my command. You need to return to the Tock.”
Chandler nodded. “You’re right.” He motioned to Jack. “Come on. Back to the Tock we go.”
Jack waved Chandler off. “Can I ask you a questi
on? A woman was attacked Thursday night near the pond. Did you happen to see anything?”
“I was downrange, but I didn’t get that mission.” Alex put the palms of his hands against his eyes.
Chandler was waving frantically and pointing toward the stairs.
Ignoring him, Jack continued, “Did you see anyone near the fountain? Talk to anyone?”
“No. I don’t talk to people. I don’t engage. My mission is strictly FO.”
“So you’re a Forward Observer? Recon? Then you must have seen or heard something? You have a bed over there. We found your lean-to.”
“Outpost. That’s my outpost. I already reported in. That’s my mission: watch and report in. Check my report. I only saw a few messengers.”
Chandler grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “We’ll do that. Let’s go look at his report, Jack.”
“Wait.” Jack pulled his arm free. “Near the fountain? You saw a messenger?”
“It’s in my report. He was fast. They wear civilian clothes but they’re wired to their RO in the Tock. You need to leave now.”
“What did the messenger look like?” Jack asked.
“It’s in my report. Blue shorts. Bright-green sneakers. Tall.” Alex stepped forward and snapped to attention. “You need to go.”
Jack held his hand up, palm out. “I just have one more question. Where—”
The veins in Alex’s neck stood out as he drew in a deep breath. “GET OUT NOW!”
In the confined concrete space, the bellow was so loud it caused Jack’s ears to ring. Alex shifted his weight. He looked ready to charge. He was almost Jack’s height, and when he squared his shoulders, he looked strong.
“Sure thing.” Chandler grabbed Jack’s arm and backed up. “Thanks for the soda.”
Jack hesitated, but Chandler pulled again, and finally Jack started to move.
Alex picked up the candle and watched as Chandler dragged Jack toward the stairs. In a clear, calm voice he said, “I warned you.” Then he blew the candle out and enveloped them in darkness.
Chandler shoved Jack ahead of him and up the stairs. Jack’s hand hit the metal door and he pushed. The door creaked open. Pushing and pulling each other, they rushed through the rooms and outside. As they hurried toward the fence, the door behind them slammed shut with such force that one of the thick windows on the wall cracked. They both jumped.
Chandler pushed the gate open so Jack could squeeze through. “I told you that was a crazy idea.”
Jack pulled himself through and then tugged on the gate for Chandler. “I totally agree. Going in there was stupid. Sorry. Do you know who that was?”
“Dracula? He said his name was Alex Hernandez. Oh, snap—that Alex Hernandez?” Chandler’s hands went to the sides of his face and his eyes went wide at the realization. “His wife was the lady who got slaughtered?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know he knew my dad.”
“So Dracula is off-the-rails nuts. He thinks he’s still on active duty. Did you hear him talking about messengers? Does he see imaginary people?”
“I don’t think so. I think I know exactly who he’s talking about.”
“He’s crazy. He said the messengers were wired together to a clock.”
“No, he said they’re wired to the RO so they could talk to the Tock. RO is marine speak for radio operator. Alex was saying that runners are connected to tactical operations command: TOC. He’s talking about joggers out for a run. I think Alex believes that the joggers wearing headsets are carrying radios.”
“You know that’s officially crazy.”
“Yeah, textbook definition. But he did see a runner near the fountain.”
“So? There have to be fifty runners a day in that park.”
“Not with bright-green sneakers like I saw on Leland Chambers. Whaddya say we take another look at Stacy’s boss?”
20
Friends
Tuesday morning, Jack sat in the Impala outside H. T. Wells. Chandler was helping Mr. Emerson again today, so Jack was alone. He watched the crowd walking up and down the street until he saw the person he was looking for: Betty Robinson, stepping out of the building for a smoke break.
He hopped out of the car and caught up to her just as she lit a cigarette. “Excuse me, Mrs. Robinson? Jack Stratton. We met the other day.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I have a favor to ask.”
Betty exhaled, and the smoke coiled out like a snake. “What is it?”
“The man they arrested for Stacy’s murder—I don’t believe he did it. I’m trying to find out who did. You’re Stacy’s friend. I’m hoping you’ll help me again.”
“Is the man they arrested a friend of yours or something?”
“Not exactly. But I know him, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t do it. I could really use your help.”
Betty eyed Jack up and down. “Okay. I’ll listen, but over there.” She led Jack over to the farthest corner of the building. Betty flicked a long ash onto the ground. “Why do you think I can help?”
“I read your bio on the website. You’ve been at the company twenty-five years. You started as a receptionist. You probably know more about this company than the owner.”
She smiled.
“I need you to look up a report.”
She took a long, slow drag. Smoke slowly drifted up as she studied Jack with the interest of a fisherman scrutinizing a bobber. “What report?”
“The Right-A-Way Shipping report that Stacy was working on. You trained her, so you must have access to it.”
A strange look passed over Betty’s face. “I’m not giving you company material, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t even need to see it. But if something’s wrong with that report, I need to know.”
Betty took another long drag of her cigarette. “You think Leland Chambers had something to do with Stacy’s murder, don’t you?”
Now it was Jack’s turn to stare. He didn’t know how much he should say. But his hesitation caused Betty’s expression to sour.
“If you’re asking me to help you, you’ll have to trust me,” she said.
Jack sighed. “Okay. Stacy and her boss argued the night she disappeared. And I figured out it was over that report. When I asked Mr. Chambers about it…” Jack searched for the right word. “It bothered him. A lot.”
“That explains things,” Betty said. “Leland came to my office with his panties in a twist after talking with you. He wanted to know what I told you Stacy and I talked about that night.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing—because you didn’t hear that from me. After that, he made a beeline for the only other person who could have told you anything about that night.”
Jack knew who that was, but he tried to appear cavalier. “Who?”
“The only other person in the building that night was a janitor named Jeremy.” She looked at Jack carefully, as if to identify whether the name rang a bell. “I’m not sure what Jeremy said to him, but Leland fired him.”
“Fired him?” A heaviness settled in his stomach. “For just talking to me?”
Betty smiled. “So you did talk to him. And yeah.” She dropped her cigarette and ground it into bits with her heel. “Look, Leland is a complete scumbag and sleaze, but he’d have to slither even lower to be a murderer. So what if he got worked up about a report? That’s no motive for murder. Hell, I hate my job, and I hate Leland, but he’s still breathing.”
“But he admitted going for a run in the park around the same time Stacy went missing.”
“He admitted that?”
“Yeah. And someone saw him close to where Stacy was killed, too. All I’m asking is for you to look at the report, check if something is in there. If Chambers did have a motive, maybe you’ll find it in that report.”
Betty turned away and stared at the park.
“Stacy was your friend,” Jack said.
Betty’s eyes narrowed. “And she’s dead. Now I r
emember, Stacy talked to me about that report that night too. So you think that report may be the reason she was killed, and now you want me to poke my nose into it?” She took out her cigarette pack but glanced at her watch and returned the pack to her pocket. “I need to think about it. It was nice to see you again, Jack. But try not to make this a habit.” She turned and walked back to the entrance to the building.
Jack got back in the Impala and headed east. He wanted to question Alex Hernandez more—to find out if he’d seen anything else that night. As he stopped at a red light, he glanced up at the sun, wondering whether Dracula would be in a better mood during the day.
“Hey, Jack!”
Jack turned his head to see Kelly rushing out the front door of a clothing store, waving to him like a whirligig in a hurricane.
Jack pulled over at the corner and hopped out. Kelly rushed over and gave him a quick kiss, while Courtney and two other girls exited the store and walked up behind her.
“Hello.” Jack pulled her in close. “What are you up to?”
“We were shopping.” Kelly turned to her friends. “This is Leesa and Stephanie.”
“You’re technically still shopping.” Courtney tipped her head toward Bottega Maria on the corner. “All your bags are still on the counter, and you haven’t paid. You’d better hurry back before the clerk decides you’ve abandoned her.”
“Oh, crud!” Kelly groaned.
Jack looked back at his double-parked Impala. “I’ll wait here. Go get your stuff.”
“I’ll be, like, a minute.”
“Take your time.”
Stephanie and Leesa accompanied Kelly back into the store, but Courtney called after them, “I’ll keep Jack company.”
Kelly waved over her shoulder and disappeared inside.
Courtney’s foot bounced and she looked like she was having an internal debate. “Hey, Jack, I don’t want to dump this on you, but…”
Jack leaned against the Impala and waited for her to continue.
“Don’t say I said anything, okay?”
“You haven’t said anything.”
Courtney rolled her eyes. “Just promise you won’t say something.”
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 67