“They did it, Dad. It wasn’t me.” Scott was looking at his father with a new sense of urgency, but it wasn’t working. Tom had knocked Scott out of his senses with that simple statement, I saw the corpses in the guesthouse, and he wasn’t even thinking ahead of how the lie would affect his body language, his facial expression. Tom could read Scott like a book. He kept fiddling with his hands on the table, one of the habits Scott displayed whenever he was lying. “Honest, I had no idea. They’ve been…threatening me the whole time to keep quiet about it and — ”
“I don’t believe you heard me the first time, Scott,” Tom said, injecting menace in his voice and body posture. He leaned forward over the table. “I said I want to help you. If I’m going to help you, you’re going to come clean with me. It’s the only way I can help keep you out of jail. I can’t do it if you’re going to feed me this bullshit story that Gordon, Steve, and Dave led you into this because you and I know that’s not how it happened. Is it?”
Tom glared at Scott, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I know about the trips out of town. The nights you told me you were going into Lancaster to the skating rink were bullshit stories. You and your friends went into Philly and Harrisburg and assaulted homeless people.”
Scott looked at him again and this time the evidence was clear in his eyes. Guilty as charged. “No! That’s not what happened! I swear!”
“I noticed the bruising on your knuckles one morning,” Tom continued. “I never brought it up, though. I should have asked you what happened, and if you would have told me you’d gotten into a fight I would have asked you why you didn’t have any other marks or bruises. You don’t go through any fight without getting a little banged up. Trust me, I know. I was in plenty when I was your age.”
“I wasn’t fighting with anybody!”
“No, you were only beating the crap out of somebody who couldn’t fight back. That’s how your knuckles got bruised and torn up. Isn’t that right?”
Scott averted his gaze. “No. That’s not it.”
“I did a quick check on the internet before you came home. If I hadn’t been so busy I would’ve noticed what’s going on, so I blame myself for letting this happen. You can’t bullshit me anymore, Scott. I know what you’ve been doing.” He lowered his tone, trying to be the buddy, the best friend to his son, something his father had never been to him, something he told himself he’d always do for his own boy but never did because he was always so goddamned busy. “I saw news items on John’s disappearance. I know you went to Susan’s party the night he disappeared. I also know you guys were at odds with each other.”
“That’s not true!”
“I also read about the wilding incidents in Philly and Harrisburg. I was especially interested in the few cases that reported white teenagers driving a dark SUV being seen speeding away from each crime.” Tom leveled his gaze at his son. “You drive a dark SUV, Scott. I’m surprised the cops didn’t come poking around earlier.”
“Coincidence.”
“It’s not a coincidence that a man named Neal Ashford, who was reported missing in Philly three weeks ago, was wearing a white coat, blue jeans, and dark tennis shoes. One of the corpses in the guesthouse is wearing a white coat. The article also said Neal’s black. So is the corpse in the guesthouse.”
This time Scott didn’t say anything. He sat stoically, arms crossed, not looking at Tom.
“I didn’t want to believe it, but I can’t help but see the pattern,” Tom continued. “The times you were kicked out of school in fourth and fifth grades for picking on other kids, and not just picking on them either, downright torturing them — ”
“That’s not true!” Scott began, his voice raised.
“And then there’s the Gaines incident. We couldn’t protect you from the fallout of that, Scott. We tried, but we just couldn’t. The school board and the police had you dead to rights and it took our resources to keep you in school and get the administrators off your back. We couldn’t deal with the fallout of what might have happened if we hadn’t threatened to sue. We wanted to protect you, too. I wanted to get you into counseling but your mother, she had different ideas.”
“I don’t need counseling!” Scott banged his fists on the glass table.
Tom faced his son. Inside he wanted to shout back at him but he reined it in. He couldn’t lose control now. He’d learned to harness his anger a long time ago. “I can’t help but see the pattern. It needs to stop and I’m going to help you.”
Now Scott did meet his gaze. This time, the younger Bradfield didn’t turn away.
“How?” Scott asked. Tom thought he caught a slight tinge of pleading in that question. That was all he needed to know that he’d broken through, had gotten his son to see the severity of the situation.
“The first thing we have to do is get rid of the bodies.”
Now Scott visibly relaxed. He seemed to slump in his chair, as if a great weight had been taken off of him. He was nodding. “Okay, yeah…definitely. Get rid of them.”
“You don’t have to tell me why you did any of this,” Tom said, choosing his words carefully. “That isn’t the issue now. The issue now is to dispose of those bodies and make that guesthouse look immaculate.”
Scott let out a big sigh. He leaned over the table, clasping his hands in front of him. “You think the police will come back today?”
“They might. We need to take care of this as quickly as possible. Before your mother gets home.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Scott nodded. Carol was usually gone until four or five on Saturday afternoons. If the police didn’t return, they could take care of this little problem with no trouble.
“I’ve already called Dave and Steve,” Scott said. “They’re on their way. They should be here any time now.”
“Good.” Scott understood the severity of the situation and had no doubt taken the appropriate measures before Tom confronted him with it.
“Fuckin’ Tim Gaines,” Scott muttered.
“What about him?”
“If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Tom said nothing. He liked to think he would have put two and two together eventually and confronted Scott about the dead men in the guesthouse, but the potential trouble Gaines posed did present a problem. It was obvious he’d talked to the police while in custody, otherwise Tom wouldn’t be having this conversation with Scott now. “We can’t get distracted by other things,” Tom said.
“I’m not distracted. I’m just pissed off.”
Tom thought back to that long ago night when he’d been pissed off and killed that hippie couple. He remembered the rage that had coursed through him, made him do something he never thought he’d do, something he’d been trying to cover up and keep buried ever since. It was because of his attempt at keeping that murder a secret which led to his keeping tabs on Zuck’s Woods, which led him to buy neighboring property when it came up for sale shortly after he graduated from college. He’d had to borrow money out the ass to do it, but Harry Eckman and Victor Beck had gone in on the deal with him and things had been fine. They’d formed a corporation, the three of them, then leased some of the land out, reinvested the profits into other businesses, and within fifteen years time Tom saw himself as CEO of D’Anno and Harris Financial, a private equity firm. It was through his business clout that he managed to get on the board for Lancaster County Development, and thanks to his influence, he’d kept most other developers from trying to turn that land into subdivisions. It was only recently that he’d been able to buy Zuck’s Woods in a very quiet, very private deal with the state gaming commission. He’d done everything he could to keep his sin buried. Likewise, Harry and Victor, his old high school friends, had done their part and kept their crime a secret.
“The detectives didn’t say anything about this,” Tom continued, “…but while I was on the news websites, I noticed that something is going on in another neighborhood that b
orders Zuck’s Woods. The Elm Grove development.”
Scott got that surprised look again. “What’s going on?”
“Missing people. A bunch of them. They’re talking about conducting a search in Zuck’s Woods.”
“Really?” Tom couldn’t tell if Scott was nervous; he was certainly acting like he was.
“Do I need to be concerned about a search party in Zuck’s Woods?”
“What’s to be concerned about?”
“I’m a shareholder in a corporation that owns Zuck’s Woods.”
“Oh!” Scott seemed to think about this. He looked at Tom. “I don’t know…you might.”
“Okay.” That settled it. He had to call Harry and Victor.
“So what are we going to do?”
“When Steve and Dave get here, take some blankets from the linen closet and wrap the corpses in them. Bring them to the house. We’ll burn them in the basement fireplace.”
“Won’t Mom notice the missing linens?”
“No. I’ll get them replaced. Do you think you guys can handle that?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make some phone calls and get some friends out here. Then we’re going to take care of the guesthouse.”
Tom only hoped they had enough time to cover Scott’s tracks.
And keep his own covered as well.
* * *
Tom reached Harry Eckman on his way to the golf course and told him to come to the house. “We playing at your place?” Harry joked.
Tom told Harry what was going on and Harry instantly eased up on the joking. “I’m heading over right now.”
He got a similar reaction from Victor Beck, who was watching the game on his widescreen TV in the living room of the new home he’d bought in River Court. “Should I call our lawyer?” Victor asked.
“Not yet,” Tom said. “Just get over here. And stop by a Home Depot and buy paint. Make it a dozen cans of white paint. I don’t care what brand. Just enough to paint the interior of a living room and the floor.”
“You want to paint your floor?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
By the time Victor and Harry arrived at the house a little after ten-thirty, Scott’s friends had already arrived and the boys had removed the corpses from the guesthouse. Tom had given the boys a brief recap. Steve and Dave looked grave and scared. They kept glancing at Scott, who refused to meet their gaze. The three boys hovered in front of the guesthouse for a moment as Tom trekked back to the house. He tried to ignore the sounds the boys made as they entered the guesthouse, the muffled grunts and curses accompanied by what sounded like beatings — Christ, the homeless people in there weren’t dead? Tom could have sworn they were deader than shit! — along with mangled squeals of surprise and pain that were suddenly cut off. More pounding followed. Scott and the boys pounding their heads in to make sure? Whatever they had to do to cover their tracks. As long as they scooped up the blood and brains that would stain the floor and walls.
David was throwing up outside as Harry Eckman arrived and Tom called out to him to wash the vomit up with the gardening hose. Dave waved a hand weakly, then proceded to do just that as Harry trotted up the deck steps. By the time Victor arrived and the men were sitting at the large glass table, Scott and his friends had gotten a handle on the task at hand and were carrying the wrapped-up remains into the house.
And as the boys worked, Tom told Victor and Harry what his son had been up to and how it was imperative they do whatever it took to keep the bodies of that long dead couple from being discovered.
“How are we going to do that, Tom?” Harry asked, his voice a strangled whisper. “We don’t know what’s going on or — ”
“You guys are going to monitor what’s happening in that neighborhood and if it appears that a civilian search party is going to be formed, you’re going to volunteer.”
Harry and Victor glanced at each other, understanding dawning on their features. Tom nodded at them. “You still remember the spot?”
“I’ll never forget it,” Victor said.
“All it’s going to take is to keep detectives and dogs out of the area.”
“What if something happens though?” Harry asked. “What if…something happens beyond our control…like a dog digs up a body or they find it through some kind of infra red equipment or something?”
“Then you’ll be on the ground to hear everything that goes on and you can report that back to me,” Tom said.
Scott’s voice called up to them, interrupting their meeting. “Guesthouse is clear!”
“Thanks, son,” Tom called down. He gestured toward the guesthouse. “I’ve got changes of clothes for you guys. Let’s get to work on painting that guesthouse before Carol gets home.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chelsea Brewer couldn’t help but be worried about Tim.
She was sitting in the middle of her bed in her room, not watching TV, not reading a book or magazine, not doing much of anything. What should have been a perfect summer day seemed tainted somehow. Chelsea couldn’t quite explain it. It just felt wrong.
The visit she had from the police shortly after her parents left for work was the main reason for the way things seemed out of whack. Another reason was the vibe she was getting.
Something was happening.
Her father had come home from work to be with her after getting a phone call from Spring Valley Police Officer Frank Clapton that a credible threat had been made against her. Dad had freaked out and came right home. He’d called at least twice on the drive, once to tell her he couldn’t reach her mother, the second to tell her he was going to get in touch with her grandmother so Chelsea could stay with her for the rest of the summer. That was something Chelsea didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to be away from Tim. The thought of spending even a day apart from him was unbearable. Plus, her grandmother was a very religious woman who lived in rural Virginia. She was a nice enough lady, but she and Chelsea just didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. If she had to spend the rest of the summer with Granny Beth, Chelsea was going to freak. She liked to think she wouldn’t get as bad as she did that summer two years ago when she’d resorted to cutting herself, because the therapy she’d engaged in after all that helped. Still, it was Granny Beth’s influence that had helped contribute to the cutting. All the old woman did was pick at Chelsea, belittle her, make her feel guilty about being a young woman. It didn’t help that the social elite at Spring Valley High had done a good job of whittling away at her self-esteem prior to the last time Chelsea spent at her grandmother’s. Her father hadn’t been much help, either. Despite his outwardly macho he-man nature, he was a softie at heart and he truly did love her. Chelsea just wished he had more common sense. Dad was the type of person that would do anything to fit in with the status quo just to be accepted. Chelsea never gave a good goddamn about impressing people she didn’t care for. No wonder she’d taken out her frustrations on her own flesh. Dad was more hip to things now, was more accepting of her as a person, and surely he’d made the suggestion that she stay at Granny Beth’s out of desperation due to their current situation.
When Dad got home, he’d talked to the officer, who’d met him at the house. Chelsea had sat on the living room sofa. She still couldn’t believe what was going on.
According to the officer, the police had received a very credible threat against Chelsea by Gordon Smith. The officer didn’t admit this, but when he asked Chelsea if she knew Gordon and his friends, she’d put two and two together. She’d told the officer everything she knew about Gordon, which wasn’t much. And no, she had no idea why anybody would threaten her.
Dad had been worse, though. He’d grilled the officer relentlessly. He demanded complete protection from the police until he could make arrangements for Chelsea to be sent out of the state. The officer agreed that sending Chelsea away would be a good thing, at least until they had the person responsible for ma
king the threats in custody. Until then, the officer suggested keeping Chelsea inside. “We’re stretched very thin right now,” the Officer said. “Otherwise, I’d have a car parked outside standing watch.” The Officer left with the understanding they call 911 if Gordon or any of his friends came by the house.
“Don’t worry,” Chelsea’s dad told the officer as he escorted him to the front door. “I can handle it.”
Shortly after the officer left, Dad had gone into his home office and extracted his handgun. Chelsea didn’t know what kind it was, just that it was black and looked dangerous. She didn’t like guns, felt uncomfortable around them, but Dad put her at ease by explaining he was simply going to have it on his person until they got the word that Gordon Smith and his friends were in custody.
Dad’s reasoning made sense.
Still, Chelsea felt nervous about it.
Chelsea looked out her bedroom window into the back yard. Dad was downstairs on the phone. Despite taking his laptop home, he wasn’t working. He was too wound up with worry. So was Chelsea, for that matter.
Chelsea had tried calling Tim five times this morning and had left messages. He’d said nothing about not being home today. She’d gone online to see if he was in IM. He was MIA in cyberspace, too.
When Tim’s mother finally called shortly after ten A.M., Chelsea’s momentary relief turned into further concern and fear as she learned the full details of what was happening. The threat Gordon Smith made against her to Tim last night and — worst of all — Gordon’s admitting to have taken part in murdering homeless people.
She’d been getting updates from Naomi as the morning dragged on. Dave and Steve were nowhere to be found, nor was Gordon. Scott Bradfield’s father had refused a search of his property — a search warrant was apparently being drawn up now. And something was happening in a neighborhood near Zuck’s Woods.
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