by T. R. Ragan
Too often reporters merely wrote accounts of a crime as it occurred, using little background or depth. A good reporter needed to do his homework, which is why Ben had spent enough time with these guys to earn their respect. They knew he cared about trends and the impact crimes had on a community. And for that reason, he was granted access to things many reporters were not.
Today Ben was at the Auburn Police Department, waiting to talk to Police Lieutenant Anne Garcia. He liked Anne. She was professional and seemed to see things many people didn’t. She’d always been a good listener with a keen eye to conscious and unconscious gestures and body movements.
Lieutenant Garcia had been the first officer to arrive at the scene of Ben’s car accident ten years ago. The vehicle, a stolen 1974 Ford Pinto, had crashed head-on into a tree and exploded after veering off Highway 49 onto a secluded side road and into an area known for hiking and rock climbing. The crash occurred at one in the morning on August 18, 2007. The driver, identified as Vernon Doherty, a young man he had never heard of, was found dead at the scene, 90 percent of his body burned to a crisp.
Ben was led to a conference room, where Lieutenant Garcia was waiting for him. They shook hands, and the door was closed behind him as they sat across from each other.
“How are you doing, Ben? Busy working the Heartless Killer case?”
“Gavin is covering the case for the Tribune, but he keeps me in the loop. I heard about Natalie Bailey being taken from her bed while her husband slept. Any evidence her abduction is connected?”
Anne shook her head. “It’s too early to tell.”
At forty-five, Anne was five years older than he was, but she took good care of herself and looked years younger. She also had a practiced charm about her and a wide smile that drew people in.
Despite the oddity surrounding the crash—stolen car, drug-and-alcohol level of the driver, and Ben’s amnesia diagnosis—it was determined that Ben must have been working on a lead and was a victim of circumstance. Why else would he be in a stolen car with Doherty? Nobody, including Ben himself, had ever questioned his innocence.
The reason Ben had come today was because Leanne Baxter had mentioned seeing Sophie Cole with two men that night. One of them had been wearing a skull ring. The moment Leanne had mentioned the ring, Ben had seen an image in his mind. A hand falling through a wall of fire before landing on the console next to him. Fingers limp, skin melting from bone, and a skull ring on the middle finger. Like other images he’d seen lately, this one had been vividly clear, nothing like a hazy dream after a long night of tossing and turning.
If the man driving the stolen Ford Pinto was the same man Leanne Baxter had seen with Sophie Cole, did that mean Ben had also been at the Wild West that night? Was that why he’d seen Sophie Cole’s image on TV and felt as if they’d met? For the past ten years he’d wondered how in the world he’d ended up in a stolen car with Vernon Doherty. Sophie Cole might be part of the puzzle. It was time to take a fresh look at his accident.
“So,” Lieutenant Garcia said, “what can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking about the crash lately,” he said, not ready to give her too many details, “and I wanted to shoot a few things past you.”
“Go ahead.”
“As you know, I’ve read the reports so many times I’ve got most of the details memorized verbatim. But a few things have been bothering me. If Vernon Doherty was driving the car that night, why didn’t the autopsy report show any signs of smoke inhalation as cause of death?”
Lieutenant Garcia thought about it for a moment. “If I remember correctly, Doherty’s alcohol level was double the limit, and he had drugs in his system, which made for an open-and-shut case.”
Ben raised a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that the reason for the crash was obvious. The man was intoxicated, swerved off the road, and hit a tree. You had been in the passenger seat. You had diagonal cuts from the seat belt to prove it. Two men. One dead. One with amnesia. No witnesses.”
He nodded, waited for her to continue.
“Although he was badly burned, I believe severe head trauma was cited as the cause of his death.”
“Correct.”
“If smoke inhalation isn’t listed on the autopsy report,” Lieutenant Garcia went on, “I would assume Doherty died on impact, before he was consumed by the fire, and therefore there was no reason for the coroner to list any other causes.”
Ben wasn’t satisfied, and yet he couldn’t rationalize his wayward thinking. “I’d like to talk to the coroner,” he told her. “But since you were lead investigator on the case, I thought I’d check with you and make sure that wouldn’t be a problem.”
She frowned. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Are you regaining some of your memory?”
“No,” Ben said. “At least I don’t think so. I’ve had what I would call visions, but I’m not sure if any of the things I’m seeing have any relevance to my accident or to cases I reported on in the past.”
“Must be frustrating for you.”
“You have no idea,” Ben said. “I also wanted to talk to you about the items found at the scene.”
She looked through the file. “Jewelry, a key, pocketknife, and some coins.”
“That’s right. How long do you keep those items?”
“In other words, if we still have them, you’d like to take another look?”
“I would appreciate it.”
“Hoping something will jog your memory?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Anne nodded and then made a quick call. “Barbara is bringing the box of items from the evidence room. She also has the name of the coroner. If you do talk to him, tell him I sent you. If he has any problem talking to you about the case, have him call me.”
“I know you’re busy. Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. We all want answers. If you don’t have any further questions, I’m going to get back to my office. Barbara will be here soon.”
They both stood and shook hands before she left the room.
Ben rubbed his left leg below the knee, where it often ached. He sat down again, looked around the room, and suddenly wondered why he was there. What was he trying to prove? For the first time in more than a decade, he wondered if maybe his past was best left in the past. The flashbacks and the extra time spent on Sophie Cole’s case were wearing him down, causing him to do crazy things. Melony had forgiven him after he’d left a message with his therapist asking her to call him, telling her it was an emergency. What had happened between him and Melony last night disturbed him beyond words. He loved his wife more than anything in the world. He would never do anything to harm her or the kids. But it was as if he’d been in a trance. The woman he’d seen in his mind’s eye was a stranger without a name, a woman he’d never seen before. And the worst part was that he’d meant to inflict harm. He pulled out his phone. No missed call from his therapist.
Before he could call again, Barbara entered the room and left him with a small dusty box no bigger than a loaf of bread.
The door clicked shut again, and he was alone.
He stared at the box for a long moment. The seal had been broken many times. Ben had looked through the items before. He knew what he’d see: a key, two rings, a pocketknife, and some coins.
The first time he’d been shown the items, he’d felt nothing. He’d touched and held everything, hoping to summon a memory, anything.
The second time he’d looked inside the box, he’d felt confident that he’d never seen the objects before. The third time he’d been desperate for answers, and he’d held the key between his fingers and then tried on the rings. But again he’d left disappointed.
The bloody images, the headaches, the screams for help, crackling fire, and a skull ring worn by a man he couldn’t remember.
Were his memories finally coming back?
If so, he had a feeling he needed to brace himself.
&nbs
p; He slipped the lid off. Everything looked the same. He picked up the silver skull ring and slid it onto his finger. It was handcrafted and highly detailed.
He stared at the ring for a moment longer, waiting for images or flashbacks to come forward.
When nothing happened, he stood, looked around, and then slipped the ring into his coat pocket and left the room.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Natalie Bailey couldn’t stop thinking about Mike. Was her husband okay? She prayed he was okay. And if he was okay, that would mean he’d be frantic. And yet there was nothing she could do to help either one of them.
She was trapped. Locked in an ancient-looking handcrafted cell that had been welded together with rebar that was bent and rusting in places. She had no idea how she’d ended up in this place with its cracked, uneven cement walls and moldy smell. Beneath the fresh straw, she could smell a hint of bleach.
How many people had been locked up before her?
And who was in the enclosed cell nearby? Every once in a while she’d hear a long, mournful cry. At first she’d thought it was a wolf. Now she wasn’t so sure.
The last thing she remembered before waking up in her own personal hell was being home in her warm bed. Sometime well after midnight, she’d felt the weight of a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Her eyes had shot open, and she’d seen a shadowy figure hovering over her. Her muffled screams had gone unnoticed, which made her think her abductor had already done something with Mike. At one point she’d managed to kick her abductor in the groin, and he’d grunted in pain. But then she’d felt a pinch in her side right before everything went black.
She looked at Zee, who was preoccupied at the moment, talking to herself. Natalie had been awake the other day when the poor girl was dragged down the stairs, her head thumping against each step.
Their abductor, a skinny man with a pale face and big blue eyes, stood at about five foot ten. His wheat-colored hair was straight, cut short and at odd angles. He’d struggled with Zee’s deadweight, huffing and puffing until he’d finally left the girl in a heap in the middle of the cell next door before locking her in.
When he’d returned the second time, Natalie had been shocked to discover that he blamed her mother for what he’d become. He’d said he’d met her mother, Sue Sterling, on May 14, 1999. He was gone now, but Natalie knew he’d come back sooner or later.
She still couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said about her mother. Natalie would have been seventeen at the time. Mom and Dad had divorced two years before that. Her mother used to come home exhausted, overwhelmed by the sheer number of children who were being abused and needed help.
But that Friday, May 14, 1999, was especially memorable to Natalie for another reason. That was the same day her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer.
And that was when it came to her. Her heart raced as she realized she knew who he was. Mom had talked about him often, more worried about the abused boy than her cancer diagnosis. She’d made multiple phone calls until a caseworker had assured her that she would follow up.
His name wasn’t Scar, as Zee referred to him. His name was Forrest Bloom.
With renewed determination to get out of there alive, Natalie got to her feet and walked around the cell, examining every nook and cranny. She pushed the straw away from the walls, making a pile in the center of the room. Then she examined the cracks in the floor, looking for anything that might help them escape.
She ran her hands over the rough metal, looking for flaws. In the cell next to her, Zee still stood by the door, her fingers curled tightly around the bars as she rocked back and forth. She hadn’t moved since the last time the madman had marched from the room.
“He never should have done that,” Zee said when she saw Natalie walking around. “He’s a very bad man and will be punished.”
Natalie glanced at Zee. “What did you say?”
“Shut up, Lucy,” Zee said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who are you talking to?” Natalie asked.
“Nobody,” Zee said as she continued to sway back and forth, causing the metal bars to squeak in protest.
Natalie looked up. There it was, about a foot above Zee’s right hand. A fragile link in the rebar. How much effort, she wondered, would it take to break one of the bars? Would Zee be able to shimmy her way up the rebar and squeeze through the space?
“Zee,” she said, “look up. Every time you shake that bar, it squeaks. There’s a weak point above your right hand. If you can break it loose, you might be able to get out of here and save us both.”
“I could be a hero,” Zee said.
“That’s true,” Natalie agreed.
Zee’s eyes narrowed. “I really thought he liked me.”
Natalie didn’t say a word. Zee was obviously at war with the demons inside, muttering to herself, her body tense.
Zee’s face turned red, and she began to shake the bars again, harder this time, the noise deafening.
Suddenly she stopped and looked up at the spot Natalie had pointed to. She stared, her eyes narrowing, and then shook the bars again. She did the same thing again and again, stopping, looking, shaking.
The bar was loosening.
Zee looked over at Natalie and smiled.
TWENTY-EIGHT
After driving to the Wild West in Auburn and being told that Leanne Baxter had the day off, Ben drove to the apartment building where he knew she lived, since he’d talked to her landlord a few days ago. Calling it a shithole was being kind. Trash, piles of it, littered the parking lot and the edges of the property. Windows were covered with sheets, and more than one rat scurried past him before he made it to the stairs. A shouting match between a man and a woman was taking place inside one of the apartments.
He stopped in front of 5B and knocked.
The curtain moved. A few seconds later the door opened, but only an inch. He recognized Leanne as the one peeking through the crack. A TV blared in the background.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you get my home address? That bitch at the bar, the one who—”
“I found you on my own,” Ben said, cutting her off. “I talked to your landlord, remember?”
“Oh.”
“I want to show you something, and then I’ll leave. I promise.”
Reluctantly she opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in.
He stepped inside, but when he turned to shut the door behind him, she stopped him. “Leave it open.”
She obviously didn’t trust him. He pulled the skull ring from his pocket and held it out for her to see. “Is this the ring you saw that night?”
Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. “That’s it! How did you get that?”
Ignoring her question, he said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind working with a forensic artist to identify the two men who left with Sophie Cole the night in question.”
“No need to hire a forensic artist,” she told him.
“Why is that?”
“When I saw you yesterday, there was something about you that looked familiar, so I looked you up on the Internet. I read all about the accident you were in the very same night Sophie Cole disappeared. You have amnesia, and you don’t remember anything. But I do.”
Ben knew Sophie had gone missing around the same time of his accident, but until now there had been no reason whatsoever to connect her disappearance to what had happened to him. Sophie Cole had gone missing on a Friday. His accident had happened early Saturday morning.
“The man driving the car,” Leanne said, “the one who died that night, was Vernon Doherty. I saw more than one image, and I can guarantee you that it was him. He was the one wearing the skull ring, the man Sophie attacked with the broken bottle. And you,” she said with an accusing finger, “were the other man in the parking lot that night.”
Ben looked her square in the eyes. His heart skipped a beat. “You’re sure it wa
s me?”
“Positive—tall, broad-shouldered, square jaw. The accident obviously did some damage, but you haven’t changed all that much.”
She took a tentative backward step. Was she afraid of him?
“Did I dance with Sophie that night?”
“I told you yesterday. Oh, that’s right—something was wrong with you, and you ran off. You and Sophie never danced. She approached you at the bar, and the two of you talked for a long while.”
“And you’re certain she left the bar first?”
“Definitely. She whispered in your ear, but you didn’t respond to whatever it was she told you, and that’s when she left. She looked annoyed. I figured you turned her down.”
“Turned her down?”
“Oh, come on. You know, turned down her offer for a quick lay. She was one of those girls. Like I said before, that wasn’t her first time coming to the Wild West. She came alone, but she always left with someone.”
He said nothing.
“You really don’t remember—do you?”
He shook his head. “Not a thing.” But then he saw Sophie’s face in his mind’s eye, and he knew that wasn’t completely true.
TWENTY-NINE
“I’m going to take Higgins for a walk,” Jessie told Olivia. She needed to get out, get some air. She didn’t want Olivia to know she was still wound up after thinking she’d lost her.
Olivia waved a hand above her head to let Jessie know she’d heard. She was watching TV and eating a grilled cheese sandwich.
“Maybe you should work on your report.”
Another wave of the hand.
Jessie sighed, grabbed the leash, and called Higgins’s name.
The dog lifted his head and scurried around, his cast slipping on the floor before he finally got to his feet. Less than a week, and the dog already responded to his new name. He didn’t seem to know he had a broken leg, either.