“I left a picture of Dr. Stephens on Digby’s TV screen,” Brent said, “that should help.”
“That is good,” Devin replied, “so we’ll stick to the story that Jimmy got too drunk and accidentally broke the kitchen window. We’ll say that Beth asked Dr. Stephens to come over to talk to me after I stayed out drinking with BrentandJimmy, but he left right after Officer Reynolds did. Then we can say he said he was going to go check up on Jezebel. If anyone asks about BrentandJimmy’s injuries, we can say they got too drunk and started swinging bats at each other.”
Everyone was nodding in agreement.
“But what about times?” Beth asked. “They’ll probably ask what time everything happened.”
“Go by what is on record,” Devin answered, “I got pulled over at eleven. Officer Reynolds was at the house at about twelve-forty-five.”
“And Dr. Stephens left about one,” Jimmy added. Then we all slept it off over here.”
“That’s just about perfect,” Devin said. “Now remember, we don’t deviate a single word, right?”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“All that’s left is to drive Dr. Stephens’ car to the airport,” Devin said, “I guess I’ll do that. Who wants to follow me to bring me home?”
“I’ll go,” Beth offered. “I need a chance to clear my head anyway. But you two need to promise me that you won’t leave or go passing out until we get back, okay?”
“Yeah,” Devin added. “we need to make sure that no one stops by while we are at the airport or this whole thing falls apart.”
“You’ve got it,” Brent promised.
“Well, we better get rolling if we want to make it back before first light,” Devin said.
“It’s go time,” Jimmy said.
Devin and Beth got into the cars to drive to the airport. Devin drove the BMW in front of Beth’s Mini and though they were travelling on the interstate, they passed very few cars before they were very near the airport. The drive was refreshingly uneventful.
Once they were at the airport, Devin found a remote spot in the parking garage to leave the BMW. He borrowed some tissues from Beth’s car to wipe down the steering wheel, gear shift, turn signal and driver’s door handles, just in case. He didn’t concern himself with wiping down the rest of the car though. He and Beth were both seeing Dr. Stephens and it wouldn’t seem too far out of the ordinary if their prints were in the passenger seat. If Devin were a betting man, he would lay down money on many people having been in that passenger seat while Dr. Rapey drove them to his naked palace.
He picked Dr. Stephens’ wallet up from where he left it on the passenger seat and pulled the cash out of it. That seemed right. If you were going to disappear, you may want to leave behind your ID and your credit cards, but you would need to have cash on hand. Hopefully, it would seem believable that Dr. Stephens had a means to support himself without his plastic. It seemed a reasonable assumption, given someone of his ilk, but it did seem to be the weakest part of their plan. He wiped the wallet down before he put it back on the seat. Then he got out and closed the door.
Devin felt horribly guilty that he was nodding off on the way back to the house. Beth had been through every bit as much as he had tonight - considerably more, actually, having killed a guy and attempting to kill a girl - but she couldn’t rest yet. He did the best he could to keep his eyes open the whole way, but he knew he briefly lost that battle a couple of times.
When they arrived home, they found BrentandJimmy on the sofa watching cartoons. They kept their promise to stay awake, at least, but this was exactly the kind of immaturity that made Beth question why Devin still hung around with them. Although, after what they had all been through, she understood it in a way that can’t be explained. Some ties are just that deep. When she saw them on the couch, she walked up to them, put an arm around each of them and said, “I love you guys, but I’m going to get some sleep now. You’re welcome to use the guest bedrooms if you want.”
It is hard to say who was the most surprised by that. BrentandJimmy were speechless, but so was Devin. And honestly, Beth had no idea she was going to do it either.
“I might sleep for an hour or two,” Brent said, “but I need to get that mixer back to the home store at nine. Also, I need to get someone to look at my hand. The bones aren’t supposed to be crooked like this.” He held up his hand and, though they couldn’t see the bone for all the swelling, they took him at his word that it was broken.
Beth left the room and went upstairs to get some much-needed rest. Devin stayed behind with BrentandJimmy for a few minutes.
“I guess I don’t need to tell you that if you ever need anything, anything, you just say the word.” He said.
Jimmy nodded as Brent spoke, “We’ll talk about it on Monday when we come to build the rest of that gazebo.”
Devin laughed.
“No, seriously, we need to get that lumber put together before it warps any more than it already has. There was only one board out there true enough to make a decent screed.”
“Alright,” Devin agreed, “if you feel up to it, I’m game. Beth will love it.”
“We’ll be here,” Jimmy said.
“All right, well, I’m going to get some sleep, too. Like Beth said, you’re welcome to the guest bedrooms.” Devin said, as he started toward the stairs.
“Hold up, Devin,” Brent said, “come outside with me for a minute.”
Devin followed Brent out to a rosebush in front of the house. Brent picked up the plastic cases he stashed earlier.
“These are yours,” he said, “I don’t want anything more to do with them.”
Devin completely forgot about them with everything else that went on last night, but Brent was right. They were his responsibility. And a decision that he wasn’t going to make as exhausted as he was after all that happened and twenty-four hours without sleep.
“Now I’m going to go crash for an hour or two. If I can. My hand hurts like hell.”
“What about your leg? Beth said she thought it might be broken too.”
“Nah, there’s a bruise on it the size of a cantaloupe, but it’s not broken.”
“Alright. Well, try to get some sleep. If I wake up before you, I’ll make sure to get you up.”
Brent nodded and left Devin alone outside.
Devin took the files and walked into the back yard. He walked past the gazebo and gardening shed and into the trees beyond. He found a likely place to stash the files at the base of a big pine tree. This one was struck by lightning years ago, leaving the top of it black. It was easy to spot from a distance. He scooped away the needles and bark on the ground near the base of the tree.
He felt around at his pockets trying to find the one card he still had on him: Elliot Carvey. He added the card in at the front of one of the cases and closed it. It could all wait until later.
He put the files in the small clearing he dug out. He covered them up with what forest debris he could reach. They wouldn’t be here for long. Just until he had time to make his decision.
Devin walked back to the house and up the stairs. He joined Beth in bed, wrapped his arms around her and fell asleep. He slept like he hadn’t slept in years.
Chapter 20
The first hints of daylight were casting a feint light over Ashwood at just past 6am. With the darkness receding, the clerk at The Place went to start checking on the rooms. While they were theoretically rented for two hours at a time, he learned long ago that if someone rented the room after dark, it was best to not check on it until the morning. He had seen some awful things … It was going pretty well so far this morning though. Most of the rooms were remarkably clean.
When he opened the door to room 108, he froze briefly. Then he ran to call the police.
Officer Reynolds was nearly at the end of his shift when the call came across the radio. God damn it, he thought to himself, every Sunday morning.
He remained silent for a moment to see if anyone else might ta
ke the call. After a few seconds with no response, he finally responded.
He had walked into a number of situations when responding to the Sunday morning calls at The Place. Usually they were just property damage, but there were also been instances where Johns were left locked in handcuffs, hookers were beaten up, or weapons were found. It was always something horrible. None of that prepared him for what he walked into this Sunday morning.
From the doorway to room 108, he knew that Digby was dead. He also knew that he was off the hook for this one, he wasn’t even going to cross the threshold. He leaned to his radio and reported, “We’ve got a body. Better get Abernathy out here.” Then he blocked the door with his crime scene tape.
*****
Jesse Abernathy was asleep when his phone started ringing. He didn’t really need to answer it to know that it was going to be a call to The Place. When his phone rang this early on a Sunday, it always was. When he did answer the phone, the dispatcher confirmed his theory. He was dressed quickly and jumped into his unmarked Crown Victoria.
Jesse Abernathy wore many hats for the police department in the small town of Ashwood. He was their lead detective, mostly because he was their only detective. He was also their primary crime scene investigator (the others were civilian volunteers), their crime scene photographer and the head of their research department. He had been a homicide detective in Phoenix for years before moving to Ashwood to get away from the pressure. Since moving to Ashwood, he only investigated a handful of murders. Each of them so far was a case with a clear suspect and rather sloppy trail of evidence leading to them. It felt almost like he was retired as simple as it was in this small town.
When he arrived at The Place and looked through the door to room 108, he recognized Edward Digby immediately. From the doorway, it looked like it was going to be an accidental suicide open and shut. He snapped a half a dozen photos before putting on his gloves and entering the room.
He stepped into the room and looked to the TV to see the picture of a guy having some forceful sex with a woman. He thought it might be some random porn at first, but then he noticed that the man in the picture looked a lot like local psychiatrist Dr. Stephens -but it was hard to be sure from the profile.
“Is that Dr. Stephens?” he asked aloud, but meant for himself.
Officer Reynolds heard him and offered a response, “It sure looks like it. Huh. I saw him out on Turner Road at Devin Bryant’s house a few hours ago.”
“Really?” Abernathy asked. “Well that is interesting.”
Still looking at the image, Abernathy couldn’t place the woman. He snapped a couple pictures of the TV before putting the camera in an evidence bag and marking it.
When he approached the body in the closet, alarm bells started ringing like mad. He snapped dozens of photos of the things that were catching his eye before setting the camera down to have a closer look.
He started with the penis. There was no sign of semen on it. That was completely out of the ordinary for an accidental death by autoerotic asphyxiation. The whole idea was to choke yourself out at the very moment of climax. This always -always- left residual semen on the penis. He snapped a couple of close-up photos before moving on.
Next up was the ligature. It, too, seemed all wrong. He never saw this type of suicide in person, but he had seen photos. Usually the deaths came from some form of fail-safe going bad. The fail-safes were generally primitive, but in this case, there wasn’t one at all. In fact, looking at the rig, it looked like it wasn’t an accidental death. If he put himself in this rig, he would have known he was going to die. He snapped some close-up photos of this as well, before moving on.
Abernathy looked to the door to make sure no one was watching him and then he unwrapped the hanger from the curtain rod. The body hit the ground with a thud. He rolled him onto his back and loosened the belt to get a closer look at his neck.
Again, alarm bells. The bruising was all wrong. The belt he was strapped up with was almost two inches wide, but the bruising was very narrow - like one would expect to see if someone strangled him by hand. The belt was clearly added later. He took pictures of that as well.
He then turned away from the body and went to check the other items in the room. He found Digby’s clothing on a chair in the corner of the room. His keys and wallet were in the pocket of his pants, but nothing else. He took the keys and went to the parking lot. He opened up the side of the van first.
He immediately saw the open lockbox behind the driver’s seat. The lockbox was rumored to exist, as were its supposed contents, but he was never sure if it was true. Clearly it was. However, there was nothing inside it. That was very unfortunate. The back of the van was such a mass of cables and surveillance equipment that he didn’t even bother looking through it. The state guys could handle that once he called them in. He turned his search to the front of the van. Inside the glove box, he found a small envelope with a memory card in it, it was clearly labeled Dr. $ and Jezebel.
Curious, he took the memory card back to the room. He took the camera out of the evidence bag and slipped the memory card into it. There on the screen he saw a man, this time it was clearly Dr. Stephens, strangling Jezebel Anders, who he also immediately recognized, outside one of the rooms of the hotel. He flipped through the images quickly, but there was no mistaking it: Digby had caught a murder on camera.
It was time to call in the big boys. He radioed dispatch and told them they needed to get the state team in and get out a warrant for Dr. Ulysses Stephens. Immediately after finishing his statement, the dispatcher spoke again.
“Someone found a burned up car on the end of Turner Road.”
Since the state agency was going to handle this scene, Abernathy decided to leave the uniformed officers to guard this scene while he went to check up on the car fire.
When he arrived on the scene, again, he found the scene of what was apparently a terrible accident, but, again, upon a closer look, things just didn’t add up. There were fresh tire tracks from at least three different cars on the landing, but no skid marks. Wouldn’t you hit the brakes if you were about to go careening off a cliff? It seemed off.
He had seen a handful of cars miss the end of the road and hit that outcropping over the years. In each case, the cars were nearly destroyed. This one appeared to have taken very little damage comparatively. The body behind the wheel, though badly burned, also had a broken neck. There was no way that injury came from this accident, and a woman with a broken neck isn’t going to be driving a car off the end of a road.
The windows of the car were rolled down, which didn’t seem likely in the cool October air. Also, the engine compartment was open. She obviously didn’t get out of the car and pop open the engine compartment between the time the car crashed and the fire started. Someone else had opened it and someone else started the fire. There was even a set of footprints leading up the side of the slope. Whoever did it was very sloppy and made no attempt to cover their tracks.
Knowing that Dr. Stephens killed Jezebel Anders, Abernathy had no doubt that it was her body in the car. He called this one in for the state agency to handle as well. It looked like Dr. Stephens was going to be going away for a long time.
Something was sticking in his mind though.
“Wendy, can you look up a couple of addresses for me?” He said into his radio.
*****
Abernathy pulled up in front of Dr. Stephens’ house at just past 8am. There was no car in the driveway. He walked up to the front door and checked to see if it was locked. He was sure that no one would be home. It was locked. There was a welcome mat below the door which he flipped up and found the key. Not a lot happens in Ashwood, there are keys under many welcome mats.
He let himself in and strolled casually through the house, not really sure what he was looking for. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When he got to the bedroom, though, he noticed Dr. Stephens’ douche-y, dangling, gold, dollar sign earring on the dresser. That was unusual. No one ever
saw him without it outside of his office. Had he forgotten it when he went out last night?
*****
It was nearly 9am when Abernathy pulled up in front of Devin Bryant’s house. The house was quiet when he arrived, but there were many cars outside and the garage door was open. He got out of the car and walked up to the garage. Through the doorway, he could see a single golf club thrown haphazardly on the floor. That was odd.
He walked up to each of the cars, one by one, to have a look through the windows. Nothing seemed unusual until he got to the Econoline with Pleasure Palace written on the side of it. There was a cement mixer in the back. Again, that was odd.
He walked slowly around the side of the house. When he reached the back, he found a freshly poured slab of concrete - still in the forms - a short distance from the back door. A back door, he noted, which was also broken. The dirt in the entire area was a mass of footprints. The wet morning air left the ground soft and it was holding their markings in as surely as those forms were holding that concrete slab. He counted at least four different sets of prints. Something had gone on here last night.
He walked back to the front of the house and rang the doorbell. A woman answered the door. Her eyes were puffy and red from a lack of sleep. Behind her, three men were sitting on the sofa. Two of them were covered in concrete dust. It seemed the oddities just wouldn’t stop.
“Detective Jesse Abernathy,” he said to her as he showed his badge. “Ashwood Police.”
“What did you need?” she asked, in the fakest, concerned voice he ever heard.
“Was Dr. Stephens here last night?” He asked.
“Well, yes he was. He came over at just past eleven and left at about one. He said he was going to meet with Jezebel Anders when he left.”
And that was way too much detail for such a simple question. That was very obviously a rehearsed statement. Abernathy didn’t let on that he knew that, though.
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