Destroy Me

by K. D. Carrillo

  Chapter 43

  Reed

  We pulled up to Mrs. Brandt’s house, and I was stunned by how normal it seemed. I don’t know what I was expecting from Kate’s ex-husband’s childhood home, but a sunny yellow cottage surrounded by flowers was not it.

  The woman that met us at the door seemed sweet. She was tiny with dark hair pinned away from her face and an apron tied around her waist. Mrs. Brandt appeared to have stepped straight out of the fifties, and definitely did not seem like she could have raised the monster her son turned out to be.

  “Ana!” she exclaimed and wrapped her arms around Kate.

  “Hello, Mrs. Brandt,” she answered standing stiffly inside the embrace.

  “This must be your fella,” she said, letting go of Kate.

  I extended my hand. “Reed Martin.”

  She shook my hand, and the look on her face turned sad. “It wasn’t real until this moment. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I held on to the fantasy he was still out there trying to win you back. But looking at your smiling face next to this handsome young man, I know that my son is gone forever.”

  Kate opened her mouth, but no sound came out. I placed my hand on her shoulder to calm her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Brandt. Nothing we do will bring your son back, but maybe we can find you some closure,” I told her.

  “Yes, closure would be nice,” she whispered. “This way. I set up the things I collected from the police in Washington on the table.”

  The inside was as bright and cheerful as the outside. Blue-checkered pillows brightened up a tan couch, and matching curtains framed the windows. On the table sat a cardboard box with a lap top poking out the top.

  “I didn’t really sift through it much. I took a glance inside when they handed it to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it. If you don’t mind, I’m going to step out while you look through it. I can’t bring myself to face his things right now.” She glanced back one last time and then left before we had a chance to answer.

  I pulled the computer from the box and turned it on. The desktop was a collage of photos of Kate from years ago. In each picture she had a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. Wanting to hide the pictures I pulled up his document folder and searched for his videos.

  There were hundreds of them, and most of them seemed to be about Kate judging by what he titled each file. I found the file from a few days after Pratt pulled Kate over and clicked play.

  A face came on screen. He was handsome. I’d pictured him uglier, probably to match what I knew of his personality. Instead he was an all-American type, blonde, athletic, and probably popular with women. No one would believe something so dark was inside by looking at him.

  He smiled at the camera and I felt sick. His smile was sinister.

  “I got an interesting call today. Some cop out in Washington State thinks he’s found my Ana,” he began.

  Kate’s fingers dug into my shoulders, and I realized she was watching along with me. I thought about arguing with her, but it would have been pointless. If I were in her place, I’d have watched too.

  “He said there’s a woman in town that looked familiar, and after some digging he realized she was the one from the posters I’d put out around the surrounding area a few years ago. I don’t know how he managed to see them all the way out there, but I think it’s a lead worth checking out,” he said smirking.

  I pulled a thumb drive out of my pocket and inserted it in the port. I wasn’t up for watching these videos right now, especially sitting in his childhood home. He felt too close here, and if I felt that way Kate must have been miserable.

  “We’ll watch more later,” I told Kate.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  We said our goodbyes to Mrs. Brandt and drove away.

  “Reed, he said he saw posters of me. How could he have seen them? They were only posted in the surrounding towns. I need to see the video again,” she insisted.

  I took my computer out of the case and plugged in the thumb drive. We watched the same video again, but didn’t learn anything new. Kate clicked the next video.

  “I got another call today from Officer Fredrick Pratt,” John began. “I told him I wouldn’t be entrapped into going near Ana, I wasn’t an idiot. Then the guy tells me that he needs my help with a little situation. My Ana has started seeing one of his coworkers, and he wants to teach him a lesson. All I had to do was come and get my wife, and he would help me.”

  I wanted to punch him in his smug possessive face. I gritted my teeth and continued watching his video confessional.

  “I agreed to come and help him. I wasn’t really listening to him talk about why this guy needed to suffer. He droned on and on about losing a friend, and it being this other guy's fault. I wasn’t supposed to do anything to this guy, just come and get Ana. I didn’t tell the little prick that I wouldn’t take orders. I needed her address after all, but the moment I get what I need I’m cutting off this other guy’s dick. No one touches my wife. That’s one of many lessons she needs to learn,” he finished and the clip ended.

  “You could have been hurt because of me,” Kate said in a shaking voice.

  “Weren’t you listening?” I asked. “This started because Pratt had a problem with me and sought out your ex-husband. Do not blame yourself for this.”

  “What friend?” she asked.

  I gave her a puzzled look and she pointed to the computer. “Pratt said he lost a friend and it was your fault. What friend?” she repeated.

  Then it clicked. Pratt hated me for losing his friend, and he was in this area a few years ago to see the missing posters of Kate. I could only think of one person that tied me to this area, James.

  I texted Aiden to ask the PI, assuming he could get in touch with him, and ask him if Pratt was from Illinois. Aiden only took five minutes to confirm that Pratt was from a slightly larger town in the St. Louis metro area.

  My Army buddy, the one I couldn’t save, was from Collinsville, a town not too far from here. I was in the hospital when the chaplain went to inform his family about James’ death. I should have made this trip years ago, but I never knew what to say.

  “I think I know who Pratt meant. The map shows that Collinsville is on the way. We need to make one more stop at the home of James Stewart’s parents,” I announced, and got back behind the wheel.

  One Google search and I found their address, and soon after pulled in front of the house. I held Kate’s hand as we slowly made our way to the door. The door opened before I was able to knock.

  “I saw you walk up. I’ve seen your picture many, many times. My James looked up to you. We were so glad to hear that you survived that attack. He never would have wanted you to die trying to save him,” his mother gushed.

  “But…but I didn’t. He died, and I didn’t save him,” I stammered.

  “You can’t save everyone. I want you to know, we never blamed you. Not once. James knew the risks, and he joined anyway. I’ve spent my time cursing God, the Army, everyone and anyone except you. But I realized something. Blaming everyone for his death, diminished his sacrifice. I had to let that go, for me and for the memory of my son,” she lectured me.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I replied.

  “Is this your wife?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Good, why don’t you and your wife come inside for some coffee. I’d love to hear how you're doing. I miss hearing the tales of all you guys from my son’s letters,” she insisted.

  We chatted for a while about my job, Kate's and my wedding, and our friends. Naturally Mrs. Stewart was doubled over with laughter when we told her about some of the things Jeremy and Toni had done in the past.

  “It sounds like you’ve made a good life for yourself,” she commented.

  “I have, but I need your help to keep it,” I admitted. I hated telling her that I had another motive for visiting, but I refused to lie to her.

  Using the Internet on my phone I pulled up a picture
of Pratt from the paper when they reported he was presumed dead. “Do you know this guy?” I asked her.

  She looked for a second, and nodded. “That’s James’ childhood best friend. Freddie and James were always together when they were kids. I thought Freddie was a bit possessive of James once they went to high school. He was always angry when James made new friends. I wanted my son to have lots of friends and see the world, not be held back to this town by a small minded childhood playmate.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you liked him much,” I observed.

  She shrugged. “There was always something a little off about him. A mother can sense these things.”

  “Do you have any idea why Freddie would go to Washington State?” Kate asked.

  “It seems like I remember him having family up there.” Mrs. Stewart thought for a minute. “Yes! His mother’s brother moved there about twenty years ago. Got a job as a cop in a small town. He owns a cabin in the mountains. I remember the Pratt’s spending a week or two there every summer. Does that help?” she asked.

  “More than you know,” I assured her.

  Kate and I walked out to the car. Inside the truck she turned to me. “Please tell me he hasn’t been camped out in the mountains outside of town this whole time.”

  “I wish I could. I’m going to call Daniels and have him check out the lieutenant’s properties,” I said, and pulled out my phone.

  “This is Daniels,” he answered.

  “Hey man, I’ve learned some crazy shit today,” I stared.

  “I’ve got some news today. Forensics came back,” he said.

  “Let me guess. The body wasn’t Pratt,” I guessed.

  “No. It was a small time dealer that was reported missing around the same time John’s body was found. The creepiest thing was the forensic scientists found crystallized tissue inside the lungs, and no evidence of smoke inhalation,” Daniels explained.

  "I thought the body was burned beyond recognition?" I asked.

  "His extremities were doused in an accelerant, probably to slow identification, but the torso remained mostly in tact," Daniels clarified.

  “You said the lung tissue was crystallized? Are you telling me he killed and froze the body of a low level dealer?” I clarified.

  “It appears that he planned on pinning the murder of John onto this dealer, and then faking his death. He did a shitty job though. First the fire didn’t burn hot enough to compromise getting a DNA sample from the body. Second, when you looked close enough, it was obvious the house was rigged to catch fire remotely. It was sloppy work for a cop, but pretty much what I’d have expected from that dumb fuck,” Daniels seethed.

  He listened carefully as I explained the connection between my Army buddy James and Pratt, and Pratt’s connection to John.

  “I just assumed he was from Washington. I’d never bothered to get to know him well enough to learn any different,” I concluded.

  “I’m pulling up property records right now,” Daniels paused. “Okay, it looks like the lieutenant still owns property north of Cle Elum, but the cabin burned down last summer,” he confirmed.

  “Odd that two properties linked to Pratt burned down within the last year,” I commented.

  “I’m working with the State Patrol on this. The captain needs to feel like he has some control, and the state wants to appear to be cooperating. I’ll be glad when this is over. I’m sick of the political bullshit this case has stirred up,” he grumbled.

  “I’m sorry about all of that,” I apologized.

  “Not your fault. The brass didn’t have to stand behind Pratt. I don’t give a shit who he’s related to. He’s bat shit crazy and guilty as hell. The captain chose his side based on his career not the evidence,” Daniels ranted.

  “I’ll call you when I hear something,” he promised, and we got off the phone.

  Chapter 44

  Kate

  “If Pratt is from here, does that mean his mother still lives here?” I asked Reed when he hung up the phone.

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but I would guess so. Let’s see if Aiden can come through for us again,” he answered while he texted him for the address.

  “Do you think she’ll talk to us?” I wondered aloud.

  He turned the key in the ignition. “Only one way to find out.”

  Linda Pratt lived a few blocks away from James’ mother. I followed behind Reed as he mounted the stairs and rang the doorbell. A woman that looked a lot like Freddie Pratt opened the door.

  When she recognized Reed she started to force the door closed. “Mrs. Pratt, please just talk to us for a minute,” he pleaded.

  “I don’t have anything more to say to the police. My son is dead. Just because they said you didn’t do it, doesn’t mean I believe them.” She leveled a knowing look at Reed. “That’s right I know who you are.”

  “Mrs. Pratt, I did not kill your son. In fact I'm pretty sure he isn't dead. Who told you about me anyway?” Reed demanded.

  “My son, well he, I mean.” She took a deep breath. “Freddie told me about you,” she admitted.

  “Can we please come in, Mrs. Pratt?” I interjected.

  “I’m not going to help you put my son in jail,” she argued.

  “I thought you believed he was dead?” Reed mocked.

  Mrs. Pratt lifted her chin defiantly. “You’re the one who insisted he wasn’t. If you’re right I’m not going to help put him away.”

  “Do you think your son is guilty?” I asked.

  “Of course not!” she nearly shouted.

  “Then what harm would it be to show us his things?” I’ve argued.

  She blinked a few times, and focused her attention on me. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll show you to his room. I’ve kept it for him. He hasn’t been back in years, but this will always be his home,” she babbled.

  When she turned her back to lead us inside I shot Reed a wink. I wasn’t sure if he would appreciate me interceding with Mrs. Pratt, but he seemed appreciative. John hated it when I offered my opinion. He was dead, and I still feared him. Maybe someday that would go away. Too bad today wasn’t that day.

  Reed and I followed her up the stairs to Pratt’s childhood bedroom. I expected to find band posters, pinups, not what was actually posted to the walls. One wall was pictures, which was only weird, because they were all Pratt with James. Next to those were movie stubs, class schedules, and other mementos.

  On the next wall was a giant world map. There were pins stuck in a few locations in the United States and more in Ireland, Germany, Turkey, Kuwait, and Iraq.

  Reed bent down and whispered in my ear. “Those pins are places that James was either in training, stationed, or stopped on the way to Iraq.”

  I leaned closer to him and whispered back. “Does any of this look like something a friend would cover their walls with?”

  “I knew I recognized you. I thought at first it was because Freddie's mentioned you, but your face seemed familiar,” Mrs. Pratt interrupted. She exited the closet holding a shoebox, and set it on the small desk.

  I lifted off the lid and almost knocked over the box when I looked inside.

  “It’s me,” Reed stated shocked.

  “James sent home letters and pictures. Freddie was upset, at first, about all of James’ new friends. He never did like sharing him with other people.” She looked at us expectantly. It was obvious from her expression that she believed it was normal for her son to obsess over his friends.

  “There must be a half dozen newspaper articles in here about me. All of these were from after James died,” Reed pointed out.

  Mrs. Pratt shrugged. “He continued to search for information on everyone that James mentioned in his letters for a while, but he focused on you when you joined the police department.”

  “Why?” Reed asked.

  She looked at him with resignation mixed with remorse. “Because you lived.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Pratt. This has been very, uh, enlightening,” I s
aid, pushing Reed toward the door.

  Out in the front yard he continued to stand unmoving. I dug the keys out of his pocket and jingled them in his face. “We’re leaving,” I told him, and shoved them into his hand.

  “Katie,” he began.

  “Not here, Reed. I don’t think my skin will stop crawling until we put a state or two between us and this house.”

  Fifteen minutes later Reed’s truck rolled over the state line into Missouri, and I exhaled a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.

  Reed pounded the steering wheel a few times. “God damn it!” he shouted. “This was always about me. You thought you brought this shit into our lives, but it was all my fault.”

  “Reed,” I said, trying to get his attention. “Reed,” I tried again. “Reed!” I shouted, but he continued to mutter expletives under his breath and pound the steering wheel.

  It was hypocritical of me to get irritated with his misplaced sense of guilt, but after all of his lectures to me he should be the last person taking on all the blame for the acts of a crazy person.

  We were stuck in heavy traffic in the middle of the bridge. Apparently there was a concert and the season opener for the Cardinals, which meant we were never making it farther than the state line. Frustrated with not being able to get Reed’s attention, I opened my door and got out into traffic.

  I weaved my way between the cars, gaining several shouts and horns on my way. It was totally insane, but I needed to get off the bridge. I didn’t blame myself anymore, one benefit of the day’s investigations, but I didn’t blame Reed either. Suddenly I saw perfectly how idiotic it was to take on that guilt.

  I made a bad choice when I was eighteen and heartbroken over the loss of my parents. Reed couldn’t even say that. He chose to serve his country, then his community. His only mistake was he wasn’t superhuman. He wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet, and didn’t have magic healing powers. No, he learned the hard way he was very much mortal, and that war as they say really is hell.

  I only made it past three or four cars when I was grabbed from behind. A scream bubbled up in my chest, but before it tore free I was tossed over a pair of strong shoulders and staring at a very fine, and very familiar ass.