Missing

by Nenny May

  Once upon a time she'd been scrolling through the Fox26 website, thrilled to fill out a job application and now? She was dumping the lifeless corpse of a Latina cab man into the lake.

  Chapter Eleven

  “ That car is going to be a problem” Ryan Gates words were a cold dose of reality. A dose strong enough to have Madison Miller’s eyes darting from the thick dark clouds that rolled in overhead to the worthless shell of a vehicle that was once a man’s source of livelihood. Even if as she sat there next to detective Ryan Gates, feet planted on her own dried vomit, time were to stop; it wouldn’t be enough to correct the damage she’d caused picking up Lauren Daniels call that particular morning.

  They’d gotten over one hurdle at about 3:15 A.M. They’d gotten rid of the body and its accompanying belongings—phone, keys, and wallet—burying them farther along the walk by Briar Creek. Clearly with the daylight sprinting along, they were not blessed with enough time left to get over yet another, at least, Madison wasn’t. How in the world were they going to get rid of the cab that still trudged behind them? They sure as hell couldn’t have left it remotely close to the body; it would draw too much attention. And Madison? She couldn’t be seen roaming through the streets in broad daylight, she would be bagged and charged for Ethan Daniels disappearance before she even knew what was what.

  With the Latina Man’s remains bubbling beneath the surface, they’d left Briar creek. While breezing through Selwin Avenue towards Eastover, it had become increasingly apparent to Madison that she’d lived twenty-eight full years and if she were to turn herself in, she would be killed. Snatched from the realm of the living, but what did that mean to her? She would meet Tucker again? Would he recognize her? Would he run up to her? Would he be cloaked in all white with a glowing rim around him like Julia Miller had made her believe when he’d died? Was there really anything after death?

  Weaving along Providence road, the cabin it seemed Ryan Gates had earlier implied wasn’t on the outskirts of Charlotte, somewhere up yonder like she would have preferred. No, it was smack dab in the middle of town, mere kilometres from Cotswold—where FBI agents were actively sweeping the streets for her—and Myers Park—the same place that received a stream from Briar Creek! “That’s not going to be our only problem.” She pointed out nearly shrinking in her seat when he pulled into Cottages on Providence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a public apartment, Gates, not some hidden cabin out of town!”

  “Yeah?” His words were a gesture for her to continue.

  “What if an FBI agent were to wonder over here from Cotswold, or the body were to float towards Myers park?”

  “No one is wondering over here and even if they do, they don’t know you’re here. And as for the body, no one knows you got rid of it.” He took a breath. “Look, you’re going to have to lower your expectations here. This is real life and not some murder mystery. I don’t own some fancy lake house you can disappear to, I own this because it was my sisters before she passed and the rent had been paid for months ahead.” The car lunged to a stop. The shattered scrap of yelling yellow metal Ryan Gates towed, kissed the rear of his car once more. They had to get used to that each time they slowed to a stop. He looked towards the line of semi-dethatched homes that made up Cottages on Providence. “Your instructions here are simple, don’t leave and don’t open the door for anyone besides Walker and I, got it?”

  “What if I run out of food? Or clothes?”

  “There are enough clothes to last your stay and as for food, I’ll handle that. Just until we’re done with our investigation into Alexander Hemmings.”

  “I only have until Friday next week.” She drummed. She knew what it meant; if they couldn’t find anything she would turn herself in.

  “I got that. Now get in there, the second building.” Her brows dipped in a clear frown.

  “You’re not coming?” She looked at him.

  “There’s a cab hooked onto my cop car drenched in the blood of a murdered cab driver, so if it wasn’t clear, I really can’t welcome you to your new hide out.” Reluctantly, she’d climbed out of the front seat. She hadn’t shut the door, but she’d remained planted to the street next to his car almost awkwardly.

  “I’m sorry...” She looked softly at him, just for a moment. “...for throwing up in your car and ultimately getting you involved in this... and thanks... for your help.” She shut the door and turned only to be hauled back with the piercing blare of a sharp horn. She looked at him. “What?” She drew out when it dawned on her that he could wake the neighbours... shit! No one was supposed to know that she was here, god damn it!

  “Catch!” He said and tossed her a ring of keys. “It’s the fluffy pink key... don’t ask why.” With a small smile, she nodded and turned again, this time scurrying towards the second building, listening to the grumble of his cop car and the squeak of the cab that once carried a man to his death.

  Once shaken to the core by the darkness of the night, Madison Miller was gradually growing too attached to the stealth the night brought. After all her neighbours would be fast asleep by this time of the night... they had to be! They would be unaware of her movements; and in a way, it had its ups and downs. For one if she needed to roam Charlotte, she was protected by the night. But if she were visited by a trigger happy hooded Hemmings, and tugged away from her hide out, it will as well remain under the noses of her new neighbours that knew nothing of her presence.

  Through the door, the thick white front door, sat an empty home, one that when touched with light brought to life the safe space of an elegant woman. Her pictures weren’t on the light grey walls, there were no knickknacks on the shelves by the living room television that would have insinuated her presence, but the decor wailed this woman’s taste in the finer things. Her home was best described as country meeting city, elegance meeting homey. It was a space that instantly put Madison at ease. The luxury white sofas and arm chairs wailed success while the red and white chequered table cloth hummed a mother’s country touch. Madison had been soaking in the interior detailing, wondering just what this poor late woman’s story could have been until the dead silence sat with her, bringing her darkest thoughts to the surface. She was a criminal. She was the reason that Latina cab man had died, she’d disrespected his body, dumping it in Briar Creek. She was the reason Ethan was kidnapped, Oh lordie, if only she’d said no when she had the chance.

  Through the kitchen, Madison lunged up the stairs to the only room in the cabin, antsy to do anything rather that sit with her regrets. She made a beeline for the bathroom. A bath would help her rampant feelings. She could redirect them to planning something, anything that would get Ethan from Hemmings and exonerate her. With the stuttering tap, filling the tub, Madison peeled off her vomit stained clothes, constantly recalling her last moments with the Latina cab man. He’d had a deep throaty voice, as if he were a smoker who’d quit a little too late. He’d had the patience of a three year old but he’d managed it clearly needing the tip he’d never gotten. She’d ridden from the airport with a man that as at the time, she’d had no idea he would die. For heaven sakes if she’d known he’d be shot point blank execution style, she would have left him far away from Chiswick road! She might have not fired the bullet into his head, but she’d killed him, she was the reason his family would mourn him, and would grow without him.

  At this point, she had no control over the stream of tears that blurred her eyes; she had no control over the thoughts that left her paralyzed in place, merely clutching her naked trembling form as the tub slowly threatened to overflow. If she got through this without prison time, she would go back, the guilt alone for all she’d done, would send her back. She was a wanted suspect, evading the authorities and taking justice into her own hands... who had she become?

  . . .

  Jeffery Teagan endured the searing pain of a thousand branding rods trade-marking his legs as he huffed and puffed through the long forlorn halls towards his squish
ed corner office—well, it wasn’t much of an office more appropriately, a camera room with his name tagged on the door on a chipped cheap gold plate. But it was still his and although his stuck up wife didn’t think much of it, he did. And on the topic of his wife, Bethany Teagan; if she would stop giving him hell about his position as the eyes of Cotswold Elementary he wouldn’t always be ten minutes late and have to huff and puff through the halls all just to make it to his desk before the principal—another stone in Jeffery’s shoes that expects the overnight footage run through before the school doors open.

  When Teagan had taken up the job, mere weeks into his marriage with Bethany, it seemed like a breeze, resume two hours early, the walk from the entrance as well didn’t seem too far. But when he’d dashed through his savings and hit a rough patch, paired with both Bethany’s high risked pregnancies, it was clear things weren’t exactly as gentle a gust as they’d seemed. He’d begun resuming only an hour earlier, and leaving work too early to receive a decent pay. What was worse? With Bethany’s last pregnancy rendering her immobile for the span of the weeks running up to her delivery, she’d ditched her job as a cocktail waitress and depended solely on Jeffery Teagan... and that’s when the mockery started and he’d begun resuming work fifteen minutes early or much like the present where he was only five minutes early. Dang it!

  The squeak of his sneakers slapping the polished tiled floors bonged off the walls, beating along his quaking heart. Upon reaching the crooked chipped gold plate that read ‘Jefery Teagan’—okay they’d also misspelled his name, that didn’t make the tiny stuffy room any less his—he’d been a sweat drenched mess. Bottom line, he’d made it, and if Principal George Cane wanted to give him a hard time he could always claim he’d already gone through it, there was hardly anything worth reporting that happened during the night.

  From prior experience, in Teagan’s line of work, he'd seen fights. Often at times, they would be high school kids, teenagers who'd leaped the fences to lounge by Cotswold Elementarys' playground after the sun had been tucked in for the night and the moon came out to play. They hardly wandered any farther than the swings. Teagan hardly perceived their behaviours as enough to involve the police, after a few rounds of throwing fists; the night parole officer Sean Russell would often flash these rascals off. The little scampering scoundrels would dash as if they'd committed a capital offence. Huh, kids!

  Slumping onto the single whining wheelie-chair by the wall of monitors, what was left of Bethany’s morning Panera mocha still in his free hand, Jeffery Teagan logged into the systems cameras from the single desktop sat by a crooked old desk and then relayed the night’s footage. Nothing in Teagan's training had prepared the chunky glutton for what he'd walked into that morning on Cotswold Elementarys' surveillance cameras. Initially, there’d been nothing worth reporting, and sitting there, he’d flipped open his log book and documented what he did every other day, the night had calm and barren of troubling teenagers looking to throw fists, vandalize school property or steal, and neither of the students had wandered over during the evening. After that one kid—Trevor... Rogers? had left his entire bag pack at school and thought sneaking in after hours to get it wouldn’t trigger the night guard—Jeffery Teagan had been instructed to look out for wandering children as well as rebellious teenagers.

  Jeffery hadn't expected to stumble upon surveillance footage of a couple trudging along the front of the school gate, the limp body of man, a dead man. To begin with, the father of two hadn't thought much into the gut wrenching scene that replayed on the monitor. His morning duties of running over the night's footage were often done with crusty sleep lulled eyes and a heart that wailed from his morning dash against time. But even dazed, something stirred him; it had been the shrilling stillness of the body dragged along by a frenzied woman and a broad dark haired man into the back of a state issued cop car. At that moment he’d felt like time had slowed maybe it had, maybe he’d relayed the videos in slow motion, but he felt like his mind was a failed engine refusing to kick-start. After all, he'd gone into this line of work with the impression that he'd only have to deal with petty crimes of theft, fights and many at times pick-pocketing. Murder wasn't on the list!

  "Oh shit!" Jeffery Teagan groaned, blanched as he’d pulled out his old liability flip phone and dialled 9-1-1.

  . . .

  It had only been days since FBI special agent Spencer Black had been assigned the case of the ten ten-year-old boys, kidnapped and killed, his only suspect a runaway nanny playing along the hoax of a break-in, and it had already begun to feel like a long, exhausting week. Black returned his gaze to Bradley Carter. The man had a lead—No, he had more than just a lead—he had a body; a John Doe, and one heck of a story that further straps this fleeing nanny in her web of federal crimes. If this had been any other situation, he would have waved the woman off as a witness, he’d hardly come across petite women of her nature relishing in crimes of this magnitude; luring ten-year-old boys away from their school with her welcoming features, kidnapping them, torturing them and killing them point blank execution style with a .38 special.

  Primarily, Spencer Black had stepped onto the plates with the impression that Madison Miller had acted alone for each plotted kidnap and murder... No, she couldn’t have! It didn't add up, especially when Black had been made aware of the calls placed within Charlotte to the police of the whereabouts of each murdered victim. They were all calls made from a frantic male. A man he could bet top dollar she had on gun point, a man that could as well be their John Doe. This was however a theory Bradley Carter had scrunched up and thrown over his shoulder during hs in his 9-1-1 call made at the peak of the morning.

  "Run me over what it is you saw at the crack of dawn?" Spencer Black slapped the back of his neck as a mosquito landed just above his collar.

  "A man and a woman, they were dragging along a body. I know what I saw with ma' two good eyes. Even if I was out for a late night puff, the nicotine never hit me that hard that I'd rustle up the image of a murder cover-up."

  "And this woman, can you describe her?" Black eyed the thin line of blood that trailed the dead insect.

  "It was dark, ya' know, so I didn't really get a good look at her, but she was small, pale looking and her clothes were filthy... Pretty sure if I’d gotten any closer she’d stink up ma’ pipes." Carter creased his nostrils.

  "And the man she'd been with?" Spencer acknowledged the washed-out officer that trudged towards him with a determined stride.

  "Nah he I'd recognize in a heartbeat. He's been to this area one too many times. At first I'd been like nah, it can't be... but the closer I got to the pair the clearer he was."

  Black cleared his throat, his patience wearing thin. "And for records sakes who was this man?"

  "Detective Ryan Gates. I've seen his face on too many news networks and rallies around here not to recognize him." Spencer Black cursed. Just once, just loud enough to startle the officer that now stood adjacent to him.

  “Daniel Lehman, Detective, Mecklenburg division.” The officer introduced. “Think you’ve got bad news, surveillance at Cotswold Elementary caught a frenzied woman and a broad dark haired man trudging a body into a squad car.” rambled.

  “When was that called in?”

  “Crack of dawn, at about 7:25A.M.”

  “Got the footage?” Black wiped down the remains of the dead insect on his pant leg.

  “Down at Mecklenburg precinct, I.T. is running it through facial recognition.” Spencer huffed.

  “It’s just going to be a confirmation of what our witness here just testified to.” He gestured towards Carter who’d had his wandering eyes fixed on the body they’d trudged from the bottom of Briar Creek nearly half an hour ago. Often at times Spencer didn’t condone the wandering eyes of the witness, especially in cases of gruesome murders much like this one.

  “Y’all ever figure out his cause of death?” Bradley Carter ran his fingers through his hair. There was a crack in his voice. He was star
tled, petrified.

  “According to forensic pathologist for the Mecklenburg precinct medical examiners department, Xavier Michaels, our John Doe died of a single gun-shot to the head, he did however have some post mortem scars that they are going to further look into once he’s brought down to the morgue.” Spencer Black narrated almost in a monotone. Spencer turned to Daniel Lehman.