Helpless

by Daniel Palmer

  Rebecca poured milk into her tea and offered to do the same for Tom, but he declined. She cut two good-sized pieces of pie, which she served on paper plates.

  “Where’s Jill?” asked Rebecca, her pie knife ready to cut a third piece.

  “In her room, studying,” Tom said. “She thinks I’m a prison warden because I haven’t let her out of my sight for more than a couple hours.”

  “Well, it was pretty scary, what happened to Kelly. And then the whole incident in the woods. Did the police ever catch the guy?”

  “No,” Tom said, his voice revealing his disappointment. Even more dismaying, neither he, Roland, nor Marvin could find Lange anywhere, despite all three having made considerable efforts. It appeared that the former private had vanished from earth like the morning fog.

  “That must be very unsettling,” Rebecca said.

  “We’re taking precautions,” Tom said. “The house is now fully alarmed. And thanks to my ‘friend of Roland Boyd’ discount, we’ve got ourselves an outdoor-lighting perimeter detection system, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sensors in the woods that trigger outdoor floodlights if any of them get tripped.”

  “Wow, sounds impressive.”

  Tom laughed a little. “So far we’ve scared away a bunch of deer.”

  “Well, between your close watch over Jill and the alarm systems, what else can you do?”

  “I could have forced her to leave Shilo and move to Westbrook,” Tom said.

  “And have a sullen, furious daughter to look after? No, I think you were right to move here.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Rebecca took a sip of her tea and looked at Tom in a sorrowful way. “Tom, are you really up for this?” she asked.

  “For what?” answered Tom, though he knew what she was asking.

  “Raising a daughter,” said Rebecca. “Not to mention one who doesn’t seem very open to the reunion, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Well, we both know that Kelly never had many nice things to say about me.”

  Rebecca puckered her face. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but we both know that Kelly was full of s-h-i-t. And I told Jill on any number of occasions to give you a chance.”

  Tom returned an appreciative smile. “I figured one day my free plumbing and tree removal services would pay dividends.”

  “Well, I’m just saying, if you need anything, anything at all, don’t you hesitate to ask. Now then, back to Jill and raising a daughter. I’ll help out as much as I can. Cooking, carpool, what have you. But this is a lot to take on, Tom. What about your dad? Can he help out in any way?”

  “Dad hasn’t been right since my mom died. He’s living in Florida these days and his health isn’t very good, and I don’t think he could make the trip back to New Hampshire anytime soon.”

  “Not even for Jill?”

  “Kelly kept Jill out of his life, same as she did mine. No, I wouldn’t put that on him.”

  Tom heard loud knocking on the door. Four quick, hard bangs. He gave Rebecca a curious look.

  “Are you expecting anybody?” Rebecca asked.

  Tom shook his head. He left the kitchen, trotted down the carpeted front stairs.

  Through the sidelight windows Tom saw Brendan Murphy and Rich Fox lit up by the yellowish glow of the two outside front lights. Murphy was dressed in a tweed sports jacket and tie. Fox wore his police uniform.

  Jill! Tom thought. Had she snuck out of the house without his knowing? Was she in danger?

  Tom opened the door in a hurry, and Murphy more or less pushed himself inside, flashing a piece of paper clutched in his hand.

  “I’ve got a signed warrant to search these premises,” Murphy said, slipping on rubber gloves as he marched up the front stairs. “Officer Fox will be assisting me as a witness, ensuring that I’ve conducted the search to the specifications of the warrant. Oh, and we’ll be removing all your home computers, too.”

  Tom felt an icy chill. He didn’t think the police had been all that thorough investigating the house after Kelly’s death. It was just a robbery gone bad, or so they believed. But a search warrant was an entirely different matter. Tom wasn’t worried about Murphy finding evidence that would incriminate him in Kelly’s homicide.

  But he did worry Murphy might dig up something else.

  Something Kelly might have hidden.

  Something Tom wouldn’t want anybody to find.

  Chapter 21

  Tom held the door open for Fox.

  “Tom,” Fox said, taking off his hat and tipping his head toward Tom in a quick salute. He trailed Murphy into the house.

  “Hang on, Brendan,” Tom shouted, bounding up the stairs behind Fox and Murphy. “Let me see that piece of paper.”

  “Suit yourself,” Murphy said.

  Tom read the warrant over while Murphy and Fox got to work searching the living room. They both wore gloves and had plastic bags and markers for evidence gathering. Pink anti-static bags for computer stuff, clear plastic bags for other evidence.

  Rebecca emerged from the kitchen and surveyed the disruption with a stunned expression. “Brendan, what’s going on here?” she asked.

  Murphy didn’t answer. He was opening the drawers of a living room desk and rifling through the contents.

  Fox walked over to where Rebecca stood, and Tom joined them. “Hi there, Rebecca,” Fox said to her. “We won’t be too long. A couple hours at most. Sorry about this.”

  Rebecca looked at Tom for confirmation. “The search warrant is official. I’ve got to let them do it,” Tom said.

  “Well, what are you looking for?” Rebecca wanted to know.

  “That’s police business,” Murphy replied.

  Tom didn’t like Murphy’s tone. “Were you waiting for me to move my stuff here before you got a warrant?” he asked. “Was that your plan?”

  “Whatever you want to think,” said Murphy.

  “Were you thinking I’d crack because of the pressure your little team interrogation put me under?” asked Tom.

  “Do you have something you want to confess?” asked Murphy. A brief two-man stare down ensued. “I didn’t think so,” Murphy eventually said.

  Fox looked sheepishly at Tom. “Listen, Tom, I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I know this is awkward.”

  “Well, considering I have to coach your daughter, I’d say ‘awkward’ is a bit of an understatement,” Tom replied.

  “If it’s any consolation, Abbey loves playing for you,” Fox said. “She’s not going to know we were here.”

  Tom gave a strained smile. He knew that wasn’t true.

  Jill had come out of her room. “What’s going on?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest in a defensive posture.

  Tom stood beside his daughter. “Honey, they have a search warrant for the house,” he said. “We have to let them do this.”

  Jill’s expression became one of total disgust. “Why? What are they looking for?”

  “I think they’re trying to decide if I’m a suspect in your mother’s death,” Tom said.

  “What! You’re kidding! Don’t they know that I saw the guy spying on us in the woods? That’s who did it! That’s who broke into the house. Why aren’t they looking for him?”

  “We’re following all leads,” Murphy said, “including the name your father gave us.”

  “Kip Lange,” Tom said to Jill, so she’d know what he told them. Tom didn’t worry about tipping the police off to Lange. Lange could give up Kelly’s role in the drug theft, for all he cared. The link to Tom had died with his ex-wife in that ravine.

  Unless Kelly told Lange something before she ran ...

  Jill was what mattered to Tom now—her safety and as a result, his peace of mind. Tom would sleep better at night knowing Lange had been either ruled out as a suspect or arrested for Kelly’s homicide. But if Roland and Marvin couldn’t locate Lange, Tom doubted Murphy would fare much bette
r. Especially given how Murphy’s sights seemed firmly locked on Tom.

  “This is so unfair,” Jill said. “Do they have to search my room, too?”

  “Every room,” Murphy said.

  “Well, do you guys want some tea while you’re digging through their stuff?” Rebecca asked.

  “Yeah, that’d be great,” Fox said.

  Murphy shot his partner a disapproving stare that could have melted steel.

  “Actually, we’re fine, but thanks,” Fox corrected himself.

  “Well, we’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” Tom said, guiding Jill to follow him. Tom stopped in the entranceway and looked back at Murphy. “Murphy, I sure hope you’re doing what you said and looking for other suspects, because this is a big waste of your time.”

  Murphy didn’t respond.

  Tom wished he hadn’t thrown out the box of nails from Home Depot with the SKU number on it.

  Tom didn’t watch the search. It was bad enough just listening to it from the kitchen, where he, Jill, and Rebecca now sat. Nobody was in the mood for pie.

  “I can’t believe you’re just going to let them do this,” Jill said, with more venom in her voice than Tom had ever heard.

  Tom shrugged it off. “Maybe they’ll find something that will help with the investigation,” he said. “What they won’t find is anything connecting me to what happened to your mom, because there is nothing. Look, Rebecca, why don’t you go home? This could take a while.”

  “I’m not leaving until they leave,” said Rebecca.

  “Okay.”

  Tom and Rebecca chatted only in spurts. Jill, for the most part, kept silent.

  “I’m not telling anybody at school about this,” Jill said. “I’ll never be able to show my face in school.”

  “It’s going to be okay, honey,” Tom said. “I promise.”

  The noises continued.

  Drawers opened and closed. Closets searched. Boxes ripped open. Computers bagged and tagged. Papers shuffled and scattered. The three sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea—the same table Tom and Kelly had bought when they first moved to the Oak Street home. Tom had made the decision to move back to Shilo the day after Kelly told him she was pregnant with Jill.

  She’d put in for a 529, the military separation code for pregnancy. It would take a few months for the paperwork to process and clear, she had said. But their conversations that week weren’t focused on their future together. It was all about the crate, and what Kelly had packed inside.

  “Please. Hide the drugs,” she had begged. “Please do it for me. For your baby. Give us a chance. I’ll explain everything when I get back to the States. Please, Tom. Do it for us.”

  Tom had done as she asked. He hid the drugs where nobody would ever, ever find them.

  On his drive back to his parents’ house, he took a shortcut down Oak Street, where he had seen the rusted FOR SALE sign tapped lopsided into a lawn that was more brown than green.

  “This is where we’ll live,” Tom had said to himself. He had a mortgage three months before he had a daughter. Despite all Kelly had done, Tom still loved her deeply and wanted to give them a fighting chance to live together as a family.

  The cuckoo clock chirped ten times. Jill had gone back to her bedroom an hour before, presumably to sleep. Murphy popped his head into the kitchen.

  “We’re all set,” he said, ripping off his rubber gloves and bagging them. “Thanks for your time.”

  Tom finally let himself relax. His secret was safe, at least for now.

  “Find anything?” Rebecca called without looking back or even getting up.

  “Have a good night,” was all Murphy said. “We’ll see ourselves to the door.”

  “I can’t believe Brendan Murphy thinks you had anything to do with Kelly’s death,” Rebecca said with disgust.

  “He’s just doing his job,” said Tom.

  “Yeah? Well, his job stinks,” said Rebecca.

  Tom stood from the table, left the kitchen, and caught up with Murphy at the front door. “Brendan, I hope you’re satisfied.”

  “Like I said, we’re all set.”

  “Thanks, Tom,” Fox called out from the front walk. “Sorry again about the intrusion. I’ll see you at the game.”

  “Yeah, see you at the game,” Tom said, hoping Fox realized how ludicrous he sounded trying to put things back to normal. “I’m assuming you didn’t find anything helpful here,” Tom said to Murphy.

  Murphy didn’t respond, but he couldn’t hide his disappointment, either.

  “Well, I hope now you’ll really start investigating elsewhere,” said Tom.

  Murphy’s eyes narrowed, and he put his face close to Tom’s. “Guys like you always screw up,” Murphy said in a low tone. “That’s been my experience. I want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you to slip, Tom. And when you do, I’ll be right there to slap the cuffs on.”

  “Have yourself a good night, Brendan,” Tom said, closing the door behind him.

  Rebecca bounded down the stairs just as Tom was coming back up.

  “Heading home?” he asked.

  Rebecca nodded her head in the direction of Jill’s bedroom. “I think you and Jill could use some alone time,” Rebecca said, buttoning her coat.

  “She’s not asleep, is she?” Tom said.

  Rebecca shook her head no, kissed Tom on one cheek, and patted him playfully on the other. “You’re a good man, Tom Hawkins,” she said. “A very good man.”

  “I try.”

  Tom closed the front door and watched through the sidelight window as Rebecca traversed the walkway. He kept watching until she disappeared into the dark of night.

  He breathed out the last bits of tension still coiled up inside him.

  On his way back up the stairs, Tom’s cell phone buzzed. Strange, because the only person who texted him was Jill. Tom looked at his cell phone’s display screen and saw the familiar text message icon, but an unfamiliar phone number.

  Tom clicked the envelope icon and realized a picture was attached to the message. The picture began filling his phone’s display screen, painting rows of colored pixels, like a magician’s curtain being raised to reveal whatever magic lay behind.

  Tom’s eyes widened in surprise when the image finished downloading. His heart kicked into overdrive, and his mouth went dry. He read the text message with an open mouth.

  I hope you enjoy these!!! XOXO :) UR Eyes Only!

  It was a picture of a teenage girl. She was lying naked on a bed. The girl’s back was arched. Her legs were open slightly. One of the girl’s hands was hidden between her knees. The other she extended beyond range of the camera’s lens. The girl’s breasts were showing. Her nipples were erect. Her lips were puckered in a pouty and seductive kiss.

  He didn’t know this girl. He’d never seen her before.

  Tom’s phone buzzed again.

  He looked.

  It was another text message. With another picture attached.

  Chapter 22

  Seated at her conference table inside her crammed and cramped office, Superintendent Didomenico looked defeated and worn.

  “What were these girls doing?” she asked Rainy.

  “I believe they were sending text messages with their pictures,” Rainy said. “But there is no way for me to prove it.”

  Didomenico, a meticulous woman in her fifties, wore her wavy hair short. The coloring, Rainy observed, was a mix of blond, brown, and—not unexpectedly—a lot of gray. The white piping of her black sweater tastefully matched the single strand of pearls around her neck. Judging by the numerous staff interruptions for which Didomenico had to apologize, the job evidently pulled in more directions than the superintendent had limbs. Yet her face didn’t show the strain, and her eyes remained patient and kind.

  The superintendent sifted through dozens of computer printouts of the images Rainy had brought with her. All the images were sanitized in some way, to conceal anything revealing, except for the girls’
faces. That was what she had come to see Didomenico about.

  Rainy was convinced that Lindsey’s image belonged to a fetish series, previously unknown to authorities, that was actively being sold to child porn rings on the Web. Teen girls sexting—that was what Rainy believed the multimedia format images to be.

  Defense attorneys liked it when their clients were found in possession of only known series. It was easier for them to argue that the evidence had been planted on their clients’ computers. Known images and series were widely available on the Internet and therefore more easily obtained. But a single unknown image put some doubt into that defense. Hundreds of unknown images made that strategy almost laughable.

  It was hard to get one’s hands on an unknown series. It took work. It took effort. It took real commitment. Rainy knew how men viewed images like the ones of Lindsey Wells. They were hot, sexy, and alluring. The girls were no longer prepubescent. They were in their late teens, with bodies that were well developed. They could turn on most any man. They certainly did James Mann. It didn’t surprise her in the least that a market existed for these images.

  Of the forty girls in what Rainy dubbed James Mann’s Text Image Collection, ten of them (according to the superintendent) attended, or had recently graduated from, Shilo High School. Each girl had taken an image of herself in some stage of undress. And somehow, those images ended up on James Mann’s home computer.

  Ten of forty.

  “This is very troubling news, Agent Miles,” Didomenico said as she flipped through the picture archive again. “What do we do from here?”

  “Well, I’m going to want to speak with the girls individually. I need to know when the pictures were taken. What their ages were at the time. And more importantly, why they took the pictures.”

  “You’d question all the girls?” Didomenico said with alarm.

  “It’s the only way for me to track down the path these images took. Of course, they could have been emailed. Uploaded to a Web site. They might have even been taken using a Web camera on a site like Chatroulette or Omegle. Hard to tell. I think they were sent by cell phone. But that’s just my theory.”