by Tony Urban
She noticed a collar with a silver, heart-shaped tag. Engraved on it was the animal’s name. Jelly Jam.
Sighing, Carolina set the cat on the floor. She didn’t want to use such a stupid name, but felt she had no other option. “Where’s your mom, Jelly Jam?”
Jelly Jam didn’t answer. It just wound itself around her feet in an infinity loop.
“Leigh?” Carolina called from the kitchen. “Leigh, are you all right?”
The notion that the woman might actually be sick had occurred to her, but she hadn’t given it too much thought until now. She waited a moment, trying to decide whether she should walk through her house uninvited. It was a short debate. Of course, she should. Besides, the last thing she needed was to leave, only to later discover the girl had drowned in the toilet or something. Carolina already had enough bodies on her conscience.
She walked past Jelly Jam who watched her intently with vivid green eyes. As soon as she made it out of the kitchen, the cat gave a plaintive meow and Carolina looked back. She recognized the look. The cat was hungry.
“Oh, shit,” Carolina muttered, rummaging through cabinets until she found a box of Friskies. Then she grabbed a cereal bowl out of the sink, shook out some water, and dumped it full of food. When she set it on the floor, the cat wasted no time thanking her and began feasting.
“You’re welcome,” Carolina whispered to herself.
She tossed the empty box of food into a trash can sitting underneath the overhang of a kitchen island. She almost moved on but saw a corner of black metal poking out from beneath a thin pile of junk mail.
Leigh’s phone.
Carolina grabbed it and tapped the screen. The lock screen appeared, and it was a picture of the cat that was busy greedily eating. Carolina then saw an alert box that said Leigh had five missed calls, three of them from Carolina and two from a number labeled Work.
Carolina was a technophobe and sometimes forgot to look at her flip phone for days on end, but she knew Leigh was a typical, modern young woman. Her phone was almost always in her hand and her eyes on that screen.
None of it felt right.
Carolina made her way through the tidy living room. The couch was empty, no napping Leigh, so she turned down the short hallway to her left and dipped her head into a bathroom, which was also empty.
The next room up was a spare bedroom, cluttered with totes full of clothes and household items. Apparently, Leigh didn’t get many guests as the mattress didn’t even have sheets or a pillow. And for some reason, that made Carolina pity the girl.
She was used to living in her van where she barely had enough room to turn around. But that claustrophobic space fit her well. It felt like it was made for her and only her. Having a house with spare rooms, and most of it going unused, seemed so lonely.
None of this mattered right now. What did matter was finding the deputy.
At the end of the hallway was the final bedroom. The door was ajar and the lights off. Carolina took the knob in her hand but paused.
“Leigh? You alright?” she asked loud enough that anyone in the house could hear her. Hell, the neighbors could probably hear her.
When no answer came, Carolina pushed open the door and found exactly what she expected. Emptiness. No Leigh.
Her uniform was there, on a hanger and dangling from a hook on the closet door. Her service revolver and taser were there, too, still holstered in her utility belt.
What Carolina did not see were the clothes Leigh had worn the previous evening. The bed was also perfectly made. Adding those two things together with the hungry cat led Carolina to a sickening deduction.
Leigh never came home last night.
But that wasn’t quite right. Her car was in the drive and her phone was in the house. So, she had come home, but then left, apparently in a rush.
Or had someone taken her?
Carolina retraced her steps through the house, checking to see if anything seemed amiss or askew. Searching for any signs of a break-in or scuffle.
But if Leigh had been abducted from her own house, it had happened without disturbing any of the knickknacks and cat figurines. And that seemed impossible as the house was overflowing with them.
One thing was for certain. Leigh Benner was missing.
Chapter 55
Carolina made it back to her motel room, toting Leigh’s cat at her side. She’d found a travel carrier designed for small pets in Leigh’s spare room and put a freshly-fed Jelly Jam inside it, not wanting to leave the animal alone for God knows how long. The scratches on her arm were evidence that her plan hadn’t gone as well as she would have hoped.
And on the off-chance she was just being paranoid and worried for no reason? Then good. Leigh could use her cop skills to deduce Carolina had her cat and she could come looking for it. A little fear would serve her well for making Carolina think she’d been abducted, leaving her cell phone behind, and skipping work without contacting anyone.
Carolina wished that was the truth, but she knew it wasn’t.
She’d called Hank four times during the drive from Leigh’s house to the motel. Each call went to voicemail. After that she tried the station and received no answer, not even a Howdy from O’Dell. As a last resort she tried the number on Billington’s business card. No answer, just a generic message. It was like everyone running the show in Hopkins had up and vanished.
She set the carrier on top of the her motel bed and unzipped the lid, half expecting the cat to do its Tasmanian devil impersonation all over again. Instead, a tiny paw reached out exploratively.
The cat was being extra cautious in the unfamiliar environment, with this strange person who’d just stolen it from its domain. But eventually, it stepped out of the carrier and nestled in between the pillows at the head of the bed.
That’s when Carolina realized that the bed was made. She quickly looked around and saw her things in a tidy pile at the corner of the room.
She’d forgotten to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle that morning. And housekeeping had come calling. Carolina rushed to her nightstand and saw her oxy was gone.
“Fuck,” Carolina said, kicking the box springs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Jelly Jam glared at her like she was quite the annoyance.
“Oh, screw you. You’re a cat. You don’t get to judge me,” Carolina said.
Carolina bounced her heel on the floor as she stood, debating on her next move. She had to go to the sheriff’s station. If no one was going to answer their phones, it was the only option.
But she felt ready to jump out of her skin. Having to tell Billington this tale in the state she was in, or in the mood she was in, was bound to go poorly.
That’s when she remembered that she hadn’t left the pills out in the open. She’d hidden then when Leigh dropped by unexpectedly, placing them in a pocket for safe keeping.
Carolina rushed to her folded pile of clothing and began tossing everything aside until she came to yesterday’s jeans. She dug into the pocket, at first gathering nothing but lint and a gummy bear she’d forgotten about.
But then she struck gold.
She pulled out the pills, which had lost their pristine white color in the confines of her dirty pants and gone a vaguely gray color. She picked off some crust and crumbs trying to clean them up, not even sure why. She’d get the same effect from them whether they were straight from the packaging or dipped in chocolate.
In a brief flash of common sense, she realized that taking all of them at once would likely knock her on her ass. She’d been sober for more than half a year and didn’t have the tolerance she’d built up prior to getting clean.
So, she set all but one to the side, pinching the holdout between her thumb and index finger. She held it up, examining it like a gemologist checking a diamond for the four ‘c’ elements.
Am I really going to do this? Throw away everything I’ve worked for? Start over from square one?
Hell yes, she was.
She thre
w the pill into her mouth where it ricocheted off her teeth before settling on the back of her tongue. She was working up enough spit to swallow it down when her cell rang.
She pulled it out, hoping it was Leigh. But instead, it was Hank. She coughed the pill back into her hand, its texture now somewhere between a ball of snot and a glue and held it while she took the call.
“Nice of you to blow off my calls, asshole,” she said. “I was calling you about Leigh. She’s--”
“We got the fucker!” Hank shouted into the phone.
“What?” she asked, confused at the sudden blast of information.
“The killer, we got a lead on him and have his address. Some shithole cabin out in the woods. We’re gearing up to head out in an hour,” Hank said and then hung up before Carolina could respond.
It seemed impossible that this whole mess was finally winding to an end, but Carolina’s nerves settled at the news. Convinced she could handle this sober, she gathered all the pills and chucked them into the wastebasket beside the bed.
She hurried to the door, then paused. This was good news, but there were still so many unknowns. If Leigh had indeed been taken by the killer, and Carolina was almost sure of it, was she still alive? Or was all of this heroic horseshit going down too late to save the life of the woman who’d wanted nothing more than to be a role model for little girls?
Before she left the room, Carolina reached into the trash and retrieved the pills. She yanked open the drawer to the nightstand and deposited them inside. Because, if Leigh Benner was dead, she was going to need them more than ever.
On her way out, Jelly Jam gave an inquisitive meow. Carolina glanced back. “I’m going to find your mom,” she told the cat. She just hoped the cat’s mom was still in one piece.
Chapter 56
The van screeched to a halt in front of the sheriff’s station, the front wheels colliding with the curb and sending Carolina lurching forward in her seat. She didn’t bother paying the meter before dashing into the station, expecting to discover the FBI had sent the entire fucking cavalry to Hopkins.
Instead, she found only Billington, Hank, and Odie. The two men sat in the conference room while Billington stood at the wall, in the midst of doling out information. When Carolina burst through the doors, the agent gave her a brief nod and continued without hesitation.
“Mitchell has previous convictions for attempted sexual assault.” She held up an eight-by-ten printout of an old mugshot. It showed a man who would have fit in on any college campus or assembly line without drawing an askance glance. “This is over twenty years old, but the similarities are there.”
She pinned the mugshot beside the sketch of the man Ernie Warneck had seen walking his dog in Silver Gap. It was hard to say they looked alike, as the man in the old mugshot had no facial hair and a crew cut, whereas Warneck’s guy looked like he’d been sleeping under a bridge for a few decades. But if Carolina squinted, she could see a vague resemblance.
“But what makes you think--” Carolina started to ask before Billington cut her off with a satisfied smile.
“Eighteen years ago, Mitchell was accused of attempting to abduct a ten year old girl. There wasn’t enough evidence to make the charges stick and he was a distant relative to the victim, so the family declined to press the matter.” Billington took a dramatic pause. “That ten-year-old girl was Katie Eddows.”
“I’ll be shit,” Odie said under his breath.
Billington nodded as if saying, Yes, I am the shit. “It took some serious digging to make this connection, but I have a good team at the agency.” She looked at Carolina, almost begging another objection, but Carolina had none.
“We have eight of the agency’s best coming in from Columbus to assist us in the raid. They’re...” Billington checked her watch. “Less than ten minutes out. As soon as they arrive, we’re heading to Terrence Mitchell’s cabin.
“When we get there, my people will be leading the charge. I fully expect him to be armed, maybe heavily. And due to the cabin’s remote location, making a discrete entrance will likely be impossible so he’ll know we’re coming.” She looked over Hank and O’Dell, speaking directly to them. Her tone was confident and encouraging and Carolina thought she seemed more like a leader than she had in days. “I want you to be prepared to rain hell on this motherfucker. Now, are there any questions?”
Hank and Odie stayed quiet, satisfied with subservience. But Carolina wasn’t. They needed to know Leigh was missing and that the killer might use her as a bargaining chip.
“Agent Billington,” Carolina said. “I went to Leigh’s house earlier and she wasn’t there.”
Billington seemed annoyed at this sidetrack, shaking her head. “We have bigger issues right now.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
The agent shot her an icy stare. “I understand plenty. Your ego is wounded because you haven’t been involved but--”
“Shut the fuck up,” Carolina ordered, her voice even but decisive. “I think the killer took her.”
Billington actually lost her swagger, at least for a moment. “What makes you so sure?”
“Her phone was there with several missed calls. Her car was there. And her cat was there and near starving.” She knew she was exaggerating the latter, but it sounded good.
“Goddamn,” Billington muttered. “This complicates matters.”
Just then Carolina saw four black SUVs pull up to the front of the station. The cavalry had arrived after all.
Billington saw them, too, and immediately headed toward the exit. As she breezed by, Carolina grabbed her arm. “Let me help.”
But Billington shook her head. “We’ve had this discussion. You’re a private citizen.” She jerked her arm free and continued on.
Hank and Odie were following her like sheep chasing a shepherd. When Carolina tried to catch Hank’s eye, he averted his head.
“Hank, deputize me or something. I need to be there.”
Hank shook his head. “I’m following the FBI’s lead on this one.”
“Please,” Carolina begged, willing to grovel if that’s what it took. “If Leigh’s at that cabin, and I believe she is, I’ve got to be there.”
Hank finally met her gaze. But instead of looking sympathetic to her cause, he sneered. “I brought you in to help us catch this guy and you dropped the ball. If he got Leigh, that’s on you.”
He stomped away, then took one final look backward. “I should’ve known better than to count on you, McKay. Thanks for nothing.”
With that he was out of the building and all Carolina could do was watch everyone load into vehicles and the caravan speed away.
She looked around the empty station, furious at Hank’s comments, furious over being discarded like a day-old newspaper, and furious that the asshole was right.
Chapter 57
After returning to the motel, unwanted and unneeded, Carolina didn’t even care about the pills. She just wanted to gather her belongings and pack everything up so she could flee Hopkins as soon as she learned of Leigh’s fate. She was eager to get out of this town, away from this case, and put the mess behind her so she could start the long journey of relocating her confidence.
Because right now, she had none.
Jelly Jam sprawled on the bed, content enough with her temporary guardian, licking its paws and purring and doing whatever cats did. Including getting in Carolina’s way as she tried to gather the files and paperwork which had been cluttering the bed.
One file was under the cat and when Carolina jerked it free, the contents spilled onto the floor. They were the photos Hank had taken after they found the dead drunks and Katie Eddows. Those precious few pictures snapped before the rain came and washed everything meaningful away. She was drawn to those images of death like a fly to honey and couldn’t resist looking over them for the thousandth time.
It was the prints that had most interested her, not the bodies. A handprint here or there, probably placed during the attac
ks. That made sense. But the footprints. Bare feet in that terrain. It still boggled her mind. Why in the hell was he barefoot up there? Was he purposely trying to keep them from identifying shoes or boots? That seemed far-fetched.
Holding one photo so close it almost touched her nose, she studied it, trying to find something she’d missed, even if it didn’t matter anymore. Her eyes kept returning to the footprints, and she noticed a divot in the dirt near them.
She checked one of the other photos and saw the same thing. Bare feet. An occasional handprint. And that divot.
A walking stick, she thought. That made sense, at least somewhat. Maybe the killer even used it to strike his victims and take them down before he started mauling them. The M.E. hadn’t found any signs of blunt force trauma but considering the state of the bodies it would have been easy to overlook.
Was the killer older than she’d suspected? Was that why he needed a walking stick? Or did he have some sort of injury? There had to be a reason for--
“What are you doing?” she asked herself out loud, her voice drawing a head cock from the cat.
The FBI was already on the way to arrest the guy. The case was over aside from the epilogue. There was no use for her to obsess over minutia now. The time for her to solve any mysteries had long passed.
Carolina changed course and went to shoving her clothes into the duffle bag that served as her suitcase. God, this stuff reeks, she thought, barely able to tolerate her own stench.
She’d have to find a laundromat soon, or maybe she'd just wait until she got back to Dupray and let her mom wash everything for her. Bea was always whining that Carolina didn’t need her, so she may as well slink home with some work for the woman.
She was trying to decide whether a particularly ripe pair of jeans was even worth saving when she heard an odd noise coming from the bed. Like a wet lapping against thin plastic.