And Then She Was GONE: A riveting new suspense novel that keeps you guessing until the end

by Christopher Greyson

  Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A sweet smile stretched across Aunt Haddie’s face, and she squeezed his hand.

  They walked out the door. Michelle and Replacement sat talking on the steps. Aunt Haddie stopped in front of Replacement. “Please watch out for Michelle until we get back. It could be a couple of hours.”

  “I will, ma’am.” The girl nodded and squared her shoulders.

  Jack shot a puzzled look at Michelle. She winked.

  Jack followed Aunt Haddie to the car and held the door open. When they were both inside, he started up the engine and pulled out. Sadly, there was no opportunity to speed, as the Martins’ house was only four doors down.

  He pulled to a stop in front of the Martins’, but instead of getting out, he angled his thumb back toward Aunt Haddie’s. “You’re putting that kid in charge of Michelle?”

  “Do you remember how good it made you feel to have responsibilities?”

  “Made me feel good?” Jack chuckled.

  “Every child needs structure. Replacement’s a born protector.”

  “Replacement? I thought you don’t use street names.”

  Aunt Haddie pinned him with her eyes again. “There are exceptions to some rules. Her real name is Alice, but right now… right now she’d prefer to be called something else.”

  “But ‘Replacement’? For a second there I thought Michelle called her ‘Placemat.’”

  “Don’t tease, Jackie. Besides, Chandler picked out the name for her.”

  “Figures,” Jack muttered.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, it’s sweet. And the important thing is, she likes it.”

  “What’s wrong with her real name?”

  Aunt Haddie folded her hands on her lap. “Her given name is Alice. When she first came here, every time I spoke to her, she’d start to cry. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Chandler solved that riddle. Alice was named after her mother, who died. Every time she heard the name Alice, it cut her to the quick.”

  Jack nodded. “Okay, but why Replacement?”

  “Her first night here, she ran into a closet and wouldn’t come out. I tried to talk to her and so did Michelle, but she wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t believe it when she let Chandler in. He sat down on the floor with her. He knew what she was going through because he lost his parents too, you know. He understood her, and she got him. They talked for almost an hour. Then he gave her a nickname to make her feel like she belonged.”

  “I don’t get how being a ‘replacement’ makes her feel like she fits in,” Jack said.

  “You would if you would let me finish,” Aunt Haddie said sternly. “Chandler said to her, ‘I’m going in the Army, and I need someone to fill my shoes. You’ll have to watch over my Aunt Haddie and keep an eye on Michelle until I get back. But while you’re doing that, everyone’s going to treat you how they treat me. You’ll be my replacement. Do you know what that means? No one will pick on you because you’re my replacement. It means all the kisses and hugs Aunt Haddie gives me, she’ll give you. It means all the cool stuff my sister Michelle does with me, she’ll do with you, because you’re my replacement.’” Aunt Haddie’s voice was filled with pride. “After that, she’d only respond to her new nickname. That poor little angel. She’s been through hell, so don’t you go teasing her. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They got out of the car and approached the Martins’ house. It had seen better days. The paint was peeling and the lawn needed to be mowed. Jack could just picture what Mr. Martin’s reaction to that would have been if he were still alive. Mr. Martin had been the opposite of Jay. He wasn’t the type to start yelling; he’d just go grab a paint can and get the job done. He was the kind of man who was always working on his house. The paint was always fresh and the lawn was groomed. He’d put on a light show at Christmas and flags for the Fourth. Things had been hard on Mrs. Martin since his passing.

  Mrs. Martin came out of the front door as Jack and Aunt Haddie walked up. A petite woman with graying hair, she stood on the top step, clutching a small pocketbook.

  “Morning, Mrs. Martin,” Jack said.

  “Good morning, Jackie.” Her voice was soft. “Thank you for doing this. It’s very nice of you.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. Jackie’s glad to help.” Aunt Haddie let go of Jack and took Mrs. Martin’s arm.

  “Thank you so much, Haddie. I’m just worried sick. Do you think Jay’s okay?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said reassuringly as they came back down the walk.

  Jack opened the back door and Mrs. Martin got in. Aunt Haddie got in the back seat next to her friend.

  Mrs. Martin’s smile was thin. “I hope he’s been getting some sleep.” Her voice was just above a whisper and her bottom lip trembled. “He’s always been such a light sleeper. When he was small, I had to get his father a different alarm clock because the ticking would wake my little boy up.”

  Aunt Haddie rubbed Mrs. Martin’s back. “He’ll be okay.”

  “You go sit in the front, Haddie. Jackie will be uncomfortable chauffeuring us around like this.”

  “Nonsense, Charlotte.” She patted the woman’s hand. “You don’t mind, do you, Jackie?”

  Jack shook his head. “It’s like Driving Miss Daisy in reverse.” He tipped his head as he slid into the driver’s seat and slipped into his best Morgan Freeman impression. “We’ll get going right away, ma’am. You two just sit back and try to relax.”

  The ride to the holding facility at Long Bay Prison was painfully slow for Jack. In the back seat, Aunt Haddie tried to comfort Mrs. Martin, and Jack could hear a muffled sob now and then.

  Aunt Haddie held on to Mrs. Martin’s hand and prayed. “The Lord will work it out, Charlotte.”

  “I know, I know,” Mrs. Martin said.

  “How’s Tommy taking this?” Aunt Haddie asked.

  “Badly. He didn’t come home last night. I called over to Nina’s and his friends’, but no one has seen him. I’m so worried about him. It’s strange—before their father’s death, Tommy was so well behaved. Jay was the one who was always getting into trouble. But after Aaron passed… well, Jay’s gotten his life together. He got a job. He worked hard and got a promotion. He’s a delivery driver now. But Tommy, it’s been just the opposite. His father’s death just… just knocked him off the tracks, you know? Like flipping a switch. He won’t listen to anyone. And now this.”

  “I’m sure Tommy will come home soon,” Aunt Haddie said.

  Mrs. Martin sniffled. “But what about Jay? They’re going to charge him.”

  “What’s he getting charged with?” Jack pulled down the rearview mirror so he could see Mrs. Martin.

  “Fraudulent use of an ATM card, larceny, and identity theft.”

  Jack turned ninety degrees in his seat. “Seriously?”

  “Jack.” Aunt Haddie raised a hand. “Eyes on the road.”

  Jack straightened out the car.

  “The police said he stole that missing woman’s wallet and then tried to use an ATM card that wasn’t his. He didn’t get any money out of the account, but they said that doesn’t matter, he tried to use the card. But he didn’t do it.” Mrs. Martin gripped Aunt Haddie’s hand. “I know Jay. He said he found that woman’s wallet.”

  “Do they believe that part at least?” Jack asked. “Or do they think he’s somehow involved in the Stacy Shaw disappearance?”

  “They think he knows where Mrs. Shaw is,” Mrs. Martin said, her voice shaking. “But he couldn’t have been involved. He’s never hurt anyone. You know him, Jackie. Have you ever seen him have a temper?”

  Jack crooked his head to the side. The truth was, J-Dog’s temper was notorious. Jack had seen him start fights a handful of times—and each time, it was a lopsided victory for J-Dog.

  Jack chose to ignore the question. “So that’s why they’re charging him with all those felonies,” he said instead. “They’re leaning on him to get
information on Stacy Shaw.” He turned to look at Mrs. Martin.

  Aunt Haddie pointed forward. “Pay attention to your driving.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Where did the police find the wallet?”

  “In Jay’s jacket. When they searched the house. I think Jay was going to try to figure out who it belonged to so he could give it back. I’m certain he didn’t steal it like they said…” She broke down and sobbed.

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Aunt Haddie shook her head.

  Mrs. Martin cried quietly as Aunt Haddie rubbed her back. They spent the rest of the ride in silence.

  When they pulled into the prison parking lot, Jack got the door and the two women got out. Aunt Haddie patted Jack’s arm.

  They walked down the long concrete path to the prison. Jack had been out here once before as part of a police ride-along. He was accompanied by a group of burly police officers, but even so it was unnerving.

  As they headed to the entrance, the prison exercise yard appeared in the distance. Several layers of fences crowned with barbed wire separated them from the prisoners. They called the exercise yard at the Bay “The Beast Pit,” because all the weights and illegal steroids turned guys into creatures that only vaguely resembled humans. Right now, a dozen hulking men snarled and growled as they tossed massive steel weights into the air like they weighed nothing. The prisoners looked at the guards like wolves trapped in cages, with contempt and loathing.

  Every part of prison put Jack on edge, from the cold, indifferent tone of the guards to the prisoners who glared at him with nothing but hate. The place had the antiseptic smell of a hospital mixed with the stale air of a tomb, and although the concrete and tiles looked as if they belonged in a university, to Jack it was like walking into a morgue.

  When the first heavy metal gate clanged shut behind them and the unseen lock sealed it with a loud click, Jack recalled what he hated the most about this place: he was trapped. Locked behind steel doors and concrete. The feeling of panic rippled through his entire being as flashbacks from his childhood rolled through his mind.

  Jack flexed his hands and his breathing sped up. It felt as if the floor was rolling out from under him. His eyes clamped shut as tightly as the door. Everything inside screamed at him to turn around and run—to tear the door open and barrel outside. Sweat ran down his back and the room spun. He stretched his hand out and felt the cold concrete.

  Get out! yelled a voice in his head.

  His eyes snapped open but his feet didn’t move. He watched Aunt Haddie and Mrs. Martin walking down the corridor ahead of him, the two old women holding each other up.

  He couldn’t leave them alone in here.

  His fist smacked the wall. He hurried to catch up.

  After showing their IDs several times, enduring two pat-downs, and handing over their bags and everything in their pockets, Mrs. Martin, Aunt Haddie, and Jack were escorted to a long, stark room. The cinderblock walls were painted a drab gray and green, and the lack of exterior windows made the air smell stale and musty. Warning posters were everywhere, informing prisoners that biting, spitting, or throwing of bodily waste would result in thirty days added to their sentence.

  This was the visiting room.

  The space was cut in two by a metal and glass divider partitioned into five individual sections. Each section consisted of two metal stools cemented into the floor on the visitors’ side, one stool on the prisoner’s side, and between them, a thick glass window atop a waist-high metal counter. There was no phone or speakers, just dozens of small holes drilled through the glass. Speaking through the holes forced people to raise their voices to a level that enabled the guards and everyone else to hear their conversations.

  Mrs. Martin was directed to the visitors’ section at the far right. She took a seat on one of the metal stools and anxiously waited. Jack and Aunt Haddie stood by the wall, behind the yellow line painted on the floor.

  There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that if he was ever put in here for any length of time, he would go mad. His chest tightened. Everywhere he looked, all he saw was pain. At the far left visitors’ section, a prisoner in a bright-orange jumpsuit sat on the edge of his round metal stool. The tendons in his neck stood out as he jabbed a finger at the emaciated girl on the other side of the glass. Each time his hand thrust, she winced. Jack felt bile rise in his throat.

  Jack turned away, but his new view was no easier to watch. A young mother held a toddler up to the glass. Curious little hands reached out toward the hulking man on the other side, who had tears in his eyes. His enormous hand pressed hard against the glass as the toddler’s fingers traced its outline.

  Jack wondered whether the boy had ever touched his father’s skin.

  The thought caused Jack to wonder about his own biological father. Jack didn’t know anything about him. No name. No details. He fought the urge to scan the faces of the men in the room to look for similarities to himself.

  Two guards escorted J-Dog into the room on the other side of the glass. J-Dog normally walked with his chin up, looking down his nose at everyone, but today he kept his chin tucked down. With one hand moving back and forth as though he was pulling himself forward with it, he strutted over to the metal stool.

  J-Dog raised his head. His face was bruised and his right eye was slightly swollen shut. His upper lip was fat and cut. His right hand was bandaged.

  Mrs. Martin’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, baby…” Her voice broke.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Who did that to you?”

  “Some of the welcoming committee. It was nothing. I can handle it. I told you not to come here,” Jay said gruffly.

  “I spoke with your lawyer.”

  “Lawyer?” J-Dog scoffed. “The court-appointed guy’s a dumb old white guy. He’s an idiot. He’s already trying to get me to take a deal.”

  “Mr. Carlson believes you should cooperate with the police.”

  “They can keep on me. But I’m not sayin’ nothin’.”

  “But Jay, they think you had something to do with that woman who went missing.”

  “Like I’d go anywhere near a white woman. Too much trouble.” Jay glanced at the burly, pale guard standing in the corner. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. I didn’t know her.”

  “The police say you met her. They say you delivered baby furniture to her house.”

  “So what? She didn’t even look at me. That’s not meeting someone.”

  Mrs. Martin shook her head. “Jay, why won’t you just tell the police where you found the wallet? That young lady is missing. If you tell them where you found it, they said they’d consider reducing the charges.”

  “You can’t believe a word the cops say. That Detective Vargas tricked me.” Jay’s nostrils flared. “He lied. He said the lady just wanted the wallet back and since I had no record I’d get probation, and even that would go away if I kept my nose clean. He said all I had to do was just admit I found it. He lied. He never said she was missing, or anything about an ATM.”

  Mrs. Martin put her head in her hands. “Jay… they have a picture of you at the bank.”

  J-Dog turned his face away from his mother. His lips pulled back and he bared his teeth, but he didn’t say anything.

  “They also found blood. On your shoes. Is it that woman’s? Jay, did… did you have anything to do with it?”

  Jay glared at the ceiling. “No. I didn’t.” His lip curled back so high, you could see his molars. His teeth were clamped tight and the muscles of his jaw throbbed.

  “Oh, Jay.” Mrs. Martin reached out and placed her hand on the glass. “Please talk to Attorney Carlson.” Her shoulders shook. A small sob jolted her slender frame.

  His mother’s tears extinguished the fire in Jay’s eyes. The anger burning there flickered and died. “Shh, Momma. Everything’s gonna be good. You always say that. Everything’s gonna be good. We’ll figure it out.” He leaned down and angled his head so she would look at him. “I
got a little money. In my bureau, the top drawer. In a white envelope. You gotta use it for the bills.”

  “I’ll use it for your bail.”

  “It’s enough for bills. I’d never have the money for bail.”

  “I’ll put up the house.”

  “No! I won’t let you.”

  “But Jay…” Mrs. Martin held her hand over her mouth to cover another sob.

  “It’s good, Momma. Everything’s gonna be good.”

  Mrs. Martin nodded, and J-Dog looked up. When he did, his eyes met Jack’s. Jack expected to be on the receiving end of nasty sneer, but instead, J-Dog’s eyes were hollow. He was broken, and Jack knew it. He’d seen that same dead look on his own face a thousand times.

  For a split second, Jack remembered when they were kids. The image of an innocent young Jay riding his ten-speed bike in the parking lot behind their elementary school flashed to his mind.

  Then the door behind J-Dog opened and a guard led in another prisoner. The man looked like a cross between a linebacker and a Russian super-soldier experiment gone wrong. Tattoos covered half of his bald head, and a jagged scar wrapped upward around his neck and then down the other side. A chunk of his top lip was missing, resulting in a permanent snarl.

  J-Dog sat up straighter, and a tiny bead of sweat formed on his forehead.

  The other prisoner’s eyes locked on J-Dog as he was led over to his own window. Even as he sat down in front of a pregnant woman, he glared at J-Dog with murder in his eyes.

  “Jay, please talk to them,” Mrs. Martin begged.

  J-Dog’s eyes shifted over to the enormous man, then quickly returned.

  Aunt Haddie reached out and squeezed Jack’s hand.

  Jack knew child molesters, rapists, and men accused of violent crimes against women were typically kept isolated in prison—for their own safety. General population wasn’t exactly kind to that sort of criminal. But J-Dog had been put in general population in the Bay, and Jack realized why: the cops were putting pressure on him to talk.