The Darkest Place

by Daniel Judson

  The footsteps stopped at the door. It swung open slowly. The light from the hallway widened, falling across the empty bed. Whoever had opened the door stepped through it then, looking around the dimly lit room. There was urgency in the way this person moved, surprise even. It was clear that he had expected to find Kane in bed, wondered for a quick second if Kane had somehow gone. But he found Kane fast enough, the room was small. And Kane saw him, too. It was the kid with the limp, and he stood just inside the doorway, staring at Kane. Neither moved.

  “You’re up,” the kid said.

  Kane waited, studying the kid. He wasn’t as big as Clay or Dean, but, like Colette had said, he was big enough. Kane faced him, hid his fear.

  “Where the fuck am I?” Kane said softly.

  The kid didn’t make a move, remained in the doorway, his hands hanging at his sides.

  “Montauk.”

  “Where in Montauk?”

  He wasn’t sure if he should answer that. Kane could see this. Finally, though, the kid must have decided there was no harm in saying the truth. “Ned’s house,” he said.

  “Your name is Miller, right?”

  “Yeah. Tommy Miller.”

  “And you work for Ned?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I want to leave here,” Kane said.

  “I don’t really think you should do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because pretty soon the police are going to be looking for you.”

  “Why would they be looking for me?”

  “You should wait till Reggie and Ned get back, talk to them. And your friend, too. Mercer.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “To check some things out.”

  “What things?”

  “You should really talk to them.”

  “When will they get back?”

  Miller shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re safe here, though. That’s why we brought you here, so you’d be safe while they tried to figure everything out.”

  “What do they need to figure out?”

  “You really should wait and talk to them.”

  Kane sensed that Miller wasn’t going to give in. He looked around the room. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. A weapon? Eventually he looked back at Miller.

  “What time is it? Can you tell me that much?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Since this morning.”

  “My friend. Colette. She’s dead, right?”

  Miller waited, then nodded and said, “Yeah.”

  “The other guy, the one who killed her. What happened to him?”

  “He ran off. Clay went after him on foot. He ran toward the canal. Clay couldn’t catch him, and there wasn’t really time to chase after him. We had to get you out of there.”

  “How did you know I was there?”

  “We didn’t. We were looking for the woman, went to her apartment. The guy who beat you up was waiting there. I recognized him, so we waited and followed him when he finally left.”

  “You recognized him from where?”

  “He ran me off the road the other night.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Kane nodded, thinking about that, then said, “You talked to Colette, right? A few nights ago.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ned sent you there?”

  “Reggie did.”

  “That big guy—Dean, I guess his name is—was blackmailing her.”

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Miller shrugged the question off. “Ned and Reggie weren’t sure what had happened to you. They thought maybe you were up to something.”

  “Do they still think that?”

  “They’re not sure exactly what’s going on. Mercer busted his ass all day trying to prove to Ned and Reggie that you didn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

  “He did that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kane couldn’t imagine what Mercer, or anyone, would say on his behalf. “What proof does he have exactly?”

  “Apparently he called some woman you know, got her to confirm that you were with her at her place the night the Foster boy was dumped into the bay.”

  “What?”

  “Her house has a security system. Once it’s armed, it keeps track of how many times the doors are opened. Ned knows someone at the company that installed the system. Their records, I guess, should prove that you didn’t leave her house that night. He’s on his way to see about getting a copy, for that night and for the nights the other two boys were found. I guess you were there those nights, too—at least according to this woman friend of yours.”

  Kane wondered how Meg could know that, could recall the nights that he had been there, the dates. She barely knew what day of the week it was, barely knew anything except her work and eating and sex. He wondered if she was just saying what needed to be said to protect him. He wondered, too, if her husband had been there when Mercer had called.

  “Where’s he now?” Kane said.

  “Mercer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He went with Ned.”

  “And what about Reggie?”

  “He’s waiting to pick something up from a friend of mine in the police department.”

  “What?”

  “A copy of someone’s police record.”

  “Whose?”

  “A woman named Colleen Auger.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Should I?”

  “A number belonging to her was on your caller ID.”

  “You’ve been to my apartment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “You disappeared after the chapel. Clay was trying to figure out what had happened to you.” He paused. “And like I said, it was starting to look like maybe you were involved in this.”

  Kane was aware by now of the similarities between the names Colette Auster and Colleen Auger. He was fairly certain they, Miller and Clay and Gregor, were aware of it, too.

  “What kind of police record does Colleen Auger have?” he said.

  “We’ll find out when Reggie gets back.”

  “How long till then?”

  “My friend said she’d have to wait till the time was right to get the file. She’s going to call Reggie on his cell phone when it’s ready. That may be awhile.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Kane needed to sit down but didn’t move. He would stand there for as long as Miller stood there, face him fully, show no weakness, that he had nothing to hide. He felt a resolve in himself he didn’t know he had.

  “Listen, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Miller said.

  Kane shrugged.

  “The woman who was killed this morning, whoever she turns out to be, you had spent the night with her, right?”

  Kane waited a moment, then said, “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  “Did you two sleep together?”

  “What does that matter to you?”

  “Just that if you did, it means there’s a murdered woman in the morgue right now who may or may not have your DNA in her.”

  Kane looked at Miller, hard. “You saw what happened. I didn’t kill her.”

  “I never said you did. I’m just trying to figure out how much more trouble a guy can get himself into.”

  “What trouble exactly am I in?”

  “That’s what Ned’s trying to find out. You know, if you weren’t Mercer’s friend, Ned would have had us turn you over to the cops this morning, let them sort it out. He’s got a thing about not breaking the law. He says it’s because he’s got a license to protect, that he wants to stay in business. But it’s more than that. Hell, I don’t even think their PI firm does anything more than break even.”

  �
�So if it’s not the license he’s worried about, then what is it?”

  “I’m pretty sure it has something to do with not wanting to become corrupt. He’s obsessed with the whole thing, about as righteous as they come.”

  “Why’s that, do you think?”

  Miller shrugged, said nothing.

  Kane thought about that, about everything, or tried to. His mind was tired, like an overworked muscle. Thinking was like moving something heavy. After a while he asked the only thing that seemed to matter now.

  “When will Ned be back?”

  “Shouldn’t be more than an hour now.”

  Neither of them spoke after that for a few moments. Kane listened to the waves falling in on themselves, falling relentlessly. It sounded to him now like something creeping closer and closer, something trying to sneak up on him. As he listened, it slowly became clearer than ever that his life as he knew it was over. No going back.

  But what life, if any, was awaiting him, lingering maybe somewhere ahead in this sudden darkness, he did not know.

  “Do you need anything?” Miller said. “Something to eat or drink?”

  Kane shook his head. “No. I’m good.”

  “You don’t look so hot. Maybe you should lie down for a while.” Kane looked toward the window, pulled back the shade, saw the ocean, the white tips of the waves tumbling over in the dark, the steady momentum of the approaching high tide.

  “No, I think I want to stand,” he said.

  “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

  Kane nodded. Miller waited a moment, then left. Kane stayed by the window, reached down after a moment, tugged on the bottom of the shade. It rolled up, and he stood there and stared at the water. This was like the other night, he thought, the night before all this started, when he sat on the edge of Meg’s bed for hours and stared out at the dark stillness of the bay.

  It was like that, but it was different, too.

  Three hours went by before Kane heard a car pull into the driveway at the front of the house. Long time to wait around and think. He had stayed at the window for as long as he could stand, which hadn’t been really all that long, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his left hand, when he heard the car pull in. There was a small tremor in his hand that came every now and then, caused his hand to shake for a half minute like some newborn bird. He stared at it when it shook, stared at it and waited for it to stop, and then stared it some more and waited for it to start up again. No pattern, no set time between spasms. It came without warning, then was gone. In a strange way it kept his mind active, gave him something on which to focus. But the sounds coming up from downstairs broke that spell, caused his attention to shift. He looked up from his hand as he listened to the door downstairs open and close, listened to muffled voices. The house had been dead silent up till then. He didn’t hear Mercer’s voice among those below. Gregor’s and Clay’s and Miller’s. Kane listened to them for a while, heard the door open and close again, heard a car start up in the driveway and pull away. He heard someone walking around, then voices again. Male and female voices. Gregor and the woman who had given Kane a drink of water, maybe. They were speaking French, as far as Kane could tell. Spoke it fluently. Kane got up and walked to the bathroom. The hard soles of the Skechers squeaked a little on the polished wood floor. He ran cold water, splashed it on his face, on the back of his neck, ran his damp right hand through his hair. He looked at his reflection for a moment. He had to will himself to do that. He looked just like he felt. No surprise there. He grabbed a towel, dried his hands and face, then lay the towel on the sink and left the bathroom. He took two steps back into the guest room and stopped short.

  Gregor was standing in the center of the small room. It was still dark in there, the room lit only by the light that spilled in from the hallway through the half-open door. Kane could barely see Gregor’s face—Gregor was standing with his back to the light—but from Gregor’s left hand hung a plastic garbage bag, and that Kane could see clearly enough. It was a large, dark bag, not even a quarter full. Whatever was inside it, though, hung heavy. Gregor was facing Kane, standing perfectly still, rigidly, even. Kane got the sense right off that Gregor hadn’t come upstairs to check on him.

  “We need to talk,” Gregor said. His voice was soft, his tone solemn.

  Kane nodded, but he had things of his own he wanted to talk about first. “Where’s Mercer?”

  “He went home, to make a phone call.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  Gregor shook his head. “No, he’s fine.”

  “What happened with your friend at the security company?”

  “He won’t be able to check till tomorrow. If he finds what we’re looking for, he’ll print it out, Clay will pick it up.”

  “My lady friend always used to turn the security system on every time we sat down to eat. That was usually around seven. Your friend is going to find exactly what Mercer says he’s going to find.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll know tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ve called a cab. It’s going to take you to a motel about a mile from here. You’re going to spend the night there.”

  “Why?”

  “The call Mercer needed to make was to a lawyer he knows. He’s going to set up a meeting for you with this lawyer tomorrow.”

  “Why do I need a lawyer?”

  “Because I’ve done everything I can for you. I’ve gone as far as I can go.”

  “I can’t afford a lawyer.”

  “Mercer said he’s going to take care of that.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  Gregor opened the garbage bag, reached in, and pulled something out. He tossed it to Kane. It was a clear plastic Baggie. Inside was what looked to Kane like a dark T-shirt, rolled up. The T-shirt was stained.

  “What’s this?” Kane said.

  “Last night Clay and Miller found it in the garbage in your apartment.”

  Kane looked at it. Even in the dim light he could see it clearly enough. It was a black concert T-shirt, and there was blood on it. Kane looked up at Gregor and muttered, “What’s going on?” It was all he could think to say.

  “Your friend Colette Auster’s real name is Colleen Auger. She has a fairly substantial police record—solicitation, prostitution, assault, shoplifting, and drug possession. And apparently at one point she was a major addict, was ordered by the court twice to enter a drug rehab center. It just happens that one of the rehabs she went to was the same rehab that treated a boy named Brian Carver. Does that name ring a bell with you?”

  Kane shook his head. “No.”

  “Brian Carver was the boy they fished out of Peconic Bay two months ago. The same bay, it seems, on which your lady friend, Meg, has a house.”

  Everything Colette had told Kane ran through his mind in a flash then. But he said nothing about that, nor did he address what it was Gregor was implying with his comment about where Meg lived. What at all could Kane say about that?

  “Once we got a look at her police record,” Gregor said, “and the mug shots that came with it—once we knew that Colette Auster and Colleen Auger were in fact one and the same—I sent Clay back to her apartment, to knock on her door this time and see if she had a roommate, and if not maybe talk to her neighbors. Maybe we’d get lucky. The last known address in her police record was out of date. Apparently, when she chose her new alias and moved, she failed to inform her parole officer. So we had a head start on the cops. But when Clay got there, it was clear someone else had gotten there first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her door was wide open. Someone had busted her lock, pried it right out of the door frame. Clay went inside, thought maybe someone might be hurt in there. Once he realized the place was empty, he looked around and found a few things.”

  “Found what?”

  “Three different bottles of a prescription drug in the garbage. They were made out to three different names, all variations on Colleen Auger,
each one prescribed by a different doctor. They had all been filled in a span of two months.”

  “What drug?”

  “Xanax.”

  “That’s for depression or anxiety or something, isn’t it?”

  “I’m told that, combined with alcohol, it also makes an effective date-rape drug. It can be ground up into a powder and slipped in a drink. The victim wakes up hours later, with a bad headache and a gaping hole in their memory.”

  “Where are these bottles?”

  “Clay left them in her apartment. We don’t remove evidence from murdered women’s apartments. Especially women involved in serial murders.”

  “She was being blackmailed,” Kane said.

  “Is that what she told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What exactly did she say?”

  “Some guy named Dean, from her drug-running days, had found her where she worked. He threatened to make trouble for her with the cops if she didn’t do what he wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “Get young men for a friend of his, a guy he called the Professor. He liked to photograph young men while they were unconscious.”

  Gregor nodded at that. “That would be Professor Krause,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “An old man, wears black capes, has crazy white hair, was supposed to have known Einstein when he was a kid, got out of Germany on the day the Nazis closed it down. I’m sure you’ve seen him walking around town.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him.” Kane thought about him—an old man, maybe seventy, maybe eighty, tall but frail, always with a cane, a badly stooped back, had taught at Princeton, or so the talk went. He’d been a fixture in town when Kane was a student, very hard to miss, even harder to understand when he spoke, his accent was so thick. “But how do you know he’s the man Dean was talking about?”

  “Colleen Auger’s apartment had been pretty much ransacked. Her TV and stereo were missing. Clay found a printer but no computer. Beside the printer was a pile of papers that Clay said looked like some book or something she was working on. On top of the pile was a letter, written to that guy Dean, threatening to turn him and Krause in if they didn’t pay her ten thousand dollars.”