Exposed

by C. M. Sutter

  Someone banged on my bedroom door, and I opened it a crack. Kate stood on the other side.

  “I said Jack is here.”

  “Jack, as in my partner, Jack Steele?” I heard him laugh from the kitchen.

  “What other Jack do you know?”

  I walked out with the comb in my hand. I did a double take at him, then the clock. “You’re normally asleep at this hour. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Somebody has to drive you to get your car.” He chuckled at our appearances. “Do any of you remember last night?”

  The three of us shook our heads.

  He smirked. “Then maybe it’s for the best. I’ll help myself to the coffee. Amber, you better get dressed if you want a ride to your car.” He looked at Kate and laughed. “Guess you slept in your clothes.”

  We were downtown fifteen minutes later.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Amber said as I lifted the passenger seat and let her and Kate out. Amber walked to her car, and Kate headed the two blocks to her apartment. I sat back down in the passenger seat for a moment and cradled my head.

  “Still hurting?” Jack smiled. “You girls really lit up the Washington House last night.”

  “I don’t want to know about it. We didn’t piss anyone off, though, did we?”

  “Nope, not at all.”

  “Good. Thanks for the ride, partner. I got it from here.”

  “Do you want me to stop and get you more aspirin?”

  “Nah—thanks, anyway. I have plenty in my desk drawer.” I climbed out of Jack’s Charger and clicked the key fob to my Cobra. The door locks sprang up, and I climbed inside. I gave Jack a nod as I backed out of the parking spot and headed to work.

  Inside, I sat at my desk with my head in my hands. I glanced up—Clayton, Billings, and Clark looked as bad as I did. The bull pen was quiet save the occasional moan that came from one of us every few minutes.

  “How did you stay sober, Jack?” Clayton asked.

  “I wasn’t that sober, but at midnight I switched to soda. You goofballs guzzled booze until last call.”

  “Jade, will you share your bottle of aspirin with me?” Clark asked.

  “Sure, boss, but you have to come and get it.”

  By noon, I was back to true form. Other than nagging headaches, everyone else said they felt human again too.

  “Are you capable of eating?” Jack asked.

  “I think I can handle soup and crackers. Want to go to Omicron? They have the best chicken dumpling soup in town.”

  “Sure. After lunch I want to swing by the Sims house. Maybe Max will already be gone.”

  “Do you really want to piss him off even more than he is? We told him he has until tomorrow to be out.”

  “I know, but we can still drive by slowly and see if he’s making an attempt to leave.”

  The drive to Omicron took only five minutes, but as always, the line to be seated was long. That restaurant had been in North Bend for twenty-something years and was a favorite of the geriatric crowd. We went there because the food was good. Luckily, we were seated ten minutes after we’d arrived.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asked while holding a carafe of leaded and unleaded. We both took the leaded.

  “I’ll have a bowl of the chicken dumpling soup too.”

  “You got it, hon.”

  Jack ordered the breakfast special, which was served all day long—two flapjacks, two sausages, and two eggs prepared any way he liked. He took them over easy.

  “I’m really looking forward to that store being built. It’s already behind schedule because of Max.”

  Jack agreed. “I think they want to be open by next Christmas.”

  “Ugh. We just got through with the cold. I don’t even want to think of it again quite yet.”

  “Winter in Wisconsin is inevitable, Jade, unless you have other plans?”

  “I’m still giving that some thought.”

  Jack sipped his steaming coffee and gave me the right eyebrow raise. “You aren’t serious, are you? You just bought your condo.”

  “Owning a house isn’t a life sentence, Jack. People flip places all the time and move somewhere else.”

  “But you’re a lifer here. What about work?”

  I jerked my head at the waitress who was approaching with a platter.

  “Here you go, folks. Enjoy your meal.” She smiled, topped off our coffees, and left to wait on another table.

  “Let’s eat. All this talk is just speculation, anyway.” I dug into my soup and plucked out the first dumpling.

  We left the restaurant at twelve forty-five and continued south to Paradise. Jack turned left and went two miles to Highway G. The Sims homestead was a mile farther on the right. With the trees along his driveway still in the budding stage, we were able to see in as we drove by at a crawl.

  “Humph—there he is, loading the van,” Jack said. “That’s a good sign.”

  “He can’t possibly be taking everything unless he’s hired a moving truck.”

  “Guess it’s a moot point. Whether he has everything or not, he still needs to be gone in twenty-four hours.”

  We headed back to the station. With all likelihood, the groundbreaking ceremony could take place on Friday. After that, they’d bring in the heavy equipment and get started.

  Chapter 7

  He looked over his shoulder and smirked when the black cruiser passed slowly by his driveway. He knew the entire town was itching for him to move out and move on. Nobody cared about Max Sims. He had lived in the shadow of his infamous father and overheard whispers for the last twenty years. He had turned into a recluse with a chip on his shoulder.

  Max had lived at that farm his entire life. Without a plan going forward or another place to call home, he was more than angry and lost about what to do next. He needed to talk to his father.

  With the last cutting tool in his tote, Max carried the bin to the van and placed it in the back. He’d return later and grab anything else his father thought was important or possibly incriminating, then leave the homestead for good.

  Yesterday, Max had called the Wisconsin Secure Program Facility in Boscobel to set up a visitation with prisoner number 450-A72—his father. The hour-long visit was scheduled for four o’clock. Darryl Sims would tell his son what to do.

  Max pushed up the sleeve on his plaid shirt and checked the time—1:15. He’d leave in forty-five minutes. There was enough room in the back of the van for a few more items. He flung the wooden cellar doors open, and they hit the ground with a hard thud. He swiped at the cold cement wall until he found the light switch then flipped it on. The basement was nine steps lower. The damp, pungent air hit him halfway down. At the bottom of the stairs hung another light fixture, he pulled the string and the area in front of that locked door illuminated. The key buried deep in his pocket would open the padlock to the room Max hadn’t entered in years.

  He turned the key in the knob and gave the door a hard shove. Years of basement dampness had the wood swollen and the framework warped. He shoved it again. This time he put his shoulder into it. The door creaked while it scraped against the basement floor. Cobwebs stretched as the door gave way. Spiders and centipedes scurried and looked for a new place to call home. Inside the dark room, Max swatted at the air and wiped the webs from his face. He remembered the light was centered in the room. He felt the pull string and gave it a tug—surprisingly, the bulb came to life after all that time.

  Max looked from side to side and remembered the day when his mother and grandmother were executed in that room. They were the last women his father killed, and Max had kept that twenty-year secret, never uttering a word about the rest. Nobody knew what lay buried within the woods and fields on that property. The police had no idea there were more women—many more.

  Darryl Sims had been spotted one day as a deliveryman set a box on the porch. The Sims patriarch had exited the basement through those outer doors, his clothes and hands stained with blood. The horrific s
ight frightened the deliveryman enough to go straight to the North Bend Sheriff’s Department. After the carnage was discovered and before Darryl was taken away, he whispered to Max how he’d saved the best for last.

  Darryl was a psychopath—a vicious, evil man. To remain in his father’s good graces, Max joined in on the horrendous acts Darryl inflicted on women. In time, Max began to enjoy it, but he wanted no part in the deaths of his own flesh and blood. He refused to help his father that day. Law enforcement had always viewed Max as a victim—they had no idea there were more women beneath the ground.

  The stained basement floor gave testimony of the murders that had taken place twenty years earlier. Max crossed the room and stared at the dark spots. Arm chains hung there, still bolted to the stone walls. He pulled out the hammer from the pant hook in his carpenter jeans. With all his force, he hit the wall with the claw until the mortar crumbled and the chains fell to the floor. With a swipe of his foot, they slid across the room. Max picked up the chains, pulled the light string, and walked out. The last open spot in the van was filled with a box of ladies’ purses that had been kept as souvenirs over the years. It was time to go—a three-hour drive lay ahead of him.

  Chapter 8

  “Boss, should we go ahead and let the mayor know that Max Sims will be gone by noon tomorrow?”

  “You mean by any means necessary?” Clark groaned at the thought.

  “We did see him loading totes into the back of his van. He might surprise us all and go peacefully.”

  “Well, we can only hope. I’ll call the mayor now so he has time to inform everyone. He’ll likely have a photographer, the investors, and of course, the representative of the store present.”

  “Do you have a minute, Lieutenant?”

  Clark leaned back in his chair and rolled his neck. “What’s on your mind, Monroe?”

  “Just wondering why everyone in town looks at Max Sims as a pariah. He didn’t kill his mom and grandma—his dad did.”

  “It was a big deal back then, Jade. Darryl Sims was a mean and vicious son of a bitch. Murder didn’t happen in North Bend, let alone two women from his own family. Your dad said Max never shed a tear about the murders or when Darryl was sentenced to life in prison.”

  “But Max was already an adult by then.”

  “Yep,” Clark said. He shook his head as if he were trying to erase the memories. “Max was nineteen at the time of the killings, but he was stone cold, just like his old man. People assumed he’d turn out like Darryl—a bad seed.”

  “Has he ever been arrested for anything?”

  “Nope, not a thing. Seems like he’s always minded his own business. I recently heard that Max was nearly broke. His grandma left him some money, but I guess that’s almost dried up. I suppose he had to choose to either keep up the property tax or have money to live on. It looks like he decided on the latter.”

  Jack peeked around the corner. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Nah—we’re good. I have to call the mayor now, anyway.” Clark picked up his desk phone, clearly ready to call.

  “You might want to hold off for a minute.”

  Clark set the receiver back on the cradle. “What’s up?”

  “I just got a call that a local twenty-year-old female has gone missing. The mother said her daughter was going to interview for a housekeeping job yesterday, then go out with friends afterward. When she noticed the bed hadn’t been slept in, she assumed her daughter bunked at someone’s house last night.”

  I leaned against the doorway with my arms crossed in front of me. “And?”

  “And the daughter hasn’t answered her cell phone or returned text messages all day. Her mother called everyone she could think of. Nobody has seen the daughter—not even yesterday.”

  I shrugged. “She’s old enough to go missing if she wants to.”

  “True, but the mom is adamant that her daughter isn’t that way. Supposedly, she’s happy, optimistic, and hardworking, that sort of thing.”

  “Who is this girl, and where does she live?”

  Jack checked his notes. “Says here she lives just this side of Slinger, and her name is Deborah French.”

  “Pretty name. Should we go interview the family, Lieutenant?” I was already at my desk with my purse slung over my shoulder.

  Clark waved us on. “Yeah, and keep me posted.”

  I turned back before we walked out. “Will do, boss.”

  Jack called Deborah’s mother and told her we were on our way. We climbed into the nearest cruiser in the lot, with Jack behind the wheel.

  “Give me your notes so I can program the address into my GPS.”

  Jack reached into his back pocket and pulled out his notepad. He handed it to me, and we were off. “Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get there,” he said as he turned right onto Washington Street.

  I stretched my seat belt over my chest and buckled it. “I’m not glad that anyone has gone missing, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I do like to stay busy.”

  “Yep, I’m on the same page. Hopefully we can get this straightened out quickly and find the daughter. It would be nice to have something end happily.” Jack cocked his head at me.

  “What?”

  “Just wondering what you and Clark were talking about, that’s all.”

  “You mean earlier?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I asked him why everyone in town dislikes Max Sims. He said it’s because the townspeople assumed he was like his old man—mean and psychotic. I guess my dad told Clark how Max never shed a tear about the murders or even when Darryl went to prison.”

  “Yeah, he’s definitely an odd duck.”

  I pointed at the green road sign ahead. “This might be our turnoff.” Right then, my female-voiced GPS assistant told us to turn left at the next intersection. I looked down at the road map on my phone. “It shows we only have a mile to go.”

  Jack nodded.

  I spoke up again. “Okay, turn left and then right. If this is correct, we should see Liberty Lane coming up.”

  Jack did as I instructed and slowed at the next right—Liberty Lane.

  “Good, now we have to find house number 630. Looks like the even numbers are on my side. Here it is, the tan two-story.”

  Jack pulled into the driveway and parked. We exited the car, and I pulled my chain badge out from inside my blouse. Jack wore his on his belt clip. The house was a typical subdivision home, clean with a well-manicured lawn. Everything looked completely normal, and the neighborhood was nice. We walked up the sidewalk, and Jack rang the bell.

  A woman peeked around the sheer curtain on the sidelight. I smiled and showed her my badge. She opened the door widely.

  “Sorry, please come in.” She stepped aside and welcomed Jack and me into her foyer. “I’m Lynn French, and I’m not usually this cautious during the daytime hours.” She extended her hand and shook both of ours. I introduced Jack and myself.

  “Shall we?” She motioned toward the living room, and we walked in and took a seat.

  “Mrs. French—”

  “Please, call me Lynn.”

  I gave her a thoughtful smile. “Okay, Lynn, what time did Deborah leave home yesterday?”

  “I believe it was around eleven thirty. She said the gentleman that placed the newspaper ad mentioned something about her making lunch for him.”

  “That’s an odd request.”

  She nodded. “I thought so too, but he said he was going to decide whether to hire her or not based on her abilities.”

  Jack didn’t think it was so unusual. “Many people make employment decisions based on the skill of a potential employee. Would you want me to cook for you, Jade?”

  I chuckled. “Guess you do have a point. Lynn, do you still have that newspaper ad?”

  “Give me just a second. I think it’s in the recycling bin.” She excused herself and went around the corner to what I assumed was the kitchen. We heard newspapers being shuffled.

 
; Lynn was back in less than three minutes. She gripped yesterday’s classifieds between her fingers. “Here we go. The ad is circled in red marker.”

  She handed the section of newspaper to Jack, and we read it together.

  “You said the ad was placed by a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she happen to mention his name?”

  “Um—Mike, maybe, or Mark. I’m sorry, I was in the middle of something when she said his name. Now I can kick myself.”

  “No problem. We’ll track the phone number. Is there a Mr. French?”

  “Yes, but he’s out of town right now. I’ve been keeping him posted.”

  “Ma’am,” Jack said, “would you write down a handful of Deborah’s friends and their phone numbers so we can start on their interviews?”

  “Yes, that’s easy. She only has about five close friends. We moved to the area from Alabama last summer. She doesn’t have a wide circle of friends yet.” Lynn picked up her cell phone and scrolled through the numbers. Jack handed her his notepad, and she transferred each phone number to it.

  “There you go, detectives.” She gave Jack his notepad back. “I’ve spoken to each of her friends, and they all said the same thing—they didn’t see Deborah yesterday. I’m beside myself with worry.”

  We stood and handed Lynn our cards. “We’ll get on this right away, Mrs. French. By the way, did Deborah say where the man lived?”

  She sighed. “Again, I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I know she said it was about twenty minutes east. She was figuring what the mileage would be if she actually got the position.”

  Jack wrote that down then shook her hand. “We’ll be in touch, and feel free to call either of us if you think of something else or hear from Deborah.”

  “I certainly will. Thank you.”

  She closed the door behind us, and Jack and I climbed into the cruiser. I stared at the newspaper clipping as Jack backed out of the driveway.

  “Something bothering you?”

  “I’m not feeling good about Deborah. I’ll get Billy on this phone number right away and see what pops.”

  Chapter 9