by Dan Padavona
“Our men are searching for Shawn now. We could use a better description to help us find him.”
“He’s about five feet, nine inches,” Kemp said. “A hundred-sixty pounds.”
“Do you have a recent photograph?”
“I believe so.”
Kemp dug through his pockets and removed a wallet. Sifting through the pictures, he slid a photograph out of the sleeve and handed it to Neal. The officer raised the picture to the light, nodded, and handed it to Barber, who turned his head and sneezed. Darren’s eyes fixed on another photo in Kemp’s wallet. A younger Shawn wearing a little league baseball uniform with a Mets logo on the cap. The kid’s smile appeared so genuine, so innocent. This was before the problems started at home.
“When was the last time you saw your son?”
“Around nine.”
“You let your son wander the streets all night?”
“He’s seventeen.”
“Lots of problems in Wells Ferry, especially on the east end. And as tonight demonstrates, sometimes those problems spread to the lake district. What was your son doing tonight?”
“He went out with his girlfriend.”
“Give me her name.”
“Polly Hart. She lives on Fennel Street. I’ll get you the house number. They usually grab food or go to a movie, and Shawn always returns before his midnight curfew. I trust my son.”
Officer Neal inched a step closer.
“We’d like to look through the house.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“Your son is missing, and someone murdered your wife. Are you unwilling to cooperate?”
Kemp glanced at Darren for help.
“Unless they produce a warrant, they can’t search your property without your consent,” Darren said, drawing Neal and Barber’s ire. “But time is short. The only thing that matters is bringing Shawn home. I suggest you cooperate.”
“Listen to your cousin, Mr. Massey,” Barber said. He glanced at Darren. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I worked for Syracuse PD for over a decade.”
“I know the boys in that department. Next time I run into them, I’ll bring your name up and see if they remember you.”
Kemp stood aside and let the officers through. Neal and Barber strolled through the living room, both officers’ hands uncomfortably close to their guns. Their eyes twitched back to Kemp, Darren, and Raven as they investigated the room.
“What are they looking for?” Kemp asked.
“They’re just doing their jobs,” Darren said, though the way both officers glared at him as if he was a suspect made him uneasy. “Let’s get out of their way. We can talk in the kitchen.”
They sat around the kitchen table. Kemp winced when something crashed to the floor in the living room. Raven warned him with her eyes not to protest.
“Back to Hanley Stokes,” Darren said. “If I understood you, Megan represented Stokes and lost the case.”
Kemp studied his reflection on the table.
“I’m not privy to the specifics. The newspaper said it was a drug bust. Stokes swore someone set him up. The usual bullshit argument.”
“If Stokes pushed drugs in Wells Ferry,” Raven said, crossing one leg over the other, “he probably didn’t work alone.”
Footsteps trailed off toward the back of the house.
“So we need to determine if Stokes blamed Megan for the court loss and sought revenge,” Darren said.
“Or if he paid a partner to murder Megan.”
Kemp looked up when Officer Barber entered the kitchen. Neal stood behind him, interrogating Kemp with his stare.
Barber coughed and said, “We need you to come with us, Mr. Massey.”
“What’s going on? Am I under arrest?”
“You need to explain something we found in the bathroom.”
Darren’s back stiffened. He’d advised his cousin to allow the officers into his home. Had he made a mistake?
Raven set a hand on Kemp’s back. As they crossed the living room and turned down a hallway, Neal fell in behind them. The officers boxed them in, and Neal’s fingers rested on his nightstick.
A bathroom stood at the end of the hall. A bar light shone above the mirror. While Neal blocked the hallway, Barber gestured at the basin.
“Care to explain all this blood?”
Darren peered over Kemp’s shoulder. Raven hissed. The bathroom sink looked straight out of a gory movie. Blood stained the white basin. Specks dotted the faucet, and three splotches of blood marred the floor tiles.
Kemp blew out a breath.
“I cut myself fixing a hinge.”
Kemp pointed at the wood cabinet beneath the sink. Then he raised his hand. Until now, Darren hadn’t noticed the deep gash along Kemp’s forefinger.
“You didn’t clean it up,” Barber said. “It looks to me like you were in too much of a hurry to bother.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” Kemp met Darren’s eyes, as though he needed to convince his cousin. “I was working on the hinge when Shawn called. After he told me what happened, I didn’t have time to clean the sink. I just pressed a washcloth to the wound until the bleeding stopped and called the police.”
“You phoned the sheriff’s department,” Neal said from the hallway. “Or have you already forgotten? It’s tough to keep your stories straight when you have so many.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can anyone verify your whereabouts at the time of the murder?” asked Barber.
“Your records should show the time I dialed 9-1-1.”
“You could have called from the victim’s house. Did you argue with your wife tonight, Mr. Massey?”
“What? No. I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
“You expect us to believe you had no contact with your son’s mother, even though she lived only two miles away?”
“It’s the truth.”
Kemp’s eyes pleaded with Darren and Raven, but there was nothing Darren could do. Why hadn’t Kemp told him about the injury? Kemp concealed the laceration as if he had something to hide. Darren didn’t want to believe Kemp murdered his wife. But someone stabbed Megan tonight, and a deep cut ran along Kemp’s finger. There wasn’t enough evidence to justify Neal and Barber arresting Kemp. Not yet, anyway.
“Check the rest of the house,” Barber said to Neal. He puffed out his chest. “I’ll stay with Mr. Massey.”
Neal’s eye twitched before he turned away. The officer looked ready to whip his nightstick against Kemp’s temple.
Barber folded his arms.
“All right, Mr. Massey. We’re starting over. I want a minute-by-minute breakdown of where you were this evening. If you lie to us, we’ll find out.”
CHAPTER SIX
Saturday, 12:40 a.m.
Inside Kemp’s living room, Darren leaned against the wall as Raven worked the phone. She’d called Thomas, urging the sheriff to hurry over before Wells PD arrested Darren’s cousin. Then she’d contacted Chelsey to run background checks from the office on Kemp, Megan, and Hanley Stokes. The case spun out of control the moment Officer Barber discovered blood in the bathroom sink. Darren chided himself for advising Kemp to allow the search.
Kemp sat on the couch with his face buried in his hands as Officer Barber loomed over him with a page full of notes. Kemp accounted for his whereabouts between ten o’clock and midnight, but nobody could corroborate his story. As Kemp scrubbed a hand down his face, Officer Neal descended the stairs with an evidence bag in his hand. Kemp saw the bag’s contents and shot off the couch.
“You can’t take my son’s comb. Not without a search warrant.”
“You allowed us to search the premises,” Barber reminded him.
“They’ll compare the hair on the comb with fibers gathered at the scene,” Raven said.
Kemp blanched.
“But Shawn didn’t hurt his mother. He’s innocent.”
“Standard procedure,” said Barbe
r.
“You already knew Shawn was inside his mother’s house tonight. This proves nothing.”
“Does your son own a knife?” Neal asked.
Kemp shot Barber an incredulous look.
“One of those Leatherman multi-tools. So what? Lots of kids own them.”
Neal glanced at Barber.
“We raided an underage party last summer. Lots of kids drinking. Your son was there.”
“I found out and grounded him.”
“While we’re at it, I’d like you to provide us with a DNA test.”
“No way. I want to speak to a lawyer before I grant you any more favors.”
“It’s for your own benefit. If what you say is true, we’ll match your DNA to the blood in the sink and confirm your blood isn’t at the murder scene.”
Kemp glanced at Darren for advice. Darren pressed his lips together. He kept steering his cousin in the wrong direction. With consternation, he nodded.
“Make it quick. I’m not spending another minute here. We need to find Shawn.”
Thunder boomed, shaking the walls. As Neal prepared the swab, Darren swiped his phone. The weather radar showed a line of storms heading at Wells Ferry. A flash flood watch covered the county, and nobody knew where to find Shawn.
Darren spotted the sheriff’s cruiser pulling into the driveway. Finally. He exited the house and closed the door behind him, not wanting Neal and Barber to eavesdrop.
“We need you in there, Thomas.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Wells Ferry PD is forming cases against Kemp and Shawn. I know my cousins. Kemp didn’t murder his wife, and Shawn wouldn’t harm his mother.”
“What do they have so far?”
Darren told Thomas about the evidence.
“Everything is circumstantial. Shawn’s phone call places him at the murder scene. The hair fibers shouldn’t implicate him.”
“And your cousin’s injury? Admit it, Darren. That doesn’t look good for Kemp.”
Darren rubbed his eyes.
“I understand. But I swear, Kemp isn’t capable of murder.”
After shaking the rain off his hat, Thomas led Darren inside. He wiped his shoes on the mat and touched the brim of his hat when he noticed Barber and Neal. Neither officer returned the courtesy.
“We have a rising river out there, and another round of storms moving in,” Thomas said. “Where are we on finding our missing teenager?”
Neal straightened his back.
“Four officers are searching for Shawn Massey. We put in a call to your department. But your staff is already stretched to the point of snapping.”
“My lead deputy arrived to aid the medical examiner and forensics team. Dispatch is attempting to reach Deputy Lambert. That gives us enough bodies to cover Wells Ferry and figure out where Shawn ran off to.”
“We’ll help,” Raven said, moving beside Darren. “Just tell us what you need.”
“We’re not finished with Mr. Massey yet,” Officer Barber said.
Thomas lifted his chin.
“We need everyone in the field. If another inch of rain falls, that river will spill out of its banks and flood the neighborhood. We need to find Shawn before that happens. Give me the location on his phone.” Barber glanced at Neal, who worked his jaw back and forth. “Don’t tell me you haven’t contacted the cell provider. That should have been our first move.”
Darren spied the fire in the sheriff’s eyes. Thomas rarely got upset, but he had a right to be angry. Why hadn’t Wells Ferry PD asked the cell company to locate Shawn’s phone?
“Our department assumed you’d already traced the phone,” Barber said, putting his notes away. “You were the first to reach the scene, correct?”
Thomas grumbled. While Barber and Neal completed their interview with Kemp, Darren and Raven followed Thomas outside.
“It’s almost like they don’t want to find Shawn,” Raven said.
Thomas surveyed the boiling clouds.
“I just got off the phone with Chelsey,” said Thomas. “She’s still running background checks and will get back to us.” He pulled an iPad out of his cruiser and called up a digital map of Wells Ferry. A yellow dot marked Megan Massey’s house. A second dot rested over their current location. “I checked with Shawn’s girlfriend, Polly Hart. She claims she dropped off Shawn down the road from his mother’s house around eleven o’clock.”
“Why didn’t she wait for him?”
“According to Polly, Shawn told her to leave. The storm hadn’t started yet, and Shawn wanted to walk home.”
“So how do we find him?”
Thomas swiveled the iPad so Darren and Raven could view the screen.
“I’ll call his cell provider and begin a search. In the meantime, it’s a two-mile stretch from Megan Massy’s house to here, and the Wells River lies in between.”
“The river is near flood stage,” Darren said, looking over Thomas’s shoulder.
“There’s a bridge in the town park. That’s the only direct route between the two houses. I suggest we start the search here, arrow toward the park, and fan out along the river.”
Darren bit his lip. He understood what Thomas inferred—that Shawn might have fallen into the river while fleeing from the killer.
“We’ll need more than the three of us and Kemp.”
“Aguilar will join the team after Virgil transports Megan’s body to the morgue. I expect Deputy Lambert will arrive within the hour. Between our group and the Wells Ferry PD, we’ll have enough bodies.”
Darren paced.
“I don’t like this, Thomas. Wells Ferry PD is already trying to pin the murder on Shawn and Kemp. I’m worried the officers don’t have open minds.”
“Let me worry about Wells Ferry PD. Focus on finding your cousin and think of places he might go if he’s in trouble.”
Glaring back at the window, Darren wiped the rain off his shoulders. The door opened. Neal and Barber led Kemp into the driveway. Barber’s face twisted with frustration. The officer was determined to arrest Kemp for his wife’s murder.
“Gentlemen,” Thomas said, glancing skyward. “We’re about to get blasted by another line of thunderstorms, and we have a lost teenager to find. I suggest we get moving before the weather shuts us down.”
Neal dipped his cap and spilled water off the brim.
“Wells Ferry PD will lead the search.”
Thomas didn’t argue. The officers held jurisdiction in their town, though Darren wished they’d deferred to the sheriff’s department. He didn’t trust Barber and Neal, or how they jumped to conclusions. Darren’s eyes drifted to his cousin. Kemp had donned a yellow rain slicker with the hood drawn over his head. The man shifted from foot to foot.
Was he nervous because they needed to find his son before the river flooded? Or because he’d murdered his wife?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Saturday, 12:55 a.m.
Footsteps echoed behind him. His own, or the killer’s?
Rain fell in sheets as Shawn Massey moved from one tree to the next. Each breath scraped broken glass through his chest. He needed to slow down before he collapsed from exhaustion. If he did, the maniac who’d stabbed his mother would gain ground.
I know your name.
The killer concealed his face beneath a ski mask, and he whispered so nobody recognized his voice. The possibility that Shawn knew his mother’s killer sent shivers down his back.
Wind whipped rain against his face. Shawn shielded his eyes and pushed forward, his sneakers sinking into the mud. Between the storm and the dark, he wasn’t sure where he was. Somewhere north of the park, though he wasn’t certain if he was closer to the lake or his house. To make matters worse, he’d lost his phone and wallet running from the madman. That left him no way to call his father or the police…not that he trusted Wells Ferry PD. All they did was harass teenagers and bully people who stood their ground.
As he moved through a clearing with the clouds rushing ov
erhead, his feet flew out from under him. He splashed against the waterlogged terrain. Sucking wind, he fought to regain his breath as his strength waned. Branches crackled through the forest. It might have been the wind, animals running from the storm, or the killer.
After he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, he glanced around the clearing. The forest thickened ahead. A creek shimmered beyond the trees.
He was somewhere between the park and the lake inlet. Running blindly, he’d drifted off course. Home was at least a mile away, and the going would be slow if the rain didn’t let up soon. Experience taught him the Wells River was out of its banks by now, making it impossible for him to cross unless he retraced his steps to the park. With the killer somewhere in the forest, he couldn’t risk turning back.
Thick woods loomed behind him. It was too dark to see into the trees.
Shawn struggled out of the clearing and reached the forest, his ears attuned to the surrounding sounds. As he descended the land and staggered toward the creek, a cold hand wrapped around his heart. When he was in elementary school, a rapist snatched his classmate, Chad May, while the boy hiked through the forest. The police found Chad’s body a week later, naked and bloated, face-down in the creek and covered with leeches. Until then, Shawn had considered Wells Ferry a safe place. After the rape and murder, parents banned their children from playing near the woods. Perverts were everywhere, they said. You couldn’t trust your neighbors.
The police never caught the rapist. As lightning flashed, blasting harsh, momentary light through the forest, Shawn imagined Chad’s rapist still hiding in the woods, waiting for the next kid to wander past.
A tree rustled in the dark. Shawn turned his head toward the sound and froze in place. Inky shadows poured off the trees.
An animal growled back near the clearing as Shawn leaped the creek and landed on the far bank. The mud tried to swallow his sneakers as he grasped at saplings and pulled himself out of the creek bed.