by Dan Padavona
Then there was Kemp Massey. Kemp had drifted from job to job over the last decade. Last year, Wells Ferry PD picked him up for DUI. Most disturbing was the information Chelsey received from a Wells Ferry attorney. Megan Massey filed charges against Kemp six months ago after her husband showed up at her house, furious that she wasn’t paying attention to Shawn. According to the attorney, Kemp tried to kick through the front door after she locked him out. Megan later dropped the charges. Chelsey didn’t blame Kemp for wanting his wife to be a parent, but it was another strike against Kemp, a sign the man had a short fuse. But was he a killer?
Chelsey dried her hair and dressed. In the kitchen, she fried two eggs and plated them beside avocado toast. She sipped an herbal tea Deputy Aguilar swore by. As the fan buzzed over the stove, she paged through her notes. While Wells Ferry PD focused on Kemp and Shawn Massey, the sheriff’s department honed in on Hanley Stokes, a known drug pusher in Wells Ferry. Stokes had completed his sentence two weeks ago. Megan Massey had represented Stokes and lost the case.
After washing her dishes, Chelsey carried the notes into the office and set them beside her computer. As she called up Wells Ferry using Google Earth, her phone buzzed. Thomas’s name appeared on the screen. Contentment warmed her body.
“Good morning,” she said.
“It’s night to me. We’re still searching for Shawn Massey.”
“Where are you now?”
“In the forest about a half-mile north of the town park. We picked up Shawn’s trail in the park, but haven’t found it since. Chelsey, we think he crossed a flooded river to reach the woods.”
“And you’re worried he didn’t make it.”
Thomas groaned.
“That’s exactly why I’m worried. The river washed out the bridge. The only way across is a tree which fell over the water. Aguilar tried to shimmy over the tree and almost drowned. I don’t know how a teenager running blind through the dark could do better.”
“If he made it to the forest, he’d head for his house, right?”
“He’d try. But it would be tough for Shawn to find his way through the woods. Heck, we’ve already turned ourselves around a few times, and we have GPS units.”
“Don’t push too hard, Thomas. You’re no good to anyone if you never sleep.”
“The next shift comes in at eight. After we check the lake shore, reinforcements will arrive.”
Chelsey leaned back in her chair and set her sneakers on the desk.
“Kemp Massey hired Wolf Lake Consulting to find his son.”
“So Raven told me.”
“What if Kemp Massey killed his wife?”
Chelsey relayed the information she’d learned from the Wells Ferry attorney.
“That’s disturbing,” Thomas said. “I’ll pass the information along.”
“It’s possible Darren isn’t thinking clearly on this case. Kemp and Shawn are his family.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. What’s your first move?”
“Is Mr. Massey with you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me know when he heads home. I need to interview him before our investigation moves forward.”
Voices called from the background.
“Gotta go, Chelsey. We just found something.”
“Shawn’s trail?”
“I’ll get back to you ASAP.”
Chelsey pinched the bridge of her nose. Shawn fought mental issues, and Chelsey couldn’t bear losing the teenager. His problems hit too close to home.
CHAPTER TEN
Saturday, 7:05 a.m.
Morning light revealed footprints cutting through the mud. Officer Neal led the team along the tracks, the path marked by snapped branches and splotches where Shawn had fallen. Barber walked alongside Neal and blew his nose on a hankie.
Thomas spotted a piece of cloth torn on a blackberry thorn and bagged the evidence. It appeared to come from a gray sweatshirt.
“Didn’t you say your son wore a gray Penn State sweatshirt?” Thomas asked Kemp.
“Shawn has a closet full of gray sweatshirts.”
Kemp called his son’s name. For the first time since they’d encountered the swollen river, Thomas saw hope in Kemp Massey’s eyes. The father pushed toward the front of the pack, intent on racing after Shawn. Officer Neal grabbed Kemp and pushed him back.
“Get Mr. Massey under control, Sheriff, or we’ll have to remove him from the field.”
“You’re wasting time!” Kemp cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again. Nobody replied. “This search is a sham. I’m not waiting.”
Kemp tried to move past the officers. Barber’s forearm stopped him. With a grunt, Barber muscled in front of Kemp and waited until Neal took the lead. After several minutes of searching, the tracks vanished. The grass grew thick here, concealing Shawn’s path. Birdsong rang through the canopy as gray light filtered past the leafless branches. The forest looked dead and skeletal. As Kemp’s desperation grew, Barber touched Neal’s shoulder. Another muddy patch lay in the distance with tracks moving straight ahead. Thomas followed the officers out of the woods and found himself in a parking lot. A marina stood beside the lake. Muddy footprints weaved toward the marina and vanished in the grass surrounding the building. Barber glanced at Neal, who nodded.
The officers strode across the lot with purpose. Neal removed his weapon, causing Kemp to swing his eyes toward Thomas. The sheriff pressed the air down with his hands, a signal for Kemp to stay calm. Neal and Barber wouldn’t shoot the teenager on sight, right?
Thomas picked up the pace and caught up to Neal and Barber. As he walked alongside, the two officers glared at each other, as if wondering why the sheriff was taking the lead on their investigation.
“Slow down,” Thomas said, keeping his voice low so Kemp wouldn’t overhear. “And maybe put the gun away.”
“Shawn Massey remains a suspect in his mother’s murder,” Neal said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not taking chances.”
“If he’s in there, guns will only alarm him.”
“Then you’d better hope he remains calm.”
The two officers rushed ahead. When they reached the building, Neal gestured at Barber to check the door. Neal crept along the marina, testing each window. On the far side of the building, Neal waved Barber over. Thomas and the others stood back, ceding the investigation to Wells Ferry PD. A window stood open a crack. Two hand prints dirtied the sill.
“We have a break-in,” Neal said.
The pane shrieked when Neal shoved it open. Darren and Raven shot questioning glances at Thomas as the two officers hopped over the sill and climbed inside. Lambert and Aguilar moved beside Kemp.
“Stay here,” said Thomas. “And don’t let Mr. Massey out of your sight.”
For a sick man, Officer Barber moved with cat-like silence as he flashed his light down each aisle. Neal checked behind the counter before joining his partner. Drying mud led toward the rear of the marina. Thomas tilted his head toward the tracks, and the officers followed.
A storage room door stood closed at the end of the aisle. The mud ended at the threshold. Shawn had come this way.
Neal twisted the knob. Locked.
“There’s no window to the storage room,” Barber said. “If he’s in there, he’s not getting out.”
Thomas rubbed his chin.
“What time does the marina open?”
“Eight,” Neal said, eyeing the lock.
“We could wait for the owner to arrive.”
“I’m not waiting that long. If that kid is hiding in the storage room, I want him out of there. Now.”
“He can’t leave. What’s the rush?”
“Shawn Massey is the last person to see his mother alive, and we’ve got him on breaking and entering.”
“We can’t even confirm he’s inside.”
Barber pounded on the door. His eyes were red, his voice nasally and failing.
“Shawn Massey, this is the Wells Ferry Police. Op
en the door. We want to talk about what happened last night.”
Silence.
Neal swung his gaze across the marina and stopped on a pry bar beside the counter.
“I’ll get us inside.”
“No,” Thomas said, drawing Neal’s ire when he placed a hand against the officer’s chest. “The last thing we want to do is scare a kid who’s going through hell. Besides, you’ll damage the door. Do you carry lock picks?”
“We call a locksmith when we need a door opened.”
“So do it. Or phone the marina owner and tell him to come in early.”
Neal looked to Barber. The larger officer shook his head.
“We’re treating Shawn Massey as a fugitive,” Barber said. “We need to know if he’s inside the storage room. If he’s not, we’re running behind and need to catch up.”
When Neal strode toward the pry bar, Thomas held up his hands.
“Give me a second. Raven Hopkins is a PI. She might have the tools you need.”
Neither Barber nor Neal appeared willing to wait as Thomas hurried to the window. He poked his head through the opening.
“Is Shawn inside?” Kemp asked, pushing past the deputies.
Ignoring the father, Thomas motioned Raven forward.
“Do you have lock picks on you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“We need your expertise.”
Kemp continued to argue as Raven crawled through the opening. Thomas saw the protest form on Barber’s lips.
“I take full responsibility if anyone asks questions.” Thomas moved beside the door. “Raven, if you will.”
Raven removed the lock picks from her jacket and inserted them into the knob. Her tongue poked between her lips as she jiggled the mechanism. After a moment, the mechanism unlocked.
“She can’t be in the building when we go inside,” Neal said, positioned beside the door.
Raven shrugged and left through the window.
Barber threw the door open, and Neal spun inside with his weapon raised. Thomas gritted his teeth, afraid the officer would shoot the first person he saw. But the room was vacant. Barber sniffled and flicked the wall switch. A bare incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling. Thomas locked his eyes on the puddle in the corner. He studied the ceiling for a leak and found none.
“The kid was in here,” Barber said, groaning. “He can’t be too far ahead of us.”
The officer spoke into his radio as Thomas paced the room.
“He came inside to escape the storm,” the sheriff said, kneeling beside a space heater. Water evaporated off the ground in front of the heater. “It appears he was close to hypothermia, so he used the heater to dry his clothes and fight off the chill.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t murder his mother,” Barber said from behind.
“Officer, we found a second set of tracks pursuing Shawn Massey through the park. Who do you think those tracks belonged to?”
Barber’s jaw pulsed.
“He could have doubled back, searching for an alternate route before he crossed the river.”
“Except the pursuer’s tracks were larger than Shawn’s. There’s a second man out there, and I believe he’s the person who killed Megan Massey.”
Neal scoffed.
Barber crossed his arms over his chest and stood face to face with Thomas.
“We’ll see what forensics has to say about your theory.”
Kemp looked between Thomas and the two officers as they exited the front door.
“Well? Where’s Shawn?”
“He was here,” Neal said. “Once we dust for prints, we’ll have him on breaking and entering.”
“You can’t be serious. There’s a maniac chasing him, and you want to arrest my son for hiding?”
“Shawn has a violent record at school. Until we prove otherwise, he remains a suspect.”
Infuriated, Kemp lunged at Neal. Reacting quickly, Aguilar and Lambert threw themselves between Kemp and the officer as Darren grabbed his cousin and pulled him back.
“Mr. Massey just attacked an officer of the law,” Barber said.
Thomas stepped in.
“No, he didn’t.”
“I want Kemp out of my sight. Get him out of here, or he’ll spend the day in jail.”
“Kemp, please,” Darren said, dragging his cousin away from the officers.
“They can’t call my boy a killer. Ever since the investigation began, they’ve done nothing but place the blame on me and my son. Shawn’s in trouble. When will Wells Ferry PD do its job?”
Barber and Neal never took their eyes off Kemp as Darren and Raven pulled him across the parking lot. Lambert and Aguilar glared at the two officers.
“I’ve got this under control,” Thomas called over his shoulder as he followed Darren and Raven. He set a hand on Kemp’s shoulder. “Go home and rest. Your son is innocent, Mr. Massey. I promise we’ll bring him home.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Saturday, 7:20 a.m.
“Okay, let me rest for a few seconds.”
LeVar Hopkins set the dresser on the floor and waited in the hallway while his neighbor, Naomi Mourning, caught her breath. They’d carried Scout’s new dresser from the porch to the hallway before Naomi’s arms gave out. The dresser was a donation from the Robinson family, who lived on the west end of the lake. Mr. Robinson had delivered the dresser in his pickup truck and pushed it up the ramp, leaving the rest to Naomi and LeVar.
As Naomi wiped the sweat off her forehead, LeVar peeked at the clock. Though it was Saturday, the nineteen-year-old had a final exam at eight o’clock. Today’s test counted for twenty-five percent of his grade. He didn’t want to rush Naomi, but he needed to leave by seven-thirty, in case he ran into highway traffic.
“All right, I’m good to go again.”
Naomi grabbed the base of the dresser.
“Bend your knees,” LeVar warned.
She nodded once and firmed her jaw.
“On three. One, two, three.”
With a grunt, Naomi hauled the dresser off the hardwood floor. LeVar walked backward, looking over his shoulder so he didn’t bang against the wall. Naomi struggled, the dresser fishtailing from side to side as she weaved in an erratic path. She gritted her teeth, her face beet-red.
“Why don’t you set it down and let me pull it into the room?”
“You’ll give yourself a hernia, LeVar. I can do this.”
He admired Naomi’s determination. The woman raised a wheelchair-bound teenager on her own, the deadbeat father nowhere to be found when Scout and Naomi needed him. It frustrated LeVar that Glen Mourning was fighting Naomi for custody. He hadn’t paid attention to his kid since a tractor trailer crushed the rear of their vehicle and left Scout paralyzed from the waist down. The anger burning through LeVar gave him all the fuel he needed to move the dresser on his own, but Naomi insisted.
Naomi’s arms quivered when LeVar turned the corner and directed the dresser into Scout’s bedroom. A computer desk stood to the right, a bed to the left. The old dresser dated back to Scout’s elementary school years. After the paralysis, she couldn’t reach the top drawer from her wheelchair. The new dresser was longer than it was tall, a mammoth rectangle that weighed as much as an elephant and was just as unwieldy. Still, he wouldn’t complain. He’d do anything for Scout.
When they set the dresser against the wall, Naomi dropped to the floor and rested her back against Scout’s bed. She gave him an exhausted smile.
“Thank you. You did it.”
“Not without your help.”
“Stop,” she said, waving a hand through the air. “You shouldered ninety-nine percent of the burden.”
A squeaky wheel announced Scout’s arrival. The teenager had waited in the living room, staying out of the way. She took one look at the dresser and blew the hair out of her eyes.
“There’s an interesting concept. A dresser that’s short enough to me reach the top drawer.”
“I’m doing my best.” Na
omi moaned and touched her back. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Naomi had turned forty-two over the winter, yet didn’t appear a day over thirty. She wore her straight, brunette hair in a ponytail like her daughter.
“You didn’t hurt your back, did you?” LeVar asked.
“My back is fine. But I’ll sleep like a baby tonight. At least I don’t have to work today.”
Naomi ran daily operations at Shepherd Systems, the project management company Sheriff Shepherd had inherited from his late father, Mason. Thomas knew nothing about collaboration software and building operation plans for small businesses, but Mason had insisted his son take over the company so Shepherd Systems remained in the family. Until Thomas offered Naomi a high-ranking position at Shepherd Systems, she’d fallen into financial straits, unable to afford her daughter’s medical bills while putting food on the table.
LeVar walked to Naomi and lent a hand. She smiled and accepted his help. The powerful teenager hauled Naomi to her feet. LeVar shifted his attention to Scout, who dragged the drawers open and closed, as though she’d found a cool new toy under the Christmas tree.
“Don’t you have a criminal to catch or something?”
Scout was an amateur sleuth, an investigator who researched crimes over the internet and collaborated with teens across the country. LeVar marveled at the girl’s skills. Last year, she helped the sheriff’s department identify serial killer Jeremy Hyde, and she used her computers to research cases for Chelsey Byrd’s Wolf Lake Consulting firm where LeVar’s sister worked. On the side, LeVar, Scout, Raven, and Darren Holt investigated unsolved crimes in their semi-secret club, a group LeVar’s mother referred to as the Scooby Doo Mystery Gang. Since last fall, Naomi and Serena Hopkins had joined the team.
The girl wheeled over to the desk and jiggled the mouse, awakening the laptop from sleep mode.
“There’s always a bad guy to catch,” Scout muttered. “Catch one, and two more pop up. I thought you had a test this morning.”
LeVar had never seen Scout so depressed. If he had one wish, it would be for Scout to walk again. His heart ached for the teenage girl. Though her classmates treated her kindly, nobody invited her to sleepovers or asked her to go out for food or see a movie. It seemed her schoolmates didn’t know how to act around Scout, didn’t think she could have fun. But Scout was more fun to be around than they dreamed. LeVar spent entire days discussing hip-hop and listening to new artists with Scout. The girl was a living, breathing encyclopedia on the history of rap. Just once, he wanted to bring her into the field during an investigation. She worked cases in front of a computer screen. Despite her significant contributions, she didn’t feel a part of the process.