by David Beers
Harry leaned forward and landed a big fat smacker on Scott’s cold cheek. “We’re gonna do it, Pops! We’re gonna kill that goddamn cop!”
Harry stood up from the bed and started strutting back and forth in front of the bed, slightly resembling a rooster.
“Oooooh yeeaaaaaah, we’re gonna get that copper. Gonna cut him up like fresh fish in the market. Going to take his entrails and decorate his whole house with them. Long intestine here, small intestine there, put the eyeballs in the candy dish, sweetheart!”
Harry’s face looked like a twisted root. A huge smile spread across it, though slightly crooked. His teeth stuck too far out of his head, as if his lips wanted to continue backing away until they unwrapped the skin from his skull. His brow stood bunched across his forehead, giving the upper half of his face the opposite look of the lower half—as if the wearer of such a brow held the world’s weight on his shoulders.
Harry stopped his strut mid-step.
Gotta have a little steak to go with all the sizzle.
He went to the bathroom and started digging through John’s discarded clothes. It took him three pairs of pants to find what he wanted—John’s cell.
“Helllooooooo, nurse!” Harry shouted.
Okay, okay. Calm down just a bit. No way is John this pleasant to be around. He was always the downer of the two, wasn’t he?
He scanned through the list of frequent calls and found his home phone number immediately.
“Time to show ‘em why you deserve the Oscar, Harry!”
He pressed his house line’s number and put the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” The phone barely rang twice before she answered. “John?”
“Hey,” Harry said.
“Oh my God, where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m still down here,” he said, that huge smile sitting on his face like a fat cat lounging in the sun. “I’m okay. I think I’m ready to come home.”
“Are you serious? You’re coming back?”
“Yes, I miss you all too much. I’ve had enough down here.”
“When are you leaving?” John’s wife said.
“In just a few minutes. I’m already packed.”
“John?” Alicia said, picking up the other line.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Have you seen Dad? He’s coming down there to get you. Have you see him yet?”
Harry looked at the body sprawled across the bed. “Down here?”
“Yes, he left yesterday. He should be there.”
“I haven’t seen him at all. Did you try his cell phone?”
“Christ, John. It goes to voicemail. You haven’t seen him?” Alicia said.
“No. I’ll hang around a little longer and see if he shows up, okay?”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Harry said. “I’ll see you both soon, okay? Love you.”
* * *
Alicia looked at Diane, sitting across the kitchen table from her.
Diane was crying, wiping her eyes, but smiling too. She heard what she wanted out of the call. She heard that her husband was coming back and that’s what really mattered. She missed the part that said Alicia’s father hadn’t reached John yet. She missed the part where John sounded like someone else entirely.
Alicia wouldn’t say that out loud, because it would—on its face—be ridiculous. That didn’t change what she heard though, and while John’s voice came over the phone, something was off with it. The calmness, that’s what it was. John sounded like he sat on a fishing boat, and had been doing so for the past three days. Like he was sitting right in the middle of a lake with his fishing pole at the very moment he called. He shouldn’t have sounded that calm, not with everything going on.
He shouldn’t have sounded so calm about their father not showing up.
He’d hang around and see if Dad came by? That wasn’t her brother, not the person she knew.
Alicia looked to Mark, who sat next to her. “Was anything off to you?”
Mark turned from Diane but kept his hand clasped over hers on the table. “What do you mean?”
“My dad isn’t there yet? That doesn’t make sense. He left in plenty of time to be down there.”
“What if he just hasn’t been able to find him yet?” Mark said.
“Maybe, but he would have called if that was the case. He told us he’d check in every six hours and the last check-in was supposed to be an hour ago.”
“What are you saying?” Diane asked.
“That my dad should have either called us by now or met up with John. It doesn’t make sense that neither of those have happened.”
“What do you want to do?” Mark said.
Alicia looked to Diane. “Was anything off there to you?”
She shook her head, squinting her eyes. “Besides the fact my husband is calling from Mexico saying he’s finally coming home?”
Alicia nodded. Diane wasn’t in a state to see it as she did. She wanted her husband back and was most likely thinking about her kids. Alicia needed to take control, though she didn’t have a clue about how to do so.
What did John want least, from what she could tell?
Police involvement. She didn’t know why, exactly—if he was innocent, he had nothing to fear. Alicia wasn’t prepared to declare her brother guilty, but why was he so opposed, and why were they accusing him?
“What’s that cop’s number?” Alicia asked.
“What?” Diane said.
“The cop, the one that came by here. What’s his number?”
“Why in the hell do you want that?” Diane asked.
“Because something isn’t right. Something isn’t right with my father going down there and something isn’t right with John not seeing him yet. I’m calling the police because I don’t know what the hell is happening. So where’s the number?”
“You’re not calling,” Diane said. She stood up from the table and walked to the sink. “You’re not calling the police on your brother, on my goddamn husband. You understand?”
Alicia didn’t move. She understood Diane’s side, without a doubt. She understood—at least some—the pain and fear going through her sister-in-law, but it didn’t change what she needed to do.
“Diane, you have to listen to me. I love my brother. I love my father, too. They’re the only blood I have left. Something is wrong, though. Something is very wrong and we can’t hide from it. We have to do something or it’s going to get worse, and I don’t know what else we can do except call the police and ask for their help. If John doesn’t have anything to hide, then we don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not going to let my father end up hurt, though, Diane. Not for John. Not for anyone.”
“Not for my kids? Because if John isn’t innocent … Oh, God,” she cried over the sink. “If he’s not innocent then what about Drew and Tim?”
“I’m sorry, Diane. But I can’t stand here and do nothing.”
12
Present Day
“Hilt’s sister?”
“That’s what she said. She’s asking for the person who has been hounding him. I suppose that’s you?”
Alan smiled into the phone at Janet’s joke, though he had no idea why Hilt’s sister would be calling. Unless she also wanted to say fuck off and stop chasing her brother, but he didn’t think the family knew the tools he was using to locate Hilt.
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“No. Just to talk to you.”
“Hmm,” John said. “Go ahead and put her through.”
“Okay. Good luck. She’s a bitch,” Janet said and laughed. Alan smiled again and listened as the line clicked over.
“Detective Tremock.”
“Hi,” the woman said and nothing else.
“This is John Hilt’s sister? Alicia is your name, right?”
“Yeah. I’m … I don’t know why I’m calling. Well, I know why, I guess, though I’m not sure I should be.”
Alan took in a breath before going forward. The woman sounded on edge and he didn’t want to spook her. She was calling him, not the other way around, and from the first few sentences, it didn’t sound like she wanted to say ‘fuck off’.
“Well, let’s start with why you called, and then we can figure out if you should have. How does that sound?”
“You came to John’s house, didn’t you?” the woman said.
“Yes. I came to speak to his wife.”
Silence came back for a few seconds and Alan didn’t dare break it. Something inside that silence said the woman had more to say.
“What do you think my brother did?”
Now the silence fell to Alan. He didn’t know what he expected to hear, but not that question. Because no one besides Susan had ever asked it, and she asked to keep a check on his tunnel vision regarding Hilt. Susan knew what he thought, she just wanted to hear it from his mouth. This woman didn’t know—not outside of what Hilt’s wife told her. And the way she asked the question?
She might believe him. That’s what Alan thought.
“I think he’s killed a lot of people. I think he is a genuine serial killer and I don’t think he’ll stop. I think he killed my partner, too.”
“Why do you sound so convinced?”
“Too many people die around him. They’ve died around him his whole life and no one pieced it together until now. Where is your brother?”
“I think he’s in trouble,” Alicia said. “I’m afraid my father’s in trouble too.”
“Why would your father be in trouble?”
“He went to find John ….” Alan listened to the silence, almost able to feel the woman’s struggle. “I can’t get in touch with my dad. John called us. He hasn’t seen him either. None of it feels right, though. My dad should have found John by now and if not he should have called us, but he’s not answering his phone.”
“Has John ever hurt anyone in your family?”
“No,” she said. “Never.”
Alan breathed in, held the breath, and then let it out slowly. The woman was scared. She didn’t know where to turn and so she went to the man hunting her brother.
“Why did you call me, Mrs. Mollens?”
She didn’t say anything for at least a full minute. Alan opened his mouth to ask her if she was still on the line when she finally spoke.
“John says he’s coming back. I don’t know where he’ll show up, but I want whatever is happening to stop. I don’t know if he’s capable of what you say; I really don’t think he is, but I know something is wrong and there’s no one who can help.”
Alan grabbed his pen on the desk. “What’s your number, Mrs. Mollens? Look, I know that you’re scared and I know that you love your brother. Helping me is your best chance of helping him … I’m going to say something and it’s not pretty, but it’s important you know it. You don’t believe your brother is capable of the things I’m saying, but did you know his priest is missing? The priest’s office is covered with blood, but we don’t know where his body is. A man who works a few floors beneath your brother is dead. A man who attended the same meetings as John is dead, too. This all happened in a few weeks, Alicia. Serial killers, almost all of them, end up losing control. They go off the rails and that’s how they’re caught. I think that’s what is happening to your brother right now.”
Alan listened as the woman gave her phone number.
* * *
“We don’t have any physical evidence,” Susan said on the phone. “None. We’re not going to be able to get a warrant, and the phone company isn’t letting us have shit without it.”
“We’ve got the goddamn drawing, Susan. We’ve got a witness saying he was the last person to see Stinson alive. Now his sister is calling me and her father is missing. That’s enough to get a warrant. Get it for his cellphone and have the cell company tell us where he is.”
Susan took a deep breath. He was probably right. No physical evidence but enough circumstantial to sink a cruise-liner.
“Okay. I’ll do it. What if the phone is off?”
“We’ll at least have his last call. I have the sister’s phone number. I think she’s starting to believe me. She certainly knows something isn’t right.”
“Where did she say he went?” Susan asked.
“Mexico, and I guarantee you that when we start looking, there’s going to be dead bodies down there too, and not because of the cartels.”
“So if he left this morning, he’ll be here by nightfall.” Susan’s mind was switching gears. She couldn’t sit here and try to steer Alan away from Hilt anymore. The man was as guilty as OJ. Now Susan needed to understand what the hell the man would do when he showed back up. She knew what Alan thought, that Hilt was coming unhinged, and if the father was missing, she had to agree. “Why’s he coming back, Alan? If he left to begin with, he was running. So why come back?”
Alan didn’t say anything for a second. Susan saw his pensive face in her mind, though he gave no clue as to what was happening on the other end of the phone.
“I don’t know,” Alan said. “I mean, he’s not innocent, but if this was a normal case, that’s what I’d say. He’s coming back because he’s innocent and plans on fighting this. That doesn’t fit, though.”
“I’ll call the judge,” Susan said. “Talk to you soon.”
Susan hung up the phone and dialed Judge Lorn’s number. She walked him through their investigation, told him about the new possible missing person, and he gave her the warrant. Next was the phone company, but with the warrant, it went through their channels fairly quickly. All in all, two hours later, they had a phone trace on John Hilt.
“Well, so much for all that,” Susan said when she called Alan back. “His phone is off. We got his location this morning; the sister wasn’t lying, pinged him in Mexico.”
“Do we know anyone down there? Anyone that could go take a look at the spot?”
Susan shook her head as she thought. “I know there are cops at the border, but I don’t know anyone in that part of Texas.”
“Do you want—”
“You’re seriously about to ask me that?” Susan said.
“You could be back tomorrow. We need to know what happened down there.”
Susan wanted to ask him why he didn’t go, but she knew the answer. He wasn’t going because John Hilt wasn’t down there anymore. John Hilt was returning and Alan would be waiting when he arrived. Susan didn’t want to go, but they needed to know what happened. When this thing went to court, they’d need physical evidence.
If Alan doesn’t pop him the moment they lock eyes. Wouldn’t be any need for court, then—unless for Alan’s arraignment. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll head down there. I’ll call you in a few hours.”
13
Life Interrupted
Teresa Lord worked the same amount of—if not more—hours than Alan.
Which was part of the reason they got along so well, at least that’s what she thought. She wouldn’t have respected Alan as much if he put his forty in and then left. Teresa believed there were two types of people, those who worked to live, and those that lived to work. People called it workaholism or spoke about work-life balance—always in the negative, though. Teresa took umbrage with the underlying sentiment accompanying such talk.
Something is wrong with you.
You work too hard.
You ignore your family.
Two things—if she didn’t work hard at her job, bad guys would end up on the street. The second? Her husband knew why she did it and supported her.
And that’s what mattered to Teresa. The rest could go to hell.
“You don’t really believe all that, though,” Alan said.
Ten at night, and both were still at work. Sometimes when things went this late, they’d let the work go and just start bullshitting.
“What do you mean? Why do you think I don’t?”
“You’ve clearly thought too much about it, that’s why.”
> Teresa leaned back in her chair and put her feet on her desk. “Go on.”
“Well, it’s pretty simple. If you believed what you say, ‘all that matters is what your husband thinks and keeping bad guys off the street’, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation. None of these thoughts would come to mind because they would be completely inconsequential. You have some guilt about what you’re doing. If you didn’t, you’d be like me, and have no theories about two different types of people.”
Alan smiled back at her, leaning in his own chair and crossing his arms. “Sound like the truth?”
“No, not at all,” Teresa said.
“Tell me where I went wrong. My skills at detection, if you haven’t noticed from my exemplary record—and I must stress exemplary—are superb.”
She laughed. “You’re an idiot. I’m going to finish this email and get out of here.” She took her feet down and turned back to her computer screen.
“Oh, no. If I’m wrong, you have to tell me why.”
Teresa didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but pretended to focus.
“I know you’re not reading anything on that screen,” Alan said. “Is this how you act when a defense attorney asks you tough questions on the stand? Do you just pretend you’re doing something else?”
Teresa smiled, unable to help it or keep hiding that she was paying attention—though clearly not doing that good of a job in the first place. She looked over to him. “I’m just smarter than you, that’s why I’ve thought about these theories. Smart people do a lot of thinking. You’re just an average bear, Alan. I’m the smarter bear.”
“Ehhh, do I need to refer to my exemplary record again? I thought once should be enough, but we can look through my commendations if you’d like.”
She went back to her computer. “You’re probably right,” she said, losing her smile. “We spend all day and night here, and most people don’t do this. Most people go home and spend their other eight doing a hobby, or spending time with family, or taking care of kids. I don’t even have children yet, but I want them. Don’t you feel bad about your girls? About not being there as much as you could?”