Harmony Black (Harmony Black Series Book 1)

by Craig Schaefer

  I’d assumed it was a different person. That someone new had found the ritual to call up the Bogeyman, starting the nightmare up all over again. But what if it wasn’t?

  What if the person who attacked the Gunderson family was the same person who attacked mine?

  I guess that’s the difference between me and a demon, I thought. I don’t have patience or time. Just a wound, thirty years deep, that won’t stop bleeding.

  It’s time to put things right.

  SIXTEEN

  “Did Fontaine give you a way to contact him?” I asked.

  Earl shook his head. “We were supposed to show up at Norma’s All-Day Café over on Stag Head Road. He said he liked the smell of the pancakes there. I wouldn’t bother looking for him, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a hijacker. Man changes bodies more often than I change my underwear. He can be anybody. He can be in anybody. Grab you, too, if you’re not careful.”

  “One other thing,” Jessie said. “Earlier. You said you didn’t know we were real feds, that we might be working for somebody else. Who?”

  “Fontaine ain’t the only Chainman in town. This is a hot bounty. He’s got a rival, this guy he calls Nyx. See, they got a rule: Chainmen can’t jack one another over a claim, no fighting one another. That rule don’t apply to people working for them, though.”

  “So you thought Nyx hired us,” I said.

  “Better safe than sorry, considering if he did hire you, you woulda been there to cap our sorry asses.” His voice trailed off. When he spoke again, it was broken, distant. “In the end, guess it don’t matter either way. Killed two of us anyhow. We were just . . . we were just searching an empty house, man. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Didn’t . . . didn’t deserve that.”

  Jessie stood up and looked at April. “I think we’ve got what we need. Call it in. Offshore him.”

  “Agent Temple,” I said. “A word?”

  I took her out into the hall, a discreet distance from the cop at the door.

  “Come on,” I said.

  “What? He’s a cambion, with direct ties to a court of hell. He needs to go.”

  I crossed my arms. “He’s a small-town meth head. His ‘direct ties’ treat him like dirt and use him as cannon fodder. Come on, Jessie. He just lost both of his brothers. He’s right. He didn’t deserve that. And it’s not like he’s going to be plotting the downfall of the government. Hell, he could be more useful if we leave him in play: I’d like to have a grateful informant or two, wouldn’t you? We can handle this another way. One where everybody wins.”

  Jessie squinted at me. “What do you have in mind?”

  I told her. And she liked it.

  We walked back into the room together, taking up our stances on either side of the bed. Earl looked between us, confused.

  “We’ve got a place for people like you,” Jessie said. “It’s very dark, very cold, and there are no trials, no judges, and no appeals. You just rot there. For the rest of your life.”

  “C’mon,” he said, suddenly wide-eyed. He looked at me like I was his last hope in the world. “C’mon, you can’t do that. You can’t let her do that.”

  I held up one finger. “Or, you can choose what’s behind curtain number two. In about ten minutes, the police are going to come into this room and charge you with the burglary of Helen Gunderson’s home. You will make a plea bargain, which we’ll facilitate for you. You’ll get probation and community service, and you’ll repay Ms. Gunderson for the damage to her furniture. Every penny of it. As part of that deal, you’ll also enter a court-ordered drug treatment program, which you will successfully complete.”

  He leaned his head back against the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Man, that’s impossible. I can’t get clean—you know how many times I’ve tried? I just can’t.”

  “Have you ever had help?”

  He opened his eyes. Looked at me. Shook his head, very, very slowly.

  “We’ll be watching you,” I told him. “This is your one final chance. Your golden opportunity. You can either straighten your life out and make something of yourself, or get a bag over your head and a one-way ticket to a very unhappy place.”

  “Or,” Jessie said, “if you’re really that weak, you can give up right now and save us the trouble. Makes no difference to me.”

  “No.” He looked up at me. “I want the chance. Lemme try.”

  “You’ve got it, then. Good luck. We’ll be watching you.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his. Closest I could get to a handshake, given the cuffs. He squeezed tight.

  Out in the hallway, I glanced at April. “You were quiet in there.”

  “Since it’s your first time out with our team, I wanted to observe the quality of your fieldwork.”

  “How did I do?”

  “More than adequate,” she said. “You worked perfectly with Jessie, built a rapport with the suspect, and drew a full confession. One question. You know Vigilant Lock protocol. You should have arranged to offshore that man. Why didn’t you?”

  “He’s basically harmless, he got a raw deal, and he’s worth more to us if we cut him loose. Before Linder recruited me, I groomed confidential informants all the time. They’re an essential part of intelligence gathering. I don’t see why it should be different just because he’s a cambion.”

  “Because Vigilant protocols demand it. It’s the rule.”

  “Rule or not, it was the wrong move. I have to do what’s best, regardless of—”

  I stopped talking and shot a glance at Jessie and April. April leaned back in her wheelchair and offered up a faintly smug smile.

  “Look at that, Agent Black,” she said. “Showing a grasp of special circumstances. You are starting to fit in with us.”

  “Welcome to the Circus,” Jessie said, checking her phone as we walked. “Hold on, got a voice mail from Kevin while we were in there.”

  Jessie’s face turned to stone as she held the phone to her ear. I couldn’t make it out, but I could tell from the pitch and the speed that Kevin was frantic about something.

  “What?” I asked. Jessie hung up. She walked faster, balling her hands into fists as she strode down the hallway.

  “We have to get back to Talbot Cove right now. The Bogeyman struck again last night. Another child is missing.”

  I drove the coastal highway like we had demons on our heels. Except, I thought grimly, we’re running straight toward them.

  We called ahead. Barry gave us the address and said he’d meet us at the scene of the crime. That turned out to be a rustic little bungalow on the east side of town, at the end of a forested lane. Barry’s squad car sat out front, next to a Plymouth minivan. The minivan had those little family decals in the back window, a row of smiling stick figures. Mom, Dad, toddler, cat.

  Barry met us at the door. Rumples creased his uniform shirt, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “I was wrong about Helen Gunderson. It’s really happening again, isn’t it?” he said softly. “Like it did back then. It won’t stop with two, either. This guy won’t stop till he gets his fill. Just tell me how he did it, the nanny cam footage. Is he some kinda Photoshop expert? Was it a mask?”

  I felt for him. He was supposed to be the law, Talbot Cove’s protector, and he was up against a force he couldn’t understand, let alone fight back against.

  That’s why we had to do it for him. I gave his arm a squeeze.

  “We have some leads. Barry, this is Dr. April Cassidy. She’s helping with the investigation.”

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Could we speak to them?” April asked.

  Barry walked us into the living room. An empty box of Kleenex sat on the coffee table next to a small pile of used, crumpled tissues. The woman on the couch clutched one between her thin, trembling hands like it was her only possession in the world. The man hunched next to her, wearing flannel and built like a linebacker, looked like he was tryi
ng to be stoic and strong for her sake. He wasn’t doing a good job at it. Their red-rimmed eyes took us in.

  “Bill, Shelly,” Barry said, “these are those FBI agents I was telling you about. They’re good people. Just tell ’em what you told me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Shelly stared at the dead television screen. Above it hung a framed family portrait: smiling parents cradling a cherubic toddler. It looked like it hadn’t been taken very long ago. Happier times.

  “We put Mindy to bed, then we turned in just after The Late Show,” Bill told us. “I woke up around three. Had to use the john. Poked my head in, just to watch her sleep for a while . . . and she wasn’t there.”

  “We have a security system,” Shelly said. “There’s not a lot of crime around here, but after Mindy was born, it just seemed like the right thing to do. They got through it somehow.”

  Bill pointed toward the front door. “Swear to God, it was working perfectly. Green light, all the doors and windows secure. I only turned it off when Sheriff Hoyt showed up.”

  “Could we see Mindy’s room?” I asked.

  Bill led us to the foot of the stairs, then gave April’s wheelchair an awkward look.

  “That’s fine,” she said. “My colleagues can handle it.”

  He walked us up. Mindy’s room was on the second floor, a tiny nook with powder puff–pink carpet and teddy bear wallpaper. And a closet. Jessie put a gentle hand on Bill’s shoulder.

  “Why don’t you head back downstairs and sit with your wife? We’ll be only a minute.”

  As soon as he left, I fished the Pythian coin from my breast pocket and held out my fingers, suspending it from its fine silver chain.

  “I’ll check the alarm hookup on the window just to cover our bases,” Jessie said, “but I think we both know—oh, yeah. There it goes.”

  The coin twirled on its chain, lifting slightly, tugging me toward the closet.

  Nothing inside but a stack of empty boxes. They were crushed on one side, buckled inward, as if someone had squeezed themselves against the cardboard while crouching in wait.

  We went back downstairs. There wasn’t anything else to see. April sat with the parents, while Barry loomed in the corner of the room and looked anxious.

  “—don’t want to give you false hope,” April was telling them, “but we’re putting our full effort into this investigation.”

  “Question,” I said. “Do either of you know, or have you ever met, a woman named Helen Gunderson? She lives here in town.”

  Bill and Shelly looked at each other, shaking their heads in slow unison.

  “I don’t think so,” Shelly said. “Not by name, anyway. Maybe she’s in my Pilates class?”

  Bill frowned. “What’s this about? Is she a suspect?”

  “No,” I said, “but we’re investigating a lead and it might be relevant.”

  “We need you to make a list,” Jessie said. “Every place you’ve been in the last two weeks. Your Pilates class, your job, where you bought your groceries. Everywhere you went outside this house. No matter how minor.”

  “You—you think the person who took Mindy is someone we know?” Shelly asked.

  April folded her hands in her lap. “Someone who knows you. Child abductions are rarely crimes of opportunity, especially not from their own home. You came into contact with this predator somewhere in your daily life, and they took an interest in Mindy.”

  “Which is not to say it’s your fault, or that you’ve done anything wrong,” I quickly added.

  “Have either of you come into conflict with anyone recently?” Jessie asked. “Had harsh words with someone, or maybe somebody picked a fight with you?”

  “Is there anyone who would want to hurt you or your family?” April added.

  “No,” Shelly said, “I can’t imagine—”

  “No.” Bill shook his head.

  I believed them. With their child’s life at stake, they had no reason to lie.

  “So, how does this work?” Bill asked. “You’re going to put a tap on our phone, right? Do you need our cell phone numbers, too? What do we say when they call with a ransom demand?”

  We walked them through it, step by useless step, a drill they’d never have to use. There would be no phone call. Still, we had to let them believe.

  I hated giving them false hope, but it was better than the truth.

  SEVENTEEN

  Barry followed us out of the house, keeping his thoughts to himself. Another squad car rumbled up to the curb. Cody jumped out, jogging over to us.

  “Hey,” Cody said, “I just heard. What are we looking at?”

  “It’s a goddamn copycat,” Barry told him. “Of all the places and all the crimes in the world, some psycho is running loose in my town, trying to re-create the Bogeyman case.”

  “That’s our working theory,” April said.

  “I still don’t understand how he faked that camera footage. So what do I do about Helen? Apologize and cut her loose?”

  “Warn her first,” I said. “Her house was burglarized, and they trashed the place. Some thieves heard she’d been arrested and figured it’d be easy pickings. We caught one of them. Detroit PD is going to get in touch with you and send over the details, but it’s not a pretty scene.”

  He rubbed his face. “Jesus, that’s a fine damn homecoming, huh? Talk about insult to injury. All right, I’ll see if I can’t put her up in a hotel for a few days, maybe get some volunteers to help clean her place. We owe her at least that much.”

  “We’ll also need the same information from Helen,” April said. “Have her trace her movements, step by step, for the last two weeks. Every little detail is important.”

  “We’re looking for commonalities,” I said.

  I was looking for one of my own. I scanned the manicured front lawn, slowly searching it up and down until I found what I already knew would be there.

  “Jessie,” I said, gesturing to a spot close to the curb. Another fist-size wicker ball sat in the grass. An offering to the Bogeyman.

  “I’ll bag it up,” she said. She headed for the Crown Vic, but she didn’t get far. The guy coming up the sidewalk toward us had the look of a used-car salesman, or maybe a professional golf sportscaster. His helmet of hair was too shiny to be real, just like his teeth, and he brandished the tiny video camera in his hand like it was a magical talisman.

  “Ladies, gentlemen.” He announced the words more than spoke them. “Can you comment on the Mindy Morris abduction? Can you confirm that this is the same perpetrator who kidnapped Elliot Gunderson?”

  Barry’s face turned lobster red. “How in the hell did you even—”

  “This is an active crime scene,” Jessie said, cutting him off, “and private property. You can’t be here.”

  “I’m standing on the sidewalk.” He pointed down, demonstrating how he’d kept his toes one neat inch from the edge of the lawn. “A wave of kidnappings is big news. The public has a right to know.”

  “Who are you workin’ for?” Barry said. “The Great Lakes Tribune always calls when they want something from my office. You know, the polite way of doing things.”

  “And is politeness going to bring those children back home to their grieving mothers?” He lowered the camera and gave us a self-satisfied smirk. “The name’s Tucker Pearlman. Field journalist for the New Perspective.”

  Cody groaned. “You’re not a journalist, Tucker. You’re a tabloid hack who couldn’t cut it covering pet shows for the Tribune. What, hasn’t Bat Boy done anything newsworthy this week? Maybe there’s some more ‘shocking 9/11 evidence’ you haven’t gotten around to revealing yet? I’ve told you about harassing people—”

  “I’ll have you know, we’ve won awards for our celebrity tell-alls. We stand on the cutting edge of news reporting. New-wave journalism, ferreting into the dark corners of the world that the big names are too afraid to touch. We connect the forbidden dots. Like this one, case in point.”

  The camera swu
ng up and pointed right in my face. I had the feeling he’d been waiting for this.

  “FBI Agent Harmony Black,” he said. “Until recently, on temporary assignment to a Las Vegas task force. An assignment that ended, coincidentally, around the same time a massive scandal tanked the Carmichael-Sterling Corporation. Agent Black, care to comment on the rumors that satanic symbols were found inside the penthouse of Carmichael-Sterling’s flagship Vegas casino?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s an urban legend. Not true. End of comment.”

  “In that case, maybe you’d like to comment on the resemblance between these new abductions and the Bogeyman kidnappings from thirty years ago? Especially since that name came from, according to the Tribune, the frightened words of one Harmony Black, aged six.”

  Jessie strode toward him, balling up her right hand into a fist. “Shut that fucking camera off. Now.”

  Tucker wagged his finger at her. “Ah-ah-ah, Agent. The Supreme Court has upheld the right of private citizens to film law enforcement personnel in the course of their duties. You’re violating my civil rights.”

  “I’ll violate more than—”

  “Agent!” April snapped. Jessie snarled, but she took a step back. April rolled closer to her.

  The camera lens swung back toward me.

  “One woman, her life forever changed by tragedy.” Tucker sounded like a movie-trailer narrator. “Walking in her father’s shadow, she’s taken up the shield of the law and returned to where it all began. Returned to face the madman who took her sister’s life. This time, it’s personal.”

  “Tucker,” Cody growled, “knock it off. I won’t tell you twice.”

  I shook my head at Cody. “It’s okay.”

  “Harmony, you don’t have to take that from him—”

  “It’s part of the job.”

  I looked into the camera’s eye, somber. “Two children are missing. This isn’t about me. This is about executing our professional duties as protectors of the public good, and ensuring the victims are returned home safely.”

  “But, come on, you have to admit, it feels like a cage match. Hey, you gotta figure the Bogeyman’s following his own press coverage. All these creeps do that, right? So he’s gonna see this. What do you want to tell him, Agent Black? If he was here right now, what would you say to the man who killed your baby sister and slit your father’s throat?”