by Dan Padavona
“Were you ever with Harmony when this happened?”
“Never.”
“Perhaps you were at a restaurant together, or walking through the town park, and some guy followed you around.”
“Nothing like that ever happened.”
“What about calls in the middle of the night? Did anyone harass Harmony or call her number without speaking?”
“Harmony would have told me.”
Chelsey pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going nowhere. What if the serial killer chose Harmony by random chance?
“Before Harmony disappeared, do you recall a strange vehicle outside your house or nearby in the neighborhood?”
“Define strange.”
“It’s a small town. If your neighbor has visitors from out of town, you probably hear about it. I’m talking about a vehicle that didn’t belong.”
Santos set his chin on his hand and pondered the question. Chelsey was certain she’d reached another dead end when Santos looked up.
“Now that you mention it, there was a red Camaro convertible parked up the street from our house a week after our wedding.”
Chelsey tore off a sheet of notebook paper and grabbed her pen.
“What made you recall the Camaro?”
“Because it’s Poplar Corners. Nobody in town drives a Camaro, especially a convertible. It’s a waste to buy a car like that in New York. The warm season is too short, and the salt and snow would be murder on the undercarriage.”
“Did you get the license plate number?”
“You’re kidding, right? That was four years ago. Harmony made a remark about the Camaro and wondered who it belonged to. I had no reason to suspect anything. It was just an unusual car to see in our neighborhood. Afterward, we asked the Jeromes if the car belonged to a friend or family member, because it was parked outside their house. They’d never seen the car before.”
“You never spotted the Camaro around town after that?”
“I asked about it at work, only because I wondered who would drive a hotrod in Poplar Corners. Mike at the office claimed he’d seen a red Camaro convertible buzz past his place. But nothing since. I figured it had to be someone visiting from out of town.” Chelsey noted the color and make of the convertible. Thomas could search the database for anyone in Nightshade County who owned such a vehicle. “Does the red Camaro have something to do with Harmony’s disappearance?”
“Possibly. If you spot the vehicle again, call me. And take pictures.”
27
Traffic clogged the thoroughfare between Kane Grove University and the highway. Justice Thorin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the air conditioner blasted against his face. The sun was a blowtorch at dinnertime, heat waves rippling off the pavement like a strange dream sequence. The light turned green, and still the traffic didn’t budge.
He pressed his horn. The damn ramp to the highway lay a hundred feet to his right. He was tempted to swing the Tesla onto the shoulder and drive around everyone, but there was a traffic camera at the light. If bored, he could watch live footage of the intersection over the internet.
When the light cycled again, the glut unclogged. A woman in the left lane signaled her intent to merge. Tough luck. He was here first. Thorin gave her a few feet of space, but when she started to merge, he punched the gas and blew past her. The driver, an Asian woman wearing sunglasses, honked her horn and lifted her middle finger. Blood boiling, he glared at her through the mirror, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses, yet interminably locked. He grinned when she trailed him onto the entrance ramp, and when they reached the highway, he slowed to a crawl and forced her to pass. She laid heavy on the horn as she flew by.
He followed her.
A mile up the highway, he pushed the Tesla to eighty and drove inches from her bumper. He savored the alarm on her face, sensed her rising anxiety like ozone before a storm. At the next exit, she turned off. He clung to her bumper.
It occurred to him how easy it would be to find where she lived and take her. He’d never captured anyone out of anger. Undefinable needs had always provoked him. Now he only wanted to torture, maim, and tear the woman to shreds with his hands. To hell with her for challenging him.
A red light stopped them at the bottom of the ramp. His grille almost kissed the car’s bumper. She glanced at him in the mirror and averted her eyes. A frightened mouse cornered by a feral cat.
Through the unfamiliar village—some rundown burg he’d passed a thousand times on the highway without a second thought—he followed her car. Past the shopping plaza and hair salon. Through the restaurant district to the suburbs. Twice, she took sharp turns without signaling to shake him. He remained inches behind with a cruel smile on his lips.
The woman pulled into a driveway beside a two-story duplex. Two men leaned on the porch rail and nursed beer cans. He doubted the woman lived here. In her panic, she’d sought help from complete strangers. He gave a friendly toot of his horn as he motored past.
Thorin circled the neighborhood and found his way back to the highway. His pulse eased as he put the unknown town behind him. He assumed the woman worked in Kane Grove. The possibility she worked at the university pushed energy through his body. How he’d love to encounter her again.
It was after six when Thorin pulled the Tesla into his garage. He unlocked the house and started dinner. His guests needed to eat.
He hummed while he worked. Thorin was most relaxed while he cooked a fine meal. Forty-five minutes later, the chicken Marsala looked divine. Such a shame to waste it on pets.
Thorin plated the meal for the child. He required food if he was to survive the week. Scott had challenged Thorin too many times since joining the family. Though the college student didn’t deserve a meal, Thorin would fix him a dish if he cooperated.
Instead of descending the basement steps, Thorin exited through the back door and strode across the lawn. Eight years ago, he’d installed a trap door into the cells. It gave him an escape route should the authorities find him. Not that they ever would. He’d stalked his neighbors for years and never been caught. Most of all, he relished the secret entrance because only he knew of it. A lone sunflower poked up from the lawn, dancing and swaying to the whim of the wind. The handle to the entrance lay flush with the ground, impossible to locate without the sunflower. Without the marker, Thorin worried he’d strike the handle with the lawn mower.
Beside the trapdoor, he crouched and fit the key into the lock. Grabbing the handle, he yanked up. Musty air rose to his nostrils. The sudden shaft of fading light must have frightened his captives, who’d spent the day in perpetual darkness. He enjoyed that they never knew the time. It kept him in control.
They stirred as he descended the ladder and dropped into the enclosure. He pulled the string on the light bulb and threw harsh illumination into the cells.
Lonnie curled into a fetal position, shivering. Goosebumps and bug bites covered his flesh. The child protected his eyes with his hand and moaned. In the next cage, Scott grumbled and rolled over. The college student blinked twice and stared at Thorin. The reality he remained a prisoner in this subterranean hell blanched his face.
“Wake up, my child. I brought you dinner.”
Thorin set the insulated bag on the ground and unzipped the top. The dinner scents made his mouth water. From the bag, Thorin removed a fork and napkin. Instead of thanking Thorin for the fine cuisine, the boy wept and bleated.
“I want my daddy.”
“Your daddy can’t help you anymore, Lonnie. It’s time you stood on your own two feet and became a man.”
“Let me go. I don’t like you.”
“You’ll learn to love me in time. Now, eat your food while its fresh and warm. You don’t wish to spoil dinner by eating it cold.”
Thorin slid the plate through the tiny entrance at the bottom of the cell.
“I don’t want it.”
“You’ll do what I say. Eat your food like a good boy.”
Scott rattled the cage.
“Why don’t you leave him alone?”
Thorin swung his eyes to Scott, who stood naked in the cell with his hands wrapped around the bars. Scott’s eyes fogged over. They hadn’t adjusted to the light yet.
“I see you’re finally awake, lazy boy. Perhaps you’ll behave tonight and join us for dinner.”
“Let the boy go,” Scott said, yanking on the bars. “You don’t need him.”
Thorin raised an eyebrow.
“Full of vigor, aren’t we? Lower your voice. You’ll upset the child.”
“What’s wrong with you? You kidnap people and lock them underground. For what purpose?”
“Don’t question me, Scott.”
“That’s another thing. How the hell do you know my name? I’ve never met you.” Understanding fell over Scott’s face. “Ah. You stole my wallet and read my license. How much did you charge to my credit card?”
“I’m not a thief. Rest assured, I didn’t steal your money.”
Scott laughed.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? You’re sick.”
“Shut your mouth and let the boy eat his dinner.”
Lonnie shoved the plate back to Thorin.
“You haven’t touched your food, Lonnie.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll fall ill if you don’t eat. And you’ll make your daddy angry.”
“You’re not my daddy.”
“I am now.”
A rock plunked Thorin in the head. It was small, but it left a red welt on his cheek. He turned to face Scott, who grinned through the bars.
“Don’t test me,” Thorin said, grinding his teeth.
“You’re a piece of shit coward who attacks people from behind and kidnaps children.”
“Are you challenging me, Scott? I could take you apart with my bare hands.”
Scott leaned his head back and laughed.
“You? Give me a break. If I ever get out of this cage, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Thorin walked to the cage and stood face to face with the instigator, the iron bars keeping them apart. For now. “Tell me what you’d do to me, Scott?”
“Open the cage and I’ll show you, creep.”
Thorin’s mouth twitched. His hand brushed his pants pocket. The key lay against his thigh, warm and ready for use. Oh, how he wished to teach Scott a cruel lesson.
Thorin chuckled.
“Careful who you cross, boy.”
28
Thomas watched the media gather through the windows. He’d requested the press conference hours ago and still wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. This was a gamble. A roll of the dice to save Lonnie McKinney and prod the killer out of hiding. It might backfire. Behind him, Agents Gardy and Bell stared with curiosity. Thomas nodded he was ready and stepped outdoors, the FBI agents remaining behind as the late-day sun blinded his eyes.
The reporter for The Bluewater Tribune wore a handlebar mustache. He fought for position outside the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department as a lumbering man with a television camera on his shoulder crowded him off the sidewalk. The reporter from the Syracuse television station had braided chestnut hair and a pleated skirt that showed plenty of leg. She pointed the microphone at Thomas, who stood outside the entryway in his uniform, one hand atop his hat to prevent the wind from blowing it away.
The newspaper reporter jabbed a digital recorder at Thomas’s face.
“How long has the FBI been working with your department?”
“Since Lonnie McKinney’s kidnapping.”
“Is a serial killer responsible for capturing Lonnie McKinney? Should the public worry?”
“While there’s no reason to panic, everyone in Nightshade County should exercise caution, lock their doors, and be vigilant of strangers. The FBI and Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department believe the man who kidnapped Lonnie McKinney is the same man who left a woman’s hand inside St. Mary’s church.”
“Can you prove this theory?”
Thomas paused.
“Not yet.”
“Sheriff,” the chestnut-haired woman said, stepping in front of the newspaper reporter. “What can you tell us about the kidnapper? Did he abduct Scott Rehbein too?”
“We’re working hard to link the two cases. But yes, it’s possible the same man is responsible.”
“Is the kidnapper a pedophile?”
“There’s no evidence he’s a pedophile. The man we’re searching for is incapable of sexual intercourse. He’s uncomfortable in his skin and too shy to speak to women. Which is why he captures and kills them.”
“But he also takes men and young boys. Is the murderer bisexual?”
“He’s all about control, manipulation, and humiliation. This branches back to the killer’s low self-esteem and fear of society. He kills what frightens him. This man is a coward, and we’ll catch him. I promise you that.”
Emboldened by the sheriff’s willingness to speak openly about the murderer, the press fired questions at Thomas for ten minutes. The Syracuse news televised the press conference live, breaking in during a sports program that garnered high ratings. When the press conference concluded, Thomas’s stomach roiled with anxiousness. He’d know within hours if his plan worked.
The reporters dispersed after Thomas entered the building. Inside, Gardy and Bell awaited him. They’d viewed the press conference on a wall-mounted television.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Gardy said.
“It’s a gamble, but I believe it will work.”
As Thomas walked toward his office, Agent Bell shifted to block him.
“Sheriff, you’ll provoke the killer and draw him to you.”
“That’s my intention.”
LeVar turned the car into Poplar Corners with Scout seated beside him and their mothers in the backseat. Intrigued by their children’s interest in investigating criminals and cold cases, Naomi Mourning and Serena Hopkins joined LeVar and Scout this evening. LeVar assumed Naomi wanted to ensure Scout stayed safe and there wasn’t a repeat of the robbery fiasco. It was almost sundown. An orange glow wrapped around the buildings as LeVar drove toward the westering sun.
“Tell me who we’re searching for again?” Naomi asked.
“The Poplar Corners ghost,” Scout said, studying a sightings map on her phone.
Serena tutted.
“Sounds like a made-for-TV mystery. Why the interest in a Peeping Tom?”
LeVar sighed.
“Because the same guy kidnapped Harmony Santos and Lonnie McKinney.”
“And dropped the woman’s hand inside the church,” Scout added.
LeVar glanced across the seat at Scout.
“Where should we check first?”
As Scout studied the map, she furrowed her brow.
“The sightings seem random, but if I filter the cases, they cluster on the south end of Poplar Corners over the last year.” Scout turned the screen toward LeVar. “Check this out.”
“Keep your eyes on the road, fool,” Serena said.
LeVar met his mother’s glare in the mirror.
They passed through a neighborhood. Tall trees girded the road as shadows lengthened. By the time LeVar reached Durant Street on the south side of town, a veil of darkness spread down from the sky. Scout pointed out the window.
“Stop the car. That’s where Harmony Santos lived.”
LeVar hit the brakes and idled. The quaint yellow two-story had green trim. Grass and weeds overtook the garden, choking out where a flower bed once stood. An American flag flew from the porch. LeVar opened his palm.
“Let me check that map again.” After Scout handed him her phone, he tapped his free hand against his thigh. “The sightings cluster between this residence and a cul-de-sac west of here.”
“Lots of meadow and forest in between. It would be easy to move around unseen and hide if someone called the police.”
Inside the Santos residence, a silh
ouette passed over the curtain.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone you love. If it was a disease or a car accident, you’d come to grips and understand what happened after a while. But to never know if your spouse was alive.”
He left the rest unsaid as the shape vanished from the window. LeVar’s words humanized the case and left a somber tone inside the car. Naomi studied a road map on her phone.
“There’s an access road a half-mile straight ahead. It curves toward the meadow. The utility companies probably use it.”
LeVar leaned his head over the seat.
“Is there a place to park?”
“Hold on a second.” Naomi enlarged the map. “There’s a turnoff at the end of the road.”
“That will do. Let’s check it out.”
Once they left the neighborhood, there were no streetlights to ward against the coming darkness. Branches dangled over the road and scraped the top of the car as they jounced over the rutted path. The further they traveled, the more LeVar felt cut off from the world, as if a black wall stood between him and civilization. Crickets sang from the meadow, and bats darted out of the trees.
“This appears straight out of a horror movie,” LeVar said, straining his eyes to penetrate the gloom. Even with the brights on, the thick foliage swallowed the headlights. “All we lack is a psycho in a hockey mask running around with a machete.”
Naomi shivered.
“I wish you hadn’t said that.”
Tire marks cut through the soil at the turnoff, marking where a utility truck had parked. LeVar stopped the car and glanced over his shoulder.
“Stay in the car while I snoop around.”
Serena cocked an eyebrow.
“You sneak through the wrong person’s yard, and someone will shoot your backside with buckshot.”
“I can be quiet when I need to be. Nobody will know I’m here.” LeVar tossed the car keys to Serena. “If anything happens before I return, drive back to the neighborhood and phone the sheriff’s department. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not abandoning my son.”