by Anne Frasier
He shoved past her, the door crashing closed behind him.
She followed, walking rapidly. “You can’t be in here.” Not true, but it was the first thing she thought of.
He swung around, his black-rimmed eyes boring into hers. “This is my place. You’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”
“So right about that,” she muttered.
Somehow he heard her. He stopped his dash down the hall and swung back around. “What?”
Now she took in more of him. Faded jeans, a thin white T-shirt with holes near the neckline. He smelled of alcohol, but she wasn’t sure how much of his behavior could be attributed to that. Hostility radiated from him, and she took a step back, reached into her lab coat, and pulled out her phone. He slapped it from her hand. It hit the floor and shattered.
“Get out of here!” she shouted. “Get out of here now!”
He made no move to leave.
“I’m calling the police.” She spun and ran for the office. He was right behind her, fast for a drunk man with a head injury.
She tried to slam the door, but he was too close. He shoved the door wider and followed her inside. She grabbed the landline phone. It was an old style, not portable, heavy, beige, with a coiled cord and a clunky receiver. Somehow it had survived the water damage. Too bad about that.
He ripped it from the wall. The receiver flew from her hand. He raised the base, his face contorted with pain and rage.
She put up an arm to deflect the blow, and then she shouted a terrified plea so pathetic she couldn’t believe it came from her own mouth. “Don’t kill me!”
The hand with the phone froze for a second before he threw it hard. It missed her by a yard, hit a filing cabinet, and let out a single loud ring. Without taking his eyes from her, Casper staggered away until his back met the wall. He slid to the floor, landing hard, and buried his face in his uninjured hand.
She had to get to another phone, a working phone, but he was too near the door for her to get past him. As she watched, his shoulders began to shake. And then he let loose huge, gulping sobs.
She’d seen men cry a few times in her life, but nothing like this. Nothing like this kind of unbridled anguish. She wasn’t even sure she liked men, or even sure she liked people in general, but the sound of his pain cut her to the bone.
This is what love is like, she thought. This is what it does to you.
She’d had a dog once, and when it died she’d decided she never wanted another pet, because it had been too painful. Loss of a human must be a hundred times worse than that.
She approached him with caution. No longer intent on getting past him, she found herself lightly touching his shoulder. That touch evoked a wail and a long shudder. She jerked her hand away. Then she just sat down beside him, back to the wall, and waited.
David’s phone rang, and he jerked awake, his neck stiff, a slight bit of drool on his face and arm, surprised and disoriented to find that he’d fallen asleep at his desk in the police department. He had a vague memory of telling Elise he’d go home in an hour or so to shower and sleep. Missed that train. Seeing the call was from the morgue, he blinked himself fully awake.
He expected a case-cracking report, or at least some news that might help them in the Remy case. Instead he heard the oddly hesitant voice of the substitute ME (because he would never accept that she was possibly permanent).
“I’m sorry to bother you this late, but we’ve got an issue. I’m at the morgue, and John Casper is here.”
That seemed doubtful. “You sure it’s Casper?” Last he’d seen him, John had been asleep in David’s bed, Isobel curled up beside him.
“Oh, it’s him. I don’t know how he got here, but he’s in no condition to drive. Can you come and get him?”
David checked the clock, confirming his suspicion of having been asleep for hours. “Be there in fifteen minutes.”
At the morgue, Hollis Blake met him at the back door. Standing next to her was John, arms dangling at his sides, head down, looking like a child who’d been caught doing something wrong.
Behind them on the floor was a shattered cell phone.
“What happened here?” David asked.
Hollis gave him a look that said it would be better if they didn’t discuss it in front of John. “Everything’s fine.” She jammed her hands into the deep pockets of her lab coat. “We can talk later if you like.”
He read the scene. From the looks of things, he guessed John’d had a meltdown. Poor guy. “Thanks.” He meant thanks for taking care of his friend. Thanks for being concerned about him. Thanks for not calling the regular police.
To John, he asked, “How’d you get here?”
“Uber,” he mumbled.
Amazing that he’d been able to get to the morgue by himself. “Let’s get you home.”
John shuffled along beside him, docile, almost catatonic.
Behind them Hollis said, “If he wants to work part-time, that would be fine with me. It might be good for him. Once he’s stronger.”
In the past, David had found Hollis abrasive and devoid of humor, but now he cut her some slack. MEs tended to be a strange breed, most of them unlike John. At the same time, he was doubtful about John returning to the place where Mara had been killed and where they’d worked together. Memories would be everywhere. It probably didn’t help that Hollis Blake couldn’t be more opposite from Mara, even in looks. Older by several years, tall, reddish hair, a cross between severe and geeky. “I’ll see how he feels about that,” David said. Weird that she seemed to have more hope than he did, but then she’d never known the old John Casper.
CHAPTER 41
Simone Millett’s phone rang. She adjusted the squirming baby on her hip, searched the diaper bag slung over her shoulder, dug out her phone, and answered her husband’s call. “Can’t talk now,” she said. “I’m at the farmers’ market, and it’s crazy busy. I stopped to get homemade bread, but the damn bread guy isn’t here.”
The pacifier hit the ground. Juggling baby, phone, and bag, Simone picked up the pacifier, contemplated it as the baby’s mouth opened wide in a silent wail. She jammed the dirty pacifier in her pocket, and the cry went live.
“Get some of that orange marmalade,” her husband said, his oblivion and lack of empathy driving her irritation up a few more notches. The man didn’t have a clue.
“Why should I get marmalade if we don’t have homemade bread?” She looked back the way she’d come, at the wide sidewalk that ran from one end of Forsyth Park to the other, each side lined with vendors and shaded by live-oak trees and Spanish moss, the space between packed with people. “I thought the bread man was always here.”
“Look what I got.” Six-year-old Taylor patted her hip and lifted a bouquet of flowers.
Simone frowned. “Where’d you get those?”
He pointed through the crowd. “That man gave them to me.”
“Oh, honey. He’s blind. He wasn’t giving them to you. He’s selling them.”
“Will you buy them?”
“No, give them back.”
“Please?”
“No.”
He stuck out his bottom lip and buried his face in the daisies.
“Go on. Take them back.” She spoke more firmly this time, and he turned and stomped away. She’d be surprised if he actually obeyed her. He’d been testing boundaries ever since the arrival of his baby brother.
“When are you getting home?” her husband asked. She could barely hear him over the crying baby. People scowled as they passed. A few women shot her a look of sympathy, but she could also see what they were thinking: Glad it’s you and not me.
“Aren’t we having company for dinner?” he asked. “Or was that canceled?”
“Yes, we’re having company,” Simone said. “Traffic was backed up, and then Taylor was late getting out of school. And now the market’s so crowded I’m about to lose my mind.”
“I’m sorry. Take a deep breath.”
It
made her all the madder when he pulled that calm stuff on her. “I gotta go,” she said. “Be home in forty-five minutes. Why don’t you make a salad? Set the table? Pick up the toys? Give the bathroom a quick clean?”
“No problem.”
His willingness made her feel bad about being annoyed. She put her phone away and realized Taylor was nowhere in sight. At first she was relieved, taking it to mean he’d actually listened to her and returned the flowers, but as time ticked away and he didn’t return, she began to worry. Jiggling the still-crying baby, she squeezed through the throng of people and interrupted a flower sale to address the blind man.
“Did you see a boy?” She realized what she was saying and corrected herself. “Did a boy give your flowers back?”
“No, ma’am. You owe me ten bucks.”
She watched the news. She knew it wasn’t safe for anybody right now, especially young boys. But that kind of awful thing happened to other people.
Trying not to panic, she hiked the baby higher on her hip and dug into her shoulder bag, pulled out a twenty, shoved it into the man’s outstretched hand, then ran off through the crowd, shouting for her son, her mother’s heart hammering.
Her fear didn’t go full blown until she saw the bouquet of flowers on the ground, stems broken, petals bruised. Along with the increase in fear, she experienced an inexplicable sense of denial. It felt as if someone had tossed a blanket over her, muffling her thoughts, protecting her from the possibility of something evil. Briefly she even imagined going home and preparing dinner, sticking to the script of minutes earlier. Later she’d tuck Taylor into bed, read him a story, kiss him good night. But while she frantically scanned the crowd, distantly aware of faces fading in and out and people watching her with concern and alarm, she knew deep down that something dark and serious and impossible was really happening.
With the baby shrieking in her ear, this time frightened by Simone’s strange expression, she screamed Taylor’s name.
CHAPTER 42
It was a kidnapping, not a homicide. Not their case, but the age and sex of the victim, along with the circumstances surrounding the abduction, made it something David felt merited their attention. Often kidnappings were treated as family abductions by the police department. David wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. Speed was important. Sometimes it was everything. Life and death.
He and Elise arrived at the scene an hour after the boy vanished. The initial chaos following a missing-child report had died down. People were no longer running in circles, searching frantically, calling the boy’s name. That was over. Now cops were scattered around the park, interviewing possible witnesses. A photo and description of the child, from weight and age to clothing, had been uploaded to the police-department website, and information was scrolling across squad-car monitors and television screens at that very moment.
They found the mother in shock, but responsive and helpful.
Elise made the introductions, and David pulled out pen and paper. “We’re going to need the name, address, and phone number of the child’s birth father,” he said. “Often abductions are familial.”
“It wasn’t him.” The mother, a tall woman named Simone Millett, hugged her folded arms to her as if she had a stomachache. In the distance, her husband cradled an infant while the baby sucked and patted a bottle. “And I already gave that information to someone else.”
“Asking about relatives is procedure,” Elise explained.
“Why haven’t you issued an Amber Alert?”
“That requires a vehicle ID and plate number.” David clicked his pen. “But we’re feeding a photo and description of your son to police and the public right now.”
“It wasn’t Gerard. He’s had nothing to do with Taylor, ever. He’s never even seen him.” She explained what happened. Elise and David shared a look.
The Florida abductions and later the abduction of Zane Novak had all occurred in a crowd. In a public place. Those old-favorite abduction locations like parking lots had lost popularity over the years. And with neighborhood watch groups and stranger-danger campaigns, the perpetrator cruising the street looking for victims wasn’t as common either. Hide in a crowd. It was smart. That’s what David would do if he were an evil bastard.
“But you’re homicide detectives. Why are you here? Does that mean he’s already dead?” Her voice rose on the last words, and she looked from David to Elise for reassurance.
“No,” Elise said. David could see that the words of comfort she was trying to formulate were hard coming.
“We think this might be connected to a case we’re working,” he offered.
“That Remy guy.”
“Yes.”
The woman wasn’t surprised. She’d been expecting it. David could see it in her face. “He brought me a bouquet of flowers.” She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. With red-rimmed eyes, she looked from one detective to the other. “I told him to take them back. If I’d only let him keep them. If I’d bought them, he’d still be here. Isn’t it strange to think that an action so small and innocent could do such harm?”
“I’m sorry,” David said softly. Parents always shouldered the blame. He knew that, understood that. Parents were supposed to protect their children. Protection was every child’s right.
Simone wiped at her nose. “If it’s that man, that Remy, what does he do to them?” she asked. “I know he kills them and stuffs them in walls. But I mean before that. What does he do? That’s what I want to know.”
“That won’t help you right now,” Elise said. “That kind of information would do you no good.”
“I know, I know. Weird, isn’t it?” She shook her hands as if trying to shake off water. “I can’t stand the thought of him being afraid or being hurt. I’d almost rather he was dead.”
Elise touched her arm and got the woman to look her in the face. Once she did, Elise said, “We’re going to do everything we can.”
Simone pulled in a quivering breath and stood up straighter. “I’m glad you’re here.” She glanced at David, then back to Elise. “Both of you. I saw the news about you and Chicago. And I don’t care about that YouTube video.” She waved it away. “What you do in your time off makes no difference to me. If you want to dance naked in the cemetery, that’s nobody’s business. You catch bad people. You kill them. You arrest them. So . . .” She nodded to herself, finding comfort in her acknowledgment of their presence. “I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you’re here.”
David could sense Elise’s dismay, her hidden reaction to the responsibility of a child’s life that had just been handed to them. He was feeling it too.
Right now things didn’t look good. If it was Remy, did it mean he was falling back on his pattern of child kidnappings and killings? Was there a bigger reason for the abduction? Was it Remy at all? Whoever was behind it, David knew the child probably didn’t have long, and he wasn’t feeling confident about winning this round. But he and Elise were good at hiding reactions. They comforted the mother, offered her hollow words of encouragement, went through the motions, and gathered everything they could.
The mother turned her phone around so Elise and David could see the photo of her missing son. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”
The detectives agreed.
“Those eyes,” David said.
“That’s one thing he got from his deadbeat dad.” Simone stuck the phone in her back pocket and looked behind her as she frantically scanned the nearby crowd for her husband, relief coming when she spotted him and their baby. David understood that she’d thought they might have vanished into thin air too. It made sense.
Their best chance of finding the boy was for a citizen to have spotted him, maybe when the abduction was being played out, or later. Maybe at a gas station, or as he was being moved from a vehicle to a place of captivity. The fact that the kid was strikingly beautiful would help. Dark hair, dark skin, and those brilliant blue eyes. He’d be noticed. People would remember him. Of course that mig
ht also be the reason he’d been grabbed in the first place.
David and Elise excused themselves to track down the flower seller, the last person at the scene to have had contact with the boy. They’d already been warned he was blind, so there would be no visual information he could give them, but hopefully he’d picked up on something a seeing person might miss.
As they walked, David offered Elise a bite of a cookie he’d grabbed from Parker’s Market earlier.
Elise eyed it with suspicion. “What kind is it?”
“Oatmeal and peanut butter.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“It not too bad, actually.”
“My father’s method of justice is beginning to make sense to me.” Elise took a bite of the cookie, didn’t make a face, passed it back. “Not that I’d ever consider taking matters into my own hands the way he has, but I get it now.” She chewed, swallowed. “The punishment really isn’t about punishment. It’s not about making bad people pay for the bad things they’ve done. It’s about making sure they don’t ever do anything bad again.”
David finished off the cookie, wadded up the wrapper, and tossed it in a nearby trash container. “You might not agree, but I think your father is a brave man. He might not do things the way you or I would, but that doesn’t mean the choices he’s made are easy. He sees something that needs to be done, and he does it.”
Elise and David introduced themselves to the blind man.
“Did you say your name was Detective Sandburg?” He was about seventy, with skin like leather. His clothes were tidy, and even though it was hot as hell, his white shirt was buttoned to his throat. He was a regular at the farmers’ market and was known for pulling out a harmonica and joining some of the other musicians who sometimes busked in the park.
“Yes,” Elise said. “I work for the Savannah Police Department.”
The man reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. “I was told to give you this. I didn’t understand at the time. Guy just came by, bought some flowers, and handed me this note. Said to give it to you when you showed up.”