by Sean Platt
Since all the computers in her house had been confiscated, Liz had to find somewhere else to discover what was on Roger’s flash drive. And this wasn’t the kind of thing she could take to a friend’s house, if she even had any friends since Friday. Nobody had reached out to her. The only phone calls she got were from the media. So she had to find somewhere else to use a computer. Somewhere that wouldn’t attract attention.
She drove to the library, hoping she could use their computers to see, praying there wouldn't be anything on the flash drive which might raise the suspicions of anyone walking behind her.
She wasn’t yet sure what she’d do with the list, or the flash drive. She knew she should turn them over to the investigators, but some part of her, most of her, couldn’t. At least not until she knew what was on the flash drive.
Would it be evidence to clear Roger’s name or something to indict him?
Liz parked the car in front of the Hamilton Island Public Library and scanned the parking lot. There were maybe 20 cars, meaning there was a good chance she’d be seen by someone she knew inside. That was the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t handle seeing anyone now, whether they offered condemnation or sympathy. She just wanted to get to the computer station and see what was on the flash drive.
She stepped from the car, slipping the flash drive into her purse, and headed inside the library. As she walked toward the front doors, she took notice of the many Paladin closed circuit television cameras in the parking lot, and no doubt the library. She’d never really given much thought to the way the security firm had turned the island all Big Brother several years ago, until now, when she had something to hide.
She approached the front desk where you had to “rent” a computer by showing your library card. Behind the desk sat Nancy Altaire, an older woman who used to volunteer at her school. They’d never worked directly together, but there was no way Nancy didn’t recognize her immediately. As Liz said “hi,” Nancy looked like she’d just been caught saying a filthy or maybe racist word.
“Hi,” Nancy said with a big fake smile, as though she didn’t know exactly who Liz was, or what her husband had done. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to use a computer,” Liz said passing her library card across the counter.
“OK,” the woman said, directing Liz to a table with eight computers, four per side. The computer station was smack in the middle of the library, with a clear view of the front desk, and to the rear of the library where some people were sitting at long tables, studying or doing work.
Liz was surprised to see only one person on a computer, an older man who seemed focused on his work. She looked around, didn’t see anyone in the immediate area, and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. Liz was relieved to see privacy screens on the computers. She’d be able to work in relative privacy, assuming someone didn’t come right up behind her or sit too close. The security camera above her was at such an angle that she didn’t think it could see what was on the computer.
She looked around the library again, seeing familiar faces, but so far, none had noticed her . . . yet.
She reached into her purse, retrieved the flash drive, then slid it into the USB port on the front of the PC. After a moment, a folder icon popped up on the screen. She opened it.
Inside the folder there were more than 100 other folders, all with names and dates stretching back at least three years. A chill ran through her when considering that Roger had been up to something so secretive for three years.
What the hell? Three years?
She clicked on the first folder in the series, the earliest created and almost three years to the day. The folder prompted a password.
Shit.
She didn’t have time to guess at passwords, nor did she want to enter the wrong password and trigger any sort of auto delete procedure, though she wasn’t even sure if that was possible or just something from the movies.
She closed the password prompt and clicked on another folder, then another, each one asking for a password.
She kept going down the list, and started jumping around, skipping folders, clicking at random and hoping one would be unprotected.
A woman sat down two computers to the left of Liz, an older woman she didn’t recognize.
Liz edged herself closer to the computer screen, leaning a bit to her side to block the woman’s view without being too obvious, also trying to hide her face, considering it was all over the news. But as Liz leaned one way, Nancy passed by to her right, carrying a book toward the back of the library while glancing over at Liz suspiciously.
Liz turned her attention back to the computer, hoping Nancy wouldn’t come over. Nancy kept walking, but not without glancing back a few times. Liz wondered if the library had a way of recording what she was doing on the computer or the contents of the flash drive.
Liz watched as Nancy put the book on a shelf and then walked back to the front of the library and returned to her station.
Liz kept searching for an unprotected folder. Not having any luck, she decided to just click on the final folder, with a date of last Tuesday. She was surprised when it opened.
Inside the folder was a video file named “c-7913.mp4.”
She looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention, then pressed play.
The screen was black at first, and for a moment, Liz wondered if the video wasn’t working. She heard a loud shuffling sound, then reached out and turned the volume down on the speakers, looking around again. The woman to her left looked at her, then back at her computer.
As Liz turned back to the screen, she saw the reason the screen was dark, the video was being recorded in the woods.
What the?
She heard Roger’s voice, “Just inside this cave,” he said.
Caves?
The only caves she knew of on the island were on the north end, fenced off.
She kept watching, wondering what Roger was doing on the north side, and even more so, what he was doing in caves.
The screen went pitch black again for a moment, and then Liz was staring at the inside of the cave, lit by either camera flash or flashlight.
“Just ahead,” Roger whispered, as he navigated his way through a tunnel until he reached an opening.
“There they are,” he said, aiming the camera into the darkness. He must’ve realized he was too far away for the camera to capture the light. The screen went black again. When the picture returned, it was bright again and showed two nude bodies face down in the dirt. They looked like men, though one might have been a woman.
Corpses.
Her heart sped up as she looked around, praying no one had seen the screen. Nancy was staring at her from her station. Beside Nancy was a Paladin security guard. Nancy pointed at Liz and the guard looked over.
Oh shit.
Liz started to panic as the guard approached her. He was about 30 yards away.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Her hand hovered next to the flash drive, ready to yank it out the moment the guard drew closer, but she wanted to see what was on the screen. Had to see what the hell Roger was filming in secret.
Roger’s face appeared in the video, “As I said in the last video, here’s the proof.”
Proof? Of what?
Roger reached down to turn one of the bodies over, the guard now 10 yards away and getting closer.
What is he trying to show?
The Paladin guard was now just a few seconds away.
The video footage bounced and shook as Roger fumbled with the camera and started to bring it back up to reveal whatever it was he was trying to show.
“Mrs. Heller?” the guard said, now just on the other side of the table and about to walk around to her side.
Liz yanked the flash drive from the computer and palmed it, clicking the browser window to restore as the guard rounded the table.
“Yes?” Liz said, smiling, her heart making a new home in her throat.
The guard,
a thin and serious looking young man with cold blue eyes, looked down at the computer and then at her. “Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
Liz tried to bury her rising panic, telling herself that everything was okay. There was no way Paladin knew she had a flash drive, much less what was on it. But she’d never been very good at lying to herself.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Please, come outside. There’s something you need to see.”
Her fear suddenly switched from being busted with the flash drive to something having happened to Alex or Aubrey. A knot formed in her throat at the thought of more tragedy.
She stood, grabbed her purse, and as the guard led the way, slipped the flash drive into her front pants pocket. As they approached the library exit, Liz could feel the eyes on her. Her anonymity was gone, taken by the guard at her side. There was no way she could return to the library today, or maybe even tomorrow, without attracting unwanted scrutiny.
As they reached the doorway, Liz saw Nancy glaring from her station, as if she’d somehow defended the library’s sanctity against the wife of a murderer. Liz swallowed as they passed through the doors and went out into the parking lot, where she saw why the guard asked her to follow him.
The front window of her blue Honda Odyssey had been spray-painted with red lettering: “MURDERER!!” it said.
* * * *
CHAPTER 7 — Jon Conway Part 2
Thursday afternoon…
There were parts of Hamilton Island, and Washington State, that were as beautiful as anything else on the planet, and Jon had definitely spanned more than his share of the globe, but most times, the weather was cold and windy. Though the Northwest had a reputation for constant rain, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Mostly, it just seemed as if it was always about to rain. Hamilton Island seemed to be in a perpetual state of gray gloom.
During his time away from the island, Jon had been spoiled by the clear blue skies and crisp, dry yearlong weather of California.
Occasionally, the sun would sit in the sky just right, showing the nonbelievers just how gorgeous the island could be, with glistening forests of Hemlocks, Spruces, Maples, Firs, Cedars, and every other tree that made the area look like a Christmas card. As much as Jon hated the weather, and his family, the island still held a nostalgic beauty of a slice of his youth when he was still happy.
At least it’s not raining now, he thought to himself as they walked the streets of Vivian’s neighborhood.
Jon was walking with Cassidy and her neighbor, Mrs. Lindley, Vivian’s best friend and fellow soldier in the Infantry of the Slightly Insane. She was batty as Bruce Wayne’s basement, but unlike Vivian, Mrs. Lindley didn’t pour her crazy from a bottle. She made it all upstairs in the wacky whatever that seemed to hold court in her head.
Vivian was staying home in case Emma returned, or someone came with news of finding the girl, which was just as well so far as Jon was concerned. He’d never much liked the woman, and she sure as hell hated him and his family, with a venom unlike any he’d ever encountered.
“I really like the headband she’s wearing in this picture,” Mrs. Lindley said, gesturing toward the photo of Emma. “Makes her look like Punky Brewster with all the colors. Do you remember Punky Brewster?” she asked Cassidy.
Cassidy said no. She also didn’t point out that the poster was black and white, or even turn to face Mrs. Lindley as she stapled the MISSING poster onto the weatherbeaten telephone pole.
“I liked that show,” she said. “I thought Henry was so handsome, though he was a bit old for me then.” She suddenly lit up like New Year’s. “He’s perfect for me now, though!” Then she frowned. “Unless of course he’s dead.”
Mrs. Lindley had lived next door to Vivian forever, ever since she moved to the island from Aberdeen after her husband passed in a logging accident. She took the life insurance and decided to live on an island like she’d always wanted to do. Island living turned out nothing at all like she expected, she often said. Jon had found her amusing more often than not when he was a kid, but the odd bird had definitely grown odder since he’d left.
Mrs. Lindley’s company wouldn't have bothered Jon so much, except that he needed to get Cassidy alone so he could find out more about his family’s involvement in keeping Emma secret and breaking he and Sarah up. Cassidy had said he wouldn’t want to know, and that she couldn’t tell him. Little did she know that he wouldn’t leave the island without getting to the truth.
As they searched and knocked on doors, asking questions, Jon kept flashing back to talking to Emma at the funeral as she stuffed cookies into her tiny purse. She was so adorable. So much like her mother. That was, of course, when he got the first hint that she was his daughter.
Why had Sarah kept her a secret?
What could his family have done to prevent her from telling him?
And who in his family had done the deed?
He suspected Warren, but he couldn’t rule out his father. The old man had become a recluse of late, but that wasn’t the case so much a decade ago, when he had a firmer hand on the company . . . and the family. His father had often scolded Jon for associating with the Hughes girls, saying they were nothing but trouble. “That whole family is bad news,” his father had once said, suggesting that there must of been some bad blood between his dad and Vivian, perhaps.
Jon wasn’t sure how, but he was certain that he’d make whoever was responsible for the deception pay.
Looking at Cassidy, Jon wondered how much he’d be able to get out of her today even if Mrs. Lindley wasn’t there. She seemed distracted, far off. Probably because her niece had gone missing, that was certainly understandable, but it seemed like there was something else, too. Something beneath the surface.
He wondered if she was using again.
From everything he’d heard, Cassidy had gone clean, and she looked fine at the memorial, albeit beat to hell. If you were anywhere near the edge of the wagon, though, losing your twin could give you a helluva nudge off it. Especially if your twin was someone like Sarah.
Jon had known stronger people than Cassidy relapse over far less than that, though it did seem as though Cassidy had kicked it the hard way, rather than checking into some bullshit facility like Crossroads, Betty Ford, Promises Kept, or any of the other posh thousand dollar a day or more revolving door “treatment” centers most of the people he knew had gone to, where they focused more on meditation and yoga than shoving a pillow on the face of addiction.
Mrs. Lindley said, “Did you know I had a dog once? His name was Bobby and everyone said he was half giraffe.”
Neither Jon or Cassidy responded. He couldn't see her face, but Jon wondered if Cassidy ever answered Mrs. Lindley’s more obvious crazy with a smile. He would have liked to see, just to satisfy his curiosity, but he was mostly happy to stare at her back.
No matter how different Cassidy and Sarah were on the inside, and outside to those who knew them best, Cassidy was still close enough in appearance to Sarah to make him feel as if he were walking with a ghost. It wasn’t just the way she looked, it was the way she moved, too, as though the shadow of impossible was given every shade of reality.
Good thing they sounded nothing alike. While there were similarities in their tone, Sarah’s voice was sweet – French to Cassidy’s German. Cassidy’s language was gruffer, far more profane, though maybe it was just because she hated him. There had been a time, years ago when they were all kids, that he actually liked playing with Cassidy more. Cassidy was the fun sister, one of the guys, who wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. Sarah was the more reserved, cautious, shy sister. The one who won Jon’s heart.
Mrs. Lindley drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “It’s gonna rain,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Are we gonna be out here much longer, ya think?”
Cassidy said, “Just till we get to the center of town. I’d like to put the rest of the posters up at the post office.”
“Where’s Vivia
n?” Mrs. Lindley held her hand out for another stack of posters, then crossed the street toward the intersection of Lighthouse and Main. “Shouldn't she be out here with us?”
Cassidy shook her head. “She had another one of her headaches. She wanted to come but would’ve been miserable, and we would’ve, too. Plus we needed someone to stay behind in case Emma came home.”
“The migraines?” Mrs. Lindley shook her head. “Seems like she’s getting them even more than she used to.”
Cassidy looked far off, barely whispered, “Yeah, a lot more.”
Mrs. Lindley said, “Blue marbles aren’t any sort of gumdrops.”
Cassidy looked back at Jon, almost smiling. He smiled back. The two of them quietly laughed as they crossed the street.
Ten minutes later, the two of them were standing in the center of town. Mrs. Lindley went to the small laundry over on Grover to see if anyone had left any quarters in the change machine, while Cassidy went to drop off a few flyers at the Stop and Shop, then the rest at the post office. Jon said he’d hang his final few posters on the two light posts, then on the bulletin board in front of the community center.
When Cassidy returned, Jon was staring at the bulletin board with his mouth open wide. There were 14 pictures on the board, five in color and nine in black and white. Eleven adults and three children – all missing.
Jon turned to Cassidy, shaking his head. “Hamilton Island isn’t that big,” he said. “Missing people shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
Cassidy looked up at the board like it was graffiti in her own ghetto, then back at Jon. “You can’t find people if they don’t want to be found, or if they’re dead. Most of ‘em probably ran away, and a bunch of them are probably suicides, or falls, off Tanner’s Pass.”
Jon just kept shaking his head. “That can’t be,” he said.
Cassidy laughed, but there wasn’t any happy in the music. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jonny Conway. Wearing your rose-colored Armani, Bono-looking glasses. You don’t remember how depressing this place can be, or maybe you never had a clue to begin with, living up in the Gardens and all.”