Sandy was smiley and polite, but Darger got a sense that she was holding back. And the closed body language — crossed arms, torso angled slightly away, hands clasped together — told her that Sandy might be too defensive to give them anything.
Darger was still considering how she might get Sandy to open up when Loshak cleared his throat and spoke.
“So how did you pay him, if you didn’t know his name?”
Sandy froze, her eyes on the ground.
“If he was an employee, you’d need a W-2 on file for tax purposes,” Loshak went on. “Even if he was an independent contractor, he’d need a 1099. Both would require a legal name, an address, and a social security number.”
She’d been trying to figure out a way to ease Sandy out of her defensive shell, but she supposed Loshak’s method of attempting to crack her open like an egg might also work.
When Sandy remained dumbstruck, Loshak filled it in.
“You were paying him under the table.”
“It was my idea,” Sandy blurted. “Curtis didn’t know. No one else did.”
“Oh, I think Curtis knew.” Loshak put his hands on his hips and widened his stance. “Otherwise he would have gone looking for the paperwork so he could give us Worm’s name. But he knew there wasn’t any paperwork on Worm, so he brought us over to talk to you.”
Sandy’s short grey-blonde hair fluttered as she shook her head from side to side.
“But it’s my fault. I’m telling you, Curtis… he wants everything done by the books. I’m the one who paid Worm in cash. It was my choice. My decision. If anyone has to go down for this, it’s on me.”
“Look, we’re not interested in any of that,” Loshak said. “We only want to know more about Worm.”
Sandy swallowed.
“What do you want to know?
“Anything and everything you can tell us about this guy. You really didn’t know his real name? Not even a first name?”
“No. I swear it.”
Loshak nodded.
“Did Worm have any physical features that stood out? Tattoos? Birthmarks?”
Sandy stretched her mouth into an exaggerated grin and pointed at her teeth.
“Has a gold tooth, right up front.”
“We got that. What else?”
“I don’t remember any birthmarks. He’s a real short guy. I’m 5’2”, and I don’t think he was more than an inch taller than me,” Sandy said.
“What about the type of vehicle he drove? Curtis mentioned him hauling material for you.”
“A Toyota Tundra. Black.” The words seemed to tumble out of Sandy’s mouth in a desperate cascade. “Newer, but not brand new. Like the last four or five years or so.”
“Did he ever say where he lived?”
“No,” Sandy said. “But he wasn’t too far from here, because he could usually show up within an hour of me asking for help. And one time he said he was part owner of a cattle ranch. But I don’t know if that was true.”
“Why?”
“I got the sense that a lot of what Worm said was a story he was making up about himself. I’d say he was lying, but I think he kind of believed it a little bit. Like a kid playing make-believe who eventually starts thinking it’s real. He was always claiming to have done this or that. It was like if you brought any old subject up, he couldn’t resist claiming to be some kind of expert on the topic.” Sandy picked at the dirt caked under her fingernails. “Claimed to know Tai Chi and be a black belt in Jeet Kune Do.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s the martial art philosophy created by Bruce Lee. The thing is, I dated a gal for years who was a Tai Chi instructor, and the stuff I saw Worm doing wasn’t like any Tai Chi I’ve ever seen. I don’t like to throw around accusations about things that are none of my business, but I think he was faking it.”
Sandy stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts.
“And there was more. We have a guy here, Thorn. He studied Shaolin Kung Fu in China. So Worm was always razzing him. Saying that Jeet Kune Do is superior to Kung Fu. That even the master Bruce Lee recognized the limitations of practicing set forms over practical fighting skills. And it wasn’t like a one-time thing. Every time Worm saw Thorn, it was like he couldn’t resist bringing it up. So one day, Thorn suggested they have an exhibition match. Just for fun, you know? So we made an event out of it. Scrounged up some gym mats and cleared a space in the flower sorting barn. Lotus was a referee. And they start the match and go at each other, and Thorn is, well… quite frankly he was kicking Worm’s ass. It was kind of pathetic. Just like the Tai Chi thing, I suspect the Jeet Kune Do was all bull. He didn’t know anything. And I think Worm knew everyone was starting to realize he was full of it. And he panicked. I swear I could see the switch flip in his head. That moment he said to himself, ‘Oh no... I’m being made to look a fool.’ So he tapped out. Said it out loud. ‘I submit.’ Thorn dropped his guard. Put his hands together to bow, and Worm sucker-punched him. Cold-cocked him right in the face. Busted his nose. Blood everywhere. Made a real scene. I mean, this was supposed to be for fun. And then he tried to claim that this was a method in Jeet Kune Do called The Fakeout. A legitimate tactic for beating an opponent since Jeet Kune Do is all about real-world combat.”
“Sounds kind of sociopathic,” Loshak said.
Sandy made a face.
“I don’t know about that. Though I suppose I had kind of a soft spot for Worm on account of how he reminded me of my boy. Brian. Died of an overdose eight years ago. Had a wild streak, that one. But he meant well.”
“So he was prone to exaggeration,” Loshak said. “What else?”
“Well, he was real shy around the women. I was in the bathhouse once when he came in. He was just giggling up and storm. Blushing and tittering like a schoolgirl. Most guys try to play it cool, but he was like… well, a little kid.”
Sandy smiled suddenly.
“Real sweet tooth, too. We grow everything we eat, so it tends to be pretty rustic. Low sugar. We have bees, so we get honey, but Curtis encourages a well-balanced diet. Vegetarian and no processed shit— er, stuff. Worm always had sugar on him. Cookies or candy bars. He’d bring me treats, seeing as how I don’t get off the compound much. He really seemed to like those little elf cookies.”
“Elf cookies?”
“The Keebler ones with the chocolate filling? He always seemed to have a package of those in his truck.”
“And you haven’t seen him or had contact with him since he was banned from the camp?” Darger asked.
“No ma’am.” Sandy shook her head. “I do have a phone number, but I have to tell you, he used burners.”
“Did he say why?”
“He kind of implied that he did covert work for some government outfit on more than one occasion. Something about excavation work, I think. Said, ‘You never know who might be listening.’ And something about how he had to keep a low profile so as to not blow his cover.”
Darger raised her eyebrows.
“Did you believe that?”
“Heck no. No offense to the guy, but like I said, he’s squirrelly as hell. And frankly not very smart. Like the bout with Thorn. We all saw what he did. I don’t know how he could think he’d get away with it. The drugs, too. He didn’t cover his tracks at all. Once we found out there was meth in camp, it wasn’t hard to figure out where it came from. Guy has impulse control problems, is what I’d say,” Sandy said. “That’s how the counselors always put it when I’d get called in for the trouble Brian was stirring up at school, anyway.”
She led them over to a desk situated in one corner of the greenhouse. There was a small organizer next to a landline telephone. Sandy flipped open a small organizer and pulled a loose scrap of paper from the pages.
“This is the last number I had for him, but like I said, this one’s a good two, three months old. And he’d give me a new one about once a month or so.”
The interview was winding down, but they hadn’t had a chan
ce to do any digging on the matter of the soil. Darger knew she’d have to be careful, but Loshak wasn’t the only one who could be clever.
Darger turned and let her gaze wander over the rows of plants.
“My mom is an avid gardener,” Darger said. “Always tinkering with her bed of annuals. Do you have any secrets I could pass on? A particular soil blend?”
It was mostly a lie. Her mother sometimes planted a few pansies or petunias in a pot on her deck, but to call her an ‘avid gardener’ was a Worm-level fabrication.
“Where’s she located,” Sandy asked. “Your mother?”
Darger wondered if Sandy was about to call her bluff.
“Outside of Denver.”
“Ah… well, you know the soil in each place is a unique beast. I don’t know much about that area. If you live in a place with naturally good soil, that’s always a bonus. That’s what we’ve got here. Fabulous dirt, really. We don’t do much to it other than amend with a bit of compost.”
“So you don’t… truck in a special soil or anything like that?” Darger asked.
“Gosh no. I mean, if you’re a home gardener that might be feasible. Doing raised beds and the like. But I’m a big proponent of sustainability. Permaculture. Crop rotation. And that means that an organic flower farm on a scale like this almost has to be done in-ground with what the good Lord gave us. And a bit of help from mother nature, of course.” Sandy gestured to the rows and rows of pots. “We do all our starts in a soil-less mix. One part peat moss, one part vermiculite. Then we’ll add some amendments as we go, depending on the particular plant. Compost, kelp meal, limestone.”
Darger peeked over at Loshak. He gave a minute shrug. Another dead end on the soil angle.
“Well, we appreciate your help,” Loshak said.
They thanked Sandy, and then she and Loshak headed out for the long walk back to the car.
Chapter 31
His wide eyes stared into the black nothingness. He blinked a few times. Realized he couldn’t tell the difference between blinking and not.
The darkness was complete. Overwhelming. Awe-inspiring in a terrible way.
He pulled out the walkie talkie. Fingered the button. Spoke into it.
“Lights just went out down here. Over.”
His voice sounded calmer than he felt. He was thankful for that.
He stared at the blackness in front of his face where he knew the little device must be hovering, clutched in his fingers.
No response. Shit. Where was everybody?
His breath hitched in his throat. Sounded louder now in his ears. Spilling out of his mouth. Rapid and shallow. Panting like a St. Bernard.
He tried the walkie again. His voice cracked this time.
“Anyone there? Got a, uh, minor situation down here.”
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Shit. He needed to stay calm.
He shoved the walkie back into his pocket and squatted down like before. Ran his fingers along the smooth rock floor of the cave. Felt its cold leach into his skin right away. Even so, he placed both palms flat against the earth.
Getting low made him feel more in control, for some reason. Touching the rock with his hands helped even more. Reminded him that he was tethered to the solid ground, that he himself was solid.
Had someone turned off the lights intentionally? It seemed unlikely. Could the power be out? Maybe. But there were supposed to be automatic generator backups. He supposed the cause didn’t matter right now. Getting back to the light switches did. Or just getting the hell out of here altogether. That sounded better to him.
Still, the blackness devoured all form in the cave. Sucked reality into its hole.
He closed his eyes. Thought it was better, somehow, to not stare into the void.
The darkness underground was more total than any he had ever witnessed before. He sensed that it would unstitch the seams of reality if he let it. Leave only a dark hollow where the world used to be. A black hole swallowing the universe.
Empty space. Worse. Nothingness.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears. That crooked muscle banging away in his chest. Squishing hot blood all through him.
He remembered to take a deep breath, and his chest shuddered. Ribcage fluttering like raven wings. After a few more deep breaths, it got better.
With the first wave of panic receding, he detached one hand from the floor. Fumbled it along his belt to find the flashlight there. It was a small LED thing, hardly bigger than a cigar, but bright as hell.
He found the narrow tube. Lifted it. Aimed it at the dark in front of him like a loaded gun and clicked the button.
Nothing.
He clicked it again. The tiny percussive sound pierced the stillness.
But the light didn’t come on.
Jesus fuck.
These LED bulbs lasted years, so it couldn’t have burned out. Maybe the batteries?
He shook his head as though trying to shake the fresh wave of panic away. And a thought hit him.
Maybe the lights were like a strand of Christmas lights wired in a series. If one burned out, the whole strand went dead. And maybe the outage hadn’t affected one of the separate strings of lights behind him.
He shuffled to turn himself around. Face the other way.
The black was just as endless that way. Just as impossible, impenetrable, utterly complete.
He stuck a hand out. Needed to feel the solidness of the wall to reorient himself.
But his hand flailed at the nothing. Fingers raking empty space. There was no rock wall next to him. Nothing but the cool stale air.
His heart clambered up into his neck. Perched itself there all aflutter like a hovering bat beating its wings.
He spun to the left. Finally his hand found the rock wall. Verified it was still there. But it wasn’t where he’d expected it. More of an obtuse angle than the perpendicular one he’d expected, and he realized that he’d already lost track of which way he was facing. He didn’t know which wall this was.
How many times had he turned searching for the wall? A full 360 degrees? More? Less?
The darkness made it impossible to be sure.
Christ.
He swallowed hard. Heard his throat clack. Cold sweat beaded along his hairline, and he mopped at it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
He stood then. Stumbled forward a few steps. Then reversed himself and shuffled that way, the soles of his boots scuffing against the rock floor.
This was the way back, wasn’t it? Back to that narrow passage.
He imagined the rocks squeezing his shoulders again, cold stone snugging tight around his ribcage. There’d be no circle of light to crawl toward this time. Nothing to reassure him. Only that infinite black sea sprawling in all directions.
If this was even the right way. Goddamn it.
The wooziness touched off in his skull again. Swirled around and around and around in that bone bowl where his brain sat.
He sat down. Plopped flat on his ass. Tried to slow his breathing which had crept back up into that canine pant. He focused. Wrestled with his quivering chest for control of his lungs.
But it was too late for all of that.
The black world started spinning around him. Whooshing noises filled his ears like flies swooping everywhere around him, like a fan blade spinning in his skull.
He grasped after the walkie talkie again. Failed to get his fingers into his pocket. They kept sliding away from the open flap, missing the mark. Motor skills all clumsy and inarticulate like he was drunk.
Breath hissed out of him. Hot on the back of his front teeth.
He was unconscious before his head hit down on the rock floor.
Chapter 32
Darger and Loshak retrieved their phones from Naked Ozzy and headed back down the winding dirt drive, but it was still over ten minutes before Darger could get a strong enough signal to call Detective Ambrose.
“According to Curtis, S
tephen Mayhew got booted from the Children of the Golden Path at the end of March after they caught him dealing meth. And when he left, two female members went with him.” Darger checked the names Curtis had given her. “He identified Jane Doe One as Courtney Maroni and Jane Doe Two as Bailey Harmon and gave us emergency contact numbers for them. I’ll text them over when we hang up.”
“What about John Doe One?” Ambrose asked.
“Curtis claimed not to know him. But he did suggest we talk to someone named Worm.” Darger sighed. “The only problem is that he was the one supplying Stephen Mayhew with drugs, and no one’s seen him around since then.”
“Still, two more vics identified, and a new lead. Not bad for a day’s work,” Ambrose said, and Darger could hear the relief in his voice. “What kind of vibe did you get there? You think The Children had something to do with all this?”
“Not sure. If we can tie all the victims to this group, it’d be too significant to downplay, but I think it could get more complicated as we continue the investigation.”
“Well, I’ll have someone run through our database and see if they can find anyone that’s used the name ‘Worm’ as an alias in the past,” Ambrose said. “Worst case scenario, we have to go door to door for every Toyota Tundra owner in the state.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Darger pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you get anything from Stephen Mayhew’s aunt?”
“Not much. They had a falling out some years ago. I guess he had a fairly rocky childhood. Dad ran off early on. Mom shacked up with various nefarious characters who didn’t always treat Stephen or her very well. She went to jail for a while for passing bad checks, and Stephen ended up living with the aunt for a year or two in high school. So she said she felt some closeness to him. A motherly affection, she called it.” Ambrose sighed. “But I guess a few years back, when he was heavy into drugs, he came around once and stole some stuff from her. She told him flat out that if she saw him come around again, she’d call the cops. Hadn’t seen him much since then. She did say he left a note about nine months ago on her door. Apologizing for the theft and some other things. Said he’d found a new purpose, etcetera, etcetera. Mentioned the Children of the Golden Path. She was pretty upset that he died before they could formally bury the hatchet.”
Violet Darger | Book 7 | Dark Passage Page 15