by Dave Conifer
The newsletter fell from her hand. For what seemed like the third or fourth time that day she felt like she couldn’t breathe, but she forced herself to bend down and retrieve the photograph for another look. Even without the description from Moyock, she knew. It was the eyes. He’d changed a lot, and his eyes didn’t have the sickly glaze they had now, but she knew. It was him. The man in the picture was Manteo. Or Creedmoor.
The caption confirmed it. “Richard Creedmoor, President of CliniMedix, inks deal with Javier Ramos of Cardiovascular.” It was him.
No. It just can’t be, she told herself. But it was. When she looked again she was even more certain. He was tall and gangly, he had a full head of hair and he was clean-shaven, but it was him. It fit everything she knew about him, especially in light of what Moyock had told her.
There were plenty of dots that needed to be connected. The newsletter was dated February of 2005. Six months later things would still be good in the Creedmoor household, she knew based on the do-it-yourself home remodeling feature from August 2005. By then he’d probably been deep at work with her husband on Narvatek. But things had started happening on the project within a month. Bad things. She remembered how distraught Steve had been as Thanksgiving neared, so much so that he couldn’t eat. It had all been over by Christmas, at least for Steve, but it would be years before his reputation at Regal would recover. The story was much bleaker for Creedmoor and his company. From what Steve had told her, CliniMedix was devastated and would never recover. She didn’t know if the company had even survived, although Rockingham had mentioned that Creedmoor eventually sold it. She only knew that for Creedmoor it probably didn’t even matter anymore after what happened on November 16.
She started the car and left the hospital. It was time to break the silence with her husband. He needed to know this. So did Sergeant Rockingham, as a matter of fact. She would tell him first. With trembling hands she picked up her phone and dialed.
When he came on the line she could hardly speak fast enough as she explained the connection between Creedmoor and her husband. He didn’t get a word in until she’d told him everything she’d just learned. “That’s some story,” he said when she finished. Jane wondered how he could sound so calm about it. “Are you going to be around for a while?” he asked. “I’m on a conference call right now. I’d like to go over this with you again later and there’s something more you need to know.”
“Yes, but hurry.”
“How about if I call you in about an hour?” he asked.
“That’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’ll keep my phone on. I need to call Steve anyway and tell him everything I just told you.”
Steve answered after one ring. “Where the hell are you?” he demanded without even saying hello. “I thought you’d be home by now! I have shit to do!”
“Listen! Just listen! I figured out who Manteo is. He’s Creedmoor. Richard Creedmoor. From that company you worked on the Narvatek drug with.”
“What? Slow down. What does the caveman have to do with anything?”
“Do you remember a guy named Richard Creedmoor? I’m looking a picture right now from your files. You’re in it and so is he. He’s shaking your boss’s hand. He must be the head man at CliniMedix. It’s the same guy! It’s Manteo!”
Steve went quiet, but not for long. “I remember a tall, skinny guy but it wasn’t the caveman. This guy looked feeble as hell. We all goofed on him every time he left the room. There’s no way, Jane. And who cares if it is?”
“It’s him. I’m telling you. If you could see the picture you’d know. What I’m trying to tell you--”
“Holy shit if that’s true! Son of a bitch! What a friggin’ coincidence!”
“Steve, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I think—“
“But he’s here right now,” Steve interrupted. “I could ask him.”
“He’s there?”
“Then again, maybe I better not,” Steve said. “That deal went pretty bad for him. If it’s him I doubt he wants to talk about it. If he doesn’t recognize me, we better keep it that way.”
“I’m sure he does recognize you. He probably knew who you were all along. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s there right now?” In her mind she replayed the scene from earlier in the day at the Creedmoor house. When Creedmoor saw her and the sergeant in the police cruiser he’d reacted violently, jumping into the truck and speeding away. Now she knew where he’d gone. “What time did he get there?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Answer me! What time?” Jane demanded.
“About two, I guess. He brought the paint and he’s finishing the last room.”
He’d gone straight there from the Chesilhurst mansion. “Where’s Allie?”
“Last I saw her she was out back in the sand box. What’s going on, Jane?”
“Grab Allie and get out of the house. I don’t have time to explain. Get out. He’s not there to paint.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s no time! Just do it! Please, Steve! Right now!”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No! Get out of there!” she repeated.
“I don’t see her out back,” he said. Jane’s heart sank. “Maybe she came inside. Let me look around.”
“Is Manteo’s truck still there? Check that first.”
“Come to think of it, I never saw his truck. He was just here all of a sudden, with a bunch of paint and equipment on the porch. I think he got dropped off or something. There were a ton of paint cans. He must have brought extra.“ She heard his footsteps. “The paint cans aren’t on the porch anymore,” he reported. He was moving fast. He might even have been running. Good, she thought. He’s starting to understand what it is we’re talking about.
“Fuck!” he yelled into the phone a moment later. “I see his truck. It’s way up the street!” She heard some commotion, some grunting, and then what could only have been the sound of the phone crashing to the floor.
“Steve! Steve! What happened! Steve!” she shouted into her own phone as she slammed her foot down on the accelerator pedal. She thought she heard the sound of a slamming door. And then nothing. What had he seen? She ran a red light, narrowly avoiding several collisions as she cut off anybody in her path. She had to get home. The horns of angry drivers blared in her wake as she weaved through traffic but nothing mattered then except getting home.
She panicked when the phone rang when she was halfway there, but the panic immediately gave way to relief. It had to be Steve. Everything was okay. She groped around on the floor until her fingers closed on the phone. Without looking she pawed the keypad to answer it. “Hello?”
“Don’t even think about calling that cop again, Jane,” a voice whispered. “Don’t even think about it.” It wasn’t her husband at all. It was Creedmoor. “If you do you’ll be sorry. Jane, are you listening? You’ll be as sorry as I’ve been since 2005 if you breathe a word of this to anybody. Are you hearing me?” Jane’s entire body tingled. She was too stunned to speak.
“Answer me!” he hissed. “Why do you think my wife and daughter were driving around in the snow without me? Why? Where do you think I was?”
“I – I don’t know,” Jane said.
“I was back home in Jersey trying to save my company from a goddamned liar at Regal pharmaceuticals,” he whispered. “Sound familiar?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know that’s not enough but I am.”
“No, it’s not enough.” He’d forgotten to whisper now. “I should have been there with them. Then it would have been okay.”
“It’s the marshmallow man!” she heard in the background. “Uncle Rob, it’s the marshmallow man!”
He had Allie with him.
“I’ll call you with instructions. You’re going to have your hands full for the next few hours. Keep your phone with you.” The line went dead. She couldn’t have said another word anyway with her throat closed up s
o tight.
Chapter 18
The sound of the sirens rose from the surrounding suburbia as she closed in on her home in her well-traveled Toyota. The closer she got, the louder they became. As it turned out they weren’t police sirens, but fire engines. Even before she heard the blast of the fire truck horns she was sure. That was good. Fire engines weren’t called in when dead little girls were found.
By the time she turned onto her own street the noise was deafening and it didn’t take long to see why. Three gleaming red engines were parked in front of her own house and by the sound of it there was at least one other about to arrive. Firefighters in raincoats and helmets tugged on a growing labyrinth of hoses, some of which were already being used to direct thick streams of water at her house. Which was on fire.
She drove as far as she could until the growing crowd and a line of wooden sawhorses forced her to stop. From several houses away she could already see the flames that were pouring from the blown-out basement windows. The first and second floors didn’t appear to be burning yet, although the flames from the basement were licking the exterior as they pulsed higher and higher, threatening everything they touched. Jane ran toward the house, threading her way through her neighbors, until she reached a fireman with a walkie-talkie at his mouth. Remembering Creedmoor’s warning, she drew several deep breaths and reminded herself not to let on that there was anything on her mind aside from the fire.
“What happened?” she yelled.
“Who are you?” His eyes veered away momentarily as he waved at some men unrolling a hose on the front sidewalk.
“I’m the owner. Jane Havelock. I think my husband’s inside!”
“There’s nobody inside, ma’am,” he told her. “We walked the entire place. I’m Captain Dare, Sandy Point VFD. Can I see some ID?”
“It’s back in the car. Are you sure? The last time I talked to him he was inside.”
“We’re sure. Ma’am, did you store a lot of gasoline in your basement? Take a whiff. This all started in the basement with gasoline. A lot of gasoline.”
“Not that I know of,” Jane said. “I don’t think so. Maybe my husband did.”
“Would you mind grabbing your ID? The fire inspector’s going to need to talk with you.”
“What about my house?” Jane asked.
“What about it? We’re working on it. It’ll be out before long,” Dare said. “We got an early start on it. That’s one thing I bet the inspector’s going to ask you about.”
“But where’s my husband? I know he was here fifteen minutes ago. I think he’s inside.” Hopefully Dare wouldn’t ask about her daughter. He probably didn’t even know she had a daughter.
“He’s not,” Dare said again. “Unless he’s in the basement. If he’s there, then it ain’t gonna’ matter. He’d just be a little cupful of ashes. That’s one hot fire. Hey, there’s the inspector,” he told her as he pointed to a figure poking around amid the smoke on the side of the house. “You should go talk with him. He might know something.”
She had no idea what to do about Steve. He’d been in the house not too long before the fire started and his car was still in the driveway, but the firefighters insisted he wasn’t in there. There was nothing for her to do but retrieve her pocketbook from the car and report to the inspector, a burly redheaded Irishman with white freckled skin much like her own. Maybe he could help her find Steve, who would help her find Allie.
“I’m the owner,” she told him abruptly. “I can’t find my husband.” Only now, after she’d mentioned it to two different people, did she have second thoughts about bringing it up. For all she knew Steve had been taken by Creedmoor, too. It might be best to leave him out of it until she could think things through.
“I’m Les Currituck,” the beefy man said, extending a sweaty palm. “Sandy Point Fire Inspector.” He glanced at the clipboard in his hand. “You’re Jane Havelock, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“And you just arrived on scene?” he asked.
“About two minutes ago.”
His eyes scoured the clipboard again. He looked at his watch, at Jane, and at the house before going back to his paperwork. Just before he looked up again his face wrinkled with concern and confusion. “You’ve only been here for two minutes?”
She nodded. “Maybe three or four, now that I ran back to the car for my ID.”
“It’s four-twenty-five now,” he said. “Where were you at eight minutes after four, and what were you doing?”
“I’d say I was in my car heading here. What difference does it make?”
“Did you know what you’d find when you got here?” he asked. “Did you know about the fire?”
“No! How could I know there was a fire?”
“You couldn’t. I don’t think the fire had even started yet based on what I see here.” He folded his arms, the clipboard disappearing into an armpit. “So can you explain how it is that you called this fire in to 911 at eight minutes after four?”
Whatever it was that he was getting at, it was another complication to deal with before she could start looking for her daughter. And she didn’t like the sound of it. “What? I didn’t call anybody! I didn’t even know about the fire until I got here!”
The clipboard came back out. “Is this your cell phone number?” he asked, a pudgy index finger pointing to some smudged figures on the page.
“It is,” Jane answered after squinting at the notations. “But this can’t be right. I didn’t call. As a matter of fact I think I was on the phone with my husband at that time. You can check the phone records.”
“This is the phone records,” he said in a stony voice.
“Well, it’s wrong,” Jane told him. “There must be some mistake.”
“Is the house fully insured?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t it be? What’s your point?”
“Look, lady, I’m the fire inspector,” he said. “It’s my job to ask these questions.”
“What are you trying to say?” Jane demanded.
“I think somebody set this fire deliberately. As a matter of fact, I know somebody did. And it was as amateur a job of arson as I’ve ever seen. It was almost like somebody actually wanted us to know they burned it on purpose.”
“Arson? You think I burned my own house down?”
He returned her glare. “Happens all the time, and it’s my job to know when.”
“We have so many problems right now,” Jane answered with exasperation. “The last thing we would do is make it even worse by doing something crazy like that!” She paused to watch the firefighters. There were now at least eight hoses bearing down on the flames, which appeared to be receding. “Couldn’t it have been some kind of accident?”
“A lot of burning gasoline in that basement says different,” he said matter-of-factly. “We haven’t been able to send anybody down there yet but we know what we’ll find.” He took a gulp from a bottle of water that he pulled from a raincoat pocket. “What kind of problems were you talking about? Anything financial?”
She sat down on the curb and dropped her forehead into her hands. Careful, she told herself. When they do this on TV it always means they’re guilty. “You might as well know,” she said without looking up. “My husband just lost his job. But he’ll find something. We’re not worried about it. It’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Hmm,” he said as his pen scratched on the clipboard. She already knew she’d said too much. “You’ll have to talk to the police detective about this,” Currituck said. “And your insurance company. You think I’m tough, just wait until the insurance investigator sits you down and grills you. You’re playing with their money now. You better make sure you have all your ducks in a row.”
Jane hoped he wouldn’t try to comfort her. She didn’t need his pity. “Why wouldn’t they be?” she snapped, looking up at him.
“Whatever. I’m just saying. And about the house. When it’s all clear you can sched
ule a walk-through. Just give me a call. If you want to take anything out there’s some paperwork,” he warned her. “And you won’t be allowed to take anything that has to do with our investigation. Here’s my contact information.”
Without looking up she held her hand out long enough to accept his creased business card without a word. There was so much more on her mind than recovering anything in the house. All she wanted was for everybody to go away so she could find her daughter.
“We’ll do a fire report after our investigation’s complete. That’s separate from what the police will do. Call me when you have an address I can send it to. I’ll also need one for your insurance company. They get a copy, too. You’ll have to give the detective a statement when he gets here,” Currituck continued. “He’ll probably tell you not to leave town or anything.” When she finally raised her head again he was gone.
~~~
Although he hadn’t said anything at the time, Sergeant Rockingham had been shaken by what he saw in Creedmoor’s eyes and face during the stare down earlier that day at the house in Chesilhurst. His thirty year police career had been mostly speeding tickets and paper shuffling in a small town before he ended up in New Jersey, but that didn’t mean he’d never seen that deranged glower before. There was trouble in this man. He was unstable and he was about to snap. Rockingham didn’t fully understand the relationship between Jane Havelock and Creedmoor but he did know one thing. It would be the Havelocks that were in danger when it happened.
A few minutes on the computer back at his desk was all it took to come up with a simple profile of the Havelock family. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, he saw immediately. He was a computer programmer, she worked as a nurse, they owned a modest house in Sandy Point which they lived in with their daughter. He jotted down their address, their employers and what cars they drove. At least he had a baseline. It was a start.