Broken Boys_The Extractor

by L. J. Sellers

  A group of women sat in a cluster near the front, most wearing black, but none with gray hair. Carrie’s female friends. More couples, a few with kids, sat across the aisle. Where was the grieving fiancé?

  Marty turned to watch the foyer for a few minutes. A thirty-something man with a big beard walked in, surprising him. The guy stopped and nodded at an older couple. Marty slipped his phone out, held it up as if trying to read a text, and took a photo. He quickly put the phone away.

  The crowd in the foyer moved toward the pews, so he did too. He sat in the back, amused that Rox had likely sat in this space four days earlier. Her palming of Carrie’s phone to check for leads was even more surprising. The magnetic treatments were really opening up his daughter’s ability to step outside her comfort zone and experience new things. He hoped the effect would last—and that she wouldn’t take her new freedom too far.

  Marty pulled out his cell again but kept it low in his lap while he clicked on the image he’d just recorded. He hated typing on the tiny keyboard, but he was getting better and he’d learned to use the supplied word suggestions to make things easier. He kept the message brief: Do you know this guy?

  Rox answered right away: No. But I’ll send it to Bowman.

  His ex-partner could run facial recognition software and see if the guy had a criminal record. Behind him, a familiar voice whispered something urgent. Marty glanced over his shoulder and saw Curtis Fletcher standing in the wide doorway, a phone next to his ear.

  Fletcher looked upset and spoke angrily to the person on the other end of the conversation. “You’re my brother! You’re supposed to be here.”

  A moment of quiet, then Fletcher countered, “That’s not a good excuse. I’m under enough stress with my fiancé dying and the business in decline.”

  Was Ridgeline in serious financial trouble? Fletcher was whispering so Marty stood, as if to straighten his legs, hoping to hear better.

  Fletcher raised his voice. “No, it’s your fault! We blew our cash reserve paying out hush money for your aggressions. I want it back. Every last dime.”

  Chapter 27

  Rox listened to Marty’s report, frustrated that he hadn’t learned anything about the transport service. It wasn’t his fault; the memorial service had been a long shot.

  Marty was still keyed up. “How can we use Ridgeline’s money troubles to get the information we need?” He fired up the engine, finally ready to leave the parking lot. “There has to be some leverage.”

  “Let me think about it.” Rox’s brain bounced around, trying to process the new information. “We need to dig up the dirt on why Ridgeline paid out hush money. Maybe find out who the brother is. He’s not listed with the business registry.” She wished she could have overheard Fletcher’s conversation.

  “Let’s not get sidetracked with investigating the company,” Marty warned. “We need to get Josh out first. Then we can worry about shutting down their dirty practices.”

  “You’re right.” Rox switched gears again. “We simply need the camp’s location. Maybe I can call the admin office, claiming to be a journalist, and try to pressure them with the threat of making their vulnerabilities public.”

  Marty pulled into the street. “Where to now? I’m in the mood—”

  Rox got an impulsive idea and cut in. “Carrie’s house.”

  Her stepdad gave her sideways look. “Why?”

  “Because we haven’t searched it yet. What if the transport office number is right there on her refrigerator?”

  “What if the police are watching the place? Or have it taped off?” Marty laughed softly. “I know I don’t have much to lose, but I really don’t want to spend my final months in the county jail.”

  Rox wasn’t worried. “I talked to Kyle, and he’s pretty sure our client is guilty. That’s why Lovejoy is still in jail on bullshit drug charges. They’re not watching the house or looking for another suspect.”

  Marty shifted and cleared his throat.

  She probably wouldn’t like what he was about to say. Did he always do that before bad news? Had she just noticed?

  “I have to tell you that I also think Lovejoy probably killed his ex-wife.” Marty glanced over. “Don’t take that personally.”

  “I don’t.” She meant it. “It doesn’t matter if he is guilty. I believe him when he says he’s worried that his son will kill himself in that boot camp.”

  Marty nodded. “Josh wasn’t at his mom’s service, so clearly Ridgeline has no intention of releasing him.” Marty turned left, heading south. “All right. You can do a quick search while I keep watch.”

  Carrie Lovejoy’s home sat back from the street, a small cottage with a single-car garage in a neighborhood full of similar properties. No crime-scene tape blocked the door. She hadn’t been killed in the house, but the police had probably searched it. Marty parked nearby, backing into the driveway of an empty home with a For Sale sign.

  “I’ll bet her place is a rental,” Rox commented.

  “It’s sure downscale from her fiancé’s.” Marty pulled binoculars out from under his seat. “Did I describe Fletcher’s house to you?”

  “You mentioned that it was probably worth a million.” Rox glanced at the setting sun. “I think I’ll wait for a little more darkness before I go in.”

  “Do you suppose Carrie was into Fletcher for his money?” Marty mused.

  “Maybe he was into her for her big boobs and blonde hair,” Rox shot back.

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Maybe it does.” Rox recalled her initial conversation with their client. “Lovejoy said Carrie’s fiancé probably pushed her into the wilderness-program idea to get Josh to straighten out. It may have even been a prerequisite to Carrie and Josh moving in with him.”

  “We’ll probably never know.” Marty grabbed the door handle. “I’m gonna get out and look at this house, you know, like a home buyer would.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Rox waited ten minutes while Marty looked in the windows of the sale property. When he got back into the car, she slipped out and crossed the grassy divider between the two houses. The gate to the backyard was closed, but all she had to do was reach over and unlatch it. Being tall had advantages too. When she rounded the corner of the garage, a black cat came straight at her, mewling loudly. The dead woman’s pet? If so, it was probably starving. Rox refused to think about it. Carrie had a boyfriend. And neighbors. Her mission was to get inside the house, find what she needed, and get out—before someone called the police.

  A small concrete patio held a dozen planter pots with mostly dead flowers. More after-effects of a person dying. More evidence that Carrie had no local family and no friends who were close enough to come over and take care of her important things. Rox was grateful that Marty lived next door to her. A gut-wrenching sadness hit her. Marty didn’t have much longer to live. She would be the one going over to his empty house to water his plants. Hell, she couldn’t even be bothered to take care of her own.

  She scanned the back of the house—three windows and a sliding glass door. Rox tried the slider first and found it locked. But the latch was as old as the house and had been well used, maybe even abused. She pulled her all-purpose tool from her back pocket, flipped out a mini-screwdriver, and wedged it behind the curved catch pin. With a hard torque, the pin popped out of place, and she slid the door open.

  The cat rushed inside and scooted to its bowls in the corner of the kitchen. The home reeked of litter box and pungent perfume, a combination that tested her resolve. A few lights were on, giving her just enough illumination to conduct a search. Rox started by checking the fridge—just in case her tossed-off comment had been accurate. A grocery list hung from a clip magnet, but there were no phone numbers.

  Rox ignored the cat’s noises and headed for the desk in the dining room. If a computer had ever occupied the space, it was gone, probably taken by a homicide detective. Rox searched a pile of papers, finding household bills, junk mail, an
d a list of daily self-care items. No help. She yanked open drawers, looking for sticky notes. An invoice from Ridgeline or any of its associates, even a diary, might be helpful. Instead she dug through a ridiculous collection of colored markers, glitter, and glue-on fingernails. In the bottom drawer, she found tax returns but didn’t have time to look through them.

  Rox glanced around the living room, which was loaded with boxes. Carrie had been packing. Had she planned to move in with her fiancé while her son was in boot camp? That seemed cold.

  Rox stepped into the hall, passed a bathroom, and stopped in front of a room with an open door. A messy teenage boy’s space. Had Josh been abducted from this bedroom in the middle of the night? That alone would give someone nightmares for life.

  Rox turned and entered the other bedroom—and was hit with the source of the perfume. A long dresser held dozens of bottles. A tall chest of drawers next to it was home to tiny animal figurines. Weird! Rox hurried to a nightstand, the last place she planned to check. The top drawer was crammed with sex toys, lubricants, and erotic reading. Her opinion of Carrie shot back up a notch. The bottom drawer held magazines, a computer tablet that seemed broken, and a collection of photos.

  Rox thumbed quickly through. Most were of Josh at various ages and a few featured the boy with his father Isaac. Some were more recent images of Carrie and her fiancé Curtis Fletcher. She skipped most of the group photos with a lot of people she didn’t recognize, but one made her stop and stare. Curtis Fletcher stood in front of a building with a golf club in his hand. He was flanked by his girlfriend Carrie and Rox’s client, Isaac Lovejoy.

  Chapter 28

  Monday, July 10, 6:45 a.m., Central Oregon wilderness

  The tent door opened, and Josh sat up, the sharp pain in his ribs still with him. Ace stepped in and tossed a package of granola into the tent. “You have to be productive today, so suck it up.”

  What was his tormentor doing here? Taking a break from hiking or looking for an opportunity to hurt him again? Even after everything he’d been through, Josh couldn’t believe Ace was that sadistic. “I can’t even walk!” Josh cried out, knowing it would hurt like hell to put weight on his ankle.

  “You can split wood.” Ace pointed at the walking stick Josh had been given. “We’ll tape that to your leg for stability. Then we’ll do some counseling while you work. Your suicide attempt is quite a setback for you.”

  Josh didn’t bother to respond. There was no point. The sessions were a joke. Ace would ask about his life goals and give him a list of behavior corrections to work on.

  “What happened to accountability?” Ace snapped. “You’re still in the program, so you’ll lose half your lunch for that non-response.”’

  Fuck! Josh ground his teeth and forced himself to say what they wanted to hear. “I’m sorry. I’ll work harder.”

  Ace crossed his arms. “I don’t like your attitude.”

  Josh wanted to punch him. Instead, he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Better.” The bearded guy nodded. “Get rolling and I’ll meet you at the log pile with tape.”

  Josh wolfed the small package of granola, vowing to escape. Maybe he would hit Ace on the head with a piece of wood, knock him out, then just go. At least he was at the base camp now, instead of in the middle of fucking nowhere. From here, he could get to a dirt trail and follow it downhill to a main road. He would have to be careful though. Another staff member bringing supplies to the base might see him and drag him back.

  The glimmer of hope gave him the strength to get up and hobble outside. His tent partner, an older kid named Remy who was in the last phase of the program, had left earlier that morning to hike out to a unit with water supplies. The heat had turned up in the last few days, and one camper had passed out from dehydration. Josh had overheard that gossip from a conversation between Remy and Janine, the base-camp supervisor.

  A bright blue sky and warm sun greeted him, but the weather had been like that since he arrived, so it didn’t mean anything. Directly across the fire-pit opening was the supervisor’s large tent and supply canopy. She had an air mattress in there, as well as a generator and a small refrigerator. Or so he’d heard from Remy.

  Janine strolled out of her tent and yelled, “Good morning, wilderness!” Short, muscular, and lesbian-looking, the supervisor was disgustingly happy about her crappy job in the woods. Josh didn’t get it. She nodded at him. “Good morning, camper.” Josh nodded back. The bitch didn’t even know his name.

  Using his walking stick and grimacing with pain, he limped over to the pile of cut-up logs. Some guy had brought them in a little trailer the morning before. He’d heard him mention another base camp he’d just been to, and Josh wondered how many poor teenagers were out here in this hellish nightmare.

  Josh looked around for Ace and spotted him rummaging through food supplies in the back of a truck—the one that had just moved the tents a few days earlier. Josh had no idea what day of the week it was. He picked up the axe, found a small log, and stood it on end. He’d seen people do this in movies, and it looked easy. It wasn’t. The axe came down with a thud that hurt his hands and arms. After all the hiking and carrying and fording streams, he should feel stronger. But the lack of food had weakened him. In his old life, he would often eat a sandwich, a bag of chips, and five cookies just for lunch. He would never take food for granted again.

  Ace lumbered over, taped the walking stick to Josh’s leg, and barked instructions for cutting the wood. The pain eased with the added support. Every step still hurt, but he felt more functional. Ace, who had walked away, suddenly turned toward the road. Josh heard an engine and spun in the direction of the sound too. Through the thin cluster of pine trees, he spotted a dark-blue car. A man in uniform climbed out. A cop? Josh’s heart skipped a beat. This was either really good or really bad. Considering his luck, he didn’t feel optimistic.

  The officer made his way along the path, and the supervisor strode over to meet him at the edge of their camp. Ace followed Janine.

  Josh moved closer and overheard the officer ask, “What the hell happened with that girl you left in the woods?”

  What girl? Josh took another step. She must have been with a different group of hikers.

  Janine’s voice was even more distinctive. “She just collapsed and died. We planned to take her to Bend, but we had to move the camp—at your suggestion. When we went back for her, she was gone.” The supervisor crossed her arms. “What’s the situation?”

  “She’s in the hospital and still alive.” The cop paused, then yelled again. “You can’t pull that shit! You put me in a tight spot.” He sounded mad as hell. “Now you’ve got an issue with another student.”

  “I know,” the camp supervisor cut in. “We got word that his mother has been killed and his father was arrested. But Mr. Fletcher wants Josh to stay here.”

  Curtis Fletcher? His mother’s boyfriend? That meant they were talking about him… and his mother being dead. Josh’s heart started to pound. His chest grew cold and he shivered in the shade of the trees. For a moment, the world was silent. Nothing moved and he had no thoughts.

  Then Ace shouted, “Get back to work!”

  Feeling numb and confused and afraid of the consequences, Josh did as he was told. Maybe they hadn’t been talking about his mother. He’d suspected for a while that Curtis Fletcher ran the program, so they might be talking about someone else. Josh glanced over his shoulder. The camp boss and the cop were still talking. In his heart, he knew the truth. His mother was dead. He’d thought he hated her, but now he was freaked out. And why was his dad in jail? Did they think he killed her? That was crazy. His father was a nice guy. Too nice. And Josh had abused that soft-heartedness. He knew his behavior had been horrible, but he’d hated himself for what he’d done on that last trip. And he’d taken it out on everyone else. He still hated himself. But if his dad was in trouble…

  He was more determined than ever to escape. His father needed him. Plus, he
had to make amends to the girl. She had seemed willing, but then she’d passed out. He’d been totally drunk and confused, but his mentor had encouraged him to screw her anyway. Tommy had done it too. His friend had stopped speaking to him after that weekend, and now that he wasn’t high all the time, Josh was worried about him. But he couldn’t let the staff know he’d heard them talking about his parents. That would make them watch him more closely. Curtis Fletcher was an asshole who hated him. And if Curtis owned this program, Josh would be here forever. Unless he found a way out. He would cut wood and wait for his chance.

  An hour later, Janine abruptly climbed in her own little truck and drove off. He and Ace were alone in the camp. For now. A group of hikers could roll back in at any moment. Ace sat in the shade in a low-slung canvas chair, reading a magazine. Even as old as he was, the counselor could still outrun him with his damaged ankle. Josh would have to knock him unconscious. There was no other way. Could he sneak up on him?

  No. He would have to call him over, then grab a chunk of pine tree, and smack him in the head. Even though he’d fantasized about hurting Ace, Josh didn’t really want to do it. But he had no choice.

  “Ace!” he called out. “I need your help, please.”

  “What?” the bully yelled back, not moving.

  “You have to see this.” Josh turned his back on him, hoping to spark Ace’s interest. He picked up the piece of wood he’d just split off. It was big enough to do the job, but small enough to grab hold of. Josh listened for the big man’s footsteps. When he was right behind him, he would act.

  Ace took his time. He started bitching halfway across the fire-pit ring. When the counselor’s voice blasted near the back of Josh’s head, he spun around. With both hands on the rough bark, Josh swung the wood up and around, striking Ace on the side of the head.

  The man blinked and reached up. “What the fuck?”

  Oh no! He hadn’t fazed him. Josh’s pulse hammered so hard he couldn’t breathe. He swung again, low this time, aiming for Ace’s shin. But the counselor was already going down, his knees buckling. Josh made contact with the bully’s junk instead. Ace screamed in pain, then promptly blacked out. Josh grabbed a water bottle from the back of the supply truck and hobbled down the wooded path to the road.