On that day he’d said, “You win. I’ll start the book tomorrow.”
Librarian Momma’s almost instant reply had filled him with revulsion.
“That’s my boy. I can’t wait to begin.”
Dougal recoiled from the words again as he re-read them. Having that perverted monster refer to him as “my boy” made the bile rise in his throat. Worse, it brought back all his worst insecurities about himself as a person.
Was the darkness that lived in Ed Lachlan also inside Dougal? Perhaps lying dormant, waiting for something to trigger it?
The server came and he ordered coffee, then waited for her to leave before taking a fortifying breath and then hitting reply.
“Do you have Chester?” he typed.
He waited a beat, then pressed “Send.”
The server returned with his coffee, as well as a pitcher of cream. Before he’d taken the first sip, his computer pinged.
Librarian Momma: “I’ve been waiting for you to start my book.”
God damnit. The quick answer confirmed he was right. His father had been waiting for him to make the next move.
“I’ll start today. Just let Chester go.”
He leaned back in his chair, almost afraid to blink as he stared at the screen. Again, the response took less than a minute.
“I’m calling the shots now and this is how it’s going to work. Here’s a link to a chat room. Meet me there in thirty minutes. We’ll talk for about an hour, then you go write the first chapter of the book and post it here. I’ll read it and give you my comments. And then we’ll move on to the next chapter. And so on. Until the book is finished.”
Christ! Dougal dug his fingers into his hair, pulling tightly on the roots. Was he serious?
After a moment’s consideration Dougal typed: “As soon as Chester is home safe and sound, I’ll meet you in the chat room.”
A minute went by. No answer. Dougal sipped the coffee which dripped into his gut like acid.
Five minutes. Then ten.
Dougal was trying to figure out his next move, when a response finally pinged into the account.
“You are not setting the terms here.”
Damn! “I need to know Chester is all right.”
This time the reply was speedy. “You now have twenty minutes to meet me in that chat room.”
chapter five
Dougal waited while Wade read the string of email messages between himself and Librarian Momma. Toe tapping with pent up anxiety, he raised his gaze to the bookshelves behind the sheriff’s desk. This wasn’t his first time in Wade’s office, but it was his first opportunity to take in the details.
Back when they were in high school, he and Wade had played football together. Fast and rugged, Wade had made a great middle linebacker. With Kyle Quinpool as their quarterback they’d had a lot of success.
But Dougal was relieved to see Wade hadn’t put any of those old trophies on display here.
Instead his shelves actually contained books—all related in one way or another to his job. There was a photo of Wade with his father—who had been sheriff himself during the seventies and eighties—with a string of big steelhead trout as evidence of a successful fishing expedition.
The photo was the only personal touch in the entire office. Unless you counted the baseball sized thunder egg on the corner of his desk. Dougal picked up the rock. It had been sliced in half, exposing the volcanic ash layers within.
“A gift from my mother.”
The words sounded random, until Dougal realized Wade was talking about the rock. He gently replaced it.
“Finished?”
Wade nodded, handing him back the laptop. “What makes you so sure your father has Chester? He didn’t make any such claim here.”
That was a sticking point, all right. “Because I know how that crazy son-of-a-bitch thinks.”
Wade’s eyes rolled. Dougal couldn’t blame him for being exasperated.
“I suppose I could send your laptop to a computer expert. See if we can trace those emails.”
“In theory that’s a great idea. In practice, it won’t work.”
“Why?”
“Back when I started getting these emails about the librarians murdered in the seventies, I asked a guy I know, a real expert in online security. He gave it a try, but had to give up. He gave me an explanation, I didn’t understand all of it, but somehow Ed has managed to run his messages through a spider web of networks, hijacking other peoples’ computers and passing through multiple countries until they finally get lost in what this expert friend of mine calls the Dark Web. You heard of that?”
“I haven’t a clue. Hopefully our experts have, though. If there’s a chance Ed Lachlan has Chester, we’ve got to try.”
“Fine.” Dougal had already taken the precaution of backing up his laptop, so he relinquished it without further argument. “But I’m going to need something to work on.”
Wade stared at him as if he could read the interior workings of Dougal’s mind through his eyes. And maybe he could.
“You’re going to do what he wants. Write the book.”
“As long as there’s a chance he has Chester, how can I not? Only trouble is, the Librarian Cottage doesn’t have Wi-Fi. And I can’t see talking to the old man at the library or in front of Charlotte.”
Wade pondered the situation for a moment. “I’ll find you some space here. I can get you a laptop, as well. It’ll be good to have you close at hand. If you get a lead on Chester’s whereabouts we’ll want to move quickly.”
Dougal hated the idea of working under Wade’s thumb. But it made sense. He glanced at his watch. “He’s expecting me in the chat room in two minutes. Should we try to record the conversation?”
Dougal knew it was legal in some states, but most required permission from both parties.
“No can do. Not without Ed’s approval. Or a court order.”
“Yeah. I was afraid of that.”
“I can look into getting a warrant for the next time. But it would help a lot if we could come up with a shred of evidence supporting the theory that Ed has Chester.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.”
They were getting ready to leave the office when the door opened and Marnie Phillips, the round-faced woman with the cute dimples who worked as Wade’s assistant or office manager or something, peered in.
“Need anything?”
She obviously had the ability to read minds. Or one man’s mind, at least.
“Set Dougal up with a private desk and a loaner laptop, will you Marnie? He’ll be working here for a few days.”
“The small interview room okay?”
“Perfect. And get Dougal the Wi-Fi code, too.”
“Will do. You had some calls while you were busy.” Marnie handed him a stack of notes then wrote something on a spare yellow post-it note and beckoned to Dougal.
“Follow me.”
Marnie led him down a corridor, past a large open area with about six cubicle working stations. She paused to pick up a laptop, then waved a hand indicating all the empty chairs.
“Everyone’s either out looking for Chester, or in the big conference room we’re using as a command post.” She pointed to an open door about ten feet down the hallway.
Dougal could see people moving around, the sound of several conversations going on at the same time. But then Marnie turned to the right.
The smaller interview room he’d been promised was at the very end of the corridor. The space was small and uninviting. The only window was undoubtedly one-way glass leading to an observation room.
Dougal sat in one of three hard, wooden chairs, while Marnie placed his borrowed laptop on the bare table. There was nothing else in the room, except a phone. “Cozy.”
Marnie gave him an aren’t you the smart aleck look, then affixed the post-it note to the table, right under his nose. The Wi-Fi password, he assumed.
“I’ll get you a mug. Coffee is across from the big conferenc
e room.”
Dougal didn’t have time to worry about coffee. He opened the computer and typed in the Internet password. As he waited for the connection he noticed Marnie was still in the doorway.
“You worked here long?”
She hesitated. “Two years.”
“How long have you had a crush on your boss?”
She glared at him, turned on the heels of her cork wedged shoes, and left.
Connected, his computer announced.
Dougal found the link to the chat room, registering with the name that had been given to him: DL008.
DL008: “I’m here.”
LM007: “You’re late. Turn on the video.”
Double-oh-seven? Was the old man really channeling James Bond? Talk about delusional.
Dougal took a deep breath. He was about to hurl himself down the rabbit hole. He so did not want to do this. But he clicked the video.
It took a moment for the picture on the computer screen to resolve. And then Dougal was looking at a face most would describe as attractive for a man in his sixties. Ed was now clean-shaven, and Dougal recognized the same strong jaw line and intense eyes he saw in the mirror every morning.
Ed had clipped his hair short, revealing an old scar that travelled from the corner of his eye, to his hairline. Other than that, he had no obvious markings suggesting his criminal past.
Dougal stared, searching for traces of the bearded man who had been his neighbor in the apartment in New York. But this man sat erect, no sign of the arthritis that had crippled old Monty. The man’s teeth were whiter, his eyes brighter. How had he managed to change all of that?
“Good to see you son. It’s been a long time.”
The voice was nothing like the gravely tone he’d assumed when he’d been Monty. This new version of his father had a pleasant, baritone that Dougal remembered from when he’d been a child.
“You look different.”
Ed laughed. “You don’t. It’s like watching old video footage of me, back when I was your age.”
Just like your father. Dougal had heard the phrase a lot when he was growing up. People used it to describe his looks, his sullen behavior, even his prowess on the football field. No matter why people said the words though—whether they meant them as a compliment or pejoratively— hearing them always made Dougal’s skin crawl.
“Let me see Chester.”
The smile on Ed Lachlan’s face faded and he shook his head. “I’m not playing games with you son. Not this time. A month ago you promised you were going to write my story. So far you haven’t delivered a single word.”
“I’ll do it this time. We just need to know Chester’s all right.”
“I’m not interested in harming that boy. I just want my son to tell the world my story.”
Damn it, the old man was being too clever by half. Not admitting to kidnapping Chester, but not denying it either. He had Dougal on the ropes, though, since the possible price was too high to risk.
“Where do you want to start? Your childhood?” Earlier that summer Dougal had tracked down Ed’s adopted sister, who’d told him all about the abuse Ed had suffered at the hands of their adopted parents. Dougal had assumed Ed would want to go into this phase of his life in detail.
But as usual, Ed surprised him.
“Screw that. Let’s begin when it gets interesting. 1972, and I’ve just turned 22. Do you know what happened then?”
“You found your adoption papers and then broke into the agency that had brokered your adoption to find the name of your birth mother.”
“Smart boy.” Ed beamed with a combination of amusement and pride. “It didn’t take me long to find out where Shirley Hammond lived. And of course, once I knew that, I had to pay her a visit.”
* * *
May 15 1972, Librarian Cottage outside of Twisted Cedars, Oregon
Not much scared Shirley Hammond anymore, but when she heard the knock on her door shortly after sunset on a Friday evening in May, she felt a premonition of dread. Her brother and his wife, normally her only unexpected visitors, were on their annual vacation in California.
No one else would dream of visiting her without making plans ahead.
She grabbed the rifle she kept under her bed and made sure it was loaded.
Her younger brother, John, didn’t like her living in this cottage in the woods, so many miles from civilization. But Shirley wasn’t afraid of bears, wolves or cougars. And she didn’t mind the isolation. Fact was, she never felt alone.
Her best friends were in books. Hercule Poirot had spent many an evening chatting amiably with her on her worn chintz couch. Other days Miss Marple would pop over for a spot of tea, or Tuppence and Tommy would appear, hot on the chase of a new unsolved murder.
Shirley read other authors beside Agatha Christie, of course. As a librarian she felt it was essential to be grounded in the classics and aware of the hottest bestsellers as well.
But those were the books she’d studied in college and read during her lunch hours at work. When she was here, at her home, her sanctuary, she preferred her mysteries.
The second knock came, louder than the first.
“Who’s there?”
“Why don’t you open the door and see?”
The taunting tone was infuriating. Did this goon really think he could frighten her? Shirley hoisted the rifle to her shoulder and then angled her body so she could release the deadbolt. “Hands where I can see them, or I’ll shoot.”
The door swung inward. Cast in the rosy glow of twilight was a young man in his early twenties, handsome, with dark hair, broad shoulders and an uneasy grin. He was holding out his hands palms upward, as if seeking a handout.
She was positive she’d never seen him before, but there was something familiar about him all the same and it frightened her. She tightened her hold on the gun. “Whatever you want, I don’t have it. I suggest you go back where you came from. I’m an excellent shot.”
“But I went through so much to find you...Mother.”
If she had a weak heart, it would have stopped right then. But Shirley’s heart was strong. And so was she. “I’m no one’s mother.”
“You sure haven’t acted like one. But you gave birth to me, all right. On this very day, twenty-two years ago.”
She’d noted the date when she woke up, of course. She always tried not to, prayed for the year when May fifteenth would be a day like any other.
“I want you to leave. Right now.” While keeping him in her sights, she pushed the door with her knee. But he moved fast, inserting his body into the gap, forcing her to jump backward in order to keep her rifle pointed at his chest.
“Get out, I said!”
“Or what? Are you going to shoot me?”
Years later, Shirley Hammond would remember this moment and the mocking grin on his face. She’d wish desperately she could turn back the clock. But on that May evening she didn’t shoot him. She let him stay.
chapter six
Dougal’s fingers trembled as he pressed “enter,” effectively sending the first installment of the book to Librarian Momma. Repulsed to the point of nausea, he gripped the sides of his chair and took a few deep breaths.
Listening to his old man recount his first meeting with his birth mother had been excruciating. Dougal had attempted to tune out his emotions, to act the part of a court-room stenographer and focus on the words as combinations of letters rather than their abstract meanings.
But it was hard, knowing Ed was talking about Charlotte’s adopted aunt, not to mention Dougal’s biological grandmother.
Ed made Shirley Hammond sound tough-as-nails, whereas up until now Dougal had imagined she would have Charlotte’s calm, gentle personality.
Since Charlotte had been adopted, though, it had been irrational for him to project the older woman’s personality on the other.
Ed had started their session with his ‘vision’ for the book. He wanted most of the scenes written from his point-of-view, with a fe
w scenes from Shirley’s vantage point thrown in as counterpoint.
It was an approach Dougal himself had used in his previous books, contrasting the perpetrator and the victim to maximize the drama. So he hadn’t protested the idea.
Their chat had gone on for over an hour, at which point Ed instructed Dougal to disconnect and write the first chapter.
Dougal had done so, not worrying about style, pacing or word-choice. He’d just dumped out the words, basically as the old man had fed them to him. Two scenes in Ed’s point of view, and one in Shirley’s.
Dougal suspected his father had the entire story already plotted in his head, probably he could have authored it himself. Only what would be the fun in that? This way he got to torment his famous novelist son in the process. No doubt he fantasized about both of their names on the book cover—creating the illusion of a father-son relationship—the two of them making the NY Times bestselling list, and appearing on talk shows together.
No chance of that happening, of course. Ed was going to end up back in prison, one way or another. If not for the murders that were going to be the focus of this book, then for the murders of Joelle and her daughter—and kidnapping Chester.
A knock sounded on the closed door, and then Wade entered. “How did it go?”
“Brutal.” Dougal didn’t need to say more. Wade knew how he felt about his father. “But the first chapter is done. I just emailed it to him. I’m guessing it won’t take him long to read it and be back to me with comments. Thought I’d run home to grab a shower and shave while I have the chance.”
“That’s a good idea. By the way, Marnie’s made arrangements to have your laptop examined by one of the FBI’s computer experts. I know it’s a long shot, but we have to try and trace those emails.”
“Speaking of Marnie...How old is she? She looks about twenty, but I suspect she’s the kind of woman who looks younger than her true age.”
Wade’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering if I should encourage her crush on you. Or suggest she look elsewhere.”
Damn, it was cute seeing the sheriff blush.
“I’d rather you focused on the job at hand.”
exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) Page 5