by John Russo
At least, thankfully, the case he was working on right now wasn’t a homicide. Not to trivialize it, but it was a simple, probably eventually explainable disappearance. For now, it was an intriguing puzzle, and not necessarily a crime. Bennett and Margaret Stein were missing. There was no reason to think they were dead. Probably because they had both been on television with Reverend Carnes, and were thus high-profile by Chapel Grove standards, Captain Pete Danko had taken charge of the investigation, with Bill forced into the role of sidekick. Sidekick and gofer, which was even more demeaning. Pete had assigned Bill the routine job of filling out paperwork and canvassing the Steins’ neighbors while he, Pete, talked with the people he deemed “more important.”
So far nothing much had turned up. Neither the daughter nor her husband knew anything, and were understandably terribly upset. So was Reverend Carnes, who had initially reported it.
Bill and Pete had started by going to the Steins’ home, where their daughter let them in with her key. Nothing seemed out of place, and both of their vehicles were in the garage. Neither had left any notes, and neither had told anyone where they were going, so far as was known at this point from questioning neighbors, friends, and associates. Chapel Grove Hospital had no record of any admissions under the name Stein. Margaret’s last known destination was the Lopezes’ house, and Tricia said that she never arrived there. Apparently, the last time Bennett Stein was seen was at a youth group campfire meeting for boys only. According to the kids, he had gotten a phone call from his secretary and had left the campfire thing early to arrange bail for a client. That detail was strange, and highly questionable, because the secretary said there was no such phone call made by her, and moreover no such reason for any. It was an anomaly. But most cases had these types of anomalies. And maybe this one would iron itself out. Maybe tomorrow.
Bill wondered if, years from now, he would embody the hardened but still empathetic demeanor of Detective Joe Kenda. Was he seeing a glimmer of his own future? Since he had seen this particular program once before, his mind easily wandered. He glanced at Lauren and saw that she had picked up a book but now her eyes were shut and the book had fallen aside. What a nice picture they made of domestic suburban bliss. And he even thought that maybe they were actually getting closer to achieving it. In the fifteen years that Jodie had been with them, the family had gone through one crisis after another, and the poor kid had suffered the most. She had almost died in the womb, before the even got a chance to live. Then the life-threatening allergies had struck on Christmas Day when she was only five. Then the descent into PTSD. But now, thankfully, it was all behind her, almost miraculously, and Bill dared to hope that the miracle might last.
He knew that even if it did last, that did not mean that all his parental fears would end. They probably never would. As most parents would say, they are still your children, even after they are adults. But Jodie hadn’t gotten that far yet. The latest pitfall was this snotty, bratty kid, Darius Hornsby, who in Bill’s opinion was jeopardy personified. Of all the boys her age, did it have to be this one? What if he took her virginity? What if he had done so already? And how much of that kind of thing was really a father’s business, at the tender age of fifteen, or at any other age? He’d have to just get used to the fact that his daughter had a life, and a sex life, that was her very own, and very private, as it should be. She and that boy had been seeing each other for a week and a half already, as nearly as Bill could figure out, and tonight was the first time he had shown up at the house. Plenty of time for the worst to already have happened. And Jodie was more sheltered, more naïve, than most girls her age. What if she got pregnant?
Oh, stop it already, Bill told himself. Just get off it. Take things one step at a time, like you do on the job. Most people’s worst imaginings never happen. Step back and let your daughter live her life. Be happy that she’s doing a lot better now. Give her a chance, and try to trust her. You raised her right, and she’ll do the right thing.
Yet at the same time, Bill made up his mind to dig up more information on Darius Hornsby and to try to keep tabs on him as much as he could, under the guise of doing due diligence as a detective.
At fifteen minutes past midnight when The Late Show was almost over, Lauren kissed Bill good night and said she was going to bed. Jodie still wasn’t home. Bill said, “She’s late, damn it! That boy was supposed to have her here by now.”
“So they’re a little late,” said Lauren. “Kids will be kids. They’re enjoying each other’s company and they get carried away. You and I weren’t any different at their age.”
“You used to be the one who’d be driven nuts by this.”
“Believe me, my guts are grinding, but I’m working hard to rein myself in. Jodie seems so much happier now, I don’t want to spoil it. Good night. Try not to have a heart attack.”
He knew she was joking, but he didn’t smile. He took her place on the couch and stretched out. Usually the TV would’ve put him to sleep, but it didn’t happen. At three a.m. he was still awake, but groggy, and Jodie still wasn’t home. Stalling, he went into the kitchen and drank a glass of cold milk. Then he finally went upstairs and brushed his teeth, then climbed into bed, only to toss and turn. At some point he must’ve conked out.
When he came to, after what must’ve been only an hour or two worth of sleep, or even less, it was because he got woken by an argument between Jodie and Lauren. He realized the ruckus was coming from Jodie’s bedroom. Lauren was yelling, “Look what I found in the hamper! These are your panties!”
“Oh my God, Mom! Now you’re inspecting my underwear? I can’t believe it!”
“I know what these stains are! You’re having sex with that boy!”
“So what, everybody does it.”
“You’re going to get pregnant! If you do, you can kiss college good-bye.”
“I don’t care if I don’t go to college. Big deal. Anyhow, I know how to protect myself. I’m on the pill.”
“What! Who gave them to you?”
“Dr. Miller—who do you think?”
This was too much for Bill. He got out of bed and pulled on his pants, then hustled into his daughter’s room. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, as if he hadn’t already overheard.
“Nothing,” Jodie said, and clammed up.
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing,’” Bill said angrily. “I heard every word!”
“So what’re you gonna do about it?” Jodie sassed.
This threw him for a loop. He didn’t really know what he would, or even could, do. With a sudden hurtful impact, it hit him that parents could be essentially helpless in the face of an adolescent who got too big or too wiseass to be controlled. “I’ll make you stop seeing that boy,” he said, giving in to threatening her, because for the moment he couldn’t think of anything else.
“You can’t stop me!” she said. “I’ll run away!”
“I’ll have him arrested.”
“You can’t! We’re not doing anything wrong! We’re in love and I’ll never leave him! No matter what you do!”
Lauren took Bill’s arm and said, “Let’s just leave her be. Give her time to cool off.”
He allowed himself to be led out of Jodie’s bedroom, and he felt more helpless than he had felt even as a child, when his father was wreaking havoc and his mother was threatening to hang herself and he, as a terrified six-year-old, was running down the cellar stairs after her, trying to pull the clothesline out of her hands.
He knew he had to find a way to get through to Jodie, before she ruined her life. He loved her too much to let her make a potentially devastating mistake. And, to his mind, there could not be a worse walking mistake than Darius Hornsby.
CHAPTER 50
Kathy Traeger had left her iPhone on the dining room table so it wouldn’t get wet while she was outside washing her Mustang. Giving in to curiosity, Dr. Traeger picked it up, figuring that if her daughter caught her fooling with it, she’d say she thought it was hers. They both
had the same kind of phone, so she knew how to use the video app. She wanted to see what Kathy might be up to when she was out gallivanting and probably keeping secrets. She told herself she wasn’t really snooping, she was just being a good, protective mom, exercising her deep concern about her daughter’s welfare.
What she saw on the little screen knocked her for a loop. At first she thought Kathy and her friends must be making their own horror movie, wearing plastic fangs and drinking blood from a fake corpse. But then the shot panned onto the corpse’s face, and Dr. Traeger broke into a cold sweat. The dead face wasn’t a fake—it was all too real! It was the wife of that blustery attorney, Bennett Stein, who represented that religious nut, Reverend Carnes. Dr. Traeger had seen them on TV together, blathering to crowds of people on the steps of the courthouse.
Fear and confusion swept over her as she realized that Kathy and her friends had killed Mrs. Stein. Pretending to be vampires, they had filmed themselves desecrating her corpse. They weren’t just making a horror move, they were making a snuff movie! Reeling from the shock of it, Dr. Traeger tried to pull herself together as her nagging worries about the children of the Foster Project transformed into abject fear.
For God’s sake, what was going to happen to Kathy? She still loved her, no matter what she had done. What was going to happen to all of those kids? And to Dr. Traeger’s research, her life’s work?
Whom should she tell? Should she tell Pete Danko? Should she tell Colonel Spence? Should she tell nobody? Her mind was in a spin. She felt like her entire world was crumbling all around her.
She thought of deleting the video and putting her daughter’s phone back on the table. But before she could do that, Kathy came into the living room and saw her with it in her hand, and she was still standing right by the purse. Worse, her own phone was in the breast pocket of her blouse and she had forgotten it was there.
“What’re you doing with my phone?” Kathy snapped. “You have your own.”
“My battery is low on bars. Is it okay if I use yours?”
“Who do you want to call?” Kathy asked suspiciously.
“Uh . . . Captain Danko. Something has come up.”
“Captain Danko?” Kathy said, even more suspiciously.
Damn! Dr. Traeger thought belatedly. She shouldn’t have mentioned Danko’s name. Now Kathy might wonder if she could’ve seen something on that cursed phone that made her think of the police chief. Or could she really be that prescient?
“I’d rather you didn’t use my phone,” Kathy said flatly.
Dr. Traeger decided to let the matter drop, and she walked away, pulling her own phone out of her breast pocket as if she were going to use it.
“Mother, I wish you wouldn’t lie to me,” Kathy warned. And her face was twisted into a hard scowl that looked absolutely threatening. Then she pivoted and left the room.
In despair, Dr. Traeger realized that the game was up, in more ways than one. Her daughter probably knew what she had discovered, or at the very least she must suspect it. If she didn’t tell on Kathy and her friends, she’d be complicit in the murder of Margaret Stein and a cover-up after the fact. If she did tell on them, the children of the Foster Project were done for. If they were biologically inclined to be killers, whatever made them that way should be rooted out. They should be quarantined, imprisoned, and studied. But Pete Danko would probably say they should be killed. And Colonel Spence would likely go along with that.
If her daughter was a murderess, which the images on her phone seemed to prove, what did that imply about the death of Dr. Traeger’s husband, Daniel, so long ago, when Kathy was only seven? Had she actually had a hand in her father’s death? If so, what else was she capable of? Who else might she have killed?
Dr. Traeger didn’t know whom to turn to. She had no true allies, not even her own daughter. In fact Kathy seemed to hate her. But she clearly wasn’t scared of her. She acted as if she would do whatever she wanted to do, and nobody would stop her.
Dr. Traeger could foresee nothing but total calamity. The situation called for intensive damage control—but even extreme measures might not prove adequate.
She came to a reluctant conclusion that she must tell everything she knew or suspected to Captain Danko. He was damage control personified, the Homeland Security Department’s man on the ground. Let him take control, Dr. Traeger thought. Give full disclosure so your superiors will not come down on you with full force. No matter what happens, save your own skin. The plague is still the main enemy and everyone’s prime concern. And without you and your experiments they will never find a cure. Therefore they will not dare to get rid of you.
She pulled her phone out again and punched in Pete Danko’s secure number. The police chief answered immediately, and Dr. Traeger held her breath, trying not to slur her words. “I have to talk with you. I think there’s been a homicide.”
“You mean a suspicious death? Or something you witnessed?”
“My daughter . . . I know she’s evil. They all are . . . I know now . . . the video is on her phone. They killed Margaret Stein. Who knows what else they’ve done. . . .”
Danko said, “Are you drunk? You’re not making total sense. Calm yourself, woman!”
“The children are more contaminated than we thought. Kathy . . . she just keeps wearing that innocent smile of hers . . . but she hates me. We have to stop her . . . stop them all . . . or everything will be ruined.”
“Where are you?” Danko demanded.
“At my house.”
“Stay where you are. I’m coming out there.”
Dr. Traeger broke the connection. Then she heard her daughter’s sinister-sounding voice.
“Who were you talking to, Mommy?”
She whirled around and was stunned by the demonically angry look on her daughter’s face.
“Did you like our little movie, Mommy? Now you know one of my secrets,” Kathy said. “So you might as well know the rest of them.”
“I don’t want to know! I’ll get you an attorney. We’ll get through this somehow.”
“Too late, much too late, Mommy! I know you don’t like me the way I am. You don’t even understand the way I am. You never did, even though you’d like to believe that you’re one of the world’s greatest scientists. But you’re not as smart as we are—me and my friends. You can’t control us anymore. We’re ready to take over.”
“What do you mean? You’re still a child!”
“Not anymore,” Kathy said smugly. “I used to be a very precocious child. I pushed Daddy down the stairs, and I got away with it. And my friend Tricia smothered her baby brother and shot her father. He didn’t die right away, but she corrected that little mistake in the hospital. You see, Mommy, we’re much more clever than our parents are, or ever were. We’ve outsmarted our mothers and fathers, the police, the doctors, and all the other adults here in Chapel Grove.”
Stunned, Dr. Traeger stood rooted in her tracks for a long moment while Kathy snickered at her. Then her anger overwhelmed her, and she slapped Kathy’s face.
Kathy snarled—and her fangs involuntarily hinged forward and revealed themselves behind her pulled-back lips. She clawed at her mother, knocked her down, pinned her arms down underneath her, and bit savagely into her throat.
Kathy took a long, deep drink of her own mother’s blood.
Then she got up, leaving Dr. Traeger lying there in pain and misery as she ran out the door, slamming it hard.
Dr. Traeger stumbled to a living room window and saw her daughter jump into the little red Mustang that she had bought for her birthday in an attempt to get gratitude, if not love, from her. But now it was clear that being born of a ghoul-bitten mother had caused her to turn into some kind of demon. The realization crashed in on her that the children of the Foster Project were probably about to run hog wild in some unfathomable way, unleashing a havoc that no one could hide from—a possible cataclysm that would consume her and her most cherished ambitions.
As Kathy p
eeled out in her Mustang, Dr. Traeger staggered into the kitchen, soaked a washcloth in water from a spigot, and pressed it to her bloody throat.
Then she thought of Kelly Ann Garfield. What to do about her—now that things were falling apart? She had delayed any final “disposition” of her while she toyed with the idea that Kelly Ann was worthier of parental love than her own daughter. But now she was under the gun, and the main thing was self-preservation. Her illusions were quickly eroding in a flood of urgency to protect herself and her research. She feared that the whole truth about the Medical Research Institute might come out. If so, she would be caught and swept under. She could no longer put aside a decision to deal with Kelly Ann in a humane way.
She phoned Captain Danko again and said, “If you didn’t leave yet, stay there and I’ll come to your office. First I have to take care of an urgent matter at the institute.”
“More urgent than the homicide you want to tell me about?” Danko prodded.
“Well, at least as urgent. I’ll fill you in.”
“You sound drunk.”
“No, just upset. I’ll see you at your office.”
She pulled the wet washcloth aside and saw that the bleeding had slowed considerably and the puncture marks felt actually small. She blotted the blood dry and went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and covered the wound with a bandage.
She got into her Toyoto Camry and drove fast even though she realized she wasn’t in full control of her faculties. But she had to do what she had to do. Before she had to tell Pete Danko anything that might cause things to unravel even faster, she needed to prepare a lethal dose for Kelly Ann. She intended to use succinylcholine. It was a drug used to anesthetize patients in the operating room, so it was painless, not like cyanide, for example, which produced an agonizing death. She still cared enough about Kelly Ann to treat her in the most comforting way possible. She had given her the gift of a few more months of life and excellent institutional care that she otherwise would not have had, and now she must protect her own interests, for the good of humanity. All was not lost yet, if only she could bail herself out of this disaster by convincing Homeland Security to deal with the children in a proper way and hold her harmless from blame. How could she have known what was going on behind her back? She was a dedicated scientist, a true genius. But she didn’t have a crystal ball.