A Lullaby in the Dark

by Billie Reece

  My stomach growls and I glance at my watch. The last time I ate was a granola bar on my drive along the Foothills Parkway.

  My phone buzzes as I walk back into the conference room. I check the display. It’s a number I don’t recognize but the picture I do. It’s the one Tucker took of the Chinese delivery bags. His message says very simply: THIS IS TUCKER BTW.

  I save the photo and then I add his number to my contacts. THANKS, I text back.

  Alone in the conference room, Lieutenant Gordon turns from where he’s studying the black and white photo of Danielle in the closet. It’s pinned on the photo board—front and center.

  I show him my phone. “Taken inside Fred’s home. I’m hungry. I’m going to check this Chinese place out, get some food, ask a few questions.”

  Lieutenant Gordon nods.

  “We also need to bring in a Jaime Hearst. She’s a reporter and the person Lawrence Inglebird heard the ‘care package’ news from.”

  Ignacio walks in, carrying a paper plate with a warm burrito. He sits back down at the iPad I gave him from Fred’s house.

  “Anything yet?” I ask.

  “I’m in.” He shrugs. “Figured out his password. It was his name. Not too clever.”

  “Let me know the minute anything shows up worth looking at.”

  I turn to leave when Sharon rushes in. She waves several papers in the air. “He’s got a record. Fred Xanders, that is. DUI, resisting arrest, illegal firearm.” She hands me the stack.

  His mugshot sits right on top. Bushy beard. Small bloodshot eyes. Bulbous nose. Vascular cheeks. The look of someone who drinks heavy amounts daily.

  This I know.

  I skim the pages before snapping a pic of his mugshot with my phone. I hand the stack back to Sharon. “Any word on locating him?”

  “Not yet,” Sharon says.

  “Get his photo circulating. I want this guy brought in.”

  With a nod, she leaves the conference room.

  Seconds ago, I was ready to go to the Chinese place. Now, I look around the workroom and tiredness sags through me. I roll a chair out from under the conference table and sink down. My muscles slacken. My heavy eyelids close and I take a second to just breathe.

  The chair beside me squeaks as someone sits down. “You all right?” Lieutenant Gordon quietly asks.

  My eyes open back up. “Yes. Long day, that’s all.”

  “Looks like you might be right about Fred Xanders.”

  “Looks like,” I agree.

  “I detect a ‘but’ in that tone.”

  I sit up a bit in the rolling chair. “How would Fred Xanders know about the doll, the photo, and the envelope with the exact phrase?”

  “He came in contact with someone who knew. Perhaps Thomas Quillen himself, The Lullaby Man.”

  I think about that for a few seconds. “Thomas Quillen was in gen pop way back when for some petty stuff. Perhaps he and Fred Xanders were in together. They talked. They fantasized.”

  I look for the papers Sharon brought in before remembering she left with them. My quick glance through them gave me his birthdate, though, putting Fred Xanders at fifty-four. Thomas Quillen is sixty-three.

  “Let’s look for a connection between the two men,” I say, but my gut tells me there won’t be one.

  Tension tightens through my neck and I rub at it. Thomas Quillen took his first victim, Ava Neal, twenty years ago. Ava, the only body yet to be found. Once this care package business hits the press, Ava’s family will relive this whole nightmare. Not to mention the other victims: Mary, Opal, and Rachel. “We need a liaison to prepare the families of the past victims.”

  Lieutenant Gordon nods.

  “We also need a warrant to get a forensics team into Fred Xanders’s home.”

  Ignacio clears his throat. “Found something. Looks like Fred Xanders was doing a lot of research on DNA. Markers, processing, etcetera…”

  Lieutenant Gordon and I exchange a look.

  If there were any doubts about Fred Xanders, there isn’t now.

  Sixteen

  Darkness surrounded her.

  Smothered her.

  She hated the dark. Though she didn’t know why. She had no reason to. Nothing had ever happened in the dark.

  Until now.

  The rope cut into her wrists. The bandana in her mouth tasted like rot. She wouldn’t scream anymore, she promised. She wouldn’t struggle anymore, she swore. Please just remove these things, she quietly pleaded.

  Dried snot caked her nostrils, making it hard to breathe. She forced air out, trying to unclog her nose. She couldn’t breathe!

  Her chest tightened with panic. What if she smothered to death?

  She wanted to scream loud. She wanted someone to hear. But no one would. She screamed before, lots. And now she had a gag because of it.

  Plus if she screamed, or even moved, the man would come back. She didn’t like the man. She hated the way he leered at her. Smiled even.

  She hated his voice even more. Why did he sing to her?

  Go to sleep, Close your eyes

  Tomorrow’s a new day

  Go to sleep, Close your eyes

  Tomorrow we will play…

  A ball of fear swelled in her throat, bringing a muted whimper.

  She was in a closet, a small one. The walls felt close, too close. But somehow it made her comforted. Like the walls were a blanket there to protect her. The closet was dirty. So dirty. Her mom would hate this dirt.

  Her mom…

  Thinking of her made another whimper bubble out. The tiny sound echoed off the close walls.

  She tried to hold her bladder but failed. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. It happened back when the man first put her in the closet. Now, the pee clung coldly to her inner thighs. When it happened, it had annoyed the man, but the girl had giggled.

  She didn’t like the man.

  But the little girl with him scared her even more.

  Seventeen

  The Chinese place is just closing when I walk in. The old lady behind the counter levels me with a look that screams, really?

  I give an apologetic shrug, eyeing the container currently being carted away from the buffet. “Is that sesame chicken?”

  “Yes.” She sighs.

  Opening my purse, I take out my wallet and lay down way more than a container of sesame chicken costs. “Tell you what, put that in a to-go and keep the change.”

  She snaps her fingers at the teenage boy with the sesame chicken and he makes a u-turn, walking it over to where we stand.

  While the old lady dishes out a carton full, I pull out my phone. I bring up the mugshot of Fred Xanders that I saved. “Does this man look familiar?”

  The old lady scoops another portion and deposits it into the carton. Her tired eyes survey the mugshot. “You a cop or something?”

  “I am.” I show her my badge. “Do you know this man?”

  “Nope.”

  “I do,” the teenage boy says. He peers over the old lady’s shoulder at my phone. “Beef and broccoli. Crab rangoon. Two egg rolls. Orders online and I deliver. Good tipper.”

  “When was the last time you delivered?”

  The teenage boy doesn’t hesitate. “Last night.” He takes the carton from the old lady and wedges the cardboard flaps down. He slides it across the counter to me with a plastic fork. “Except it wasn’t the usual place. Same man, but a different place.”

  “What’s the address?” I ask.

  The boy tells me and I race from the restaurant.

  My sesame chicken still sits on the counter.

  Eighteen

  I sit behind the wheel of my Dodge Charger, peering through the darkness at an old RV. It’s parked among others, all weathered and seen better days. Thick trees scatter the area with more weeds and leaves than grass on the ground. It doesn’t appear as if anyone lives in these things. There is no sign at the entrance. If I had to guess, I’d say this is a lot where people store their recreational ve
hicles.

  Or where RVs come to die.

  The boy at the Chinese restaurant said the last one on the left. The blinds are drawn on the rusted burgundy and white unit, but a tiny light inside filters out.

  Someone is in there.

  Over my portable radio, I ask Lieutenant Gordon. “Everyone in position?”

  He says, “Sharon has a couple of cars blocking the rear exit.”

  Not much of an exit. Just a rough cut path through the trees.

  “Dominic and I are covering both directions on the road.”

  “And SWAT?”

  “Still twenty minutes out.”

  I look over to Caroline, who I picked up on the way here. She’s quietly studying the woods and the parked RVs. Sensing my stare, she glances over.

  “Twenty minutes is too long,” I say.

  “Be careful,” she whispers, reading my thoughts.

  With a nod, I turn off the interior light of my car. Quietly, I open the door and slide out.

  The temperature’s dropped since earlier and I zip the fleece I put on after picking up Caroline. I keep to the left as I walk from shadow to shadow, my eyes fixed on the unit at the end.

  My shoes crunch over dried leaves and I soften my pace. It’s quiet out here and I can’t risk being heard.

  Inside the recreational vehicle, the light flickers as if someone is moving around.

  I’m twenty feet away when the door flies open and a bearded man leaps out.

  “Stop!” I yell.

  He takes off in a full run, racing away from me and toward the path cut through the trees. He glances back, and the sight of me kicks his pace in.

  Bastard.

  Head down, I set off after him. I might be forty-five, but I stay in shape. For this exact reason. Assholes like this.

  The sound of my soles hitting the ground comes light, but my pace is anything but. My arms pump. My legs propel me through the dark.

  Fred Xanders makes it to the end of the path. He’s about to run into Sharon’s team. I kick it in another notch. I want to be the one to take this man down.

  With another glance back, Fred emerges from the path and goes right. Shit, where’s Sharon’s team? Where are the shouts, the voices, the commands? Someone should be yelling at Fred by now.

  I dig deeper, finding more speed, and burst from the trees. My chest heaves. I hang the same right. Worry kicks in. Where is Fred? Where is Sharon?

  A high beam flashlight blinds me and I wince.

  “Stay where you are!” barks Sharon.

  “It’s me!” I yell. “Where’s Fred?”

  “We didn’t see him.”

  I vault to the right straight into another line of trees. “He went this way!”

  My feet hit a decline and I slide down a hill. Branches whip at me and I hiss. Gravity pulls me and I get back on my feet, nearly running in air. Behind me footsteps thud. I push forward.

  Something flicks to my right and my eyes dart in that direction. I catch sight of Fred scurrying through a lone beam of moonlight. Scrubs and branches block the route in front of him. Her curses, getting tangled up. The trees open up to a tiny gravel road and Fred Xanders desperately makes his way toward it.

  Cutting a diagonal path, I thunder through the last bit of trees, swing around a trunk, and plow feet first into him.

  We go down hard where the trees meet the gravel road. I grab Fred’s arm and he swings out. His burly fist connects with my jaw and pain explodes through my skull. Son of a bitch! I make another grab for him and he takes off. The trees spin. Nausea climbs my throat.

  “Are you okay?” Sharon touches my shoulder.

  I shrug her off. “Go after him!”

  Sharon races away. I try to run again but my legs give out. Shit! How did I not see that fist coming?

  From the trees, two uniforms emerge. Sharon’s team. My vision blurs. I blink, just making out Fred stumbling around a bend in the gravel road. He’s going to make it. That bastard is getting away.

  A light illuminates the dark. Someone’s coming at Fred from the other direction. There’s a shout, a grunt. Fred goes down.

  “Get the fuck off of me!” he shouts.

  “Fred Xanders, you are under arrest for suspicion of abducting Danielle Stevens.” It’s Lieutenant Gordon’s voice.

  Oh, thank God.

  A groan comes out of me and I fall to my knees. Lieutenant Gordon recites his rights and I look up at the sky, taking in some deep breaths.

  By the time my equilibrium comes back, Fred’s being manhandled into the back of patrol car. I walk the length of the tiny gravel road, my focus solely on him.

  I come to a stop. Waving a uniform aside, I throw open the back door. I glare down at The Lullaby Man’s copycat.

  He glares right back. “I didn’t do anything.”

  I tap my cheekbone where his fist connected. “Not a good idea, buddy.”

  Dominic steps up, showing me a text he just got from Caroline. RV IS EMPTY. I DON’T SENSE THAT SHE’S BEEN HERE.

  My face darkens. I get right in Fred’s personal space. “Where is she?”

  “I told you,” he spits. “I don’t know!” His face crumbles and tears bubble out and down.

  What the hell?

  “I knew this was going to happen,” he sobs. “I knew you all would think I did it.”

  My jaw tightens. I slam the door in his face. I turn to Dominic. “Get him out of here. Do not let anyone talk to him. Don’t give him anything to eat or drink. Hell, let him piss himself for all I care.”

  Bending down, I glare at him through the glass. Fred’s eyes widen and he scoots away.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I say.

  Then I turn and charge off, ignoring Lieutenant Gordon’s stare. He’s not happy I didn’t wait on SWAT. But he also knows we don’t have time. We’re on a clock and every minute counts.

  Nineteen

  Still covered in dirt from our chase, I sit across from Fred Xanders. Caroline occupies the chair beside me. Directly behind us stands a video recorder. Beside Fred sits a public defender. I didn’t bother asking his name, but he looks frantic. And young.

  He quickly flips through the file Dominic gave him, trying to get up to speed.

  I wait impatiently, arms folded, foot tapping against the tile floor.

  Fred’s eyes stay fixed on the table between us. Like me, he’s covered in dirt.

  “Right.” The young lawyer says. “All ready now.”

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  Fred raises his gaze to finally meet mine. “I don’t know.”

  “Then why were you holed up in that deserted RV park? Why did you run? Why resist arrest?” I show him my bruised cheek. “That’s a lot of bad decisions for such an innocent man.”

  “Because I have a record,” he quickly says. “Ex-con next door? I knew you’d think it was me.”

  My tapping foot settles. Linking fingers on top of the table, I lean forward. My voice lowers. “Trust me, you have no idea what I’m thinking.”

  Fred shoots Caroline a desperate look that she calmly ignores.

  “When was the last time you saw Danielle Stevens?” I demand.

  “Wednesday, I think. She was coming home from school. I was outside getting my mail.”

  “Right.” I nod. “So not while you were in the attic knocking a hole between the two homes?”

  His eyes widen. “I didn’t knock a hole! That hole was already there!”

  Mm, hm. “Where. Is. Danielle?”

  His agitation rises. Breathing heavily in and out of his nose, he scrubs ten grimy fingers through his bushy dark and gray beard. “I don’t know!” Those grimy fingers dig through his hair next. “I would never hurt a kid, especially Danielle! I would tell you if I knew. But I don’t.”

  My eyes narrow. I put my hands under the table and fist them. It’s the only way I keep from punching this maniac.

  Beside me, Caroline shifts. She wants to ask a question, and I suspect I know which one.
I nod for her to go ahead.

  Her voice comes soft but sure. “You said ‘especially Danielle’. What makes Danielle so special, Fred?”

  His lips press together. He didn’t mean to slip, but he did. I keep quiet. Now is the time to let the silence worm it's way into Fred’s head. A little time to let things sink in. But I keep staring at him, waiting for the moment. That moment when the gravity of the situation hits full force.

  It doesn’t take long.

  His breathing shallows out. Tears shimmer in his eyes. His bottom lip wobbles.

  Here we go.

  I motion between me and Caroline. “Good cop. Bad cop. I’ll give you one guess which one is which.”

  Fred sniffs.

  I place my hands back on the table, palms down. Leaning in, I say, “The problem is, Fred, that you punched the bad cop. And bad cops always get revenge.”

  His bottom lip, covered and hidden by beard, increases in wobbling.

  I fix my dark green eyes on him, channeling the “scary” my ex labeled them. “You know what they do in prison to child molesters?”

  He sobs.

  I sit back. Shrug. “Of course I can make things go away. You simply need to tell us where Danielle Stevens is.”

  “I don’t know!” Fred blurts. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I DON’T KNOW!”

  I’m unphased with his outburst.

  He completely crumbles then into a scrunched up mess of tears and snot.

  The lawyer delicately clears his throat. “Perhaps we should take a break.”

  My palm smacks the table and Fred jumps. “What about the doll? Huh, Fred? And the envelope. The picture.”

  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sobs.

  A knock comes on the door. It opens and Ignacio peeks in. “Need to show you something.”

  “I’m in the middle of something here,” I state the obvious.

  “It’s important. Believe me.”

  Twenty

  “What?” I ask Ignacio out in the hall.

  In his hand is the iPad he’s been working on. The one that belongs to Fred. He turns it around for me to see the screen. I lean in and my thoughts spin. This photo changes everything.