by Stacy Green
Once again, his eyes betrayed him. Instead of flatness or uncaring, they shined with pain. His grin, meant to be charming, looked more like a choked-up grimace.
“Why do you think you’re a sociopath?”
“Long story.” Chris returned to watching the parking lot.
“We’ve got time.”
“Actually,” he pointed, “we don’t. Justin’s heading to his car.”
Walking with the same defeated slouch, Justin exited the unit alone and empty handed. He glanced around but his gaze didn’t linger in any direction. He headed west out of the parking lot, oblivious to the Audi.
“You know where Todd lives?” Chris asked.
“No clue. But I’d bet he’s not home.” I didn’t want to tell him Justin was probably going to the shelter. The fact that I was protecting him didn’t escape me, but I didn’t have time to ponder its meaning. I’d do that at 3:00a.m. when sleep eluded me.
Chris cleared his throat. “You know it’s been more than forty-eight hours since she disappeared. After that long…”
“I’m aware.” Little Kailey’s life could have been snuffed out days ago. A tremor shot through me, whispers of the panic that sometimes crept up on me in the night. No child should have to face that nothingness.
“It’s been almost two hours. What the hell did he do in there for so long?” Chris asked.
A myriad of horrible scenarios flashed through my mind, accompanied with the voices of the abused children I’d listened to over the past decade. “You don’t want to know.”
Whatever worries I had about Chris dropped to the back of my brain. Adrenaline flushed through me with a dizzying veracity leaving me breathing in whistling gasps. “We need to get inside now. This is the perfect place to hide her.”
“You’re right,” Chris said. “We’ve got to get inside and see if she’s there. If he’s hurt that kid, we take him down.”
The conviction in his voice surprised me, not because he’d suggested killing Justin, but because his tone sang with empathy for Kailey.
“So let’s go.”
18
Chris hung back as I worked the lock on Justin’s unit.
“Where’d you learn how to pick a lock?”
“Googled it.”
“Nice.” The lock popped open, and Chris slowly lifted the door, which creaked and squalled as it rolled up. I shined my flashlight around the unit until I found the light switch. The hanging bulb was dim, and my eyes took a moment to adjust. When my vision finally sharpened, my knees turned to jelly. The unit was about the size of my childhood bedroom, and boxes and plastic bins lined the western wall. It was the rest of the room that made me feel woozy.
Justin had decorated the entire back wall with pictures of his mother. A few were snapshots, but most were his own drawings. Every one was done in pencil, and the detail was mesmerizing. Martha Beckett had always intimidated me, and these pictures were so lifelike I felt the same unease creeping over me. A tall woman with broad shoulders, manly hands, and nondescript facial features that made her expression perpetually tight, she resented me on sight. Justin’s father drank too much and let Martha run the house. The woman had been furious that anyone–and I suspected my looks and the way Justin had taken to me also fueled Martha’s ire–would insinuate anything was wrong with her son.
Martha’s haughty eyes followed me as I examined the drawings. One thing quickly became clear: Justin Beckett hated his mother. Every depiction had her in an eerie position of power, as though she were standing over him in the flesh, brutish and domineering.
But the one that really struck me cold was the full body drawing of Martha from the back. Hair gathered at the back of her neck, her clothes were too tight around her thicker frame. Justin had drawn his mother so the right side of her face was partially visible, and again she was drawn from the position of someone looking up at her. The most chilling feature was the way her right eye glared, as though she had turned her back but still watched from the corner of her eye. If there was ever a boogeywoman, this drawing of Martha Beckett was the perfect representation.
I jumped when Chris’s hand touched my shoulder. “Christ! I’d forgotten you were here.”
“I could tell.” He walked over to the cheap computer desk and folding chair set up in the corner. Various art supplies covered half the desk while newspaper clippings were scattered across the other half. “More drawings of the same woman. That his mother?”
“Martha Beckett.”
Chris stared at the pictures taped to the wall. Peering closer, he gazed up at one of the close-up sketches of Martha’s face with a look of intense concentration. He gave himself a shake. “She looks like a peach.”
“She was rude and uncooperative. And when Justin was incarcerated, she spent more time being angry at her son than trying to understand him. From what I’ve been told, he hasn’t seen her in years.”
“Not sure I believe that.”
“Why?”
“Look at the pictures.” Chris pointed to the one at the far left that he’d been so caught up in. “She’s younger there. And look at her hair. It’s all big and poufy. All bangs. Like my aunt used to wear hers in the 90s.” He walked along the wall, his hand hovering near the pictures. “She’s younger in all of these.” He stopped at the one portraying Martha from the back. “Harder to tell with this one, but I still say she’s younger. And then look at these.” He moved to the right. “She’s thinner. Shoulders more stooped. Looks like she’s got some gray. Maybe wrinkles.”
“God, you’re right.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s seen her, though,” Chris said. “He could be aging her simply because it makes sense to him. But–”
“If he hasn’t seen her, and he holds this much obsession with her, he’d still draw her the way she looked when he was a kid.” I went to the last picture in the haphazard line and studied it closely, looking past the threatening visage. “She’s opening the door here. Her expression almost looks surprised.”
“Maybe he was fantasizing about seeing her again and watching her shock.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s already seen her. When I spoke to him yesterday, I knew he had a lot of resentment toward her. I assumed she’d stood aside while he was being abused but now, I wonder.”
Chris gingerly touched one of the pictures. “Wonder what?”
“If she didn’t hurt him too. I assumed it was his father, but now I don’t know.” I glanced at Chris. “It’s more common than people think, especially with sons. It’s a control thing. Sometimes it’s sexual. The way he shows her in positions of power makes me really nervous.”
“What does it matter now?” Chris went back over to the desk. “He’s a grown man, and whatever damage she inflicted is firmly ingrained. A person can’t recover from that sort of thing. Can they?” His tight, controlled voice sent a tremor through me, and I remembered I was talking to the son of the infamous Lancaster murderer.
“Every person is different,” I said. “There are a lot people out there who came from terrible backgrounds living productive lives. I think it’s a matter of genetic makeup, of the wiring. Some people just can’t cope. And he’s obviously obsessed with her. And even if this is some form of therapy, Martha Beckett may be in danger.”
“So what?” Chris dropped the pile of papers he’d been rifling through. “If she did hurt her son, she deserves whatever he’s got planned for her. He’s the victim. She’s the monster. Isn’t that your whole working concept, anyway? By your system, Martha should be dead. It’s justice.” His voice, loud and loaded with raw anger, rang in my ears. I thought of the things he must have seen as a child in Lancaster, and I knew in that moment he was more damaged than I’d imagined.
Chris stepped toward me, the smack of his boots against the concrete floor matching the tenseness in his body. “You can’t be a vigilante killer of kid attackers and then worry about whether or not one of the pigs is in danger from the child they abused. Especially when it’s the
ir own kid. You can’t have this shit both ways, Lucy.”
His anger made the hair on my arms stand up. I suddenly realized I was in a small storage unit with a man I barely knew who might have more agendas than I realized, and my pepper spray was in my car. “You’re right. But I don’t know for sure she actually abused him. Maybe she just let it happen because she was too busy in her own life. Or because she was afraid. Or worried about what might happen to her.”
“So that’s the distinction? Enablers get the Lucy Kendall acquittal?”
“If they didn’t, I’d have to take out my own mother.” I gritted my teeth. I had no interest in telling Chris about my sister.
“You were abused?” Chris’s eyes widened, his anger stepping down a notch. “By who?”
“Not me. My sister. Mom’s boyfriend. Mom never wanted to hear the truth. And that’s all I’m going to say. The point is, we don’t know the whole story. And we’re not here to worry about Martha Beckett. We’re here to find out if Justin took Kailey. So let’s start looking.”
Chris looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. “Let’s start with the desk first. He’s got a lot of shit crammed onto the shelves.”
We spent the next fifteen minutes in strained silence carefully sifting through Justin’s workstation. Nothing related to Kailey. Or any kids, for that matter. A couple of pictures of himself and Todd when they were younger. One of his dad. None of Martha. I assumed they were all on the wall.
Most of the newspaper clippings were about Justin’s crime and eventual release, save one. I held the yellowed paper underneath the desk lamp I’d turned on. My throat went dry. “The Lancaster Kidnappings.”
Across the room, Chris dropped the box he’d been looking through. He knelt down and started throwing old clothes back in the box. “What did you say?”
“He’s got an article on the 1991 Lancaster Kidnappings.”
Chris strode across the room and snatched the paper. Anger resonated off him in hot waves. The silence felt heavy and dangerous, and I started to babble.
“I remember watching it on the news when I was a kid. It was the start of fifth grade.” I’d gotten my period the same day, and my mother had been running around like a squawking chicken, upset that her baby was now a woman, and what did it mean for her?
“At least they’ve got the story right,” Chris gritted out. In the yellow light of the unit, his blue eyes glowed almost feral. “My father was a mean bastard who abused his wife. The wife stopped taking it when she discovered a teenage girl in the barn. John Weston kidnapped and killed at least four girls over the years.”
“You were too young to know what was going on.” The words sounded small and stupid.
“My mother wasn’t.”
“But she was abused and never allowed in the barn. She had a victim’s mindset, Chris.”
“By all rights and your logic,” Chris said, “I should be another predator roaming the streets.”
I didn’t know what to say, because I was afraid of exactly that. So I ignored the comment. “Why would Justin have information on this? It happened years before he was born.”
“Because he’s got problems. Maybe he likes researching cases where kids’ parents royally screwed them up.” He shoved the dilapidated box out of his way and opened a plastic storage bin, tossing the lid out of the way. It landed on the concrete floor with a loud clatter.
“Well that’s interesting.” Chris held up a file, but before he could say anything more, the unit’s door began to rise. I ducked behind the desk, but Chris didn’t move. Face frozen in panic, he looked like he didn’t know whether to duck or attack. My ass he’d done any of the shit he’d claimed.
I crouched, thinking fast. No spray, but I knew some self-defense moves. As long as Justin was alone and Chris got over his apparent stage fright, the two of us could take the scrawny kid. My pulse raced. What if he was bringing Kailey here? Maybe he’d moved her from some other location. I could save her, bring Justin in, show everyone I’d been right.
Carefully, I peeked around the desk.
It wasn’t Justin who stood in the open doorway.
19
Todd Beckett reminded me of Yosemite Sam when he’d been outsmarted by Bugs Bunny yet again. Between the red face and pulsing vein in his forehead, I thought his head might burst. He pointed his gun at Chris. “Hands in the air, Mr. Hale, isn’t it?”
Oh shit. I hadn’t even considered Todd knowing about the unit. Damn, damn, damn.
“Call me Chris.” He obeyed.
“You want to tell me why you’re in my brother’s storage unit?”
“Looking to see if he took that little girl.”
“Or maybe you’re planting evidence to keep us off your tail.”
“You think I took her?” Chris laughed. “Jesus. Kid doesn’t have a chance in hell.”
“Why are you so interested in my brother?”
“I just told you.”
“See, here’s the thing. He mentioned the car that’s been following him had black rims. And when I got here, I noticed a fancy Audi with nice-looking, black rims. Ran the plates. Guess who the Audi belongs to?”
“Fine. You got me. I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a while. Looks like I did a shitty job.”
“So I’ll ask you again, why have you been following Justin the past few weeks? Did someone put you up to it? A pushy redhead, maybe? Her car’s in the parking lot too, so she might as well come out.”
Chris didn’t say anything.
So much for deception. “Don’t shoot.” I stood up slowly, keeping my hands above my head. “Justin was in here, and I thought he might have Kailey. I didn’t know if you knew about this place or not.”
“You have my phone number.” Todd’s voice sounded dangerous.
“I didn’t know how soon you’d get the message.”
“Unbelievable. You leave me a message you’re concerned about this guy, and then you break in here with him?”
I glanced at Chris, inwardly cringing at having to play both sides of the fence. Made me feel too much like my mother, and I’d be damned if I wanted to turn into her.
Chris met my gaze, raising an eyebrow in challenge, reminding me exactly what he could tell Todd about me. “It was my idea. I wanted to keep him close, and I wanted to get in here.”
Chris glared at me, but if he was going to start telling Todd stories about me, I’d have to be ready to play ball. Self-preservation.
“You’re both coming to the station.”
“Are we under arrest?” Chris said.
“I haven’t decided,” Todd shot back. “You both ride with me, we have a chat downtown. Then we’ll see if I book your meddling asses for trespassing.” He glared at me. “Or worse.”
Todd stuck Chris in a holding cell while he hauled me into an interview room.
“Will you please take these off?” I held up my cuffed hands. “Unless I’m being charged.”
“I’m sure Justin will be happy to press charges.”
Todd leaned against the wall. “Not up to him. I own the storage unit.”
I couldn’t stop the shock from playing out on my face. “Do you know about his obsession with his mother?”
“That’s none of your business. And I don’t have time for this.” He sighed, looking even more exhausted than the last time I’d seen him. “I’m supposed to be looking for a missing child.”
Me too, but reminding him probably wasn’t in my best interests right now. “Still nothing?”
“We have a few leads of registered offenders in the area. We’re following those up. Thanks for the lead on Brian Harrison. Where did that come from, by the way?”
The ball of nerves in my stomach leeched into the rest of my body. I curled my toes to keep my legs from jerking. “I can’t reveal my sources. Anything pan out with him?”
Todd didn’t answer for a second, and that small blip in time felt like hours. “He’s called in sick at school and isn’t answering my calls
. Hasn’t been at home, either. Given his priors, he might be on a bender. Still worth looking into.”
A blissful if temporary reprieve. Todd would talk to Harrison soon enough, unless I got to him first. I focused on the task at hand. “I needed to see what Justin was hiding in that storage unit.”
“Why?” Todd brought his hands down on the table. “You know we’re treating Justin like any other suspect. We’ve turned up nothing. And yet you assume we’re missing something.”
“Because he spent an hour in there today and came out with nothing. I needed to be sure. And because if he did this, I’m responsible. I should have done something different all those years ago.”
Todd tossed his badge onto the table. “Stop trying to be a martyr. You’re not infallible. Bad shit happens. You weren’t the victim. Not even collateral damage. But you’ve twisted it around and made it about you at the expense of other people.”
I knew he was right, knew it as much as I knew my own fears. I just didn’t know if I could walk away. I sank into the seat, shame burrowing right through my skin and into my bones. “You’re right. But I want to help find Kailey.”
Todd pulled a set of keys from his pocket, motioning for my wrists. He removed the cuffs, his calloused fingers lingering on my hand. “That’s the shittiest part of all this. However misguided you are, I know you believe you’re doing what’s right.” He pulled his hand away. “Now, to Chris Hale. You left me a message about the black rims after you talked to my brother.” He paused, letting me know he didn’t appreciate that fact. “I checked with Justin, and Hale’s Audi matches his description. How long have you two been dating?”
I shifted in the hard chair, choosing my words carefully. “We’re not dating. He introduced himself to me the night before Kailey disappeared.”
“What has he told you about himself?”
“He’s a paramedic. He’s complex.” I couldn’t very well tell him Chris believed he was a sociopath. I decided to hold the information on Chris’s true identity until Todd showed his hand. “I may be wrong, but when I realized he was the one following Justin and hadn’t said a thing, I got worried. I just thought you should know.”