by Rowan Hanlon
“And there was this truck at the scene,” Sloan said. “And it was his, obviously, but it’d been stolen. And no DNA.”
“I almost wonder if he almost got caught once and learned from his mistakes,” Clara said.
“Could be,” Sloan replied. “But, then again, they still don’t know who Jack the Ripper was.”
“Don’t they?” Clara asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sloan replied. “Did you hear something?”
“Well, I mean, it’s a really old case,” Clara said.
“Cold case,” Sloan said. “Just like mine. Just like yours. Just like all the other women he got that didn’t get so lucky. So many cold cases! We have to do this for them, Clara. We have to!”
“Sloan, we’ve been through this,” she said. “We’re doing the best we can.”
“It’s not good enough,” Sloan said adamantly. “Since Hadley’s been out, he’s got two more.”
“What if that wasn’t him that did that?” Clara asked.
“It was him, I know it was him,” Sloan said.
“But how does he keep getting away with it?” Clara asked.
“Because he’s an asshole,” Sloan said, almost growling.
“And why were we so lucky?” Clara said. “How did we make it when so many others didn’t?”
“Yeah, I see what you’re saying,” she replied, nodding. “He was a little incompetent with us.”
“Unless…” Clara said. “He only kept us and not the others. Did he do that?”
Sloan stared at her. “No, there were others he held hostage. But not for so long. And others that are still missing.”
Clara nodded, thinking about this, trying hard to think of something that they’d missed, that they’d overlooked. There had to be some clue somewhere that eluded them that would crack the case. But neither of them had that clue and neither even really knew what he looked like. Clara couldn’t remember ever seeing his face. Sloan had told her once that she’d clawed at his face, pulling down his mask. But it was too dark to see anything, she’d said. He was just an average built guy that probably looked like an average guy. Therefore, he was a needle in a haystack.
Sloan sighed loudly and scooted to the edge of her chair, putting her hands together. “Listen,” she said. “We’re going to do this. It will happen. We are going to find him. I know you’re feeling at a loss right now and so am I. But we have to stay strong.”
“I’m strong,” Clara told her. “I’ve never wavered, not even for one minute.”
“Good,” Sloan said.
Just then, they heard a loud knock at the door. They glanced at one another, then Clara got up off the sofa and walked to the door, opened it, then exclaimed, “Hadley! What are you doing here?”
Hadley rushed in, shaking her head. “I know who it is!”
Sloan jumped out of the chair and raced to her. She grabbed both of her hands and said, “Okay. We’re listening.”
“His name is Jeremy Clemmons and he works for this food service called Mabry Foods. He was at my hotel doing a sales pitch with his team just a week or so before I got abducted. I don’t know why I suddenly remembered but Clara was talking about that horse picture and there’s this picture of a horse in the conference room at work. I just pieced it together somehow.”
“Holy fucking shit!” Sloan yelled. “We’ve got his name! We’ve got his name!”
She grabbed Hadley by the middle and hugged her tightly, pulling her up off the floor. Clara watched them and smiled widely, then shook her head.
“But wait,” Clara said. “Are you sure? Are you sure, Hadley? You have to be sure.”
“I’m positive,” Hadley said then turned to Sloan. “Do you think we can find him?”
“With that, yes, we can,” she said and grinned at her.
“Are you here by yourself?” Clara asked Hadley.
“I am,” she said and nodded. “I told Huck I was feeling really good and wanted to take a walk by myself. This hotel is near the house.”
“Good for you,” Clara told her and smiled, then she hugged her. “Oh, girl, I knew you’d come through for us!” She turned to Sloan. “Let’s find that rat.”
“I’m on it,” Sloan said.
And, just like that, they were able to locate him. Sloan called her IT/hacker friend, told him everything she knew and then hung up. Less than five minutes later, he called back and she put him on speakerphone: “Hey, girl, it’s me. There is a sales rep, male, at Mabry Foods. His name is Jeremy Clemmons. He has worked there since he got out of college, around age twenty-two. His degree is in marketing and business. He is thirty-nine years old. He travels a lot for his work, as the leading sales rep, all over the South. He was married, once, in his early twenties, but they divorced after two years. His ex-wife’s name is Jackie Peterson, and she is remarried with three young children. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her family. He never remarried and he keeps a studio apartment, also in Atlanta, the same city as you.”
“You’re kidding?” Sloan said, almost aghast. “He lives in Atlanta?”
“Yes, he does,” he replied.
“I can’t believe I was that close to him for so long,” she said.
“I’ve emailed you everything I could find,” he told her. “Check it.”
“Hold on,” Sloan said and turned to the computer and checked her email. She opened the file and a huge picture of Jeremy Clemmons lit up the screen. He was smiling, wearing a tuxedo, obviously at someone’s wedding. He had his arm around someone, but they were cut out of the picture. Sloan breathed, “That’s him. I know that’s him. It’s been over ten years, but I know that’s him. What about you girls?”
Clara and Hadley leaned in and started at the picture. They both nodded simultaneously.
“Click the picture,” the hacker said. “It’s an mp3.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Sloan said. “I’ll call you back later.” She hung up then clicked the picture and Jeremy became animated as the scene played out. He said, “Just wanted to congratulate my buddy, Adam, in his now indentured life of servitude.” Everyone around him laughed. “Just kidding, man, she’s a great girl. But…” He conspiratorially leaned into the camera before continuing, “Just so you’ll know, if things don’t work out, I know how to hide bodies.” Everyone’s laughter increased.
The women pulled back from the computer at the same time. They turned to each other.
“The fucker ain’t kidding,” Sloan growled.
Jeremy went on, “I know, I know. But anyway, have a good life, man, have a good life. And, my only advice is to always drink good whiskey. You’re going to need it.”
The mp3 stopped playing. Sloan clicked the button again. It played again and the women stared at it, each beginning to feel even more hatred than before. Here he was acting like he was normal, behaving like he was normal after all the things he’d done.
“He doesn’t get that,” Clara said. “He doesn’t get to act like that after what he’s done.”
“Nope, he does not,” Sloan said. “And I mean that.”
Lone Wolf
It didn’t take that much time to find him. It was actually quite easy, as Sloan had his address. She had always thought if she could find that one missing link—his name, mostly—she could ferret him out.
And, so, began her investigation into his life.
To an outsider, to someone who didn’t know the “real” Jeremy Clemmons, he looked as normal as apple pie. He had a good job, didn’t even have a speeding ticket on his record and paid his taxes. He was never late with his rent or on the payment to his car, a ubiquitous Japanese model. He wore the standard fare of a sales rep—khakis, button down cotton shirt, and, depending on the season, either some sort of boot or loafer. Everything about him was, in a word, beige.
Jeremy Clemmons lived a rather boring life. Again, to an outsider. He went to nightclubs on a regular basis and he got relatively drunk but was never
arrested for a DUI or public intoxication. He ate normal foods—tacos, burgers, the occasional salad. He even went on dates with unassuming females from time to time to keep up the illusion of his normalcy.
But, other than that, there wasn’t much else on him. In fact, taking a deeper look at him and his life made Sloan realize that’s why he got away with it. He appeared to be normal, just an average guy living his life. He hid in plain sight.
Her hacker had even looked at his credit card information, telling her he never bought anything odd, not even black leather serial killer gloves, to which she replied, “Maybe he paid cash.”
“Wow,” he’d said, whistling a little under his breath. “You certainly think of everything, Sloan.”
Of course, she did. She had made it her business to think of everything since her abduction.
“You know,” she told Clara on the phone a few days after they had met Hadley. “I still don’t know how he did it. That’s what gets me. He’s not that big. He’s not that strong. He’s, apparently, not that intelligent. How did he get all of us and all of the others? How did he keep us as long as he did without interruption? Without anyone noticing?”
Clara sighed heavily, then said, “I really don’t know. That’s the mystery.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sloan said. “Listen, if we’re going to get him, we have to turn this thing upside down and shake it out. We can’t overlook even one detail. Not one, Clara. Not one.”
“I don’t plan on it,” she said, then repeated, “I don’t plan on it.”
Sloan thought for a moment, then said, “What is it about him that allows him to get away with this? I mean, after all he’s done, there is no way he does a good a job hiding his weirdness as he thinks he does. He couldn’t. Someone would have had to have picked up on it at some time or another.”
“People have so much going on, maybe no one really takes notice,” she replied. “I’ve always heard those stories about serial killers’ neighbors who said, ‘Well, yeah, he was up late and he did own a lot of shovels but I just didn’t think anything like that was possible. He seemed nice enough.’”
“That’s it!” Sloan exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “People overlook other people. They just do. Because you can’t care too much about everything or it leaves nothing left for yourself or your own family.”
“Exactly,” Clara replied. “Even if it’s happening next door, you overlook it unless it’s something obvious. Our brains aren’t really wired to work like that. They should be, obviously, but they’re not. I’d think back in our caveman days if some person was exhibiting this sort of odd behavior, he’d just be driven from the pack, or the other men would have killed him in order to protect the women. And that would have been that. Nowadays, we don’t live in packs. And, if someone is acting odd, we tend to overlook it. No one really likes confrontation.”
“Oh, I don’t mind it,” Sloan said.
“Most people don’t, though,” Clara responded, laughing a little.
“Well, I have to go,” Sloan said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Sounds good,” Clara said. “And, Sloan?”
“What?”
“Don’t you dare think about doing anything without me.”
Sloan chuckled to herself and said, “I won’t.”
“You are,” Clara said. “I know you are. I know it. But you can’t do this by yourself.”
I could, too, Sloan thought.
“You hear me?” Clara said.
“I hear you,” Sloan replied. “Have you heard from Hadley?”
“I haven’t,” she said. “But then again, I don’t know if I will. You don’t think she’ll rat on us, do you?”
“I don’t,” Sloan said. “And so, what if she does? As long as she does it afterwards, I could care less. No jury would convict us after what he did to us.”
“Knock on wood,” Clara said.
“Either you’re with me or you aren’t,” Sloan told her.
“I’m with you,” Clara said. “All the way.”
“All the way,” Sloan echoed. “I gotta go.”
“Bye,” Clara said and they hung up.
As Sloan made her plans and finalized them, she began to think about what her life was like before all this. She’d been lonely sometimes, but she was always more of lone wolf than most, which probably had something to do with both of her divorces. Sure, she had friends and acquaintances she’d meet for lunch or even dinner occasionally and her mother was always on her to come home and spend time with her family. But mostly, she liked to spend time alone.
She knew that if her plan failed and Jeremy Clemmons captured her again, her life would be over. She knew she could be making a very, very bad mistake. But she also knew if she didn’t try, he’d get away with it. If she let the police know who he was, he, himself, could be acquitted, even on a technicality. He could walk free and never again be tried for his crimes.
That was what really drove her to do all this herself. It wasn’t an insatiable need for revenge, though she reckoned, that would feel really good. It was the thought of him somehow worming out of all this and walking free that made her keep all the information she knew about him to herself. She knew it was wrong to do so, but she had him now the way he’d had her so many years ago. She now had the power now to dictate his life. She was in control. And she liked knowing that.
No Mercy
Clara Simmons had kept up her outward appearances after her abduction. While it had rattled her to her core, she wasn’t the sort of person who wanted any pity from anyone. She didn’t want her parents crying over her or, even, anyone she knew.
That’s why, after her stay in the hospital, she went home to the house she’d shared with her husband. After she had disappeared, and Ray’s body had been taken away, her mother and sister had gone to her house and cleaned everything up, even the blood from Ray’s wound. They had cleaned up Ray’s plate with the half-eaten sandwich still on it. They had gotten the rest of the groceries out of her car in the garage and they had thrown all the old food out of the refrigerator and cupboards.
“I always knew you would come home,” her mother had told her. “And I knew you’d want to go back to your house. So, we went over there and cleaned it real good for you. And then me and your sister would go every other day and make sure the lights were on and all that. You know, to keep the place going.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she had mumbled.
The first day she returned home, she had her mother and father with her. They drove her from the hospital, and away from all the reporters and people gathered outside, and to her house. She had insisted on it. She wasn’t about to not stay in her own house. That house had meant so much to her. It had taken her and Ray over two years of looking to find that house. It was in a new subdivision and the house was brand new when they bought it. While it wasn’t exactly cookie-cutter, it was similar to the other McMansions in the neighborhood. But the nearby schools were excellent and that was the main reason she wanted it, though Ray wanted to be closer to downtown and his work.
The house was two-stories tall and had a colonial exterior. It was white with black shutters and the landscaping was immaculate. The pool out back, though somewhat small due to the size of the yard, was just what she wanted, though it was only in use, if they were lucky, six months out of the year. She had insisted they heat it, which cost a little but Clara, who had always been a little cold-natured could not stand cold water. In fact, she could not stand being cold at all. It seemed as though no matter how hard she tried, she could never get warm in the winter and would stand under the hot shower until her skin was red. Ray would chastise her over this, telling her, “That can’t be good for you,” but she wouldn’t listen. Her daily shower was one of her favorite activities.
But during her captivity, she hadn’t been able to shower even once. And, during the winter, she was more than sure she would freeze to death. It was one of the coldest winters on reco
rd, too. She would sit in her pen and shiver uncontrollably as her body did everything in its power to keep itself going. She never once felt any sort of warmth that winter. She really didn’t know how she survived.
Nevertheless, she kept reminding herself of all the terrible things her captor, now named Jeremy Clemmons, had done to her. She kept a log in her mind of everything she could remember. She would go through the log every few days, turning things over in her mind, examining them, remembering the pain he’d caused, the hopelessness she’d felt and the numerous humiliations he’d put her through. He would laugh at her condition sometimes, pointing his finger at her, bending over at the waist. She would feel so low whenever he did that because she couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t clean herself, she couldn’t run away, she couldn’t escape. She was at his mercy and he had no mercy. And, for that, Clara Simmons would show him no mercy.
She had done things to prepare for the day that was coming. She’d made plans about his demise from the moment she had been told that Ray was dead. The bastard had done her so wrong and, in the end, he’d taken away the one thing that meant the most to her and that was her husband. She knew she loved Ray with all her heart before she’d been taken, but afterwards? She hadn’t even skimmed the surface of her feelings for him. She loved him so much that, upon hearing the news of his death, she, too, wanted to die. Ray was what had kept her going, kept her repeating all of the facts of her life to herself. And without Ray, there was not much reason to live. It’s not like she could just go find another husband like him. It’s not like she could find another man to replace him. She was so damaged by what had happened to her, she would never want to put that off on someone else. She knew some other men would judge her and think of her in a certain way after the things that had been done to her. They might even think she was “ruined.” Ray would have never thought that way and he would have welcomed her home with open arms. He would have hugged her so tightly she might have lost her breath. He would have whispered how much he loved her in her ear and told her how much he cried for her. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t gotten the chance. Jeremy Clemmons had made sure of that.