He refused to look at her for several seconds. Then, with a small grunt, he took the box and got up. “Have it your way.”
J.J. went over and sat cross-legged in front of his brother. He looked around, spotted a box of Kleenex on the coffee table. Pulling one out, he used it to tickle Kevin’s ear.
Nothing happened at first. Then—one of Kevin’s hands swiped at the air. J.J. had been expecting this and yanked the tissue away in time. Again he tickled Kevin, and this time Kevin turned his head enough to peek out of the crook of his elbow; it looked comically like the eye-gazing-out-of-a-keyhole shot in old Three Stooges reruns.
J.J. lifted the crayon box and placed it near Kevin’s head. “Go on. Take it.”
Kevin’s sobbing had fizzled into sniffles. First, he grabbed the Kleenex from J.J. and carelessly wiped his face, missing most of the snot and tears. Next he snatched up the crayon box. He ran for his room.
J.J. looked sullenly at Katie as he walked back to the chair and sat down. “There. Happy now?”
Katie got up and approached J.J.. She sat on the edge of the recliner, an arm draped over his shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to remember, he’s just a kid. He didn’t ask for any of this. I mean, can you imagine what his life’s going to be like? No job. No wife. No kids. Always needing someone to take care of him. How happy can he ever really be?”
J.J. stared hard at the carpet. “But what about me? I try so hard to make my dad proud. I made varsity football my sophomore year. I’ll probably get to play freshman ball at Ann Arbor. Hell, as much as money means to him, I thought he’d be impressed that I may get a full ride at college. But neither he nor my mom ever says anything. It’s all about Kevin.”
“Life’s full of hard times.” She knew this fact better than most. Had experienced it first-hand. “You might as well get used to it.”
J.J. opened his mouth to say something but simply shrugged. “Enough about Kevin. How’d it go today? You guys find anything?”
“Yes and no,” she said as she told him the day’s events.
“No shit. Nat’s dad really shot somebody?”
“He didn’t hit anyone. And he had a heart attack. They had to do CPR on him.”
J.J. gave a wistful sigh. “I miss all the cool stuff.”
Katie punched his arm. “Nat’s dad could’ve died, you idiot. He still could. Now when she’s found, she’ll have to deal with that, too.”
She felt J.J. squirm under her arm.
“What?” Katie asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I just…I don’t want you to get your hopes up. It’s been two days. The chances of finding her are pretty slim.”
“Don’t be so sure. There’s something strange going on around here. And besides, I don’t think Mr. Owens did it.”
“The black guy?” J.J. shook his head. “He’s toast.”
Katie sat up straighter, took her arm off his shoulder. “What happened to ‘innocent until proved guilty’?”
“Come on, be realistic. He’s a stranger. He just got into town. And something of his was found at the scene. Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”
“I know it doesn’t look good. But there’s something about that guy. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could kill someone.”
“The cops’ll figure it out,” J.J. said confidently. “Anyway, enough of all this depressing talk. I think my dad might have a new bottle of scotch in his office. I wouldn’t mind trying a sip. Come on.”
He started walking away, but Katie stayed where she was. It took him several steps to realize he was alone. He turned and gave her a puzzled look.
“What now?”
“The scotch,” Katie said, her arms crossed under her breasts. “You know how I feel about drinking.”
J.J.’s shook his head and sighed. “Look, I know you don’t drink. And I’m not asking you to. But that doesn’t mean I can’t.” He held out his hand to her. “Only a sip, I promise. If I took any more, my dad would notice and raise holy hell.”
“It starts with a sip,” Katie said as she got up, but she refused to take J.J.’s hand. “Remember, my dad thought he could keep it to a sip. Look at what happened to him.”
“Katie, please. I’m not your father. What he did was horrible. But I’m not like that.”
“How do I know? How do you even know? We never know what we’re capable of until it’s too late.”
“Come on, settle down. You’re getting worked up over nothing. Really.” He cupped her face in one hand. “Hey, I tell you what, how about we go see him tomorrow? Your dad? You haven’t been there in a while.”
“No,” said Katie, her voice hitching with emotion. “I’m tired of pretending. Pretending for you; pretending for my mom. His body may be there, underneath all that cold dirt, but I know he can’t hear me. Not anymore. Not where he is now. My dad ended up where I can’t follow.”
Uncrossing her arms, she pushed J.J.’s hand from her face. “Suicides burn in Hell.”
Katie sat in an antique Regency Carver mahogany chair in Mr. Sallinen’s office. She knew it was an “antique Regency Carver mahogany chair” because J.J.’s dad had made a point of telling her several times. Truthfully, it looked like one of those cheap pieces of furniture you could get at SecondHand Rose’s Resale Repository for around ten bucks.
She’d been in this room a handful of times before, and, in spite of the disappointment at the chair, she’d been impressed each time. The lower half of the walls was encased in dark walnut paneling, while the upper half was painted dark amber, like the color of overripe pumpkins. Thick carpeting muffled their footsteps. The antique chair she occupied and its twin sat in front of a large wooden desk. Various community awards hung on the wall behind the desk, as well as some photographs of Mr. Sallinen with people she didn’t recognize. The air in the room was stale, as if no one ever opened a window to let in the outside world.
J.J. sat in a comfortable leather chair behind the desk. He’d rummaged through the desk, found a locked drawer, and used a letter opener to jimmy the lock. Inside, he’d found a rectangular gray metal box, also locked. He was now using the letter opener to try to pry it open.
Katie got up and moved to a painting on the wall across from the desk. It depicted a woman lying asleep on a sofa, her arms dangling over her head and her neck exposed. A creature—a demon of some sort—sat on her chest and looked out at the viewer. The head of a black horse, its eyes painted bright yellow against the darker colors surrounding it, emerged from a part in the curtains that made up the background. It was a disturbing image. Katie had asked Mr. Sallinen about it once. “It’s called The Nightmare, by a man named Henry Fuseli,” he’d said. “It represents the relationship between sleeping and the dreams we have. How our darker side surfaces in the night. It’s really quite beautiful.”
She hadn’t thought so then, and she didn’t think so now. It was still a creepy painting.
J.J. blurted, “Hey! I got it op—”
Katie turned. J.J. stood with his back to her. His arms were bent, his head tilted down, looking at something he held in his hands.
“Did you find your precious scotch bottle?” she asked.
J.J. stuffed whatever it was into his pocket and spun to face her. His face was pale.
“Um…it’s nothing. Just, you know, some old junk of my dad’s.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Katie said. “Show me what you found.”
“Really, it’s nothing.” He ran a hand over his face. “Look, I think you should go. I don’t want to push my luck. If my dad catches us in here….”
Katie started toward the desk.
“No! No, don’t come over here. I’m sorry, but you need to leave. Please? I’ll call you later.”
Katie frowned. “I—well, sure. I guess.”
“Thanks,” he said, sounding relieved. “Maybe we’ll go see a movie or something tonight.”
She stopped at the office door. “You sure you’re all right?�
�
J.J. nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Later, okay?”
“Later,” she replied and walked out of the office.
Well, that was interesting, she thought once she was outside.
Her walk home took about half an hour, and during that time, she grew more curious what J.J. had been hiding from her.
Chapter 11
Jack Sallinen, Sr., felt his cell phone vibrate against his hip. “Excuse me,” he said to the man sitting across from him and thumbed the answer button.
“Sallinen.”
“Hey, Dad,” his son J.J. chirped into his ear. “Got a minute?”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“Well, you better make time, because what I’ve got to say is important.”
Jack paused. Assertiveness was something new for J.J.. Typically, the boy showed as much initiative as a tree sloth. Unless, of course, he was conniving with his bitch of a mother. Jack had lost a lot of his wealth in the divorce, in part due to his son’s interfering and ill-timed comments.
“All right,” Jack said, his chair creaking as he settled back into it. “This had better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good, Pops. Headline news stuff.” There was a pause. “Natalie Morris. I know you’re involved with what happened to her.”
Jack felt the skin tighten along the back of his neck. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I found photos of her in your desk,” J.J. said. “And she looked dead.”
The words made Jack grow cold inside. His grip on the cell tightened until his knuckles blazed white.
“What’s the matter?” J.J. said. “For once, you’ve got nothing to say?”
Jack pulled in a deep breath, giving himself a chance to think. J.J. wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He did call here first and not the cops. Or did he?
“Who else have you talked to about this?” he asked, realizing there was no sense denying it now.
“Not the cops, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Good,” said Jack, then reluctantly added, “thank you.” The words burned like acid on his tongue.
“Jesus—you did kill her!” J.J.’s words spilled out in a stunned rush. “And Jimmy.”
Jack lifted his eyes to the man sitting across the table from him. Darryl Webber met his gaze with a grin and a wink.
“I haven’t killed anyone.” Jack sneezed once, twice. He grabbed a Kleenex and wiped at his nose.
“Bless you, father, for you have sinned,” J.J. said with a nervous laugh. “So, tell me. What’re you doing with photos of a dead girl—someone the whole town is looking for?”
“I’m not explaining myself to you,” snapped Jack. “Especially not over the phone. And why couldn’t this wait until I got home?”
“Isn’t it obvious? If you have these photos, then you know where she’s buried. I figured that’s worth something.”
The idiot didn’t even understand the question. How could he have fathered such a complete turd?
“Fine,” Jack said. “What do you want?”
There was silence on the other end. Jack thought J.J. would finally fold. But his son surprised him.
“I want in. Whatever you’re doing, I want to be a part of it. I want to help.”
Great, now he gets ambitious. “I don’t need a partner.”
“Either you let me help, or I go to the cops with the photos. Not even you will be able to get yourself out of that one.”
The little shit was blackmailing him? He wanted to reach through the phone, grab a fistful neck, and choke the life out of him. But he couldn’t, not yet. J.J. had the photos. Or he’d seen them. But had anyone else?
“When I get home, we can talk. For now, let’s keep this between you and me.”
“Well…that’s another thing. Katie was here when I found them. I freaked a little, but I think I hid it. Then I made up an excuse to get her out of here.”
Jack exploded. “You went into a room where you’re not allowed, forced your way into a locked drawer, got into a locked box, and you didn’t have the presence of mind to do it alone? Jesus H. Christ, boy!”
Webber’s shoulders shook with silent laughter
“Oh sure,” J.J. said. “As if I knew what I’d find. Who thinks their dad’s a serial killer who keeps photos of his victims in a drawer?”
“I’m not—” Jack clamped down hard on his rising temper. “Never mind. This makes the girl a problem. I can’t count on her believing you, or keeping her mouth shut.”
“No,” said J.J.. “I won’t let you hurt her. That’s part of the deal. To keep my mouth shut.”
“Something will have to be done.”
“I don’t want her hurt,” J.J. repeated.
“Fine. She won’t be touched.”
J.J. hesitated. “Promise me.”
“What!” Jack shouted into the phone.
“Promise or go to jail.”
From across the table, Webber made a little “get on with it” gesture with his hand.
Gritting his teeth, Jack said. “I promise.”
“Great,” J.J. replied. “We can talk more when you get home.”
“Whatever,” Jack said, hanging up without saying goodbye. He threw the cell down on his desk in disgust and looked at Webber. “I suppose you pieced that together?”
Webber tapped his cigarette, and ashes floated like toxic snow onto the carpet. “You insisted on having those photos,” he said evenly. “You wanted proof that I could do what I said. But I’m starting to wonder if a little pud-puller like you had other reasons. Let me guess—your subscription to Playboy ran out?” He stubbed out his cigarette on Jack’s desktop, mere inches from an ashtray.
Jack’s face grew warm. Webber’s comment had hit a little too close to the mark. “Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of them.”
“I told you to destroy them immediately after you’d seen them.”
“They won’t cause any more problems.”
Webber shot him a look that made the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stand straight. “I’ve put too much work into this little endeavor to have you screw it up. Do it again and you’ll find yourself cut out of our little deal.” His lip curled in one corner. “Or worse.”
Jack tried to swallow, but all he managed was a dry click. “I know you’re supposed to be some kind of von Kliner’s expert, but I don’t see how any of this helps Kevin.”
“It may not affect him,” Webber said. “But it does involve him.”
When Webber didn’t elaborate, Jack said, “Okay, you want to tell me how?”
Webber pursed his lips, then shrugged. “I’m here to prevent a man from doing a bad thing. This guy—name’s Bartholomew Owens—he’s a nasty character. Comes across as some kind of harmless old guy. He’s as harmless as a towel head with a truck full of nukes.” He paused to light another cigarette. “Owens is here to cause trouble, and I’m here to stop him.”
“So…this guy’s got something to do with Kevin?”
Nodding, Webber said, “I’m just waiting for word that he’s locked up in a jail cell. Then I’ll deal with him.”
“But you still haven’t told me—?”
“Later,” Webber said firmly.
Jack started to protest, but then felt something burn deep in his lungs. He broke into a series of violent, hacking coughs, brought up a thick gob of phlegm, and spat it into a tissue.
Webber peered at him. “You look rough.”
“I think it’s just a cold. I should be better in a couple days.” Though, honestly, he did feel pretty crappy: aches and pains, shivers, night sweats. After his lungs had settled down, Jack said, “The Morris girl. Does she have anything to do with Owens?” Is that why Webber had grabbed her? To keep her away from him?
Webber shook his head but said nothing.
Jack decided to push a little harder. He had a suspicion, brought on by the condition of the Cain boy’s body and the full moon. It was a bizarre thought, but bizarre was an excellent word to
describe Darryl Webber. “The Cain boy wasn’t killed by an animal, was he? At least, not a natural animal.”
Webber gave him a flat, unfriendly stare and continued his silence.
“Fine,” Jack said, exasperated. “Have it your way. But if this doesn’t have anything to do with Kevin directly, why did you involve me?”
Webber leaned back in his chair. “I can’t finish this without you. You’re the most important man in Kinsey. You’ve got power, influence. Once I deal with Owens, you’ll be indispensable.” This time he tapped his cigarette ashes into the ashtray. “I assume you enjoyed the money I sent you?”
“Sure,” Jack answered. Ten grand was hard to pass up when you worked in a small burg like Kinsey. “But that’s a lot of money for information you could’ve gotten off the internet.”
“A piece never knows it is part of a puzzle until it’s put in its place.”
“Run that by me again. In English this time.”
Webber shrugged. “Help me finish what I need to do and, like I promised, your life will change in ways you can’t imagine.”
“It’d better,” Jack said, scowling. “I’m risking a lot on just your word.”
The man smiled. It looked false—a paper smile, like it had been fastened to his face with pins and tape. “Trust me.”
Jack thought back to the call from his son. “I can handle J.J.. But what about the girl? I promised she wouldn’t be hurt.”
“Don’t worry,” Webber said. “I’ll take care of her. Soon she’ll be too busy to wonder about anything. Besides, I think your chief needs another crisis to help keep her from looking our way.”
Jack peered closely at Webber. “What have you got in mind?”
Gently lifting himself out of his chair, Webber leaned in close to Jack, bracing himself on the desktop with his arms. He pushed his face close, so close that Jack could feel the scrape of the other man’s whiskers against his cheek, so close that Jack thought Webber might kiss him.
“That’s on a ‘need to know’ basis, Jack. And you don’t need to know.”
* * *
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