The Dead Room dm-3

by Chris Mooney

  ‘Do you have a stepfather?’

  ‘My mom never got married.’

  ‘Do you have any other siblings?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about aunts, uncles or cousins?’

  ‘My mom… It was just me and her.’

  His lips clamped shut again, then his eyes. His chest heaved in the air and he started to tremble.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Darby took his hand. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘My mom…’ He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘She said that if something happened to her, if I ever got into trouble or was scared, I had to call Thomas McCormick. She said he’s the only police officer to trust. She told me not to talk to anyone else, under any circumstances.’

  He started bawling.

  ‘My mom’s dead and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.’

  10

  Darby grabbed a box of tissues from the nightstand. John Hallcox did not take the tissues but he took her hand and held it while he sobbed.

  Drops of rain flecked the window. She wondered if the Wonder Twins had found anything inside the woods. It was easier to look out of the window and think about Randy and Mark searching the muddy ground for evidence, to think about the ransacked house with all of its blood and broken glass, than it was to watch the twelve-year-old boy’s face.

  A memory came to her: squeezing her father’s big and callused hand. It was the size of a baseball mitt. He lay in a hospital bed similar to this one, hooked up to tubes and monitors, and she had dug her fingernails into his skin, drawing blood, knowing he would wake up before the doctor removed him from life support.

  ‘I’m sorry, John. I’m truly sorry for what you’re going through.’

  At last the awful crying ended. He grabbed several tissues and wiped his face.

  She placed the digital recorder on the bed. ‘When you’re ready to talk, and with your permission, I’d like to tape this conversation. That way I can listen to you and not take notes. Is that okay?’

  John nodded.

  ‘I’ll help you through this. Sometimes I may have to interrupt you with a question or I may ask you to clarify something. I need to make sure I have all the facts straight in my head. If you don’t understand something, ask, okay?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Okay.’

  The boy clearly didn’t know where to start.

  Gently, she said, ‘Tell me about the people who came inside your house.’

  ‘There were two of them. Two men. I was on the sofa watching TV when I heard the door open. I thought it was my mom coming home so I didn’t get up.’

  ‘You were home alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where was your mom?’

  ‘She said she had to go to a couple of job interviews and do some errands and wouldn’t be back until late. She told me to stay inside the house until she got home.’

  ‘Why? Was your mom worried about something?’

  ‘She was always worried. No matter where we lived, she was always telling me to make sure the apartment was locked up. She’d always make sure the windows were locked before she went to bed. Every day when I came home from school, she’d call to ask if everything was okay. I thought… My mom didn’t make a lot of money and we never lived in the best neighbourhoods. When we were in Los Angeles, our apartment got broken into and she freaked out. Two weeks later we were living in Asbury Park. That’s in New Jersey.’

  ‘Did you move around a lot?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘I think it has something to do with her parents,’ John said. ‘They were murdered before I was born. She never got into specifics or anything. The only thing she told me was that the people who did it were never caught. I think she was scared they might come for her or something.’ He swallowed and then took in a sharp breath. ‘And they did. They found us and killed her.’

  ‘You said “they”. There was more than one person?’

  ‘You mean inside my house?’

  ‘We’ll get to that. I want to know about the people who murdered your grandparents.’

  ‘I don’t know names or anything. My mom just said people came into her parents’ house one night and shot them to death while they were sleeping. My mom said she wasn’t there – I don’t know where she was. She told me these people were never caught.’

  ‘What are the names of your grandparents?’

  ‘I don’t know. My mom never talked about them. I don’t even know where they lived. I asked her – I was, you know, curious about what had happened – but she wouldn’t go into any details. I think that’s what made her paranoid about using computers.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She never went on the internet to order anything. She couldn’t, anyway, ’cause she didn’t have a credit card – she always paid cash for everything. She thought people could spy on you if you were on the internet.’

  ‘Was she worried these men who murdered your grandparents would somehow find her?’

  ‘I guess. I mean, that’s what I thought.’

  ‘Do you know how old your mother was when her parents died?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where did she go to live?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologize, John. You’re doing great. Let’s talk about why you came to Belham. You said something about a job opportunity. What kind of jobs?’

  ‘She didn’t tell me specifics. My mom… She’s fun and everything, takes me places, but there are certain things she’s real private about. At least with me.’

  ‘Like what happened to her parents.’

  ‘Right. She told me they were murdered before I was born. She was always afraid of something happening. And she’s not, you know, gushy with her emotions. She keeps them bottled up. When you talk to her about what’s bothering her, she won’t tell you.’

  John was talking about her in the present tense, as if she were going to come through this door at any moment, sit down on the bed and hold him, tell him everything’s going to be fine.

  ‘Tell me about your mother’s friends,’ Darby said.

  ‘I never met them. For all I know, she didn’t have any.’

  ‘How long have you been living in Belham?’

  ‘Just a couple of days,’ he said. ‘We were only going to stay for, like, a week, or something.’

  ‘Do you know the names of the people who owned the house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go back to when you were on the sofa. You said you heard the door open.’

  ‘It was the door at the end of the kitchen hall, the one that lead out to the garage. I know that because it makes this swishing sound against the floor when it opens.’

  ‘Did your mom leave one of the garage doors open?’

  He thought about it for a moment.

  ‘I… I remember when my mom left, she told me to lock the door – the door at the end of the kitchen hall. But I don’t remember hearing the garage door shut. I’m not sure. It’s all confusing. It’s like I have all these snapshots flashing through my head all at once. It’s hard to keep track.’

  ‘That’s normal.’

  ‘So when it opened later, I thought it was my mother. And I was half-asleep on the sofa. I remember it was dark – I could see the backyard through the sliding glass door in the living room. That’s when I saw him, the man with the gun. He was standing at the end of the sofa telling me to stay quiet.’

  ‘Describe him to me. Tell me everything you noticed, even if you don’t think it’s important.’

  ‘He wasn’t wearing a ski mask or anything, which I thought was kind of odd. The other guy wasn’t either. I mean, that’s what you do when you rob a house, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Darby felt excitement bumping in her chest. Two men had entered the house and the boy had seen their faces. He could give descriptions to a sketch artist. A long shot, maybe, but if the pictures ra
n on TV someone might recognize them.

  ‘He was a white guy,’ John said. ‘And he was wearing this warm-up suit – the kind the Celtics wear. Had a Celtics hat too. A baseball cap. He was old. He kind of looked like someone’s grandfather but his face was, like, weird.’

  ‘Weird how?’

  ‘He didn’t have any wrinkles. His skin was, like, all smoothed back. It reminded me of Mrs Milstein – she was our neighbour when we were living in Toronto. She got a facelift and her skin was real tight and kind of shiny. My mom said Mrs Milstein had gotten a facelift. This Celtics guy had the same kind of face, and his hands… they weren’t right. They looked like they belonged on someone else. They were all wrinkled and hairy, and I saw these big veins sticking out on them. They reminded me of the hands I saw on the really old guys at nursing homes.’

  ‘When did you get a close-up look at this man’s hands?’

  ‘When he was…’ He swallowed again. ‘He made me get up from the sofa and sit on one of the kitchen chairs. That’s when I saw the other guy. He was standing in the kitchen. He pointed a nine-millimetre at me while the Celtics guy taped me down to the chair.’

  ‘You recognized his gun?’

  ‘I watch a lot of cop shows. CSI, Law and Order – stuff like that. The cops always carry nines. And when they interview the victims, they always ask for details.’ His voice sounded so terribly frail. ‘So when I… When all of this was happening, there was, like, this voice in the back of my head telling me to pay attention to everything. The little details are what catch these guys.’

  ‘You’re doing a great job, John. This is really helpful. Tell me about the man standing in the kitchen.’

  ‘He was wearing a suit – not a warm-up suit, I mean the kind a banker or lawyer would wear. He wasn’t wearing a tie, though. He was a white guy and kind of… not fat but he had a gut on him. I remember he kept checking his watch.’

  ‘Was he wearing gloves?’

  John nodded. ‘Blue ones, the kind the forensics people wear on TV.’

  ‘Do you remember what colour his shirt was?’

  ‘White.’

  The body she’d seen in the woods had had a white shirt and blue latex gloves.

  ‘Did these men talk to you?’

  ‘The Celtics guy did,’ John said. ‘He said he just wanted to take a look around the house and he couldn’t do that while keeping an eye on me. ‘Relax, champ, this will all be over before you know it,’ is what he said. Then he put tape across my eyes and patted me on the shoulder. He didn’t talk to me after that.’

  ‘Do you remember hearing anything? Did you hear their names? What they said to each other?’

  ‘I didn’t hear their names. They swore a lot. They started searching through the kitchen, ripping open the drawers and throwing out plates. All I kept hearing were things smashing against the floor.’

  ‘What were they looking for?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought… I was pretty sure I heard a phone ringing and then the smashing stopped. I know the garage door opened, I remember hearing it. That’s when everything got real quiet. Then they grabbed my mother.’

  He swallowed again, his shiny eyes growing wide with fear as his mind started replaying what had happened to his mother.

  Darby moved him away from it. ‘Why did you ask to speak to my father?’

  He didn’t answer. He looked down at the tissues balled in his fist, his eyes darting back and forth as if he had dropped the answers to the question.

  She leaned closer. ‘You can trust me, John.’

  He reached for the tape recorder and shut it off.

  11

  Darby waited for the boy to speak, afraid that if she pressed him, he’d shut down.

  Two minutes later he did. He wouldn’t look at her.

  ‘I promised my mother. I promised her I’d tell the truth only to Thomas McCormick.’

  ‘The truth about what?’

  ‘About my grandparents,’ he said. ‘About why they were killed.’

  Don’t push or you’ll lose him.

  She waited.

  ‘I know who did it,’ he said. ‘I know their names.’

  ‘Look at me, John.’

  When he did, she said, ‘You’re not alone in this any more. Whatever it is that happened, I can help you. You can trust me.’

  ‘Sean.’

  ‘Is that the name of one of the men who murdered your grandparents?’

  ‘No. That’s my real name. Nobody is supposed to know. Only your father knows. My mother –’

  He stopped talking, snapping his attention to the voices shouting outside his room. He looked frightened.

  The door opened. The boy jumped, hitting the back of his head against the wall.

  A searing anger lifted Darby off the bed. She got to her feet as the lights were turned on.

  Pine and the patrolman crowded the doorway. They seemed out of breath. They were speaking to her but she didn’t hear them, her attention locked on the man standing near the foot of the bed. He wore a crisp tan suit and a floral tie, his short black hair damp with the rain.

  A Federal agent. The smug expression on his face gave it away, even before he flashed the tin.

  ‘I’m Special Agent Phillips,’ he said in a calm and somewhat effeminate voice. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room, Dr McCormick. I’m officially taking over this investigation.’

  Darby pushed the Fed away from the bed and got in his face. ‘He’s not going anywhere.’

  ‘I beg to differ. His mother is a fugitive. They’ve crossed state lines, which makes this a Federal investigation. And you should know better than to question him without an adult present.’

  ‘He’s not a suspect, you idiot.’

  Phillips looked at the boy. ‘I’m taking you to the Albany field office in New York. We’ll place you –’

  ‘I’m going to give you a choice,’ Darby said. ‘You can walk out of here standing, or you can be thrown out of here.’

  Pine stepped forward, clearing his throat. ‘He’s got a fugitive warrant, Darby.’

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Phillips said, and pushed her to one side.

  Mistake.

  She grabbed his wrist, twisting his hand behind his back. She grabbed the back of his shirt collar, dragged him across the floor and shoved him face first against the wall.

  The Fed yelped in pain. She didn’t let go. She applied more pressure to his arm, wanting to snap it. Instead, she leaned in close to him and said, ‘You don’t listen too well, do you?’

  She pulled him away from the wall, dragged him to the door and threw him into the corridor. He fell against the floor, gritting his teeth and sweat popping out on his forehead as he glared up at her.

  ‘Keep your ass out of here,’ she said.

  What she saw in his eyes she had seen in too many men – an insecure boy trapped in a man’s body. A guy like Phillips would lay in wait, nursing his wounded ego and pride. He’d take his embarrassment and then channel it into his only real talent: finding the most spectacular way to screw you over.

  ‘Calm down,’ Pine said behind her. ‘Nobody here wants to hurt you.’

  Darby turned and saw Patrolman Rodman reaching for his sidearm.

  The boy was holding a gun – a small .38 revolver, aimed at Pine.

  Where the hell did he get the gun?

  ‘Stay back,’ John – Sean – screamed. ‘I’m not going with him.’

  Darby moved in front of Pine, raising her hands near her head. ‘You’re right, you’re not going with him.’

  ‘You can’t make me. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.’

  ‘Look at me,’ Darby said. ‘Look at me.’

  He did, lips quivering. Tears spilled down his cheeks and the gun shook in his hand.

  ‘You don’t have to go with him, I promise.’ Her heart was beating fast but she wasn’t afraid. ‘And I promised I’d help you, remember? You can trust me.’

  He didn’t answer. He scanned
each of the faces staring at him.

  Darby cocked her head over her shoulder and said, ‘Everyone, out of the room.’

  Pine hesitated.

  ‘Do it,’ Darby said. ‘Now.’

  When everyone had left, she backed up slowly and shut the door.

  The boy’s frightened gaze shifted to the recorder lying on the tangled blanket.

  ‘It’s off,’ Darby said. ‘It’s just you and me, Sean.’

  He started sobbing but didn’t lower the gun.

  ‘You’ve been through a lot tonight,’ Darby said. ‘You’re scared, you’re angry and upset. I understand what you’re going through. My father was murdered. Whatever this is about, I’ll help you solve it.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I can. I will. I gave you my word. Whatever this is about, you can trust me.’

  He kept sobbing.

  ‘Put the gun down on the bed,’ Darby said. ‘Just put it down and then you and I will talk. Just me and you, okay? I promise –’

  He slammed the muzzle underneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

  12

  Jamie Russo popped the boot, then considered the two handguns lying on the passenger seat: her .44 Magnum and a Glock with an extended magazine. She went with the Magnum, slid it inside her shoulder holster and stepped out of the car. The right side of her face throbbed and she could still taste blood on the back of her throat.

  A full moon hung in the sky above the rock walls of the old Belham Quarry. She had left the car headlights on and could see the edge of the cliff. She wasn’t worried about being seen. No houses for miles and she doubted anyone came out this way any more, especially at this time of night.

  She walked to the back of the car, her sneakers sinking in the soft, muddy earth.

  The man she knew only as Ben lay on his back inside the boot. His clothes and swollen, cut face were smeared with blood and covered with shards of glass. His icy-blue eyes were open, squinting underneath a pale square of dim light.

  Thank God, she thought, sighing with relief. Before leaving the house, she had quickly bound the gunshot wound on his thigh with duct tape to keep him from bleeding out. During the long, slow drive through the back streets, then navigating her way through the maze of winding trails that led to the quarry, she had choked on the possibility that he would die.