by T. R. Ragan
Again and again, she drove down every road in the vicinity.
At the end of another dirt road, she sat still for a moment as she scanned the area. Something niggled.
HAN—BOOM!
HAN—BOOM!
In her mind’s eye she could see the shape of Tyler McDonald’s lips and the way his tongue slid under the roof of his mouth as he said, “Han.”
“Han-nah,” she said aloud as she looked straight ahead. “Hannah,” she said again. Tyler had been saying he’d had nothing to do with Hannah’s death. The killer’s daughter’s name had been Hannah!
She squinted as she leaned forward, her chest pressed up against the steering column.
In the distance was a building in the middle of nowhere. Looking from left to right, her heart racing, she realized she couldn’t get to it from the road she was on. She put the car in reverse and sped backward, gravel popping beneath the tires as she drove over uneven dirt until she was on the main road again.
Keeping an eye on the building as she drove, afraid of losing sight of it, she made a left and then a right.
There it was. It was definitely a warehouse. Dust sprayed up from the wheels as she pulled closer. The building looked like an oversize gray stucco box. There was no loading dock. Only a double steel door and few windows.
Flooded with adrenaline, she circled the building, braking when she spotted a car, a silver Lincoln Town Car. She pulled up and got out to check it out.
She could hardly breathe. Was Emily inside the building?
Bent forward, she rushed over to the car and tried all the doors. Locked. Through the window she saw cases of Gatorade and water bottles. On the floor was a toolbox. She took a picture of the license plate and texted the image to both Zee and Ben, asking for assistance in finding out who the car belonged to. She also typed out the name Hannah.
Six minutes later, Zee responded with a text of her own: Rickey Talbert. Daughter, Hannah Talbert.
Five seconds after that, Ben called. “He’s on the DHI complaint list. That’s our guy. Where are you?”
She gave him her location, then asked, “What about the initials MAH?”
“It seems it’s been right there in front of us all along,” Ben told her. “In every complaint Rickey Talbert sent to DHI, he mentioned being mad as hell. In the first letter I received, he told me the same thing. He said he was Mad As Hell . . . MAH.”
Jessie cursed under her breath. How had she missed that?
“Hold on,” Ben said. She heard him set his phone down before muffled voices sounded in the background.
“The police have been called,” he said once he was back on the line. “They’re on their way.”
“Thanks.”
“We already know Rickey Talbert has proven to be a dangerous man,” Ben warned. “You’re not armed. Get out of there now.”
Rickey Talbert paced the room, sickened by what he’d done. His anger had changed him into something he no longer recognized. Across the room, Emily reached out. Without hesitation, he went to her and sat in the chair beside her. “What is it? What do you need?”
“Dad,” she said, her voice barely audible. “You’re here.”
Back stooped, chin trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Don’t be sad,” she told him. “Everything will be all right.”
His chest ached. “I’m sorry.” If he could take it all back, he would.
“You did the best you could.” She gritted her teeth. When the pain finally passed, she said, “I love you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again before his head fell forward. He thought of his daughter then and choked out the words, “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I didn’t mean to cause so much pain and suffering. I’ve missed you and your mother so much.”
He lifted his head, wiped tears from his eyes.
Emily’s face was so pale. She was so young. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He got to his feet and moved the chair aside. He couldn’t sit here and watch her die. It might be too late to save her, but the doctors and nurses could make her comfortable. No more pain.
He’d been wrong. So wrong.
She didn’t have to needlessly suffer.
Drowning in despair, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the exit. “Hang on. I’m going to get you help.”
Jessie had never struggled so hard to do the sensible thing. More than anything she wanted to storm inside the building and try to save the girl—if Emily was in there and still alive, that was.
Yes, it would be a foolish thing to do since she was unarmed.
But what if there was a chance, any chance at all, that she could rescue the girl?
She glanced at her watch.
How could she possibly drive away and do nothing?
She got out of the car; gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she walked toward the building. Cars whizzed by in both directions on Highway 65; white noise unless she focused on it. Standing in place, less than ten feet from the steel doors, she stopped, breathed, listened. Her fingers flexed at her sides, curling and uncurling.
Far off to the right in the distance, she could see a row of warehouses. To the left she saw movement, merely tumbleweeds, rolling across an empty field.
Her phone buzzed. It was Ben. She hit “Talk” and held the phone to her ear at the same time as the steel doors to the warehouse opened.
Her breath caught in her throat. For a fleeting moment she thought she was seeing things.
A man walked out carrying a girl, her arms and legs bony and frail, her body limp.
He looked up, saw Jessie, and stopped in his tracks, his legs set wide apart as the doors clanged shut behind him.
Her adrenaline spiked as a compulsion to flee set in. But she held her ground. Rickey Talbert, she thought. Just as Emily had described him on the video, he had stringy hair and dark-brown eyes—sad eyes, not the eyes of a killer. And yet he had already killed two people, possibly three.
Seconds passed. Neither of them made a move. The phone was still pressed against her ear. “Jessie,” Ben was saying. “Where are you now?”
“I never left.”
“Are you in your car?”
“No. It’s too late.” She disconnected the call and shoved her phone into her pocket. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Is she alive?” Jessie asked Rickey Talbert.
“Not for long.”
What did he mean by that? Was he going to kill her? What was he doing with her? Why had he come outside? To dispose of her body?
Jessie could see the girl’s face. It was Emily Shepard.
She looked from Emily to Talbert. The woeful expression on the man’s face confused her.
“Will you take her to the hospital?” he asked.
It took half a second for his words to register. Jessie nodded, then turned and ran to her car and opened the back door so he could place Emily inside. The thought that it could be a trick floated through her mind. But what if it wasn’t?
There was no turning back now. She didn’t have a weapon. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do if he decided to attack her. Jessie watched him walk toward her. The man looked frail, and yet he didn’t appear to struggle with the weight of the young woman in his arms. His face was drawn, focused, as if he was intent on getting her help.
Nothing about this scene made any sense whatsoever.
It was difficult to tell if Emily was breathing. Every part of her body had gone slack. Her skin was pale, her eyes closed.
Sirens sounded in the distance. He placed Emily carefully on the back seat and shut the door. “Go,” he said.
Jessie didn’t need to be told twice.
She jumped in behind the wheel and drove off, gravel spitting and popping beneath the undercarriage. She stopped at the corner of the building as police cars streamed in, one after another. The moment she spotted the ambulance, she jumped out of the car and waved it down.
The paramedics didn’t waste any time transferring Emily to a stre
tcher.
Jessie followed one of the EMTs to the back of the ambulance, where they were loading her on and assessing the situation. “Is she alive?”
“We have a pulse,” he said.
Relieved, hopeful, Jessie stepped back so they could shut the doors and be on their way.
“Put your hands over your head,” she heard an officer shout.
Jessie looked back toward Rickey Talbert, surprised to catch him looking right at her. She was too far away to hear what he said unless he shouted, but she’d been reading lips since middle school. The way he pronounced each word made it easy for her to decipher: “Don’t let her suffer.”
The ambulance backed out onto the street and sounded its alarms as it took off.
“Put your hands in the air!” came another warning.
Jessie watched with growing tension. Don’t do it, she thought.
Rickey Talbert wasn’t listening to the cops’ continued shouts to put his hands up.
Her skin prickled as she watched the tension leave his body as he slowly, methodically, reached deep into his front pants pocket.
He whipped his hand out and pointed a finger at the officers closest to him. Shots were fired. Rickey Talbert dropped to one knee and then crumbled to the ground.
Something told Jessie Rickey Talbert had gotten exactly the ending he wanted.
FORTY-FIVE
Less than twenty-four hours later, Jessie and Olivia stared out the front window overlooking J Street. News vans were parked along the main street, and a line of reporters stood just outside the broken gate with their microphones and camerapersons.
“Did you call the hospital?” Olivia asked.
Jessie nodded. “Emily is still in critical condition, but she’s hanging on.”
“That’s good. What about Hannah’s dad? Is he going to make it?”
“No. He’s gone.” From everything Jessie was able to gather from Colin and Ben, Rickey Talbert was once just a regular guy from Missouri. Before he lost his wife and daughter, he was seen in his community as a good man, respected by those who knew him.
“It’s probably for the best that he’s gone.”
Jessie agreed but wondered why Olivia would say that. “Why is it for the best?”
Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I guess from everything I’ve overheard you telling Colin on the phone, it just seems like he sort of went off the deep end after losing his daughter. If he could have gotten help, you know, talked to someone, I don’t think he would have killed those guys.”
“And yet you think he’s better off dead?”
“Definitely. He won’t have to spend his life in a cell trying to figure out or explain to others what went wrong. He can be with his wife and daughter now.”
“Hmm.” Jessie had mixed feelings about Rickey Talbert. On the one hand, maybe he was better off dead. He’d obviously had no will to live without his wife and daughter. And yet it bothered her to think that he could have used that anger and drive to advocate for a positive change instead.
There was a knock on the door. From the looks of it, a brazen reporter had seen them looking out the window and figured it was worth a shot.
“How am I going to get to school?” Olivia asked.
Jessie ushered Olivia away from the window. “Call Bella and tell her I’m going to take you this morning. You be a good dog,” Jessie told Higgins. “I’ll be right back.”
Olivia made the call, then grabbed her backpack and followed Jessie out the back door and down a long flight of narrow stairs.
When there were no parking spaces on the street, Jessie parked near the dumpster in the alley. A young reporter happened to peek down the alleyway and headed toward them.
“When we get to the car, just get inside and lock your door,” Jessie told Olivia.
“Jessie Cole. One question, please!”
The young reporter was right on her heels. Jessie sifted through her purse for her keys, which was never an easy task considering she had everything from ChapStick to a plastic fork inside her bag.
“Everyone wants to know how you found the girl.”
“It was a lucky shot,” Jessie said, still walking, still searching.
“No, really. How did you know where to look?”
Ignoring the question, Jessie and Olivia kept walking.
When they got to the car, Olivia went to the passenger door and tried to get in. “Do you have the key?”
Jessie gave Olivia a look. “I’m trying.”
“Were you working the case on your own? Did DHI hire you?”
“I had help,” she told the reporter. “Ben Morrison with the Sacramento Tribune.” She found the keys and held them up to show Olivia, who merely rolled her eyes.
“Once again you’re being called a hero.”
“I was just doing my job.” She unlocked the door and climbed in behind the wheel. “Emily is still in the hospital,” Jessie told the reporter, “and I only hope we were able to find her in time.”
“It is kind of cool that people think you’re a hero,” Olivia said as they drove away.
Jessie was reluctant to take that label. “Heroes are doctors and nurses, firefighters and scientists. They change lives.”
“And they also save lives,” Olivia stated matter-of-factly. “This isn’t the first time you’ve saved a life.”
“I guess we all have it within ourselves to be heroes,” Jessie said. “You’re a hero.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You saved Higgins, didn’t you?”
Olivia shot her a mischievous look. “I wish I could save a lot more animals.”
“You also saved Cecil. Who else would have taken in an ugly one-eyed cat and saved him from death’s door? You could have had any cat in the pound, and you chose Cecil.”
“Cecil is not ugly. He would not be happy to hear you say that.”
Jessie chuckled.
The next few minutes were quiet until Jessie said, “Have you talked to Ryder since the dance?”
“He’s left a couple of messages apologizing for being a jerk, but I don’t want anything to do with him. He has a lot of growing up to do.”
Jessie’s smiled as she pulled close to the curb in front of the school. It wasn’t easy being a teenager. A developing brain and body. Mood swings and testing your limits. “I’m proud of you, Olivia.”
Olivia climbed out, adjusted her backpack, and then shut the door and leaned into the open window. “Ditto.”
Maybe she was doing a decent job raising her, after all, she thought as she watched Olivia walk off. She punched in the address of where she planned to go next. She wanted to stay far away from her home and office until the hoopla surrounding Emily Shepard died down.
Today she would go to Clarksburg, a small town located on the Sacramento River where Ben and Nancy had been born and raised. After their parents had died, they’d lived with a relative. Ben’s knowledge of his childhood was limited. After the accident, the only information he’d gotten from his sister was that they’d grown up in Clarksburg, and that his parents’ names were Lou and Dannie. That was it.
He’d spent months in the hospital, and when he’d returned to his apartment in West Sacramento, nothing was left but a room filled with garbage and a few broken dishes.
If Jessie hadn’t been in such a hurry to get out of town, she would have called Ben and asked him for his social security number. A search of public records and private databases using the names Lou Morrison and Dannie Morrison had gotten her nowhere. In 2010 Clarksburg had a population of 418. With so few people, somebody had to remember Ben’s family and hopefully be able to shed some light on who they were and what happened to them.
After taking Exit 510, Jessie glanced in the rearview mirror. Nobody was following her, which made her wonder what Nick Bale was up to these days. Did he know that his wife had called off the search?
A few miles down South River Road, Jessie turned onto Clarksburg Road. It was a beautiful area—
sprawling vineyards next to a winding river. She had heard of the Old Sugar Mill before but had never been. The building had a vintage country feel to it and featured thirteen wineries. Deciding to start there, Jessie pulled into the parking lot.
The atmosphere inside was casual and welcoming. The place had high ceilings and lots of natural light. There was a large outdoor patio and plenty of seating next to a grassy field. People were scattered about, enjoying wine and chocolates. Jessie talked to a woman behind the counter who had lived in Clarksburg for over a decade, but she had never heard of the Morrison family.
Jessie’s next stop was the post office and then an empty church, and finally a small market on Netherlands Avenue. For such a tiny building, the market appeared to have everything you could possibly need. A friendly couple stood behind the checkout stand. Jessie found some snacks to buy before she headed that way and asked about Lou and Dannie Morrison.
“Never heard of them,” the man said.
“Lou and Dannie,” the woman repeated. “Those names sound familiar.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re not talking about Ben and Nancy’s folks, are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
Jessie paid for her snacks and then moved aside so the woman’s husband could help another customer.
“Ben was in an accident ten years ago that left him with amnesia,” Jessie explained. “Since he has yet to regain his memories, I’m trying to help him find out more about his childhood and his parents.”
The woman’s brow creased. “I heard about the accident.” She offered Jessie her hand. “My name is Sadie Powers. Nancy and I are the same age. We went to elementary school together.”
“So you knew Ben?”
“Not really. He was older.”
“Did you ever hang out at Nancy’s house? Anything like that?”
Sadie waved a hand through the air. “No way. We never went to each other’s homes. My parents didn’t like me being friends with Nancy, but I couldn’t tell you why. I moved in the seventh grade, and I never saw her again.”