Ruckman Road: An Alex Penfield Novel

by Robert W. Stephens

  “Is that a phone?” Torres asked.

  “Where?” Penfield asked.

  “Over there, by the chair.”

  Penfield looked across the attic toward two windows that overlooked the front yard. He saw what Torres pointed at, a small cell phone on the floor underneath the window on the right side. He turned to Amy.

  “Do you have his phone number in your file?”

  Amy nodded and opened up the file folder.

  “Call it, please,” Penfield continued.

  Amy removed her cell phone from her front pocket and dialed Talbot’s number. A second later, the phone under the window vibrated.

  “More cameras,” Torres said.

  She pointed to two cameras in opposite corners of the attic.

  “Why in the world would he leave his phone up here?” Penfield asked.

  “I don’t think that’s anywhere near the mystery as to why he had cameras all over a mostly empty house,” Torres said.

  Penfield walked over to the window. He removed a plastic evidence bag from his jacket pocket. He turned the bag inside-out and picked up the phone. He then turned it right side, closed the bag, and shoved it into his coat pocket.

  “You said earlier you do security patrols,” Torres said.

  “Most of the buildings in and around the fort are empty. We don’t want anyone breaking into them, so we have a team that patrols twenty-four hours a day.”

  “We’ll eventually want to talk to them,” Torres said.

  They descended to the second floor. Penfield and Torres did one more walk-through as they made their way down to the first floor.

  “There’s a basement, too. Do you want to see it?” Amy asked.

  “Of course,” Torres said.

  The entrance to the basement staircase was in the living room. Amy turned a lock on the door and opened it. They walked down a wooden staircase, which brought them to a massive basement. It was unfinished and had cinderblock walls and a concrete floor. There looked to be four rooms in total. Amy led Torres to the far room. Penfield went in the opposite direction and checked the front room. As he walked through the doorway, the pain shot through his side again. It was like someone lit a fire inside his stomach. He had to lean against the cement wall to keep from falling over. He sucked in deep breaths, but the air was musty and stale from the several puddles of water throughout the basement. His body temperature spiked again, and soon his face was wet from the thick beads of sweat that ran down his face.

  He managed to stand up straight and wipe the moisture from his face by the time Torres finished checking the other rooms and joined him in the front room. Torres looked at him. He could tell she knew something was wrong, but he didn’t acknowledge his pain.

  “Find anything?” she asked.

  “Just another camera,” Penfield said.

  He pointed to a camera above the door that he’d just managed to see as Torres walked through the door.

  “Same in the others. So the entire first and third floors are covered, as is the basement, but the second floor only has cameras in about half the rooms,” Torres said.

  Torres turned to Amy.

  “I think we’re done for now.”

  Amy nodded and took them back up the stairs to the first floor. Penfield barely made it to the top. Torres didn’t wait for him. Instead, she walked to the front door and retrieved the keys from the small table. She tried one in the door lock. It fit, and she was able to turn the lock open and closed. She put the keys back on the table as Penfield approached.

  “He left his house keys here,” Torres said.

  Penfield turned and took a final look at the empty living room. They exited the house, and Amy locked the front door behind them with her master key. They made their way back to the parking lot. Torres turned to Amy.

  “You’ve been of great help. I’m sure we’re going to ask to get back in the house sometime soon.”

  “Of course,” Amy replied.

  “Do you have any emergency contacts for Talbot?” Penfield asked.

  “Yes, I wrote down her name and number.”

  She handed Penfield a square yellow paper. Penfield looked at it. He saw the name “Hannah Talbot,” and an area code he recognized as being in California. Los Angeles to be exact.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “No problem.”

  Amy left the two detectives and climbed back into her car. She drove away as Penfield and Torres looked back in the direction of Talbot’s rental home.

  “He rents a 5,000-square-foot house, has hardly any furniture in it, but puts cameras all over the place,” Torres said.

  “And he leaves his cell phone on the dirty attic floor.” Penfield turned to the car. “And we know he didn’t leave by means of his car. Also, why leave the house unlocked?”

  “Maybe he decided to go for a run or walk, and he thought it was safe to leave them. This place can’t get much foot traffic,” Torres suggested.

  “If that was the case, did he jump in the water, or did someone force him?” Penfield asked.

  “So you’re saying we’ve decided the body Jenny Barnes saw this morning was definitely Talbot?” Torres asked.

  “Not necessarily, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say yes.”

  “Let’s go back to the bridge. See if the Coast Guard’s had any luck.”

  Penfield nodded, and they walked to Torres’s car.

  Chapter 6

  Happy Birthday

  The Coast Guard found nothing and called off the search at sunset. Penfield and Torres went back to the station and filed their initial report.

  Penfield was beyond grateful that he’d gotten home in the early evening. It was ironic that he couldn’t wait to get out of the house for the past month. Now, he’d been praying to go home all day. He walked straight for the bedroom and stripped off his clothes. He then entered the adjoining bathroom and turned the shower nozzle to hot. He waited for the bathroom to steam up before climbing into the shower. Penfield leaned against the shower wall and let the hot water wash over him. It was just a few notches below scalding, but he preferred it that way. The water felt good against his sore body. He looked down at his side and saw the pink jagged circle where the bullet had entered. He lightly ran his finger around the outside edges of the scar that had just begun to appear. He thought back to that night in Patricia Porter’s apartment.

  He hadn’t felt the bullet enter his body. Rather, he felt this vague feeling race through every part of his body. It was almost like he had touched a light socket and had gotten shocked. He remembered his limbs going numb first. He’d commanded his arms and legs to move, but he didn’t know if they’d actually responded to his mental commands. Then he remembered falling. He only knew he’d hit the floor when he found himself face-to-face with the deceased Patricia Porter.

  Penfield couldn’t get the sight of the blood out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It looked like dark red mud against the black tarp. He remembered its warmth and taste as it ran down his throat. He hadn’t known if it was his blood he’d swallowed or hers.

  Penfield turned to face the shower head. The water pounded his chest and stomach. He took a step closer to the nozzle and let the water drench his head again. Then he reached down and turned the faucet off. Penfield pulled the shower curtain back and grabbed a towel off the nearby counter. He dried off and walked into his bedroom to get dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror above his dresser. He felt old and weak. The bullet had done more harm than he’d even realized. Perhaps, tomorrow would be better. With any luck, tomorrow would be better.

  Penfield slipped on a pair of jeans and an old white t-shirt. He was halfway down the hallway, heading toward the living room, when he heard the doorbell ring. He walked to the front door and looked through the peephole. Torres must have seen the light change in the peephole.

  “Don’t you answer your phone? I’ve called you four times.”

  Penfield opened the door.

  “So
rry. I’ve been in the shower.”

  “For an hour?”

  Penfield stepped back, and Torres walked past him. She carried two white plastic bags.

  “I know you didn’t want any kind of party, and don’t worry, I didn’t invite anyone else.”

  Penfield followed her into the kitchen.

  “Actually, that’s not true. I invited everyone at the station. It’s just that no one wanted to come,” she continued.

  “Well, that’s just mean,” Penfield said.

  “The truth hurts sometimes.”

  Torres turned to him after she put the plastic bags on the counter.

  “Just kidding. I don’t think anyone even knows it’s your birthday, except me, of course. Another reason you should appreciate me more.”

  “I always appreciate you,” Penfield said.

  “Sure,” she said.

  She gave him a half smile.

  “You have to at least do something for your fortieth.”

  “Is that Chinese?” he asked.

  Torres pulled out one of the cardboard containers.

  “Large shrimp fried rice, just as you like.”

  Penfield opened a nearby cabinet and removed a couple of plates.

  “Any chance there are some steamed dumplings in there?” Penfield asked.

  “Now, I’m really offended. How long have we been partners?”

  Torres removed two more containers and placed them on the counter beside the first one.

  “And the final surprise,” she said.

  She reached into the bag and pulled out a square plastic container with a clear top. Penfield could see it was a chocolate cupcake. Torres pulled the top open and removed the cupcake. She carefully placed it on one of the plates.

  “Sorry, but I forgot to get candles. I don’t suppose you have any.”

  “Don’t think so,” Penfield replied.

  “Don’t expect me to sing Happy Birthday. You wouldn’t like my singing voice, anyway.”

  “Thanks for the food.”

  They took the food containers and plates and carried it all over to a small table in the kitchen nook. Torres sat down and started to spoon the food onto the plates.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Penfield asked.

  “What do you have?”

  Penfield walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.

  “I have beer and water.”

  “What do you think?” Torres asked.

  Penfield grabbed two Negra Modelos and brought them back to the table.

  “Just beer and water, at least it’s good beer,” Torres said.

  Penfield shrugged.

  Torres handed him a plate of food.

  “Thanks.”

  “Happy Birthday,” she said.

  She held her beer out, and Penfield tapped the bottle with his. Torres took a sip of beer.

  “You hear from your family today?” she asked.

  “My brother called me this morning.”

  “Where does he live again?”

  “New York.”

  “The city?”

  Penfield nodded.

  “When was the last time you’ve seen him?”

  “It’s been a couple of years,” Penfield admitted.

  Penfield thought a moment about that trip. It had been for his brother’s thirty-fifth. He’d stayed with them a few days, caught a show on Broadway, and done the other usual tourist stuff. With their parents now deceased and their cousins scattered across the country, his brother was really the only family he had left. He needed to do a better job of staying in touch. Then he thought about his recent hospital stay. His brother had called every day, but he’d made no effort to come down to see him. It was only a one-hour flight from New York to Virginia. The truth was, he’d been hurt by the lack of a visit.

  “How are you feeling?” Torres asked.

  Penfield wondered if she’d been able to read his thoughts just now. She knew him better than he realized. The thought made him a bit uneasy even though he knew it shouldn’t.

  “About turning forty?” he asked.

  “No, about returning to work. You looked a little rough out there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m guessing you think you had me fooled, but it was obvious you were in pain. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it out of that basement.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, and he took a long pull from his beer.

  “Maybe you should take tomorrow off.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Penfield insisted.

  Torres hesitated a moment, and then she stuck her fork into a piece of chicken.

  “You’re gonna go in no matter what I say. Aren’t you?”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Penfield said, “but I’m fine. A couple of those steps pulled my side a little. It’s not a big deal.”

  “If you say so, but that’s not how it looked to me.”

  Torres and Penfield ate in silence for a minute or two. Both seemed content, or at least resigned, to drop the subject of Penfield’s health.

  “What do you think of the Coast Guard not being able to find the body?” Torres asked.

  “Not surprised. The current is probably pretty strong, and that water’s deep. I would have been shocked if they’d actually found someone.”

  “Are they going to search tomorrow?”

  “I couldn’t get a straight answer out of them. My guess is no.”

  “Were you able to get a hold of that girl?”

  “You mean Hannah Talbot?” Penfield asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I left her a message. Still haven’t heard back.”

  “If she’s in California, then she’s a few hours behind. Maybe you’ll still get a call tonight.”

  “We need to check with the fort’s security firm. Maybe they saw something during a patrol. Maybe he made a report to them. It’s probably a long shot but worth looking in to. Were you able to go through his phone yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah, found five voicemails. Two were from Hannah Talbot. Just random stuff. Checking up on him. That sort of thing. The other three were from his work. The first one wanted to know when he was showing up. The second sounded agitated. They said he was really screwing up the job by not showing. Then the third sounded concerned, like they were hoping he was okay.”

  “Did you call the number back?” Penfield asked.

  “Of course. He worked for this place called RDV Solutions. I checked them out on the web. They do environmental work of some kind. They said Talbot was a site surveyor for them.”

  “We should go see them in the morning.”

  “Already planned on that. The manager gets in around nine,” Torres said.

  “What about the phone’s call log? Anything jump out at you?” Penfield asked.

  “Yeah, the lack of phone calls.”

  “What do you mean?” Penfield asked.

  “I’ve got tons of calls on my call history. You do, too, I’m sure. This guy hardly called anyone. Looks to me like he only called work or his sister. There were days in there where he didn’t call anyone.”

  Torres finished her beer.

  “I still can’t get over that house. Why would he put cameras all over that place?” Torres asked.

  “He was paranoid about something,” Penfield suggested.

  “Maybe someone was threatening him.”

  “Makes sense. How else would he end up in the Chesapeake Bay unless someone tossed him in? It’s not like you can slip and fall with that seawall right there. Plus, it’s too cold now to go boating or kayaking,” Penfield said.

  “So, it’s murder?”

  Penfield didn’t answer her. He wasn’t ready to go there just yet.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah? What?”

  Penfield stood and walked into the den. He returned with a small gift bag.

  “I know you said I forgot your birthday.”

  “You got
this tonight, didn’t you?” Torres asked.

  “No, I didn’t. I got it a couple of weeks ago. I keep forgetting to give it to you.”

  He handed her the bag and sat back down at the kitchen table. Torres opened the bag, spread the two sheets of colorful tissue paper apart, and removed a book. The cover had a black and white photograph of the Eiffel Tower.

  “I know that’s your dream to go there. I figured you could use these photos to hold you over until you actually buy the plane tickets.”

  Torres opened the book and flipped through the pages. It was filled with dozens of photographs of Paris.

  “Thank you, Pen.”

  Penfield nodded.

  “Don’t say I never get you anything,” he said.

  They finished eating, and Penfield thanked her again for bringing the food over. They each drank another beer and spoke more about the investigation. Nothing was figured out that night, nor did they actually expect to. Penfield walked Torres to her car, and they agreed on a time for her to swing by the next morning.

  Penfield walked back inside and collapsed on the sofa. He grabbed the remote from the side table and turned on the television. He flipped the channel for a few minutes and settled on an action film he hadn’t seen in years. It was just starting, but he was asleep before the show got to its first commercial break.

  He was dreaming soon after that. He saw Dominic Stewart standing in the hallway of the tiny two-bedroom apartment. He held the 9mm gun and pointed it at Penfield. Penfield saw the gun fire. He saw the small puff of smoke emerge from the end of the barrel. The spent cartridge ejected from the side port, but Penfield heard no sound from the weapon. He looked down at his side. It looked fine, but his hand was covered with blood after he touched the hole in his shirt. Penfield looked to the ceiling. The apartment began to spin, and he collapsed to the floor. He felt the wet, hot blood flow over his face and into his eyes. He tried to wipe his eyes clear, but his arms were too weak to raise them to his face. Just before he passed out, he thought he saw Patricia Porter blink. He didn’t know how that was possible. He’d checked her pulse after he first entered the apartment. She was dead. There was no doubt about it. She opened her mouth and spoke a few words, but he couldn’t tell what they were. What had she tried to tell him? Penfield felt a rough hand grab him and turn him onto his back. He blinked the blood out of his eyes and saw the face of Dominic Stewart standing above him. He pointed the gun at Penfield and smiled. He pulled the trigger, and Penfield felt the bullet slam into his chest. He fired the gun a second time, and Penfield gasped. This was the end. There was no other possible outcome.