Hidden Vices

by C. J. Carpenter

  As Megan returned to her truck and turned on the lights, she stared into the opened garage and could see four burlap sacks on a bench. She locked the doors immediately, then retreated from what she could only think of as another close call with the icy waters of Lake Hopatcong.

  Megan was on her way home when she drove near Duane Baker’s garage. The closed sign was facing the road, but she saw his mother sitting in the office. She pulled in. Megan knocked on the front door. Lynn didn’t respond. Megan knocked again and walked in. “Lynn, it’s Megan McGinn. Do you mind if I come in?”

  Lynn sat at her desk with a bottle of whiskey, staring at a picture of her son. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t matter much to me.” She took a swig from the dirty glass.

  “I, um.” Megan sighed. “I saw what happened to Duane, and I wanted to tell you that—”

  Lynn interrupted. “Tell me my delinquent son is a murderer? I’ve gotten enough phone calls and hang-ups today from people who feel that way. Apparently, Christmas Eve is also a day to spread hate in this town.”

  Megan shook her head. “No, Lynn. That’s not why I’m here.”

  Another shot of whiskey. “My son is no angel. I’ve known that for a long time. Something turned him when he was a young boy. Not sure what. Maybe when his father ditched us. Who knows what can kill a soul.”

  Megan was not about to tell Lynn what she’d uncovered. “Lynn.” Megan paused. “You and everyone else know I’m a detective. They don’t say much on the news about why he was arrested. Maybe I can help.”

  “You’re gonna help me take a second mortgage out on my business to come up with bail money? Or are you gonna make the fact they found Duane’s prints on the gun go away?” Lynn finally looked Megan in the eye. “My boy was there that day. The mayor wanted Duane to give him an estimate on one of his cars, thought Duane might be interested.”

  Megan’s first thought, especially with Duane’s past was, He’s screwed. “Are you sure they found prints?”

  She nodded. “That’s what got him arrested.”

  Megan sat down. “Lynn, you’re his mother. You know if he did it or not.”

  “Like I said, Duane is a lot of things, but he’s no murderer. He’s troubled on many levels, but he wouldn’t kill anyone. Nope.”

  Megan chose her next words very carefully. “Did you see him when he came home that day? When he was done working on the mayor’s car?”

  Lynn threw back another shot. “Sure. He had three other cars to work on. And you saw him too. Ten minutes after he got back, you rolled in with that monster truck. When the light was goin’ off.”

  Megan remembered it clearly. “He was wearing the same clothes he wore when he left for the mayor’s house?”

  “Yeah. Go figure, his tuxedo was at the cleaners.”

  Megan knew from dealing with Forensics on her murder cases that shooting someone at close range caused enormous blood splatter. Putting a gun in someone’s mouth and blowing their brains out? Duane would have been covered in blood, as well as other bodily matter.

  “You know what I’ve noticed about you, girl?” The whiskey was about to speak. “Nothin’ been good since you came to town. The judge is murdered. That poor girl”—she was now waving her very full glass in the air—“that girl down your street is pummeled and in the hospital. Christ, I even heard your damn dog was shot. It sure seems to me that you’ve got a black cloud over you.” Another sip. “And I know what happened to your momma.” She nodded. “Yeah, I do read the papers. The first day I put eyes on you I thought to myself, now there’s trouble. Manhattan trouble comin’ to our small lake town. Evil follows you wherever you go. You ever feel cursed? Because it sure seems to me that you are.”

  Megan allowed the rant. Lynn was hurting and Megan could tell by the bleak, drunk look in her eyes that she probably had been for a long time. No one gets by in this life without pain, but some unfortunate souls carry more of the burden. Megan could tell Lynn was one of them.

  It was time to leave Lynn to her bottle and her sadness. Megan looked at her face. Her eyes were filled with so much pain. Megan didn’t want to add to it. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  Lynn returned to her glass full of misery and stared out the window.

  Forty-One

  Megan drove to the local police station looking for Krause or Michalski. Even though it was a holiday, Michalski was churning out paperwork. He greeted Megan with his typical kindness, a smile, and a handshake. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was looking for your partner, Krause.”

  He rubbed his potbelly and looked at his watch. “She would be at the gym about now.”

  Megan was somehow not shocked given how little professional respect she had for Krause. “With everything going on in this town, she’s at the gym? How amateur of her.” She spied a countdown tacked to a corkboard above Michalski’s desk. In this moment she reminded herself that he was only concerned with getting through the job and hitting retirement.

  He saw her gaze. “Seven weeks and three days left,” he snorted.

  Megan smiled. “Where would this gym be?”

  Michalski gave her directions and she thanked him.

  “Good luck,” he returned with a raised eyebrow.

  Megan parked at Black Bear Fitness. She was asked for identification when she walked in, which she immediately ignored, having no temperament for a pimple-nosed college kid. She quickly found Krause in the weight room attempting to prove her manliness. It looked like a military drill. Her personal trainer yelled at her for a few minutes on the treadmill, inserting words of encouragement through every fraction of the workout. After she did a sprint on the treadmill, he made Krause race over to the free weights. Then came sit-ups and jumping jacks. He repeated the steps two or three more times. Megan could tell the training session was over when they bumped fists. Krause sat on the exercise bench drinking water while she watched Megan’s reflection in the mirror as Megan approached her.

  Krause rolled her eyes. “What do you want? And who told you I was here?”

  “No one.” Megan didn’t want to rat out Michalski. He had enough grievances in his life having her as a partner.

  Krause wiped her forehead with a towel. “So, what sage advice do you have for me now?”

  “I know it would be against your sound moral code to talk about this, but you need to know on the day the mayor killed himself—”

  “He was murdered. Or don’t you watch the news?” Krause got up and refilled her water bottle at the fountain.

  Megan repeated, with great attempt to quell her anger, “The day the mayor died, I saw Duane Baker at the garage ten minutes after he was at the judge’s home.”

  “And I guess his mother told you that. How far in the bag was she?”

  Megan held up her palms. “Hear me out. If Duane tried to make it look like a suicide, he’d have been so close that the blood spray would have covered him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Duane’s mother has been covering for him for years. He’s good for this.” Krause raised her well-toned arms in the air. “So, what? First you try to help an innocent deaf girl by breaking into and stealing from a crime scene, then forwarding me evidence, and now you’re trying to help a loser get away with murder. I’m just curious, when are you up for sainthood?”

  “Do you have proof of me doing that?” Megan could match snide with snide. “Any prints on what was sent to you?”

  “Your handiwork was all over it. I will give you this though, very smart calling 911 and leaving the receiver off the hook.”

  Megan leaned against one of the workout machines. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh get your angelic wings ready, because I will be going after the judge’s daughter for his murder when I gather mor
e information.”

  Megan shook her head. “I don’t like you, but you’re smart enough to know she wouldn’t be strong enough to carry a man nearly three times her weight from the house down to the lake and throw him in.”

  “She could have had help. And I will find the accomplice. Then she will be going to prison for a very, very long time.”

  Megan crossed her arms. “Oh, I’m getting this now. This isn’t about finding the true perp. This is about you advancing your career in this Podunk town. Tell me, who’s promised you what? A promotion? Maybe a steep pay raise, even on the side, so to speak? What would make you go so left of center on this job?”

  Krause pointed to her chest. “I went left of center? I’m the one who still has a badge! You got people killed, so exactly what lane of the highway were you operating on?”

  Megan wouldn’t give into her anger, so she smiled. “Someday there will come a time you won’t be able to sleep at night. Choosing the wrong path will catch up to you. It always does.”

  Megan could tell she hit a nerve. She could also feel Krause’s glare as she walked out of the gym.

  Forty-Two

  Megan sat with Clyde outside on the lower level. It was an exhausting day that reminded her of too many failures and too much pain. Clouds were moving over the lake and Megan wondered if Lynn was right about her having a dark cloud over her. While Megan wasn’t the type to carry a rabbit’s foot or find a four-leaf clover, or even win two bucks with a lottery ticket, her own personal dark cloud seemed a bit much. Sometimes truth can be that way.

  She heard the gate on the upper level open and saw Callie carrying a large bag, standing over the deck. “Hey, Trouble.”

  Great nickname.

  “Hey.” Megan and Clyde walked upstairs through the house. It was a little easier for Clyde to manage the stairs with carpet instead of maneuvering on snow and ice. Megan unlocked the door for Callie. He looked exhausted. “Long day?”

  “The restaurant did really well, but my feet and legs feel like lead. I brought more food, mainly because I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Drag your lazy ass in here.”

  Callie kicked off his shoes and gave Megan the bag. “How did Billie enjoy the meal?”

  Megan didn’t mention she hadn’t stayed all that long but was quite sure Billie enjoyed Callie’s food more than a hospital meal. “What isn’t there to like?”

  “Why is it I’ve been working all day and yet you look more exhausted than I do?” Callie asked.

  “Thank you for the compliment. I’m always impressed with your gentlemanly skills.” Megan smiled. “Yes, I’m a bit tired but pushing through. You’re out early for a holiday.” Megan took his coat.

  “I always plan the last seating for five o’clock so the staff can enjoy their holiday too.”

  Megan nodded and took out the covered dishes he was thoughtful enough to bring. “And Vivian?”

  “More tired than I am. She was very focused and worked really hard today.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned the news.”

  Callie was confused. “What do you mean?”

  Megan gave a duh look. “Duane Baker? You have four televisions at the restaurant.”

  “Yeah, and we just set them to stations with Christmas movies. What’s going on?”

  Megan poured drinks. “He was arrested for murdering the mayor.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He rubbed his forehead. “But I thought it was a suicide.”

  “They don’t think so anymore.” Megan decided to work backwards on the meal and start with pie. “Here, take a look.” She clicked the television on.

  Callie watched in silence for several minutes. “I guess I owe you an apology. You had a hunch. God, Lynn must be destroyed.”

  She stared at Clyde. “Yeah.” Megan wasn’t in the mood to discuss her visit to the garage. It hit too close to what had been on her mind all afternoon. Megan opened the material the veterinarian gave her and knew it was time to change Clyde’s bandages. He didn’t fight it.

  “What about your arm? When was the last time you changed the bandage on your arm?”

  “Haven’t thought about it. Doesn’t hurt so why mess with perfection?” Her smile was forced.

  “Come here.” Callie washed his hands before removing the bandage on Megan’s arm. The Steri-Strips were naturally peeling off. “Looks good. The doctor did a great job. I’m going to put on a little antibiotic cream and you should be good to go.”

  “When did you get your medical degree?”

  “Please, with all the burns and slice-and-dice accidents in the kitchen, I feel like I buy a new medical kit every month.” Callie rubbed Megan’s arm, but not in a medicinal way. Sensually. He trailed her palm with his fingers. In the moment even though both were exhausted, it didn’t temper their attraction and heat. Callie pulled Megan forward and they shared a long, deep kiss. He brushed her hair away from her face and stared into her eyes. “You’re beautiful. Do you know that?”

  Callie said it with the most sincerity Megan had ever heard come from him. She didn’t say anything in response.

  “You are,” he whispered, then took her hand and directed her to the bedroom. This time was different. It wasn’t the hard-core, rough sex they’d grown accustomed to. Callie slowly removed every item of Megan’s clothing. He admired each naked part of her body not just with his hands and mouth, but with his eyes. “Beautiful.”

  It was the first time in a very long time Megan felt she’d made love and not just screwed around. Before falling asleep Megan turned on her side and allowed a single tear to fall down her cheek.

  Morning felt as though it came in minutes as opposed to hours. She turned over and Callie was fast asleep on his stomach. She threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, leaned over, and kissed him on the back of his neck. The kiss made him stir and turn but didn’t wake him, though the sheet and comforter dropped below his hips. And that’s when Megan saw the scar. The same round burn mark that was on the boys in the videos. The same mark she’d seen on Duane Baker’s back the day in the garage.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  Megan slowly left the bedroom. Her stomach was turning and her face felt flushed. “Outside, Clyde.” She walked over to the counter and put her face in her hands. “It all makes sense now,” she said to herself.

  “Does it?” Callie said from the hallway.

  Megan pretended not to understand. “I’m making coffee. Do you have time for a cup?” She pressed her phone while getting the coffee out of the cabinet. “I know I make it too strong but—”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a question.” Megan turned to find Callie pointing one of her guns at her.

  “Well, you found out my little shameful secret, but I don’t think it could possibly all make sense.”

  Megan took a step back. “Callie, what are you doing?”

  He walked up to Megan and rubbed the end of the gun against her cheek. “Now, this was not a part of my plan,” he said calmly.

  She walked slowly backward into the living room. “Callie, you and the other boys were terribly, disgustingly hurt. Those men were monsters, but that doesn’t make you one.”

  “Oh, so because you watched a few videos of what happened to us, you think you know what we suffered? You think you know the fear and pain?” He started circling Megan. “Those men stole everything from us. They took our youth. They took our trust. They killed us. Don’t you get that? Do you want to hear how they got us there?” He didn’t wait for a response. “A few of us were doing lawn work for the judge one summer.” He twirled the gun in his hand. “I guess the first clue was how much we were getting paid, way too much for young boys. Every few hours one of the staff would bring out lemonade. It was spiked, just a little at a time. I’m not sure with what, but it did the job they w
anted it to. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. Scared.”

  Callie walked closer to Megan. She didn’t move. “The first time”—Callie paused, staring at Megan’s sudden surprise—“oh, you think it only happened once? There were more attacks after the first, because after the first time came the threats: If I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe me; if I told anyone, they would hurt my mother. Which, looking back, seems almost humorous.”

  “Why?” Megan asked.

  “I’ll get to that.”

  “No, I have no idea the horror you went through. I didn’t say that.” Megan was unarmed, and she felt naked. “How many were there?”

  “Monsters or boys?” The look in Callie’s eyes turned so angry, as if he were possessed, which, Megan thought, he probably was to a certain extent. Who ever truly heals from an experience like molestation? So brutal. Pure evil.

  “Boys? I don’t know. Enough? One is too many. You know how many men were involved. You were in the room. You saw the chairs. Why are you asking me so many questions when you have the answers?”

  The slow dance around the coffee table continued. “Why try to frame Vivian and Duane Baker?” Megan asked.

  “Vivian? I did not try to frame Vivian. Who would go and frame their half-sister? She did that to herself when she came into the judge’s house after I killed him and she stabbed the motherfucker after he was already dead. I did have to laugh at that, by the way. She’s a tough gal.” Callie stared at Megan before snickering. “Now, Duane I did frame. He was so easy for it. When I killed the mayor and all the blood shot out at me, well hell, I’ve seen enough shows on television to know they could tell it wasn’t a suicide.” Callie glanced up at the ceiling, tilting his head, then looked back at Megan. “It was nice to hear him beg for his life. I should have taped it.” Callie’s sinister laugh was unfamiliar to Megan, so unlike the man she thought she’d known.

  “What?” Megan was blindsided by Callie’s disclosure. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me you and Vivian were related?”