Violet Darger (Novella): Image In A Cracked Mirror

by Vargus, L. T.

  And now her hand gripped the cool metal handle of the nursery door. She swallowed and felt a lump in her throat. Her wrist rotated, and she stepped forward, applying pressure on that thin rectangle of wood that separated her from the scene of the horror. The door stuck in the frame for a moment, jerking free with a loud pop that startled her.

  Goose bumps pulled her skin taut all over, and she found herself staring at the floor. She could vaguely make out the white frame of the crib, the row of ornate wooden bars, almost like an altar centered along the back wall of the room, but she couldn’t look at it directly. Not yet. She saw it only as a blurred shape at the top of her field of vision.

  There was less light in this room, and for a moment Darger worried that Loshak would turn on the light as he had in the bathroom. He didn’t.

  They took careful steps into the nursery until they stood over the baby bed, and then they stopped, first him and then her. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move. The whole house went utterly still for a long moment. They stood in that silence, the atmosphere heavy with some blend of awkwardness and reverence. A suffocating sense of terrible, terrible loss.

  “The infant…”

  Loshak stopped there, his lips moving a little. Was he searching for the right word? Overcome with emotion? She couldn’t say.

  “They found a portion of the infant’s remains here. In the crib. Most of the, uh, corpse was not recovered.”

  Again the talking cut off, and Darger let herself look.

  There was surprisingly little blood in the crib. Just a single smear. A curved red line that stretched over the fleece blanket and onto the sheet.

  And she thought about the details that Loshak was unable to say out loud: A flap of the baby’s scalp had been recovered at the scene, along with enough skull fragments and brain matter for his death to be a foregone conclusion, even without the body to verify it.

  She didn’t want to, but Darger raised her phone and captured the image of the bloody crib, her hands and arms shaking all the while.

  Chapter 4

  Neither of them spoke much on the ride away from the house. Loshak put his window down, and the white noise of the air flowing in seemed to drown out any need for talk.

  The wind flipped Darger’s hair around, the cool of it cutting through to her scalp so the top of her head tingled like mad.

  She sketched a profile in her head without really thinking about it, the internal monologue somehow distant, as if the voice in her head was not her own. She was thankful for that, though. For the roar of the air keeping the awful reality at arm’s length.

  The unknown subject would be a white male in his mid-twenties. His appearance would probably be noticeably disheveled. Unkempt. Poor hygiene. Probably on the excessively thin side. He’d almost definitely have a history of mental illness, and history or not, he’d exhibit erratic, paranoid behavior at the least, with delusional thoughts and actions being very, very likely on top of that. This would be a loner, someone with almost no relationships outside of his immediate family. He’d be unemployed, probably having been so for the majority of his adult life. He’d live alone within a couple miles of the scene of the crime, and police would almost surely find evidence of the crimes out in the open in his residence. His home, like his personal appearance, would be disorderly. Messy. And a history of drug use was probable as well.

  Was that it?

  She tumbled the details around a moment.

  Yeah. Yeah, she thought that was it.

  She watched the wind move the pine boughs around, all the trees shaking their limbs in unison like a group of children on a playground.

  She looked at Loshak, wondering what he thought of it all. He’d slid on a ball cap to keep the wind from wreaking havoc on his hair, and between that and the sunglasses, he looked like he was outright trying to hide at this point.

  Once more they loaded the rental car onto the ferry, waiting in the line of cars for their turn to drive into the gloomy parking level in the bowels of the boat. The windows provided enough sunlight to see just fine, but it felt so much like being in a small parking garage instead of on a ship. Darger didn’t think it was something she could ever get used to, not that she would get the chance.

  With the Altima in place, Loshak killed the engine and peered at his watch.

  “Ferry will be leaving in ten minutes, and we’ll be there in forty. Anyway, I imagine we’re on the same page,” Loshak said, lowering the sunglasses at last. Tiredness showed itself in the lines puckering around his eyes, and she was reminded again that he’d only been out of the hospital for a little over a month.

  She considered his question for a long moment before she answered.

  “Yeah. I think we are.”

  Chapter 5

  It was after noon when they reached San Juan Island, and Loshak steered them to a small diner with a view of the harbor. Darger hadn’t thought she would have much of an appetite after the crime scene, but the smells coming from inside The Starving Barnacle changed her mind. They ordered and then sat at one of the picnic tables out front to eat. Well, Darger ate. Loshak mostly pecked at his salad and drank a lot of water.

  “Still haven’t got your appetite back?” she asked, thinking that maybe a roundabout approach was the way to ask about his health.

  “That and the doctors got me on a real restrictive diet. Low fat and all that.”

  His nostrils flared as he gazed down at the pile of greens and vegetables on the plate.

  “Apparently diabetes is a real risk for me now, so I gotta be careful.”

  “Ah,” she said through bites of her fried fish sandwich. She almost felt a little guilty about eating something so comparatively decadent in front of him now.

  “Honestly, I was a little surprised you were back at it so quickly. To work, I mean.”

  “I could say the same for you,” he said, eyes flicking to her left arm.

  She followed his gaze to where the bullet fired by James Joseph Clegg had grazed her arm. She’d been lucky. The bullet had missed the major nerves and arteries. She’d have a scar, but it could have been much worse.

  She shrugged and tried to keep a straight face.

  “Flesh wound.”

  Loshak snorted out a laugh.

  “Anyway, it’s not as if I had a choice.”

  Darger wiped her fingers on a paper napkin and arched an eyebrow at him.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You think I’m hot to go jettin’ around the country so soon after all that? I was still officially on leave when they dropped this in my lap,” he said, tapping the file he was balancing on his lap while he ate.

  “Let me maybe correct your thinking on something, Darger. If you think the FBI gives a rat’s hiney about your health, you can forget that right now. If you’ve got a pulse, they expect you to be going about business as usual.”

  Was that why she was here, she wondered? Babysitting again? But no, it was different this time. Loshak had been the one to invite her. And OK… maybe he had done so because he wasn’t feeling one-hundred percent. That still meant something. It meant he trusted her. Right?

  Loshak’s voice interrupted her musing.

  “You hear from the young Detective Luck since you left Ohio?”

  She stopped chewing abruptly, realized what an obvious tell that was, and forced herself to continue macerating the French fry between her teeth. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

  “No. Why would I?”

  She’d intended her voice to come out cool and impassive. But she couldn’t help but think she’d sounded a touch defensive.

  Loshak’s eyebrows peeked up from behind the mirrored lenses of his aviators.

  “Just thought maybe he might have been in touch. Case is closed, but that doesn’t mean all of our questions were answered. I imagine they’ll be sifting through the life of James Joseph Clegg for some time yet,” he said. “It’s not unusual to keep each other in the loop, you know.�
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  Now she was curious. Casey had suggested they keep in touch. As friends, he’d said. Darger thought that was a bad idea, and said so. Needless to say, she didn’t think she’d be hearing from him anytime soon, whether it related to the job or not.

  “Well has he called you to give any updates on the case?”

  Loshak took a swallow of water before answering.

  “Nope.”

  He turned his attention back to his salad, and Darger watched him for a while, wondering why he’d brought it up at all. Professional curiosity about Clegg? Or was he hinting that he knew about her and Luck? Knowing Loshak, it was a bit of both. Meddling bastard.

  She took a big, juicy bite of her sandwich, and this time she savored it without the least bit of guilt.

  Chapter 6

  The sheriff’s office was too hot. Darger felt her cheeks flush within a minute or so of entering the room, and now she sat before the large desk, staring into the face of Sheriff Spencer Humphrey, finding it mustached, tan, and pudgy. His round face and the bleached highlights frosting his dark hair made her think of Guy Fieri.

  “I won’t lie to you,” he said, his top lip freezing in an odd position that exposed his big Chiclet teeth for a moment. “We are out of our depths, but I look at it as a learning opportunity, yeah? We want you to handle the questioning of the subjects, if you would. And we’d like to observe the interrogations. If that’s OK?”

  Loshak’s hands clasped in his lap, falling into slow motion wringing.

  “That’s not really…” he said. “I think maybe there was a miscommunication on the service the Behavioral Analysis Unit typically provides.”

  “Look, I know this isn’t normally how you work,” the mustached officer said. “But, just between us, we’re in way over our heads on this whole deal. We could really use the help.”

  Loshak exhaled, long and slow. Darger couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or bewildered. Perhaps both, she thought.

  “I understand,” Loshak said. “We can handle all of the questioning, and then we’ll turn it over to the Sheriff’s Department from there.”

  The Sheriff sat forward in his seat, his meaty forearms leaning against the lip of his desk.

  “Well, we’ve got six suspects we can tie to the scene, five of them the day of the crime, and they’re all here, ready to talk to you.”

  Loshak flopped three of the folders on the desk.

  “Anyone over thirty can go now,” Loshak said, and then he looked at Darger. “Agreed?”

  She nodded, and they both looked at the Sheriff. His mouth hung open as his eyes flicked from left to right and back.

  “Well, now,” the man said, adjusting in his seat. “That’d cut the number from six down to three. I mean… Are ya sure?”

  Loshak’s hand-wringing intensified. He licked his lips before he answered.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sure. What we do isn’t an exact science, but the probabilities are on our side. I can assure you of that.”

  The Sheriff ground his fingers into his mustache, staring off into space for a long moment, his eyes glassy.

  “Just seems crazy is all. They came all the way down here and waited. Shouldn’t we just talk to everyone? While they’re here, I mean.”

  “I’m not telling you or anyone how to run the investigation, but you asked for our help. We’re trying to give it to you. This is what we do. We use behavioral profiles to streamline the investigation. Let’s trust the process, yes?”

  As he spoke, Darger noticed the sound of Loshak’s hand rubbing, a whispering noise like sheets of construction paper sliding against one another. If he was as frustrated as that sound suggested, he was good at keeping it out of his voice.

  “I guess you’re right,” the Sheriff said. “I mean, of course you’re right. You all are the experts. We’ll do it your way.”

  Darger and Loshak sat in a conference room, reading through the suspect files, which were pretty underwhelming. They had all given very basic statements, and the police had the suspects fill out additional forms about their backgrounds while they waited.

  “I kind of figured we’d talk to the nephew first,” Loshak said, and he turned to Darger. “What do you think?”

  “He seems to fit the profile pretty well. History with drugs. He’s on an antipsychotic medication, which obviously suggests some kind of psychiatric issue, though we don’t have much to go on beyond that.”

  “Yeah, he’s the only one we have any kind of psych history on, so I don’t know. Figured we’d see what he said and go from there.”

  Darger nodded, and they got up to head for the interview room.

  “How do you feel about all of this?” Darger said, almost under her breath. “The way they’re handing the interrogation over to us and all? That’s not normal, I’d imagine.”

  “It’s unorthodox, but maybe it’s for the best. I can’t speak for the others, but the Sheriff here had no law enforcement experience before he took the job last year.”

  Darger’s jaw dropped open.

  “What? Are you serious?”

  Loshak nodded.

  “You see that from time to time in some of these smaller counties around the country. They’re elected officials. No experience or qualifications required. Just votes. And this is a low-crime area. Mostly traffic enforcement, with a burglary here and there.”

  Chapter 7

  The first subject, Jarold Cameron, sat in the interview room, forearms resting on the wooden table. The first thing Darger noticed was his hair. Shaggy red locks covered his forehead and encroached on his face. The fluorescent lights gleamed off of his pale skin, though the sides and back of his neck shone with raw patches of bright pink surrounded by peeling flakes of dead skin. Sunburn. A bad one, by the looks of it.

  He was skinny. Not quite as emaciated as the unknown subject Darger had imagined in the car, but very, very thin. Sinewy. Stringy muscle tissue and veins shifted under his skin as he extended his hand to shake Loshak’s and then hers. Weird how that worked, she thought. How some people’s skin seemed to make what was going on underneath so plain to see. Maybe it was a lack of body fat more than a characteristic of the flesh itself. That would make more sense, and yet she couldn’t quite believe it.

  At 24, Cameron already had quite a history with drugs and alcohol. He’d racked up six counts of Minor in Possession of Alcohol before he made it to 21, and in the three years since that momentous birthday, he’d gotten popped for drunk driving twice. Three marijuana possession charges had been spread evenly among all of the alcohol charges, presumably to help keep things fresh.

  She and Loshak sat across from Cameron, and something about the chairs and table and fluorescent lighting reminded her of sitting at a lunch table in high school. Maybe the suspect himself was part of that — a scrawny ginger who wouldn’t look out of place in the cafeteria even at 24 years old. She scooted her chair up to the table, metal legs scratching at the tile floor, and Loshak cleared his throat.

  “I was sorry to hear about your aunt and uncle,” Loshak said. “The kids, too, of course.”

  Jarold’s eyes went wide, and he looked like a little kid himself, scared and alone among the adults. His lips twitched a few times before he settled on what to say.

  “Yeah, it’s too bad,” he said, finally.

  “So I hear you were over at their house that afternoon. Returning a…”

  Loshak, of course, knew exactly what Cameron was there for. Darger figured he must be lulling him into participating in the narrative. She decided to let the senior agent press the action. She’d jump in when it felt right.

  “Wave runner. I’d borrowed Uncle Ed’s wave runner.”

  “Little cold out for that now, isn’t it?”

  Cameron chuckled a little, his face conveying more terror than humor.

  “I’d had it since the summer. Ed figured with the new baby… I mean, they knew they weren’t going out anytime soon is all. So he offered to let me borrow it a few months back.
Let someone get some use out of it.”

  “Did you?”

  “What?”

  “Get any use out of it?”

  Another terrified titter of laughter.

  “Oh, right. Well, a little. I have a hard time with the sun, you know? I pretty much turn as red as a lobster if I spend more than 20 minutes out there.”

  “You gotta load up on the SPF 45, man.”

  “I do. Believe me. I slather it on like butter. Just doesn’t seem to help. I don’t know. I went out a few times, but…”

  “Uh-huh. So you returned the wave runner. About what time was that?”

  “It was after lunch. Around 2 PM, I guess.”

  “And was your uncle there?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, they were all there. The whole family, I mean. I said hi to everybody. Ed came out and opened the garage so we could put the wave runner in there, and then I left.”

  “In a hurry?”

  This time Cameron laughed longer, almost seemed to choke a little on the clucks emerging from his throat.

  “No,” he said, and Darger thought she could see tears in his eyes but just for a second.

  Loshak stared at him for a long moment.

  “Is something about all of this funny to you?”

  The terror-laugh expression intensified on Cameron’s face, but no chuckles came with it this time. Just a tiny gasp.

  “No, sir. Just… I get nervous is all. Uncomfortable, you know? Feels like I’m getting called down to the principal’s office or something, and I kind of feel like I’m going to get in trouble even though I didn’t do anything. Other people don’t get that? Me, I get all frazzled in this kind of situation, and sometimes the nerves make me laugh. Over-stimulation or something. Other times, I can’t stop talking. I just jabber on and on about nothing. Like right now, I guess.”

  His ramble stopped abruptly, and the ensuing silence seemed strange. Awkward. Loshak and Darger both kept quiet, letting the tension build.

  “So you didn’t always get along with your uncle, did you?” Loshak said, his voice softer now.