Edward got a ping on his computer; her VIN number showed up. The green Oldsmobile had been sold by a man named Dan to an unwitting couple from a Craigslist ad. They had tried to register their car, and it was flagged as stolen. The couple didn't know anything. But they did have contact information for the guy that sold it to them. With teamwork, the couple called Dan and asked him if he could meet them and answer a couple of questions about the car. When he showed up, Edward cuffed him and took him back to interrogate.
"The woman who drove this green Olds is missing," he stated.
Dan's eyes grew wide and he muttered, "I ain't know about that."
"Either you killed her or you helped whoever did kill her. You better talk before I book you for her murder."
Dan sat silently.
"You'd end up with life in prison. You killed this sweet lady, and you'll go to prison for it."
"She ain't a sweet ol' lady. She had guns. I ain't got 'em no more."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Edward said.
"Look, I find this Olds sitting in the middle of my street, running, windows down. Ain't nobody around, so I think I'll take a look. On the passenger seat was two hand guns, and I pocket those, ya know? Can't let some kid find those. Ain't nobody coming around, so I think I'll drive it to a safer spot. So nobody takes it. So I park it at my house, and a few weeks go by, ain't nobody claimed it. So I sold it." Dan smirked. "Sold them guns too. Can't be lettin 'em lie around in the street like that. I ain't killed nobody."
"When. When did you find the car? Exactly when?"
Dan got quiet. "Does it matter?"
"It matters a hell of a lot."
Dan whipped out his cellphone and flipped through his texts. "Right here. See?"
He held up the phone; on the little screen was a picture of him and the car with the caption: Got me new wheels! The date was the exact same as the Lexus crashing into the lake.
It started to become clear. Lexus driver crashed into the lake, Chance is showing up any minute. Lexus driver takes Helen's car. Chance finds Helen at the lake and takes her to his house. Helen must have had a male passenger with her... with his toes missing? Too convenient. His toes had time to heal. The man was with Chance, not Helen. He could finally get a DNA test so he could prove to her husband that she had died.
Edward sat, contemplating Helen. She was in the wrong place at the right time. It was so unfortunate. She didn't deserve such a horrible end to her lovely life. Her husband would be so upset to find out what happened to her. Jessi waved her arm at him.
"Hey, you gotta come see this."
"Do you have a lead on Jack and Peter?"
"I do!" she said. He came over to her desk and sat down in the nearby chair.
"What's the scoop?"
"Well, after that lady got stabbed, I could only remember a partial plate on that motorcycle. But one finally came up stolen pretty similar to what I remembered," she said.
"Well, I was no help. I was a bit busy," he said, remembering the collapsed woman in his arms.
"Yeah, well, here's the thing: the motorcycle, they found signs of it in the woods at an abandoned cabin. This guy goes to his cabin for the weekend, and he finds the bike tracks out front, calls the cops. They search the place and it's obvious they've been hiding out. The whole place had been rifled through."
"Is Jack in custody?"
"That's the thing, we didn't actually find them. Maybe they moved on, but if they did, we have no idea where they went," she said.
"Are there any reported missing cars in that area?"
"No, but there are a lot of empty cabins this time of year. A lot of 'em."
"Are you thinking of taking a nice long drive to see if you can find something?" Edward said.
"Bingo. Wanna join me?" Jessi said.
"Hell yes."
Chapter
Eight
Jaspierre stood at the pound listening to all the dogs barking. She had settled on it. A ruppie. Start where Mother would have started. In fact, it seemed like it would be an excellent beginning. She felt kind of giddy. She would have a family; ruppie and baby, Tessa and Ikali. If she could think like Mother, she could find Pierre wherever Mother had found Pierre. But it seemed a little too impossible. Without another lead, this baby would be grandfather-less. Ah well, at least she'd have her grandmother in spirit. She never would have gotten Severina's love, but maybe the ruppie would love the baby. Dogs were like that; they obsessed over people.
A ruppie wasn't Mother, but it was as close as she could get. A puppy, with rabbit ears and legs. It really did sound cute. Jaspierre had never done surgery on anything by herself before, but she imagined that it was easy to learn. After all, Mother had no formal training either. Learn by cutting, slicing, dicing, and sewing. Her preparations involved purchasing a few vet textbooks and ordering some new stitching needles from the internet.
She felt kind of like a jerk. Chop the legs off a dog and print up a rabbit leg. Jaspierre wrinkled her nose. It was hard to like herself these days. But Mother would be proud. Wouldn't it be amazing to show this new baby Mother's greatest ideas? It could hop around the crib barking while the sweet baby played. Everything would be good again. Everything would be fantastic. This would definitely help her find her father. Thinking like Mother couldn't hurt a fly.
That was why she went to the pound. Here, dogs died if they weren't picked up. It should be grateful to be a ruppie instead of a corpse. She looked down the line of cages. "I want a young one, that heals fast." The staff person showing her animals paused. "I don't want it to die right away or anything," Jasp hurriedly said. She should have practiced in the mirror before she came. Sometimes, interacting with people was hard. They never really got her. The number of dogs astounded her. Certainly, it wouldn't be difficult to find a suitable one.
The person shrugged and walked a little farther. "Well, this one is young and hardy. It's missing a leg, though. Got caught in a lawn mower. It's nice and healed up."
Jaspierre grinned. Well now, this would be more like rehab than mad scientist stuff. She'd be improving a mangled dog. Improving! The dog would be grateful and happier hopping around. Dumb thing could barely walk anyway. It wagged its tail. This was a great sign; it was happy to see her. Happy to participate.
"I'll take it."
When she got it home, she found out it was a boy dog. She put it in the cage. It was missing its back left leg. She wondered if she needed to check on any muscles. But, perhaps she could print up any missing pieces. After shaving the dog, she spent the next few hours drawing on him with marker, finding and labeling muscles. A pang of guilt struck her. His big brown eyes looked so innocent. "Look, you would have been killed if I left you," she said, petting it softly. "You're a three-legged dog. Everyone would hate you. I'm gonna fix you up, then you'll have four hopping legs. You'll see. It'll be amazing."
It took her four days to figure it out, but finally, she set the machine to printing. This would be difficult, but it was worth the effort. Mother certainly would be impressed by this new equipment.
A week later, she realized she was in over her head. The dog was dead. She hadn't printed anything useful. The thing she had printed she thought was the right shape for a leg, but she must have put it in funny. It kept falling out and then the dog died suddenly. She couldn't figure out how to stitch those tiny tubes together. She had a newfound respect for Mother's skills. Time to get a doctor. Or a scientist.
She posted a job listing on Viscardine and had two interviews scheduled for the morning.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Pierre had sold the kitten rattle at least three days earlier, but it still loitered on his mind. How could he convince himself to let it go? He couldn't be spending his hours with his shop closed sitting in miserable, terrible memories. Why did they haunt him so badly this year? He just couldn't; he needed to move on. The nightmares had returned. This would be the very last kitten rattle he would make. God forbid he ever have these terr
ible aftershocks again.
He pressed his fingertips into his temples. The bell rang and a tall woman walked in. She had dark brown hair and was in a tight dress with tall heels. She held the hand of a small girl around three or four. The little girl asked if he had any dolls.
He felt his hands tremble as he mutely pointed towards the shelf. On the shelf sat five little wooden dolls with perfectly curled locks. Her mother looked so much like Severina that his heart was still pounding. What if this was what his baby had turned into? What if she had grown up to look exactly like her murderous, hateful mother?
It was time to sell this toyshop. He couldn't face the public anymore. He could hardly face himself. The little girl picked out a brown-haired little doll. He showed her how to wind the back with a key so it would take two steps and spin, then take two steps and spin. It was really a lovely piece.
The little girl shouted with glee when she saw the little doll twirl about. "She needs a song! I'll sing her a dancing song! Oranges and Lemons." Just like he used to sing to Jaspierre. "Say the bells of St. Clement's." The little doll twirled. "You owe me five farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin's." Her tiny little voice carried clear and strong, but the music twisted in Pierre's gut. "Here comes a candle to light you to bed," He turned away, trying to hide his sudden emotional surge. "Here comes a chopper." The doll took two steps and spun again. "To chop off your head." The oblivious little girl clapped her hands. "Chip chop chip chop," The doll ran out of winding and fell to the table in a little dead heap. "The last man's dead!" She squealed and clapped her hands and took a little bow. "This is perfect! Can I have it, Momma? Can I?"
Pierre handed her the doll. "Just keep it." He didn't think he could look at it again anyway.
"But, sir, this is a fifty-pound doll!" her mother exclaimed.
"Just keep it." He ushered them out quickly and shut the door. It was too much for him to watch a doppelganger of Severina and at the same time hear that song, that little song he sang to his little baby. Did Jaspierre look like Severina? He could have a grandchild. She could have had many children by now. What if they would accept him as family? He wouldn't have to be so alone. What if one of those children would want to work at this toyshop? What if he had someone to pass this beautiful legacy to?
He sat at his computer. Google her and see where she is, see if she has children. See if her wedding was in the paper. One quick search and he'd find out what Jaspierre Kyller, sole heir of Kyller and Co. was doing. His fingers lingered on the keyboard, but he couldn't seem to beg them to type. What if Severina had killed little Jaspierre? What if all that waited behind that search was a short obituary?
He shouldn't have left her behind.
How could he make this guilt stop? He couldn't face her; he couldn't even look. It could destroy what little spirit he had left. He couldn't keep doing this. He needed to stop; he was getting more and more obsessed. Get over it already. It was kill or be killed. Run or be held hostage forever. He should have run straight to the cops in America instead of coming home to Paris first. They couldn't do anything over here. He was safe, but Severina was still endlessly untouchably free.
If only he hadn't left that little girl alone.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jessi and Edward drove up a long, winding road. Pine trees settled in close to the two-lane road.
"This is a bit of a crazy case, isn't it? Jack, taking hostage a boy at the same time that you are hunting for Chance," Jessi said. She turned the car to the left, following the winding of the road. The trees were tightly packed together beside the road, making it difficult to see much.
"I can't tell if these two bozos are working together or if they are just both horrible, horrible people," Edward said.
"It is pretty awful. They say if you have a horrible childhood, you're more prone to this kind of stuff. So maybe it just all comes full circle."
"I dunno, but I sure am grateful neither of these people are my family," he said. "Hey, slow down a bit. It looks like this is where the cabins start."
She lifted her foot from the gas and the silver cop car slowed to a crawl. "I'd sure love to have one of these cabins."
"My father used to have one when I was a kid. Not as much fun as you'd expect: no electricity, no plumbing. It's basically like camping in a tent, with just a bit more protection from the storms," he said.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. It would be kind of nice, though, to have a fireplace, and this fresh forest air," she said.
"Mosquito bites, gnat bites, and if you're lucky, there would be a snake in your boot, leeches in the water, and all sorts of mice and rats. No thank you. I'll keep to my civilized living." He gazed across the landscape, catching cabin after cabin. Most of them looked vacant. A few had thick streams of smoke curling out the chimney, but none of them looked suspicious. What he needed was one that looked like it was empty, but clearly wasn't. With any luck, Jack would be terrible at espionage.
"Do you see that one over there?" she said. She hit the brakes and the car froze in place while they stared. There were obvious motorcycle tracks, but no motorcycle in sight. A very thin wisp of smoke crawled out of the chimney and into the evening air. The blinds were all drawn in front of the house.
"Do you think these people own a motorcycle?" he said. "I guess I'll have to check." He typed into his laptop and searched the address. The owners of the house were the McCoys, and they did not own a motorcycle. They owned a minivan and a small sports car, and neither tracks were evident in the mud. Suspicious, a little, but it could be that they loaned their cabin out to some person with a motorcycle.
"Well, think we should poke around a little?" she said.
"I think the problem with that is, that if we find him..." He paused. "I hate to have any kind of warrant issues, or to be let off on a technicality kind of deal. Do you have any good reason to knock?"
"Do you see that smoke there? Looks like that fire might be getting out of hand. I think we should probably knock and see if everyone is okay in there. Just a friendly house call; is your fire out of control?" she said, then winked.
Jessi hopped out of the cop car in full uniform and badge. She knocked on the front door. Edward wasn't terribly keen on this plan, preferring to play by the book, but it was already happening. He hopped out of his car, hoping there wasn't going to be an altercation, but it turned out that nobody was home.
The motorcycle tracks led to the back of the cabin, so without entering, they walked to the back. And there sat the motorcycle that they had been looking for. The same motorcycle that Jack wrestled Peter onto after stabbing a poor neighbor lady, and squealed away. It sat on its side and had a flat tire. This was the opposite of promising because it appeared that it had been ditched. What were they driving now? How would they ever figure it out?
"Do you think they're coming back here?" she said. "Because we could set up surveillance. Maybe the bike is down, but they're still using this place."
"I don't think it's real likely. If they were still going to use this place, they would've hidden the bike better. It seemed like a really bad idea to leave it lying here in the open," he said. "We should still have someone watch the place in case I'm wrong, but I don't think the odds are very good."
"You know, we could call the McCoys and see if they'll give us permission to go inside," she said. "If we don't think Jack and Peter are going to be back here, maybe we can find out something that they left inside that tells where they're going. That chimney was still smoking; they probably left pretty recently."
"But if they are coming back, then we would tip them off that we know where they are," he said. He considered her idea. Sometimes, in a case like this, you just had to use your gut. "Alright, let's give it a try." Ten minutes later, she had talked to Mrs. McCoy, who gave her the permission to search the cabin. Mrs. McCoy said there was no real reason not to allow them to search if they thought there was a kid missing. They'd be happy to help. In fact, the only thing that she particularly
cared about was that they didn't break the front door. She told them there were two keys, one under the mat by the front door. And the other one was under a rock by the back door.
"Well, there is no key under the mat at the front door anymore. There still was a key under the rock by the back door. I'm guessing that's how Jack got in, by using the key under the mat," she said right before she unlocked the back door. They both went inside, guns drawn, just in case. The cabin was a little three-room cabin; bathroom, bedroom, and everything else. The fire had been burned down to a smolder, but it looked like it'd been fairly large at some point. They could've left hours ago.
A pile of boy-sized clothes sat in the corner. This was a soccer uniform; it even said "Mirabella" on the back. His long white socks with blue bands at the top sat under the pile. His soccer cleats sat by the fireplace. Either Peter was now running around naked or they had found him a new outfit. In the bathroom, there were chunks of blond curls recently snipped. Was Peter shaved bald now? Was this a standard haircut? It was impossible to tell these things from scraps of hair left over. The only thing they knew for sure was that Peter's hair was shorter.
Nothing else was moved. Even the canned foods in the cabinets were still dusty and untouched. After this quick initial scouting, they called the crime scene investigators to collect the hair, collect the clothes, and fingerprint the place. Even though this turned out to be a useful stop, it had not provided them with any new leads as to where Jack or Peter were right at this second. Jessi and Edward loaded back into her cop car and started the long drive back to the police station. If they had looked at just the right moment, they would've seen little Peter hiding behind a tree.
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Jaspierre's Descent (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 2) Page 6