by Jordan Dane
“Someone held my sister Lily in his arms. Oh, God. She was so small. I forgot how little she was. I think he wanted…to help h-her. He carried her…like a f-father.”
The face of Max Whitaker flashed into my mind, the abusive husband who swore he loved his children, yet had stalked Evangeline and moved within blocks of her. His familial DNA had been found at the scene and matched. Had he lied about how his forensic sample got into the bedroom? I couldn’t tell Bram about Whitaker and risk stirring up worse horrors for him.
“Who did you see, Bram? Did you see a face?”
His eyes rolled into his head and he writhed in my arms. I held him tight so he wouldn’t get hurt.
Talk to me, kid. Come on.
“What are you seeing, Bram? Tell me.”
“Eagle. There’s…an eagle, like momma’s.” He jerked his body and kicked as he ranted. “Oh, God. A snake is coming out of his body. Momma, please. Don’t hurt her!”
I heard three more gunshots. This time I hadn’t fired. Children screamed and I wanted to run to them, but I stayed with Bram. He was real…and alive. When the kid lost consciousness, I clutched him to my chest and stared into the darkness, looking for what remained of Evangeline.
In an ear shattering pop, the house became deathly quiet, still enough to hear a pin drop as if I’d stepped into a vacuum. I didn’t sense Evangeline’s presence anymore and in the wake of her absence, I ached. In a rush, the water on the roof from the firemen’s hoses came back to my awareness and reality hit hard. I’d returned, wanting to go back—to save them.
I pulled out my cell phone with a shaky hand and made a call to Jax and his men.
“What the hell happened?” Malloy said. “We heard gunfire.”
“Bram is unconscious. He needs a doctor.”
“I’m on my way.”
I rocked Bram in my arms and shut my eyes as he lay in the dark. I replayed what had happened through my mind and pictured the blood drops that appeared from nowhere—falling from a body I couldn’t see. I flashed on the otherworldly eagle and the snake and the large shadow that swelled like a smothering oil slick. I hoped the eerie images would mean more to Bram.
Mostly I prayed he would wake up.
***
University Hospital
2:45 a.m.
Ryker Townsend
I paced the ER waiting room of the hospital as my mind reeled with murky images—a jumble of screams, gunfire, and Bram struggling to endure. I couldn’t tell what I actually saw or gleaned from his memory. It felt as if I’d split in two and straddled the splintered psyche of his memory, mixed with demons from my own nightmares.
Jax and Skye had been joined by Dane Chandler, Skye’s brother who also worked with Malloy at Station 58 and had helped make it rain. Jax made the introduction, but I didn’t feel social. I took a walk and sat near a fountain outside the ER bay to check my phone for messages.
Sinead had sent an update that I’d missed earlier. I didn’t get far into her report before I saw something that grabbed me by the throat.
Evangeline had worked part-time at a local gun club as a clerk behind the counter. I didn’t know enough about her to be surprised, but Sinead had sent a link to the club’s website. As I thumbed through the pages of the website for the On Target Gun Club, I caught a glimpse of something that made me stop. It took a moment to realize what I’d seen, but hadn’t registered in my mind until I’d gone back to look again.
When my eyes settled on the homepage, I shook my head and smiled.
“Good job, Bram,” I whispered.
I ran into the hospital and headed back to see if the kid had opened his eyes. I had something for him to see.
***
Forty minutes later
Ryker Townsend
When Bram woke up, the first thing out of his mouth had been, “I saw a man. He could’ve been a cop.” He searched the crowd of faces standing over him, looking for me. I shoved between Jax and Skye.
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
Bram looked confused. He shut his eyes as if forcing images from his mind, until he had his answer.
“He had on a uniform, but it was brown, I think. Not navy like the police.”
I grinned, thinking over what I had seen on the gun club website. I pulled out my phone and showed him the club’s website homepage, careful not to lead him. In his fragile state, I didn’t want to influence his memory.
“Does anything on this web page look familiar?”
He held my phone in his hand and stared at the small screen. It only took him seconds to see what I had.
“That’s it. The eagle.” Wide-eyed, he stared at my phone, unable to look away. “I saw this…eagle, but…how?”
“You said you saw someone in uniform that reminded you of a cop, only the uniform color was brown.”
I flipped through the website for pictures on the photo gallery.
“Do these uniforms look familiar?”
Bram’s eyes welled with tears and he grinned when he looked up at me.
“Yeah. I did see someone there that night…and he wore that uniform. He carried my…little sister, like she mattered. I remember now.”
“And on the uniform sleeve is the gun club emblem. It has an eagle,” I said. “You said, ‘like momma’s.’ Did you mean your mother had a uniform like this?”
Bram looked confused.
“I don’t know. I guess. Maybe I blocked that out.”
I reached for his arm to focus him.
“That’s okay. This is like a puzzle with many small pieces, but we’re looking for the big picture. Do you remember what the man looked like?”
Bram didn’t answer right away. He grimaced and said, “Yeah, maybe if I saw some photos.”
“Hold that thought.”
I shifted my gaze to Jax and Skye to explain.
“Bram remembered something important that he saw the night his family died. His mother worked at the On Target Gun Club, not far from where she lived. He remembered seeing someone in uniform, in the house. The man carried his little sister, Lily, ‘like a father,’ he said. We have more pieces to the puzzle.”
“What if I remembered things wrong?”
“But you didn’t. The details you remembered are on this website, Bram. Your memories have to mean something. You didn’t make this up. It’s here.” I showed him the website again. “And your mother worked there. We’ve got confirmation of that now. Whatever you remembered, it’s real.”
Bram’s lip flinched into a fragile smile.
“So…what now?” Malloy’s face lit up.
“Tomorrow I’ll visit the gun club with Detective Hanover. We’ll poke around and ask for anyone who knew Evangeline. It’s called turning over rocks.”
“What about the snake I saw?” Bram asked. “It came out of the guy’s body.”
“I don’t know, but my money is on you. We’ve got somewhere to look now, because you had the courage to face your fears.” My eyes stung as I gazed down at Bram. “I’m proud of you.”
When the kid smiled up at me, I took my leave and let the others have time with him.
I backed away from his gurney and let Jax, Skye, and Dane remind him that he had people who cared about him. When I found a quiet spot in the hospital, I read more of Sinead’s report. I would have to find a way to thank my computer genius for her perfect timing.
***
On Target Gun Club
North Central Dallas
Next afternoon
Ryker Townsend
The hospital had kept Bram overnight for observation. The next day Malloy checked him out of the facility and fed him before he turned the kid over to me.
Detective Hanover promised to meet us at the gun club. I wanted Bram along in case we got cooperation and while we waited for Hanover, I sat with him in my vehicle and cautioned the kid on what to expect inside. He looked tense and needed the distraction of a conversation.
“Does this place look familiar?
” I asked Bram. “Have you ever been here before, with your mother?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Bram could’ve blocked out his mother’s employment, or maybe she never brought him to work. I had no doubts there were memories he would never recover.
“Look, Bram. If you notice anything that looks familiar, don’t blurt it out. Pull me aside and tell me in private. People may not understand how we recovered your memories.”
“Yeah, okay.” The kid nodded and fidgeted with his hands.
I had years of on-the-job experience in dealing with the way my gift worked. While having eyes and ears for the dead gave me an advantage for hunting killers, my visions would only jeopardize any court proceedings. To find the Cross family’s murderer, we had evidentiary links between Evangeline and her employer at the time, the gun club. I wanted to find proof enough to make Bram’s testimony unnecessary in court. A good defense lawyer would rip him apart on the stand. The kid had been through enough.
Even now he flinched whenever he heard the sound of gunfire from the shooting range located behind the club. Being inside a vehicle didn’t muffle the noise much.
“Here he is.” Through my rearview mirror, I saw Hanover’s car pull into the lot. “Let’s go.”
The On Target Gun Club looked like a metal airplane hangar with a red and white striped awning across the front entrance and no shortage of patriotic flags. Neon signs flashed in a bank of windows, advertising name brand weapons for sale and the club’s hours of operation.
As Hanover approached me, I introduced Bram and the detective shook the kid’s hand, having a hard time looking him in the eye. The man hadn’t expected Bram to be with me.
“What are we doing here, Townsend?”
“Evangeline Cross worked here part-time,” I said. “The woman didn’t open up to many people. If she had friends or associates in this place, we might ID the fingerprint you found.”
“In other words, you’re on a fishing expedition. No judge will give you a warrant to compel this private club to give up their membership.”
“A membership list would be great, but what I really want are the names of the employees from five years ago.”
“Good luck with that. You’re wasting my time, Fed.”
Hanover would be dead weight. The man had no sympathy for a grieving kid looking for answers.
“Then I suggest you let me do the talking.”
Hanover smirked, eager to see me fail.
“Lead the way, hot shot.”
Inside the gun club were rows of merchandize, countless weapons and accessories and supplies, with rifles and larger weapons displayed on pegboards across the back. Muffled fire came from an indoor range located behind the sales counter.
Bram looked miserable.
I browsed the aisles and kept my eye on the sales counter, waiting for the right situation. I ignored Hanover rolling his eyes and nudging his chin, trying to force me to get on with it. When a young girl came to the register—someone with kind eyes—I approached her with Bram. The name on her picture employee badge was Lacey Jo.
I showed her my FBI credentials and kept my voice low.
“I’m investigating the murder of someone who used to work here, Evangeline Cross. It happened five years ago.”
“Oh my, that’s terrible.”
Lacey Jo had pale blue eyes and blonde hair the color of wheat. Like all the club employees, she wore a blaze orange vest with the club emblem on it, the one with the eagle and a rifle in its talons. The same emblem appeared on the sleeve of her brown uniform shirt.
“So you didn’t know her?” I asked.
“No, I’ve only been here two years, working my way through college.”
After she glanced toward Bram, with a sweet flirty blink, I trusted my instincts to bring him into the conversation.
“This is Bram. He’s helping me with the investigation.” I watched the kid’s face turn deep red, especially after the girl smiled at him. “I’m looking for the names of the gun club’s employees from five years ago.”
“Yes, we have that.” She got on the computer and ran her fingers across the keyboard. “I can’t access confidential information, but I can isolate personnel names by time period.”
“That would be great. Thank you.” I glanced at Bram and nudged my head for him to take my place at the counter and stick with Lacey Jo.
I had my attention somewhere else.
I kept my eyes on the two men working behind the sales counter. From body language, I decided one of them had to be the manager or owner. He didn’t wear a name badge or the company uniform and vest. Before he became curious about what Lacey Jo had on her computer, I walked down the counter and headed him off.
“Are you the manager?”
“No, I’m the owner, Charles Godwin.” He extended his hand and I shook it. “How can I help you?”
“Did you know Evangeline Cross?”
The man tried to hide his flinch of recognition, but failed. I showed him my FBI creds and waited for his answer, while Bram worked with Lacey Jo on her computer at the end of the counter.
“Uh, yes, I did. She worked for me.” He shrugged. “It’s been a long time though.”
Most people would have brought up the murder. Evangeline’s death would’ve hit all the papers and the TV news.
“She died.”
My abrupt reveal had been on purpose. I wanted to see how he’d handle the silence that followed and try to fill it.
“Yes, the papers said police determined she killed her kids and turned the gun on herself. Terrible thing.”
“New evidence has come to light. Police have reopened the case.”
More silence. Godwin had a hard time looking me in the eye. Content to wait him out, I didn’t have to stall long.
“That guy.” Bram pointed to Lacey Jo’s computer screen. “That’s him.”
“Jake Wilson,” she said. “He works nights. He’s a nice man. Why are you interested in him?”
“What’s going on, Lacey?” The owner approached her and Bram.
When Charles Godwin neared her computer, he pulled the monitor toward him to see the personnel photo of Jake Wilson. The image looked as if it had been used for an employee badge similar to the one Lacey Jo wore.
“Employment records are confidential, Lacey. Is he with you?” Godwin asked me about Bram, but he didn’t wait for my reply. “Why are you interested in Jake Wilson?”
As an investigator, I rarely answered questions from curious voyeurs. I only asked them.
“I’ll need his current address…and anything you can tell me about him. He’s a person of interest. We only want to talk to him.”
“Yes, of course. Best time to catch Jake is at his home before his shift. He’s a busy guy otherwise.”
Before he left, he glared at Lacey Jo and she noticed.
“Let’s go to my office. I’ll get you that address and we can talk.”
“Stay with Hanover,” I said to Bram as I followed Godwin. “I won’t be long.”
Detective Hanover stared at me from down one of the aisles, with his arms crossed. I’d gotten a lead without a warrant and the seasoned investigator had lost his smug expression.
***
Wilson residence
Evening
Ryker Townsend
Jake Wilson lived off Fair Oaks Avenue, east of Walnut Hill Lane and not far from where Evangeline Cross had lived with her young family five years ago.
Sinead had done a background check on Wilson and sent it to my phone. She’d included his DMV photo as well as a few images of him that had been posted on the gun club photo gallery. The guy had a thing for tattoos.
Sinead had also hacked his financials and found undocumented cash payments, not attributable to his employer. The sums were under a bank’s flag limits, but they didn’t escape the notice of my eagle eye computer genius.
Detective Hanover said he’d come with backup. True to his word, he arrived in his
unmarked vehicle only a minute behind me, with a police cruiser of two officers. I met the detective on the curb of a one-story red brick home. It had a circular drive with boxwood hedges under the windows and crepe myrtles on a small patch of grass.
The house was dark. No lights except for a glimmer of motion from one of the rooms. A pale glow from a TV could be seen flickering through curtain sheers. Drapes were partially closed. If Wilson glanced outside, he’d know the police had arrived.
I pointed Hanover to the large wooded lot that butted up against Wilson’s property. It had a walking trail entrance. If we didn’t surround the man’s house, he had a way out.
I wondered if the pedestrian walkway led to Evangeline’s neighborhood. That could be the reason her neighbors never noticed a strange car parked in her driveway overnight.
Hanover nodded and took charge. He pulled his weapon as he approached the shadowy front door and rang the bell.
“Jake Wilson, this is the police. Open up, sir.”
Hanover stepped back, prepared to shoot if he had to. Wilson worked at the gun club and owned permitted weapons, according to his file. We had to approach with caution. The two-man patrol camped out on either side of the front entry with weapons drawn. When the detective didn’t get an answer, he pounded on the door and yelled.
“Police. Open up, Mr. Wilson.”
I listened for any sounds coming from inside the house and heard nothing. While Hanover and I stayed at the front, the two patrolmen worked the perimeter of the house and peered through the windows. The one positioned near the trailside came back in a hurry, panting.
“I see someone inside. He’s sitting at a desk.” He nodded. “He’s in there.”
Hanover hammered his fist on the door, but when he didn’t get an answer, he stepped back to kick the door in.
“Don’t.” The other patrolman stopped him. “I have an open door in the back. That gives us probable cause to go in.” The man waved us to follow him.