Devil Smoke

by C. J. Lyons

  “Did she do something to hurt the baby?”

  “Lord, no. She fell asleep, that’s all. Perfectly understandable—and perfectly forgivable. She was only human.” Barnett paused. TK started to say something but heeded Lucy’s example and instead waited. “Walter finally got home in the middle of the night. He found them. Sarah asleep on the couch. The baby must have been nursing, had fallen between the cushions. Oh, the screams when he woke her. I ran out in my nightdress, thought the building was on fire. But it was Sarah. Holding her dear little baby in her arms, begging for someone to do something, shrieking, crying. It broke my heart.”

  “Did an ambulance come?”

  “I called 911, but they didn’t wait. Jumped in Walter’s car and drove to Three Rivers, carrying that poor baby. Sarah collapsed in the waiting room, I heard later. Burning up with fever—mastitis, infection from the baby not nursing. They rushed her up to OB—she was there for days getting antibiotics. I went to visit her. She kept asking about the baby, when were they going to let her see her baby.” She looked away and patted her eyes.

  Lucy gave the old lady time to compose herself again before asking, “So they blamed the doctor at the ER for not saving the baby?”

  “Well, now, that’s what I don’t understand. I mean, I know Walter and Sarah sued over it, saying the baby was still breathing and the doctor should have saved him. After she came home, Sarah even told me she thought they, the doctor and some social worker, were covering things up. She had this idea that they killed him, that it was all a conspiracy.” She shook her head. “Poor thing. That was before she went into the hospital the first time—not Three Rivers, Western Psych.”

  “She was delusional, is that it?” Lucy asked in a neutral tone. “Or was there something to her theory?”

  “Oh, no. Poor, poor thing. And she had him convinced as well. No surprise there, I guess—those two were inseparable, like two pieces of the same person. And he was so obsessed with her, of course he’d believe her rather than the truth.”

  “What was the truth, Mrs. Barnett?”

  “I thought you knew. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “I’d like to hear it in your own words. What did you see that night?”

  “What did I see? Well, now, I’m no doctor, but it was obvious that poor baby had been dead for a long, long time. Hours, maybe all day. It was black and purple and its head and belly were swollen. Anyone could see that poor thing was long past saving—no sense blaming any doctor. If Walter hadn’t seen for himself that it was an accident, the way Sarah had fallen asleep, her body smothering the poor child, I think the cops might have thought she’d done it herself. Not that it was any consolation to either of them. Can you even imagine it? The pain? Knowing you’d killed your own baby?”

  TK and Lucy exchanged glances and shook their heads.

  Mrs. Barnett grasped one hand in the other as if washing them clean of the Putnams and their tragedy. “Something like that? It would drive anyone insane.”

  Chapter 40

  BURROUGHS ESCORTED TOMMY down the hall to a small break room where a middle-aged woman sat with Nellie at a table surrounded by empty vending machine-size cereal bowls. Nellie looked up, her face smeared purple and lime green. “Daddy, we’re having breakfast for dinner!”

  “So I see. Guess you finally got your Sugar Loops.”

  The dispatcher stood up. “Thought it was better than candy bars or chips.”

  “Thank you. I very much appreciate you looking out for her.”

  She nodded and left. Burroughs watched from the doorway, but Tommy ignored him. He took the seat beside Nellie. She was kneeling, bouncing, as she scooped cereal into her mouth with a plastic spoon.

  “So, I called your Gramma and Papa. They’re coming to pick you up,” Tommy began.

  “No Pizza Joe’s?”

  He patted her belly. “Not tonight, sweetie. I don’t think you’d have room anyway.”

  “You’re coming too, right? That way you can help me feed the horses and brush them in the morning and I’ll teach you how to rake out the dirty straw and poop and then you can watch me ride my pony.” Her words emerged in a rush. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the sugar or her anxiety. Until she dropped her spoon to squeeze his fingers tight, and he had his answer.

  “No, sweetie. I think it’s best if you go with your grandparents alone. They’re going to take you on a fun trip.”

  She shook her head, not releasing his finger. “Not without you, Daddy. The horses are okay without me. We can just go home.”

  “I’m not sure when we can go home.”

  “Because of the bad men?”

  “Right. If you go with Papa and Gramma, then I won’t have to worry about you because I know you’ll be all right.” A thought occurred to him. The man in the SUV had followed him down the mountain, so probably knew where Peter and Gloria lived. Hell, a two-second Internet search could give them a map leading right to their front door. He turned to Burroughs. “Can we have a police officer go with them? Make sure the house is safe?”

  Burroughs nodded and stepped outside.

  Nellie met Tommy’s gaze, worry creasing her brow. “But what about you, Daddy? How will I know you’ll be all right?”

  Her earnest tone almost shattered his resolve. Thankfully, Gloria and Peter arrived just then, bustling into the room, their coats dripping with rain.

  “There she is,” Gloria exclaimed, crouching down beside Nellie to hug her tight. “I hear you had quite an adventure.”

  Peter stood silently beside Burroughs, mirroring the detective’s scowl.

  “I was just telling Nellie that she was going with you guys and that you’d be taking her on a trip,” Tommy said.

  “Right. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Hershey Park. They have rides, and you can see where the chocolate is made, won’t that be fun?” Gloria gushed.

  Nellie didn’t seem so certain. “Where will you go, Daddy? Why can’t you come with us?”

  “I have some things to take care of here,” Tommy said, standing up to give Gloria his chair. He turned to Peter. “Maybe you could leave tonight?”

  “Tonight? I thought you said you were the target.”

  “I am. I just worry—”

  “Don’t. Nellie will be fine with us.” He turned to Gloria. “Time to go.”

  Tommy moved back to Nellie. “Give me a hug before you go.”

  She bounced up in her chair, almost sending it toppling over as she hugged him fiercely. “Promise me you’ll be okay,” she whispered.

  “I promise. You be a good girl. And remember, I love you.” He kissed each cheek and her forehead.

  “I love you too, Daddy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck so tight that he couldn’t breathe.

  Then Peter joined them, gently lifting her away from Tommy and into his own arms. “We’ll have tons of fun, won’t we?”

  Nellie nodded. “Did you know you could have breakfast for dinner?”

  Gloria joined Peter and Nellie. Tommy followed them out to the corridor. “Call me before you leave?” Tommy said. “And I’ll talk to you every day, Nellie.”

  She waved at him from Peter’s arms, and then they vanished out the doors into the night. Tommy kept watching for a long moment, a weight dragging at him, pulling him down into a well of uncertainty.

  Burroughs joined him in the hallway. Without looking at the detective, Tommy said, “Let’s get started. How do I prove to you that I’m innocent?”

  <><><>

  “HOW DID WE not know?” TK asked as Lucy steered through standing water that sluiced the car with mud and silt. Thankfully the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the sky was clearing. “I mean, seriously. How did we not see that she was crazy? No one. Not the doctors. Not Burroughs or your friend the marshal. None of us.”

  She flounced back in her seat, her knees drawn up to her chest, feet planted on the dash just like Megan did. “I’ve heard of shit like this. Guess I’ve even seen it. Gu
ys wrapped up in these crazy conspiracy theories. Knew a Force Recon sniper who believed God spoke to him through his scope. Others like him. Totally nuts, but they could do their jobs so no one cared. But this?”

  Lucy ignored the tirade; she was busy doing some serious thinking of her own. When TK paused for a breath she said, “Call Wash, fill him in. Top priority is to find Tommy and warn him. Then we need to call Burroughs.”

  “Hell no. I’ll call Wash and keep trying Tommy, but you need to break it to Burroughs. Did you see how possessive he was of Sarah? He’s going to freak.”

  Lucy said nothing, listening as TK updated Wash and left another message for Tommy. Then she called Burroughs and filled him in.

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “As I can be—remember, I’m only a civilian. Limited resources and access to official information.” It was petty to berate him for not discovering Sarah’s background for himself, but it wasn’t his team member caught in the crossfire of Sarah’s delusions. “We haven’t been able to find Tommy to warn him.”

  “I can help with that. He’s at the Forward Township police station. And so am I.”

  “What happened? Is everyone all right?”

  “Everyone’s fine. But I pretty much just accused Worth of hiring a man to threaten him in public with a shotgun. Still not a hundred percent sure I’m wrong about that. Or that you’re right about Sarah.”

  “We’re on our way. Keep him there, will you?”

  “Oh, believe me, he isn’t going anywhere. Not until we get to the bottom of this.”

  “Think you can also put out a BOLO on Sarah and her husband?” Asking police to be on the lookout for a person or vehicle was one more ability Lucy had lost when she became a civilian. “And maybe run Walter Putnam through NCIC?”

  “On it.” He hung up.

  “So, is Sarah crazy? Like post-partum psychosis or something?” TK asked as Lucy steered them toward Route 51.

  “Her pregnancy might have triggered it, but it’s more common than you think,” Lucy answered. “Fixed delusions. It’s what drives stalkers, assassins, even terrorists.”

  TK lowered her legs and sat up straight. “Obsession, is that what you’re talking about?”

  “More dangerous than that. People driven by obsession think they can change reality to fit their vision. People driven by delusion are in total denial of reality.”

  “They’re living in their own fantasy world.”

  “Something like that. Nick could explain it better.”

  “And when reality and their fiction collide?”

  “Utter devastation.”

  Chapter 41

  GRAMMA RODE IN the back seat of the car, holding Nellie’s hand while Papa drove through the storm, following a police car. At first Nellie was sad, worrying about leaving Daddy all alone, but the beat of the rain and the bounce of the car quickly had her nodding in her booster seat, chin drooping and eyes closed. Not asleep, but not really awake either. Her mind felt as foggy as the world revealed in the headlights each time she jerked up and opened her eyes before nodding off again.

  Then the car came to a stop. Gramma squeezed her hand and Nellie slit her eyes open. They were sitting in the driveway, the police car beside them. Papa had the window halfway down, gave the policeman his keys, but kept it open even after the man left, vanishing into the fog. Papa’s head was tilted as he listened for something. After a few minutes, the policeman appeared through the fog to hand Papa a set of keys and an umbrella he must have gotten from the coat stand.

  “No signs of any disturbance, sir,” he said. “You folks have a good night, now. Call if you need anything more.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” Gramma said, leaning forward. Papa nodded his thanks as well. Then the policeman left, his car whooshing through the rain, spraying their car, before vanishing into the fog.

  Papa got out with the umbrella while Gramma unbuckled Nellie, even though Nellie could have done it herself. Then Papa opened Gramma’s door, walked her around to Nellie’s side of the car, and handed Gramma the umbrella before opening Nellie’s door. It was funny, Gramma stretching almost on her tiptoes to cover both Nellie and Papa after Papa scooped Nellie into his arms. The wind almost blew Gramma over and slammed the car door shut behind them. Nellie wrapped her arms around Papa, shivering as the rain rushed in beneath the umbrella.

  They hurried around to the front of the house. A tiny light guided them to the front door. Gramma pushed it open and finally they were safe inside, the storm locked out behind the thick front door. The storm didn’t like that, its wind and rain pounding against the wall of windows.

  “Bedtime for you, young lady,” Gramma said firmly.

  Nellie was too tired to protest, her grip on Papa’s neck slipping as he carried her up the steps. She didn’t look down—the steps scared her because they only had the step part, their backs open, and she was always afraid she’d slip right through them. Papa huffed a little by the time they reached the loft that stretched out along the back wall of the foyer and living room, but he jiggled her on his hip, redistributing her weight, and they crossed down the hall to her room.

  He set her down on her bed. Gramma came in behind them with a towel to dry Nellie’s hair, and before she knew it she was out of her wet clothes and in her warm PJs, tucked in with hugs and kisses, and the lights were out.

  She fell asleep, the storm churning beyond her window, dreaming of Mommy caught in the rain, and Nellie was running with an umbrella trying to keep Mommy safe and dry, but she was too short and the wind kept pulling her off her feet until finally it flipped the umbrella inside out and sent Nellie tumbling, falling, falling, falling…

  “Mommy!” She jerked awake, sitting up in bed, except it wasn’t her bed. Where was she? “Daddy!” Her voice was croaky, barely made it to her own ears.

  A shadow moved through the darkness, sinking onto her bed that wasn’t her bed, not her real bed, as she tried to shake free of her dream. A woman’s arms surrounded her, held her tight. “It’s okay, Nellie. It was just a bad dream. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

  Not Gramma. Not Mommy—at least not how she remembered Mommy. But it felt so good, the lady’s arms so warm, secure, her heart beating against Nellie’s back. “You’re safe now,” the woman said.

  Nellie blinked, finally realizing this wasn’t part of her dream. “Sarah?”

  “I came to take care of you. Was worried about you. You’ve had quite a day, haven’t you? Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.” Sarah held a sippy cup up to Nellie’s lips.

  Nellie started to protest that she wasn’t a baby, didn’t need a sippy cup, that she wouldn’t spill, but she was thirsty, so she drank the juice. It was her favorite—cherry—but sweeter than normal.

  “Are you staying?” Her words were slurred, and her mouth and lips felt weird, like they weren’t hers.

  “I’m never leaving.” Sarah set the empty cup down and hugged Nellie tight.

  Nellie didn’t want to go to sleep—she had so many questions she wanted to ask—but somehow her body got so heavy, her eyelids just wouldn’t stay open. She fought and fought, managed to open them a slit, just in time to see the door to her room open and a man’s shadow appear.

  A man who wasn’t Papa or Daddy. Fear surged through her, her heart racing, and she fought to form the words to warn Sarah, but she was powerless to move as her body surrendered and her eyes closed for good.

  Chapter 42

  AFTER THE PATROLMAN called Burroughs to let him know that Peter, Gloria, and Nellie had arrived safely at their home, Tommy and Burroughs sat down together in the interview room. Tommy wasn’t sure if the detective’s attitude toward him had truly shifted or if he was simply humoring Tommy in the hopes of getting a confession—more of those games cops played—but he didn’t care.

  “I’m serious. Lock me up if it will help. As long as Nellie’s safe, I don’t care.”

  “So you’re saying that keeping you behind
bars will keep Nellie safe?” Burroughs countered. He was typing at his laptop, Tommy wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t as if their conversation was leading to anything productive as far as the investigation went.

  “If it keeps whoever that man was away from Nellie, yes.”

  Burroughs considered that. “Okay. Let’s start from the beginning. The tire iron. The charm bracelet. Both tie you directly to Charlotte’s grave.”

  Tommy noticed that Burroughs didn’t offer any evidence that the tire iron was the murder weapon or that forensics had confirmed that it was Tommy’s. “Whoever took Charlotte had her keys. Including the key to the Volvo. I changed the locks on the house after, but not the cars.”

  He hadn’t even thought of changing the locks on the cars—it had been hard enough to change the locks on the doors to his home. He had kept imagining Charlotte coming home, trying to get in, and finding herself locked out. But Peter had finally come over with his toolkit and together they’d gotten the job done.

  “You’re saying whoever took Charlotte came back to your house, took the tire iron, and planted her bracelet?”

  It did sound pretty far-fetched when Burroughs said it like that. “Was the tire iron—” Tommy swallowed, unable to finish the thought. “I mean, was it up there the whole time?”

  “Why? Do you think someone waited a year and then decided to frame you?”

  “I guess not. Just that the charm we found yesterday—it didn’t look like it’d been out in the woods for a year. So, I thought…” He shook his head. “You’re right, it makes no sense.”

  “My working theory was that you dropped the charm when you went back to visit Charlotte’s grave, but then when you saw Sarah taking pictures of it, that’s when you chased her off the mountain.” Burroughs looked up. “If that helps.”

  “It doesn’t.”