Cesspool

by Phil M. Williams

  “The MO was the same as Frank’s. She was raped, strangled, and the techs found water-based lubricant in her throat.”

  Brittany gasped, on the verge of tears.

  James paused the recorder, his eyes wide. “Harold?”

  A few tears slipped down Brittany’s face.

  “Do you want me to listen to this alone?” James asked.

  She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and shook her head. “Keep playin’ it. But who’s Frank?”

  “I’ll have to look it up to be sure, but I bet his last name is Wiggins.”

  “Is he related to Dr. Wiggins?”

  “Husband, I think.” James pressed Play.

  The chief exhaled. “Unfortunately, those things are commonplace for the sick bastards who do this shit.”

  “She was worked over pretty good. The first thing I thought when I saw her was that there had to be more than one guy.”

  “There’s a big difference between thoughts and evidence. There was no evidence of a second perp.”

  “What about the murders in Northumberland and Columbia? Again, same MO.”

  “We were gettin’ close. That’s prob’ly why he moved on. Still don’t have shit to do with Frank.”

  “Did you guys find any DNA?” Dale asked.

  “We found some hairs,” the chief said, “but they were too degraded for a DNA profile.”

  “Nigger hair?”

  “We got the right guy.”

  “You gonna talk to the doctor?”

  “I’ll have to remind her that she still has a son to keep out of trouble.”

  “Did you hear that Harold’s been sick?” Dale said. “Bill told me that Harold called in sick last week. I can’t remember him ever bein’ sick.”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to give him a call tomorrow,” the chief replied.

  Brittany’s eyes were like saucers.

  “What do you think about the teacher?” Dale said. “He could be behind this.”

  “I doubt he has the stones for somethin’ like this, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pay him a visit. You could check on Harold while you’re out there.”

  “Shit,” James said.

  Dale and the chief spent the rest of the conversation discussing the particulars of covering their tracks. They talked about destroying documents and possible places to move the money.

  James pressed Stop on the MP3 recorder.

  “We are so screwed,” Brittany said.

  James stood and paced.

  “James?”

  “Let me think,” he said. After a minute of pacing, he stopped and sat at the table across from Brittany. “Here’s what we know. They don’t know that I sent the texts, but I’m on their radar now. Dale’s coming here tomorrow to check on Harold and to pay me a visit. He won’t find anything at Harold’s, but he would probably start a missing person’s investigation, and I would be a prime suspect. The other issue is Kurt. He’s a moron, but I’m pretty sure he can put two and two together if Wade shows him the pictures I took. He did steal my camera.”

  “Do you think he’s gonna show Kurt the pictures?” Brittany asked.

  “I’m not sure. If he does, we better be long gone.”

  “How much time do you think we have?”

  James rubbed his chin. “I have a hunch that he’ll give him a chance to confess before revealing the evidence. Could be weeks, could be days. The bottom line is we need to work fast. The more immediate issue is Dale coming here tomorrow.”

  “Do you think they know about you beating up Harold?”

  “I don’t think so. They would have mentioned it when they were talking about me. I do think, if an investigation into Harold’s disappearance starts, that would be very bad. I imagine they’d be watching us or worse.”

  “We need to make sure Officer Dale doesn’t come here then.”

  James exhaled. “I don’t think we can stop that, but maybe we can stop him from going to Harold’s.”

  “How?”

  “Did Harold ever go away? Like on a vacation or a hunting trip?”

  “I wish. He barely went anywhere but to the firehouse, the ABC store, and some bar in town. I’m assumin’ it was a bar because he came back smellin’ like alcohol.” She shivered at the thought. “He talked about goin’ huntin’, but he never did.”

  “Do you think he went hunting in the past?”

  “I think he did a lot when he was younger.”

  “What about any friends?” James asked.

  She tapped her lips with her index finger. “There was this guy when I first moved in. Harold went to help him move with his pickup. He said his name was Buzz. I only remember that because I loved Toy Story when I was little. You know, the Disney movie?”

  “Buzz Lightyear.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you remember where this guy lived?”

  She shrugged. “It was up north somewhere.”

  James opened his laptop and turned it on. Once loaded, he typed county map of PA in the search engine. “Any of these counties sound familiar? Carbon, Luzerne, Columbia?”

  “Lycoming,” she said, pointing at the screen.

  James typed Lycoming PA map into the search engine. He tilted the screen toward her. “Any of these towns sound familiar?”

  Her blue eyes scanned the screen. She frowned. “I don’t remember. He may never have said exactly.”

  “That’s okay. I think we have enough to be believable. First we need to get rid of Harold’s truck, and then I want to take a closer look at that stone house.”

  They retrieved the Hyundai from Gil’s Storage and drove to Harold’s. James pulled off the road, near the single-wide trailer.

  “I don’t think we’ll see anyone at this time of night,” James said, “but, if we see headlights, we need to hide behind the car. It would be really bad if anyone sees me in the chemical suit.”

  She nodded.

  They exited the car, and he put on his hooded chemical suit, latex gloves, and booties. James held out his arms as if he were being frisked, and Brittany rolled the lint roller over his gear. He put on his jacket over the chemical suit, and Brittany repeated the process with the lint roller. She “cleaned” his knit hat too, before he put it over the chemical suit hood.

  “I think you’re good,” she said. “I went over the jacket three times at the cabin. The hat, like ten times.”

  James crept to Harold’s trailer, his flashlight cutting a swath through the darkness. He retrieved the truck keys from Harold’s bedroom and returned to the driveway. The Ford Ranger was unlocked. James climbed inside, his legs cramped. He adjusted the seat back and started the truck. He pulled out of the driveway and drove down the gravel road. He checked his rearview mirror, but he knew from the headlight glare that she was back there.

  James drove the red pickup for ninety minutes, with Brittany following close behind in the Hyundai. Traffic was nonexistent. They drove past Harrisburg International Airport toward the Long Term Parking sign. James motored beyond the entrance to the lot. He parked on the shoulder. Brittany pulled up behind him. He told her to wait, that he’d be right back.

  James slipped on sunglasses and turned the truck around. He stopped at the gate and leaned out the window, pressing the button on the machine. He grabbed the ticket that the machine spit out, and the gate arm lifted. He drove into the enormous parking lot. Rows and columns of cars lit by streetlights with signs denoting the section that most travelers would forget.

  He thought about how many arguments the lot caused. Couples weary from travel, arguing over who was supposed to keep track of the car. Lori would write down the section and put it in her purse.

  He parked in the first empty spot he could find. He leaned over the seat, pressed the passenger lock down, and adjusted the driver’s seat forward. James opened the driver’s side door, pressed the lock down, and threw the keys under the seat. He shut the door and fast-walked toward the lot entrance. He slipped off his booties and carried them with him, o
nce he had made some distance from the truck.

  Brittany climbed over the center console into the passenger seat, as James entered the Hyundai. She slept on the way home, while James recalculated variables and scenarios.

  He cut the headlights of the Hyundai as he pulled off the asphalt onto the frozen shoulder. Brittany’s eyes fluttered.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “The Stricklands’ stone house. I’ll just be a minute. I want to see what the security’s like. Wait here.”

  James slipped his booties back on and crept up the gravel driveway. No cars, as he suspected. The house was a single story with a rubble foundation, similar to his cabin. The stone walls were thick, well built. They don’t make them like this anymore. Two small windows in front were covered with burglar bars. I wonder if those are up to code. He crept around the house, found an electrical panel and a phone line and a few more small windows—all covered with burglar bars. He peered inside and saw a queen-size bed and a black bearskin throw rug. The stone fireplace had an insert, with a deer head hanging over it. A blinking light came from the corner, halfway up the wall. Alarm system. The back door was solid oak, like the front—no windows. He inspected the hinges. It opens in—good. He worked his way around to the front. A sticker in one of the front windows read Protected by Spartan Security.

  James slipped back into the Hyundai.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “They have thick stone walls, an alarm, burglar bars on the windows, and two solid oak doors.”

  She frowned.

  He grinned. “I have to call Spartan Security.”

  Chapter 17

  I Love YouTube

  After checking the security on the Stricklands’ stone house, James and Brittany stopped by their cabin and grabbed some blankets and pillows. Brittany climbed into the backseat of the Hyundai and lay across the bench seat, wrapping her blanket around her. She was asleep before they reached the highway.

  James drove north toward Lycoming County. His eyes were heavy. The dark empty roads were hypnotic. He occasionally slapped himself and cracked open the window, letting the cold air in to revive him. He pulled into the back of a Walmart parking lot. He glanced at the clock on his burner phone—5:58 a.m. He cut the engine and set the alarm on his phone for 7:30 a.m. He tilted his seat back and grabbed his blanket.

  In the blink of an eye, his phone chimed. His body shot upright. His head pounded; his heart raced. He fumbled with the phone, jabbing buttons until the racket finally stopped. Brittany stirred in the back, her hair a tangled mess.

  “What time is it?” she asked, stretching her arms.

  “Seven-thirty,” he replied, rolling his neck. “Was Harold a morning person?”

  “He didn’t usually get outta bed until ten, but I think hunters get up really early.”

  James rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ll send the text around ten. You want to grab some breakfast? We need to be quick, so I was thinking McDonald’s. I have a couple things I need to do before making the call.”

  They had breakfast on Styrofoam. Afterward they drove to the Lycoming Public Library. The one-story brick building had a pole in front with a limp American flag. They parked and marched to the front door. James pulled on the door, but it was locked. He checked the time on his phone again: 8:03 a.m.

  James frowned. “They’re supposed to open at eight.”

  They peered through the glass door. An elderly woman approached with a fast walk. She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t move as fast as I used to.”

  James and Brittany entered the library. The woman showed them to the computer room. They sat in the corner and logged onto a chunky desktop computer.

  James typed YouTube into the search engine. In the YouTube search box he typed how to break down a door. They watched several videos showing the weak points of doors and the proper placement of kicks, sledgehammer strikes, and pry bars.

  James typed how to open a safe into the search bar.

  “You think they have a safe?” Brittany asked.

  “They said they keep money there. I’m guessing they have it hidden or in a safe.”

  They watched a video of a stocky man pry open a heavy-duty safe in sixty seconds.

  James cleared the cache on the computer just in case the slow-moving woman was suspicious of strangers, then he and Brittany left the library and drove across town to a Home Depot. James purchased a sledgehammer, a mini–pry bar, and a sixty-inch pry bar. They drove out of town, toward the nearest Pennsylvania State Game Lands. They drove on a deserted gravel road, the sun blurred by gray skies. The car slipped as they moved over the slushy surface. They pulled into a driveway of a deserted hunting cabin. James hopped out, holding Harold’s phone in a Ziploc bag with latex gloves. He sent the text message to the chief.

  Im up in lyco with buzz. He got a new hunt camp. Found some fun up here thats worth sticking around for. Dont tell bill. He thinks Im sick. Be back next week.

  He sent another text to Bill at the firehouse.

  I still feel like dog shit. Be back next week.

  James suspected that Harold wouldn’t be missed. James checked that the ringer on Harold’s phone was turned off, returned the cell to the Ziploc bag, and sealed it. He stepped through four inches of wet snow to the woods behind the cabin. James hid the phone behind a tree, under some leaves, and returned to the car.

  “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “You think they’ll track the phone?” she asked.

  “I hope so. It gives legitimacy to the two texts I sent.”

  * * *

  After returning the car to the storage center, James staggered into their cabin, bleary-eyed, Brittany behind him. She shut the door and flipped the dead bolt as he hung his coat. He dropped his keys on the kitchen table and turned around.

  “You look tired,” she said. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

  “We have to get ready for Dale,” he replied.

  James stowed the boxes of envelopes under the bed. Brittany carried the box of latex gloves, the burner phones, and the chemical suit down to the cellar. James adjusted the curtains so the windows were completely covered. Brittany shut the cellar hatch and covered it with the mat.

  “As soon as you hear the driveway alarm,” he said, “I want you in the cellar. If you hear the cellar hatch open, you know what to do.”

  She nodded. “Got it. Now go to bed.”

  “I have to make a call first.” James dialed the number he found online.

  “Spartan Security, this is Tricia. How can I help you?”

  “I was interested in your security service,” James said, “but I had a technical question to see if your system would be a good fit for my home.”

  “I’ll have to put you through to Roger,” Tricia said. “He deals with the technical stuff.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Hold please.”

  “This is Roger. How can I help you?”

  James repeated the sentence he had rehearsed in his mind. “I’m interested in your security service, but I had a technical question to see if your system would be a good fit for my home.”

  “What’s your question?” Roger asked.

  “My old house has a phone line that cuts out every now and again. If you guys lose the phone line signal, would that trigger an alarm automatically? That would, of course, amount to a lot of false alarms at my place.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. We don’t call the police for phone signal losses.”

  Bingo.

  “Would you like to make an appointment to send a tech out to give you a quote?” Roger asked.

  “I’ll be traveling the next few weeks. I’ll call back.”

  James crashed on the bottom bunk, falling asleep shortly after his head hit the pillow. He was awakened by the driveway alarm.

  “Alert zone one. Alert zone one,” the mechanical voice said.

&n
bsp; James rolled out of his bunk. The cabin was dim, one floor lamp lit, the afternoon sun waning. He glanced at the hatch to the cellar. The mat was off to the side. He straightened it.

  “Alert zone two. Alert zone two.”

  He turned off the monitoring box. There was an impolite pounding at the front door. He moved to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

  Officer Dale Strickland stood in his puffy police jacket, with his big beak nosing over the threshold.

  “Can I help you?” James said.

  “Mr. Fisher, can I come in?” the officer said.

  “Not without a warrant.” James stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.

  The officer glared. “You got somethin’ to hide?”

  “You guys locked me up for no reason. Hassled me about my property. I have ample reason not to trust you guys.”

  The officer crossed his arms. “That right?”

  James’s face felt hot. “Yes, that is right.”

  “We’ve had some burglaries in the area.”

  James’s stomach turned. He resisted the urge to break eye contact. He feigned concern. “Anyone hurt?”

  “Not yet.” The officer glared at James for a few slow seconds. “Have you seen anyone suspicious?”

  “I haven’t. Sounds pretty serious.”

  Dale nodded, his jaw set tight. “It certainly is. I can assure you that we’ll find him and the justice will be swift and severe.”

  “Well, good luck. I’ll call if I see anyone suspicious.”

  Dale placed his hand on his Glock. “Most people around here invite me in. It’s suspicious when they don’t.”

  James nodded, his heart pounding.

  “Where’s that little girl you got?”

  “Out with friends.”

  “I don’t need permission,” Dale said, stone-faced.

  “Permission for what?”

  “To enter your house whenever I damn well please. I can pull probable cause out of my fuckin’ ass.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” James replied.

  The officer scowled. “Move the fuck out of my way!”

  James stepped aside, and Dale entered the cabin. James followed, leaving the door open. Dale strutted around the cabin. He opened dresser drawers, rifled through them, leaving them open. He looked under the bed and pulled out a box of envelopes. He opened the box and flipped through, looking at the addresses.