Stain of Guilt

by Brandilyn Collins

  fairly intelligent

  few friends

  moved quietly, could sneak up on people

  dressed in preppy clothes for casual, always a suit at work

  fiercely in love with wife and baby

  only child, parents deceased

  meant to kill all four people in Tarell house

  nothing left to lose—

  My mental projector smacked on. I closed my eyes and let the scene come. I saw Bill

  sitting in his office, staring at a wall devoid of pictures, blank and empty like his heart. His feet plant themselves apart, his fingers press into his desk. One thought circles like a vulture, circling down, down until he can feel the cold of its shadow: nothing to lose, nothing to lose. His wife and baby are beyond his reach, soon will move out of state. He has no sibling, no parents to disappoint. Control of his life—gone. Control of his finances—gone.

  If they’ve found out about the money he took—his reputation, his freedom, everything will be gone.

  Emotions surge through him, clammy waves trailing fear that clings to his soul like seaweed. With every ounce of willpower he fights the waves, forcing them to still . . . be still. Until the calmness within him is so profound, so eerie, that it prickles the back of his neck.

  Now he can think.

  Plan.

  He’s lost too much. Nothing more—nothing more—will be taken away.

  He stares at the wall, mulling, remembering bits and pieces of crime stories . . .

  He needs a way to disappear fast in case the missing money is discovered.

  And if he’s surrounded by people who want to lay hold of him, he’d better have the means of forcing his way out.

  The scene shimmered away.

  I sat motionless, eyes closed, straddling the tenuous threshold of Bill Bland’s world and my own. When I could pull myself back, I inhaled slowly, flexed my shoulders. Then turned my attention back to my words of description. I listed the rest of his traits. The jerking up of his chin. His tendency to stay out of the sun. His sensitivity to hard contacts. The later habit of narrowing his eyes . . .

  Finally done I picked up Bland’s driver’s license photo and studied it until my head hurt. Bill Bland, what would you look like today?

  He would now be fifty-four. In the driver’s license picture, taken when he was thirty-three, he had no beginning wrinkles as someone his age might, due to the pudginess of his face and his habitual placid expression. But during the thirties, the transs verse frontal, or frown lines, deepen, as do the upward, curved lines at the inside corners of the eyebrows. Lateral orbital lines, or crow’s-feet, and the furrows between nose and mouth also become more pronounced. My sense told me all these wrinkles would have appeared with a vengeance by the time Bland turned forty, weighted as he must have been by the stress of his life on the run. During a person’s forties, more lines can appear, such as the inferior orbital grooves, running from near the inside corners of the eyes out toward the cheeks. Lips can thin, and the oromental grooves—lines pulling down the outside of the mouth—may begin to show. The jawline can become less firm. Bland already lacked a strong jawline, so this could have become even more pronounced. Excess skin above the eyelids can develop. Bland’s upper eyelids at the time of his driver’s license photo showed no hereditary extra skin. Even so, by now he would be showing some of this.

  Bland’s habit of jerking up his chin would make a difference in his wrinkle structure. Edwin Tarell’s mimic of the movement had included pulling his mouth upward until a deep groove appeared beneath the lower lip and tucks appeared in the chin. With Bland’s facial structure, this habit, added to his tendency not to smile, would increase the oromental grooves and probably the mentolabial groove—the downward curve beneath the center of the lips.

  One disappointing factor: Bland’s ears didn’t stick out, weren’t too big or too small. A person’s ears can stay the same for years, only perhaps beginning to appear bigger during one’s sixties. An unusual shape can be very helpful in drawing a composite or age progression.

  Bland’s hair could be somewhat thinner, his hairline a little receded.

  He would probably still wear glasses instead of contacts. I agreed with Susan that he was unlikely to change or try new things. I even sensed that the frames of his glasses would be a similar black, despite the more modern variations of today.

  How would you be dressed, Bill Bland?

  If I made two drawings, one of him dressed in the white-collar, accountant style, and the other showing a more casual look, I would not have to draw the face twice. I could do it once, high on the paper, then, using overlays of matte acetate sheets, create the different clothing looks beneath it.

  But now I sensed that concept was off-base. It seemed to me, given Bland’s need to feel in control and his meticulous nature, that he would have held on to all he could of his past habits. I could picture him in the same type of job, wearing suits without taking off the jacket, as he’d done before.

  I leaned my head back against the chair, closing my eyes. Beginning to envision Bland as he would look today. And I could feel the inside of him—the cold calculations as he assessed a situation of possible danger. The fierce determination to protect all that he had—

  Did he love his wife and son?

  Fiercely.

  Yes. Fiercely enough that he would hold on to his past habits. Try to restructure his life with stability. He’d want a family to control. He’d probably remarried and had children.

  Children from whom he would ferociously guard the knowledge of who he is.

  A sand castle of a new life, meticulously constructed on shifting earth. Granules heaped, shaped, cut into turrets and fortresses, trenched into moats. Rooms molded, walls packed tightly into place, far back from threat of the sea. But a new tide had risen and now came rolling, rolling, bearing down on Bland’s castle with relentless force. What would Bill, the ersatz king, do to protect his threatened domain? Raise destructive barriers? Charge the waves in a murderous frenzy?

  A chill coiled itself around the length of my spine and hung there, flicking its tongue.

  My phone rang, the sound sinking teeth into my nerves. I jumped, then slowly turned my head toward it. I can’t say for certain how I knew, other than the uncanny timing. But I did. Deep within, my consciousness intertwining with this deceptive man’s, I sensed who would be on the line.

  A second ring. A third.

  Fourth.

  Mentally, I scurried to sweep up broken bits of courage. Just before the message machine clicked on, I picked up the receiver.

  Chapter 17

  The phone may as well have been barbed wire against my ear. I couldn’t find the voice to say hello.

  I heard the breathing first. The labored seep of air from a tightened throat. Funny, how I was struck with the sensation that he was almost as nervous as I. As if I could feel his desperation to shield himself, his new life, from me, the interloper.

  “Annie Kingston?”

  My name scratched like an ancient phonograph. Raspy, Sam Borisun had called it. The sound of a man intent on masking his voice.

  “Y–Yes.”

  A hesitation followed, and in that moment I felt our minds connect. Perhaps from my reticence in speaking, he realized I’d known it was him. This would throw him like a rogue wave on the seashore. His modus operandi for years had been separation, stealth. He would not know how to handle my ability to sense him.

  “I am not happy with you, Ms. Kingston. You have been working on the case even after receiving my suggestion that you stop.”

  I could not answer.

  “Do you know where your daughter is?”

  A block of ice sank in my gut. I felt all blood drain from my face. “What?”

  “She was wearing a purple top this morning. And jeans.” The voice scraped its evil into my ear. “Her hair is a lovely brown.”

  Air pooled in my lungs. I could not land on one specific thought, my mind spinning like dust
in a whirlwind. My fingers clenched the phone.

  “Ms. Kingston? You don’t want to pursue this case. Do you?”

  A strangling sound escaped me. “Where’s Kelly? Are you saying you have her? Where is she?”

  “Think about it. You don’t want to do this.”

  The line clicked.

  “No! Wait! Come back, come back!” I hunched over, screaming into the phone, tears flooding my eyes.

  Silence.

  “No, God, no, God, please.” I threw down the receiver, dug fingertips into the sides of my head. No, no, not Kelly. Anything but Kelly.

  Time warped. The next thing I knew I’d punched in the number of the Sheriff’s Department, demanding that the receptionist let me talk to Detective Chetterling—now.

  “Ma’am, he’s out in the field. I can have him call you—”

  “Sergeant Delft then. Hurry!”

  Delft had barely answered when I spilled my story, the words hiccuped and barren.

  “We’ll send somebody out to the school right now.” His response was clipped but empathetic. “Hang on a minute while I put this call out.”

  I waited for what seemed an eternity.

  “Okay, a car’s on its way. Annie, don’t worry too much yet, your daughter is probably fine. He’s just trying to get you, that’s all.”

  “But he knew what she was wearing!”

  “Yes. He may have been watching the school. But that’s good news; that means he’s close, and we’ll get him.”

  How could he say that? Nothing about this was good news.

  “Listen to me, Annie. Wouldn’t the school have called if Kelly didn’t show up?”

  My chaotic mind stalled enough for this one rational thought. “I think so.” I drooped in my office chair, forcing myself to concentrate. “Look, if she’s there, I don’t want to scare her! She doesn’t know any of this is going on. Imagine if she finds out a deputy sheriff is looking for her at school—”

  “Okay, wait.”

  Silence again. I nearly hung up the phone. Why did I do this? Why didn’t I just call the school to see if Kelly’s in class?

  The line rattled. “Okay, I checked. A plainclothes detective is almost at the school now. It’s Ralph Chetterling,Annie. He was in the area.”

  Chetterling. Thank You, God.

  Fresh fear balled up my chest. “I’m going to the school. I have to see Kelly right now!” If she’s even there.

  “No, Annie.” Delft’s tone was cadenced to soothe. “Don’t you want to stay near the phone, hear what Chetterling has to report? You’ll know in just a few minutes.”

  Was Delft a parent? Couldn’t he understand the need, the ache, to see my daughter with my own eyes, to hug her and feel the life of her?

  “Besides, think about it. If you go rushing to the school to see Kelly for yourself, she’ll know something’s really wrong.”

  That logic stopped all argument. I pressed my mouth closed . . . and tried to breathe.

  “Listen now, while we’re waiting to hear your daughter’s okay.” Delft was determined to keep me on the line. “We’re going to put other cars in the area. We’ll do some checking to see if anyone’s seen a suspicious vehicle around the school. We will get this guy, Annie. We will.”

  Noise filtered through the great room from the kitchen. An opened and closed door. Jenna was home. I placed my hand over the receiver and yelled her name.

  She materialized in the doorway, eyes wide. “What?”

  I hissed the news to her—while listening for any word from Sergeant Delft. The information paled Jenna’s tanned face. She sagged against the door frame. “She’s going to be all right.”Words uttered because they had to be so.

  I nodded.

  Then I saw the resolution return, the mettle that makes Jenna who she is. She straightened, her lips firming. A blaze crept into her cheeks. She pointed at me, as if to say I’ll be right back, then disappeared.

  “Annie, you there?” Sergeant Delft’s voice pulled my attention back to the phone.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we’re just waiting.”

  Jenna returned with her purse, setting it down with firm purpose. She reached inside and drew out a handgun. Inspected it with precision. The gun had been my father’s. Jenna had found it on the closet shelf when she’d taken over the master bedroom last year. She’d already known how to shoot. Then after the events of last summer she’d applied for a license to carry a concealed weapon, and it had rested in her purse ever since.

  Satisfied with her inspection, she returned the gun to her handbag.

  “This one—” her whisper was pure vehemence—“I’ll kill myself.”

  I shivered.

  She worried the leather of her purse strap. “How would Bland know what car to look for?”

  The question cut through me. She was right. With all those parents letting kids off, he’d have to know the car. Have to know what Kelly looked like, since Erin was with her.“Oh, Jenna, how would he know?”

  Her expression gave the answer she would not say. Bland had been watching our home.

  Maybe he was right here in Grove Landing, watching them leave the house this morning. Maybe he was never at school.

  No. He knew Kelly wore jeans. She’d have gotten into the car from the garage. He couldn’t have seen her pants.

  Maybe he guessed?

  Bland would never guess.

  I pressed a palm to my temple. My head was going to drive me crazy.

  “Annie!” Delft’s voice sounded in my ear.

  “I’m here.”

  “Just heard from Chetterling. Kelly’s in her math class, right where she should be. He even had the principal walk him past the classroom and peek through the glass on the door just to make sure.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Relief surged like dizzying heat through my body, wilting every muscle. I dropped the receiver on the desk.

  “What, what?” Jenna snatched up the phone, demanding that the words be repeated. “Oh, thank God!” Her chin sank toward her chest.

  Silence. I sat and cried while Sergeant Delft talked to my sister.

  “You better believe we want you to come right now,” Jenna barked. “And by the way, why weren’t these phones tapped after what happened Saturday? You might have been able to trace that call.”

  I laced and unlaced my fingers as my sister berated the Sheriff’s Department, listening to my own heartbeat as tears dropped off my chin. My breath caught in little sobs that soon mingled with the sickened laughter of a mother’s worst nightmare chased away.

  Jenna hung up the phone and faced me across the desk, hands on her hips. Her features softened. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh, Annie.” She moved around the desk, and I stood for her embrace. Wonderful Jenna. What would I have done if she hadn’t flown up?

  She stepped back. “Chetterling and Delft are coming right now. Meantime they’ll have some deputies keeping an eye out at the school. They’ll watch to see Kelly get safely into your car when you pick her up.”

  I wiped my face. “How am I ever going to keep this from her? One look at me, and she’ll know. She’s so sensitive.”

  “Maybe you don’t keep it from her.”

  “But I hate for her to know! To be scared.”

  Jenna spread her hands. “Annie, isn’t it better for her to know? As uncomfortable as it is, at least she’ll be aware to look around her, pay attention. She deserves to know that she and her family are being threatened.”

  “I know, but . . .” I laid a hand over my eyes. “I just . . . can’t go through this again.”

  “Yes, you can.” Jenna’s tone was quiet but firm. “Only because you have to. We’ll get through this together.”

  I expelled a shaky half-laugh. “Yeah, you and your gun.”

  “Well, and where’s yours?”

  “You know I hate guns.”

  “Who said anything about liking them? You just need to know how to use one.”

/>   “Well, I don’t.”

  She shook her head at me. “And after your scare last year. What happened to ‘Yes, Jenna, I promise I’ll take some shooting lessons, I promise, I promise’?”

  “I just . . . I never got around to it.”

  She huffed. “I swear, Annie, sometimes I just want to shake you.”

  “Later, okay?” New tears bit my eyes.

  Her peeved expression crumbled. “Oh, of course later.” She hugged me again, holding on until I stopped crying. When I drew away, I was still sniffing. “This is all your fault, you know. You’re the one who wanted me to get into forensic art.”

  “Art, yes. Danger with crazy criminals, no.”

  “Well, it’s not like I asked for this.”

  “I know.”

  I raked a hand through my hair. The drive from Redding took about fifteen minutes. I wanted Chetterling and Delft to come now. “And what’s all this talk about the Sheriff’s Department not watching out for me? They’ve been doing all they can, given their manpower; you know they’re always shorthanded. Good grief, were you giving it to Delft.”

  “He deserved it. You wait till he gets here; I’ll give him more.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  Chapter 18

  Detective Chetterling arrived first. I spotted him through the great room windows and hurried to open the front door. When I saw his face, so etched with concern, I threw my arms around him. He hesitated, then grasped me in a tight hug, patting the back of my head as if I were a child.

  Suddenly embarrassed, I eased away.

  “You okay?” He still had his hands on my shoulders.

  “Yes. Now that I know Kelly’s okay.”

  As we stepped into the great room I shot my sister a look, warning her to go easy on this man. It wasn’t his fault Bill Bland was taking such desperate chances.

  A few minutes later Delft arrived. The four of us plunked down on the great room furniture, words of desperation and anger spilling from my mouth.

  “Let me tell you all something right now. That phone call isn’t going to stop me. I’m still going to do the drawing and I’m going to do it now. Bland thinks he can scare me. Well, he has. But he’s crossed a line. It’s one thing to threaten me, but now he’s threatened my daughter.” Tears prickled my eyes. “There’s no way I will sit back and let this guy stay on the streets. I will not rest until I know he’s put away for good.”