Consumed

by E. H. Reinhard

  “Man, shit,” Alex said. “I told you we should’ve ran as soon as we saw that fed car pull into the lot.”

  “You were waiting to get paid from Naomi,” Curt said.

  “Not really helping your cause right now, guys,” Beth said. She shook her head.

  While our little outing to talk with some of the nightlife in the area had been worth a shot, it didn’t really get us anywhere. I saw the red-and-blue lights of a police cruiser flickering from down the street. The squad car pulled in with lights on but no siren. The car parked next to Agent Clifford’s government-issue Crown Victoria. An officer in uniform stepped out and approached.

  We handed the pair off to the Nashville officer, had a short conversation with him, and went back to our car.

  Our presence at the motel had turned what was looking like a local hotspot to a virtual ghost town. Tom pulled back toward the street. I gave the area a quick look left and right but spotted no one.

  “What do we want to do?” Tom asked. “More parking and waiting?”

  I looked at Beth in the back. “What do you think?” I asked.

  “Up to you guys. I’m a night owl anyway,” she said.

  I looked at the time on the dash of Tom’s car—almost midnight. If the area did pick up again, that wouldn’t happen for a number of hours.

  “Nah,” I said. “I think us being at the motel with the red and blues is going to put a serious damper on this place for the night. Let’s shut her down.”

  “Head back to your hotel?” Tom asked. “Start again tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He pulled out of the motel parking lot and headed down the road.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I’d been up for a few minutes, lying in bed, watching some college sports highlights from the weekend. My cell phone rang on the nightstand. I caught the time on the hotel room clock’s red LED numbers as I reached over for the phone—a couple minutes past seven in the morning. I brought the phone to my face and checked who was calling—Karen. I hit Talk.

  “Hey, babe. What’s up?” I asked.

  “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “Nah, I’ve been up for a bit.”

  “You sound rough. Late night searching for streetwalkers, huh? I got your text when I woke up that you were back to the hotel, hooker free.”

  I chuckled and sat up. “You liked that, huh?”

  “Yeah, cute,” she said. “So what did happen? Did you find anything out?”

  “No, but I got to chase a guy down. We asked him and his buddy a few questions. They didn’t really give us anything, but they had warrants, so we got them off the street.”

  “Always good,” Karen said. “Did you call your dad back?”

  “Yeah, I talked to him. He and Mom are fine. It seemed like he just wanted to shoot the breeze about some yard work he was doing. Mom was all jazzed up about some quilt she was making—same old stuff.”

  “Okay. Well, not that I wasn’t going to call you to talk this morning anyway, but I just got an e-mail for flight deals. We can get back and forth to Tampa next weekend for three hundred bucks for the both of us.”

  “Three hundred is cheap,” I said. “Are they transferable?”

  “I don’t think so, babe. But we can use our credit and still have some left over.”

  I kicked my feet off the side of the bed and stood. “Yeah, book it. Worst-case scenario, we eat three hundred bucks. Pretty sure I’ve wasted more money on worse things before.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll get it taken care of. I should probably call Callie and let her know.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “What is your schedule like today?” Karen asked.

  I opened the blinds and took a seat in the chair by the window. “Going to call back to Manassas and check in with Ball. He was trying to get me some information, but it seems like it’s a little hard to come by. I think we’re going to go and view all the dump sites today. Still waiting to hear back on some forensic info as well: a couple irons in the fire, nothing red-hot, though.” My cell phone beeped, signaling I had another incoming call. I glanced at the screen—Ball. “Well, looks like I don’t have to call Agent Ball. He’s calling now on the other line.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you go. Just give me a call when you can. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” I clicked over to Ball on the other line. “Morning,” I said.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked.

  “No, I’ve been up for a little. What’s up?”

  “We finally got some information on the family of this Owen Matheson.”

  “Sure. What did you get?”

  “Well, a couple of things. First, Owen Matheson was declared dead in absentia in nineteen eighty-nine. The same year, the wife went back to her maiden name, Kirkwood. I have a death certificate on her from nineteen ninety-five.”

  “Okay, so she’s deceased,” I said.

  “Well, declared dead in absentia, just like her husband,” Ball said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yeah, went missing in nineteen-ninety.”

  “Hmm. Don’t really know what to make of that. What about the two sons?”

  “Well, the life-insurance policy she had was paid out to a Richard Kirkwood. He’s one of the sons. Looks like he took the mother’s maiden name.”

  “Any idea about the other son?” I asked.

  “His name was Mark, but we can find absolutely nothing on him. Richard Kirkwood, on the other hand, owns a property in Fredonia, Tennessee. Taxes are current.”

  I clicked on the lamp next to the lime office chair and spread out the map. I found Fredonia in the first area I checked, the southern patch of the county that no bodies had been found in.

  “Still not the best part,” Ball said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “It’s the same plot of land that his father owned. The twins dug into a bunch of old records. Looks like the address has changed, but it’s the same piece of land. It was bank owned for a number of years then purchased by Richard Kirkwood.”

  “Do we have anything on this guy?”

  “The twins looked. No cell phone, no bank records, no credit card activity, no priors, no registered vehicles, no employment, nothing.”

  “Purchased the property and pays his taxes, though,” I said.

  “Somehow,” Ball said. “Other than that, he’s off the grid.”

  “Okay, what’s the address on this place? Our plan for the day was stopping at all the different dump sites and having a look around. Maybe Beth and I can pop in on this guy and see what’s what.”

  Ball rattled off the address, which I wrote down.

  “That’s all I got for you right now,” Ball said. “Anything new on the investigation? Get anything from pounding the pavement last night?”

  “Not really. We got a pair of guys off the streets that had warrants. As far as our investigation, nothing further.”

  “What’s the local cooperation been like?”

  “Um, Nashville PD was real good. I’ll probably touch base with them again in a day or two—real helpful there. Agent Clifford from the regency office in Clarksville has been tagging along with Beth and me and giving us a hand. He seems like a pretty decent guy. The local sheriff’s department is kind of a joke, though. Not too much help from them. They seem kind of disinterested in the whole matter.”

  “Okay. Just do what you can. I’m going to leave you guys there until Thursday and then pull you back if that’s fine.”

  “Works for me. The wife and I were going to try to get out of town next weekend if possible.”

  “Well, we’ll try to get you back before if you’re not hot on someone’s heels. Let me know if you guys need anything. Give me a ring if you have an update later.”

  “I will. And thanks for getting that information over.”

  “No problem. Hope it turns into something. We’ll talk later.”

  “All right. Thanks again,”
I said and hung up.

  While we didn’t have proof that anyone in the family was ever involved, I figured a stop at the guy’s place could be worth our while. Maybe he could give us his version of what had actually happened with his family. I took a quick shower, shaved, and brushed my teeth. I was dressed for the day and ready to go before eight o’clock. I left my hotel room and went to Beth’s door—she pulled it open after I knocked. Beth’s hair was wet and tied in a towel though she was already dressed for work, wearing a pair of gray slacks and a matching blazer over a white blouse.

  “Ready to go already?” Beth asked.

  “Yeah, I talked to Ball. He got us a little information on the Matheson family. It seems that at least one of the sons is still in the area.”

  “Really? How is it that the local sheriff’s department wouldn’t know that?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Different last name, but I guess the guy owns the same parcel of land that his family owned in the past.”

  “Seems sketchy,” Beth said. She took the towel from her head and began toweling her hair dry. “Something is up. Did you talk to the chief deputy and see what he had to say about it yet?”

  “No,” I said. “But I’m going to call him before we leave. How much time do you need?”

  “Fifteen minutes. I just have to do my hair and put on my face. Want to grab us a couple of coffees from downstairs?”

  “Yeah, let me make this phone call quick, and I will.”

  “Okay, I’ll come next door when I’m ready to go.”

  I nodded, headed back to my room, took a seat in the chair by the window once again, and made the call to the sheriff’s department.

  “Clarksville County Sheriff, is this an emergency?”

  “No ma’am,” I said. “This is Agent Hank Rawlings. I’m looking for Chief Deputy Whissell.”

  “One moment. Let me transfer you back to his office. I think I just seen him come in a minute ago.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Hold music played in my ear, and then the phone rang.

  “Chief Deputy,” he answered.

  “Whissell?” I asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Agent Hank Rawlings. Um, I guess I have a couple of questions here for you.”

  “Questions? Okay what have you got?”

  “We did a little digging here, and apparently, a Richard Kirkwood, who was a son of Owen Matheson, owns some land that used to belong to his father out in Fredonia. From what we were told, nobody knew what happened with the family. I guess I kind of find it hard to believe that the son of this guy has been living under your noses, on the same exact piece of land that his family owned, without anyone knowing.”

  Whissell let out a long breath into the mouthpiece of his phone, which sounded like static in my ear.

  “Yeah, the guy lives there.”

  “Any reason this was kept from us when we’re conducting a federal investigation?” I asked.

  “Look, the guy is a simpleton. He doesn’t have anything to do with this. He has two dead parents that came out of all of this, and who knows what the hell ever happened to his brother. I don’t know. I guess I kind of figured the guy had been through enough of this in his life to have to deal with it again.”

  “So you do know more about the family than you let on?”

  “A little, but like I said. These poor people never had anything to do with any of this. What I told you about the father stands. Who knows what happened to him. You heard my take on it. The mother, as far as we know, threw herself off of a bridge—body never found. The one brother vanished into thin air. All that was left was the one son, Richard. His family was destroyed by what happened. I guess a few years after his mother was presumed dead, someone had helped Richard purchase the property from the bank. Remember when I said the one son was off? Well, it’s the one who is living out there. The guy has a learning disability. He functions just enough to get by. There are a couple people from town that stop out to help the guy out every now and then—take him shopping and to church, bring him meals and clothes, things of that nature. He’s definitely not your guy. He doesn’t even have the capacity to comprehend these acts that are being committed.”

  “This is all something that we should have heard when we first spoke with you,” I said.

  “I just… I just wanted to keep the poor guy out of it. He’s been through enough.”

  “Well, you keeping it from us resulted in a number of agents wasting taxpayer money, trying to acquire the information that should have been shared. Either way, we’re visiting the dump sites today and will be making a stop at the property to speak with this man.”

  Whissell was quiet for a moment. He let out another breath. “Okay. I apologize. I just thought it was for the best, trying to look out for one of my townsfolk that has been through some hard times. I’m not really sure what the guy can tell you, but I understand if you need to talk to him. What time are you going to head over there?”

  “An hour or so,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there. The guy knows me or at least my face. Maybe it will make him a little more comfortable to talk.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Again, I apologize,” Whissell said.

  “Yup, we’ll see you in a bit.” I clicked off from the call and went to grab coffees for Beth and myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Richard heard the sound of tires tearing at the gravel driveway out front. He went to the window and looked out. A sheriff’s SUV, which he assumed to be his brother’s, was sliding to a stop along the side of the house.

  Mark jumped from the side of the SUV and ran toward the back door of the house.

  Richard looked toward the kitchen from his position at the living-room window. Crystal’s legs and arms covered the kitchen table—her torso was out in the old house, sitting on the wooden door he’d been using as a table. Mark would notice the new arms and legs in the kitchen—he’d know Richard had gone out.

  “Shit,” Richard said.

  “Shit what?” he heard his mother ask from the couch.

  “Shit,” Richard said again. His mother was another problem. Richard wouldn’t be able to get her back downstairs before his brother entered.

  “Mark is outside. He’s going to be pissed I went out last night. He’s going to be pissed that you’re sitting here.”

  “Well, he asked you not to. What did you expect? And I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me.”

  Richard said nothing.

  The sound of the screen door being yanked open caught Richard’s ear.

  “What the hell?” Mark yelled. “Richard!”

  “What?” Richard asked from the living room.

  Mark rushed in and stopped before his brother. He froze and looked at the corpse on the couch. He shook his head. “I’m not going to even get into the fact you dug up Mom for the tenth time. You need to—”

  “She asked me to,” Richard said.

  “We don’t have time to get into it. Get whatever you need and get the hell out of here. Hurry up.”

  “What are you talking about?” Richard asked. He took a seat on the couch next to his mother.

  Mark grabbed him by the shirt. “Come on. You couldn’t just be smart, could you? Your side-of-the-road bullshit brought in the feds, and now those feds are coming here. They’re going to be here any minute.”

  “What?” Richard asked.

  Mark pulled Richard’s three-hundred-plus-pound body from his seated position on the couch. “Get your shit. You have to go. Now, Richie!”

  “Okay, okay. What’s going on?”

  “One of the feds called me a little bit ago. He said they were coming here to ask you some questions.”

  “Okay. So I’ll answer their questions. Big deal.”

  Mark pointed at their mother’s corpse and then grabbed his brother by the hair and dragged him toward the kitchen. “Reality check, Richie! You’re going to explain why you have a co
rpse on the couch and then explain this shit away?” Mark pointed at the miscellaneous body parts strewn about.

  Richard didn’t respond.

  “Exactly,” Mark said. “Hurry up. Grab whatever you can’t live without. The rest you’ll never see again.”

  “I can’t just leave. What about Mom?” Richard asked.

  “What do you mean? What about Mom?”

  “I don’t want to just leave her here. She can annoy the shit out of me, sure, but it’s still Mom.”

  Mark spoke through a clenched jaw. “Then take her with you. It doesn’t matter. Get your shit, take Mom, get in the truck, and get the hell out of here. Now!”

  “Where am I supposed to go?” Richard asked.

  “Go to my house. Park the truck in the shed and stay in there. There’s an old refrigerator in there that has some things in it and a television. Stay put and don’t go into the house.”

  “Why can’t I go into the house?” Richard asked.

  “Because I said so. I don’t want you in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Dammit, just do what I say! I’ll meet you there in a bit, and we’ll figure out what to do.”

  “Fine,” Richard said.

  He reached down to pick up his mother. From the back-and-forth of carrying her around, the area around the top of her back had become a makeshift handle around her spine. Richard took hold of the area with one hand and scooped her legs up with the other. He looked at Mark. “Can you get the door for us?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “It’s up here on the left,” Beth said.

  Her navigation told us we were just four hundred feet from the address Ball had given me for the property now belonging to Richard Kirkwood.

  “What did Tom say?” she asked.

  “I gave him the address. He said he’d meet us here. It sounded like he was going to be right behind us.”

  Beth clicked on her turn signal to make a left into a gravel driveway. “Nav says this is the place.”

  She made the turn. The driveway went over a little hill, maybe fifteen feet in elevation. On its far side, we could see a small home down the hill to the left and a bigger home, which appeared to be in ruins, off in the distance to the right. A sheriff’s SUV was parked near the smaller home. We continued down the driveway and made a stop next to the sheriff’s vehicle. Chief Deputy Whissell stepped from the driver’s door, closed it, and leaned up against the SUV. Beth and I got out.