As he made his way toward the office, he wondered what exactly Susan Bauer saw in him. Their relationship had started about a year ago as fumbling in the back of his squad car after the New Year’s celebration at Town Hall. At the time, he had passed the incident off as a result of them both being drunk—this was before Sylvie Sinclair had come along, of course—and while he’d enjoyed the experience, sloppy as it was, he hadn’t expected it to continue.
But to his surprise, it had; and it hadn’t stopped since. Susan had approached him less than a week later, asking if he wanted to go to dinner with her. Dwight expected the conversation to go something like this:
Susan: Dwight, I am really, um, I had a good time the other night.
Dwight: So did I.
Susan: I really did, and I don’t need to offend you, but…
Dwight: Say no more, Susan. I understand why you wouldn’t want anybody to know that we were together, if only for that one night. I won’t tell anybody.
But this wasn’t at all how it went, and Susan’s willingness to continue the relationship had been so surprising that Dwight hadn’t managed to get a more than a handful of words out between chews of a double-sized plate of tortellini.
“Deputy Porter, what can I do for you?”
The secretary’s voice drew Dwight out of his head and he lifted his eyes and then adjusted his belt, which was also too small.
“Oh hi, Teresa. How’re things?”
Teresa, a woman who looked as if she had been transported to present day in a hot tub time machine from the 80s, complete with ringlets that matched the old-school telephone cords that none of the kids in this high school had ever seen, nodded vigorously. She was overweight, but not quite as fat as Dwight, and yet when she nodded her head, the soft skin beneath her chin waddled somewhat. And then she started to blush, which in turn made Dwight blush.
“Things is good. Things is real good. I got a new dog, a bloodhound. Get this, Deputy Porter, I let Tim name him and guess what he picked? Kat. Yeah, I was like, seriously? But now I laugh whenever—”
Dwight wasn’t one for interrupting, but this was an extenuating circumstance. Also, when Teresa said cat, he pictured the slices on Patty Smith’s bare chest and imagined that they had been made by some sort of feline. In hindsight, this wouldn’t be that bad.
But that wasn’t what Dr. Larringer said. Larringer had said something about bark. And although Dwight was no horticulturist, he didn’t know of any malevolent oak species that could slice you up like that.
His mind flicked once again to the idea of a hermit living in a derelict cabin, complete with shrunken heads hanging from the ceiling that he liked to stare at as he masturbated into jars.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, Teresa,” he said quickly trying to chase these visions from his mind. “I need some… I need some help here. Can you help me, please?”
Teresa’s mouth, which was comprised of lips that looked like swollen cucumbers that ran the width of her face, turned downward at the corners, and the color left her cheeks.
“What I do you for, officer?” Teresa said in a harsh tone, her pudgy fingers moving to a file on the desk and shifting it about.
Dwight wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.
He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, close enough to Teresa to smell her perfume, which was predictably cloying.
“Teresa, something bad happened to Patty Smith.”
Teresa’s eyes widened.
“What would you mean?” Now it was Teresa’s turn to tilt forward. “Did that boy Tommy Ray get her pregnant?”
Pregnant? Tommy Ray? The mayor’s son?
Dwight shook his head, but not before filing away this tidbit of information.
“I’m afraid it’s something far worse; I’m afraid she’s dead, Teresa. Patty Smith was murdered.”
Teresa gasped and brought a pudgy hand to her chest as she leaned back in her chair.
Chapter 12
“Who the hell are you?” Liam demanded, striding toward the man who was holding a young girl out in front of him. He was blond with sunken eyes, and tall and lean with a stoic demeanor. The girl was anywhere between five and eight years old, with long blond hair and a face smeared with dirt and grime.
Liam’s hand instinctively went to the gun on his hip as he strode towards them.
“Let go of the girl.”
The man did as he was requested, letting his hands, which had been previously draped over the girl’s shoulders, fall to his sides.
But the girl didn’t rush to Liam as he expected. In fact, she didn’t do much of anything. Liam had to stare closely just to confirm that she was breathing, her features were so calm and flaccid.
Liam realized that Stevie had since stood and was now at his side, and he could sense the man’s heart pounding through his chest even at a distance of about a foot.
“Little girl, I want you to come to me now, okay? Everything’s going to be all right,” Liam said in the calmest voice he could muster given the strangeness of the situation. When the girl still didn’t move, however, the Sheriff spoke out of the side of his mouth to Stevie. “Go get her; get her and bring her to me.”
Stevie nodded and then slowly made his way toward the girl as Liam slipped the gun from his holster.
“I want you to take a step backward,” he demanded. “I want you to put your hands on your head, interlace your fingers, and step backward.”
Unlike the girl, the man did as he was instructed, his expression never changing.
Stevie finally made it the girl and he draped his arms around her, much like the man had been doing seconds ago, and then ushered her back behind Liam.
“Take her to the interrogation room,” Liam instructed Stevie.
When Stevie didn’t move immediately, Liam quickly glanced in his direction.
“Did you hear me?”
Stevie’s lopsided eyes went wide.
“I heard you, but Father Smith’s in there. Should we —”
“Just do it,” Liam demanded, turning back to face the man with the blond hair. “Now I want you to tell me who the hell you are, and what you’re doing here.”
At first, Liam didn’t think that the man would answer, but he surprised him by clearing his throat and then speaking. Only he didn’t answer, not really.
“Something bad is going on here, something really bad is happening in the swamp.”
Liam couldn’t help the vision of Patty Smith that came to mind upon mention of the swamp.
“No shit,” Liam said, his eyes darting quickly to Stevie who had done as instructed and was now at the door to the interrogation room. With the blinds partially open, he could see Father Smith’s attention being drawn in his direction, until Sylvie said something that drew him back. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here, or who this girl is, but you better start talking. We don’t like strangers much in Elloree.”
The man cleared his throat again, and when he spoke this time, his voice was raspy, as if parched.
“The girl—she’s one of the girls who went missing.”
Liam’s heart skipped a beat, and his eyes flicked to the images that were still splayed out on Stevie’s desk.
“Yeah? And how the hell would you know that? Did you kidnap her? Abduct her?” he asked, still unsure if he should raise the gun that he held at his hip, or put it back in the holster and cuff the man.
“No; I’m the one who saved her. If she can be saved at all.”
“I bet you did. And what about the others?”
The man shook his head again before replying.
“The others are dead.”
The response stunned Liam, but he tried not to let this show on his face.
“I don’t know who you are,” Liam said taking an aggressive step forward, “Or where you came from, but I’m going to find out.”
With the hand not holding the gun, Liam grabbed the handcuffs from his hip. He
had nearly made it to the stranger, when the man started to speak again.
“My name is Detective Hugh Freeman, and I’m from New York. I’m an NYPD detective.”
This time, Liam couldn’t help the shock that befell his features.
Chapter 13
Officer Dwight Porter stood at the front of the classroom, Principal Cliff Zanbar at his side. It was no longer the heat that was making him sweat, but the fact that he was uncomfortable speaking in front of a crowd, even if said crowd was made up of a handful of high school students.
Dammit, why couldn’t Liam do this? What the hell is he doing back at the station? Doesn’t he know I hate this shit?
He shifted his heels and looked at the seven people that Teresa and Principal Zanbar had helped him pick from the hundred and fourteen who attended the high school. They were all friends of Patty Smith, people who might be able to shed some light on why she was in the swamp, or in the very least could tell him what her last day had been like.
The one person who wasn’t there, however, was Tommy Ray Ross, the student that Teresa had suggested might have impregnated Patty. Dwight made a mental note to follow up on exactly where he was, beyond the fact that he had called in sick.
He cleared his throat and then used the heel of his left boot to scratch his right calf.
“I’ve asked you all to come here today,” Dwight began, acutely aware of the fact that he sounded like a high school student himself uttering the opening line of some speech about global warming or environmental protection or some other shit, “because I need to ask you some questions about Patty Smith.”
The students immediately looked at each other with confused expressions, but before they could break out into their own sets of questions, Principal Zanbar spoke up.
“Guys, I want you to remain calm during Dwight—Deputy Porter’s questioning. It’s very important that you tell the truth here today, and that you don’t leave anything out. I promise you won’t get in trouble. This is not some sort of exercise—this is a very serious matter.”
Dwight looked over at the man, at the way his oak-colored mustache twitched when he spoke.
One student, 15-year-old Trevor Daley, raised his hand.
“Is she… is she okay? Is Patty okay?”
Principal Zanbar held his hands out and opened his mouth to say something, but Dwight cut him off before he could speak.
“I’m afraid that something bad has happened to Patty, but I can’t tell you any more right now. I assure you that you will find out soon enough, but right now we need to focus on the questions I ask you. I need you, as Principal Zanbar said, to answer as truthfully as you can.”
Evidently, Dwight’s commentary did nothing to calm the masses; conversation broke out between three females at the back, and Dwight overheard the mention of Tommy Ray’s name.
“Please just answer my questions,” Dwight implored. “I need to know what Patty might have been doing in the swamp earlier today.”
Almost immediately, the chatter in the room ceased. An odd silence, one that wasn’t even there before Dwight had started speaking, fell over the group.
They know something, he thought.
“Anybody? Anybody know why she might’ve been in the swamp today or yesterday?” When there was still no answer, Dwight shrugged and added, “Any reason why she might’ve gone to Stumphole swamp at all? Is it someplace you kids go for fun?”
The kids’ eyes fell on their desks or their fingers or pencils or papers, anything to distract them from speaking. Dwight shook his head.
Oh, they know, all right.
Principal Zanbar spoke up.
“Guys, please, this is serious. I told you already you won’t get in trouble if—”
Rebecca Hall, a petite girl with freckles on her nose and a long ponytail that was slung over her right shoulder, raised their eyes and then spoke in a tiny voice.
“We go out there sometimes to drink, and also to—”
The boy who sat beside her, his crossed legs revealing several tears in his jeans, leaned towards her, his eyes slits.
“Rebecca, don’t—”
Dwight stepped forward and addressed the boy directly.
“You’re Ben McMahon, aren’t you?”
The boy turned his gaze to Dwight. Ben was two years older than the other kids in the room, and already had a thick goatee that would have given Dwight Porter’s own facial hair a run for its money.
The boy nodded.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m Ben. Hey, you think I need a lawyer or something?” Ben’s eyes shifted from Dwight to Principal Zanbar, then to Teresa as he spoke.
“Why would you need a lawyer? I’m just asking you about Patty Smith. If you’ve done nothing wrong, then why—”
Principal Zanbar suddenly stepped forward.
“Dwight, I think that’s enough. They’ve asked for a lawyer, and they are minors, after all. I think we should just—I think we should call their parents.”
Dwight turned to the Principal, his eyes narrowing. This was not going as expected, and while he wanted to continue the questioning—shit, he had barely gotten started yet—he knew that Principal Zanbar was right. They were just minors, even Ben McMahon, which meant that they had a right to their parents being present during any questioning by law enforcement.
And yet their unwillingness to say anything gave Dwight some insight into the fact that they might know more about Patty Smith and why she was in the swamp.
“You know, I think that’s all right for now. I’d ask you a favor, though,” Dwight began chewing the inside of his lip. “Keep this to yourself; don’t go on and blab about Patty Smith or the fact that I was here, or anything about this to anyone, okay?”
There was grumbling that might’ve been construed as an affirmative, but Dwight couldn’t be sure.
Elloree might’ve had about a thousand residents, but it was if all of them shared a hive mind. Dwight knew that before the school bell rang, everyone in the town would know about him asking questions about Patty Smith.
“Go on now, get back to your classes,” Dwight instructed, and the students did as they were told. But as Rebecca Hall passed, he reached out and gently brushed her shoulder.
She turned to look at him, her wide green eyes staring up into his own.
“Rebecca, mind staying behind for one more second? Just a quick sec.”
Rebecca’s gaze darted to Ben McMahon, who was leering at her from the doorway.
Dwight couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw the boy mouth words that could have been, ‘watch what you say’, or maybe even ‘Tommy Ray’.
“You heard the deputy,” Principal Zanbar said in a stern voice. “Get back to class and no gabbing about this.”
Ben shot a hateful glare at the Principal, but he eventually turned and left.
“Rebecca? Think you can answer just a couple more questions?”
Rebecca’s gaze fell to the floor, and for a moment Dwight thought that he had lost her, that Ben had intimidated her enough that she too would ask to see one of her parents, or to have a lawyer present.
“Is Patty… is Patty Smith okay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Officer Dwight Porter rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Rebecca looked up at him, and this time there were tears in her eyes.
“No, Rebecca, Patty Smith isn’t okay,” he said quietly. “Patty Smith is dead.”
Chapter 14
Liam’s foot bounced nervously up and down, his heel tapping against the linoleum floor inside of the Elloree police station. When he had woken up this morning, he had envisioned a very different day unfolding. But even if he had had a nightmare, a premonition, perhaps, of a day such as today, it wouldn’t have come close to the strangeness of what was actually happening.
The thing that bothered Liam most, however, was that he had a creeping sensation in his gut that what had happened so far today was only the tip of the iceberg.
; And Sheriff Liam Lancaster felt like the Goddamn Titanic heading straight toward it.
“Tell me again, detective Freeman, why are you in Elloree?”
Detective Freeman adjusted the cuffs on his wrists and laid his hands on the desk. Because the interrogation room was occupied—Father Smith and the young girl whom Hugh claimed was Stacey Weller, were inside accompanied by Sylvie Sinclair—Sheriff Lancaster had put Hugh in cuffs and had sat him at his desk. Liam had wanted to put Hugh in the cell, but the man had produced the badge that looked a hell of a lot like an NYPD detective shield.
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