Don't Ever Forget (Adler and Dwyer)

by Matthew Farrell

  Beatrice smiled as she cracked egg after egg onto her skillet. “Hello, Daughter.”

  “Sorry I missed you all last night. Got home later than I was planning.”

  “Break in the case?”

  “More questions, actually.” She looked over her mother’s shoulder. “Looks like you got a good haul this morning.”

  “I did. Maybe the chickens felt the weather turning or something. Got out there, and the nest boxes were as full as I’ve seen them in a while. Was planning to make cereal for Casey and Tim, but I can’t let all these go to waste.”

  Susan sipped her coffee and made her way over to the sliding door that opened onto the deck and backyard. The chicken coop Eric had bought right before she’d caught him cheating on her was empty. The chickens were walking around the yard, pecking at things she couldn’t see, their feet leaving unique tracks in the snow that stuck to the grass. Two of them were up on the deck, looking in at her.

  “You better be careful opening these doors,” Susan said. “They come up on the deck a lot now. I can’t have chickens running around inside the house.”

  Casey nodded. “We’ll be careful, Mommy.”

  Susan sat down at the table, gently taking Tim’s little hand in hers. “How about you, bud? You want to play in the snow with your sister after school?”

  Tim shrugged and stared down at his empty plate. “I guess.”

  “I can pull you around the yard in the sled?”

  “Okay.”

  She knew that was all she was going to get out of him and didn’t push. There was no point. She drank her coffee and waited while Beatrice made omelets, the smell of onion and bacon wafting through the entire house. Her cell phone rang from the living room, where she kept it plugged in overnight. She slipped out of her seat and ran down the hall, catching it before it had a chance to ring a third time.

  “This is Susan Adler.”

  “Hey, I hope this isn’t too early.”

  She relaxed when she heard Liam’s voice. “No, we’re up. Eating breakfast and getting the kids ready for school.”

  “I called a couple of guys I know and had them do a little digging on your missing teacher to get ahead of the background check you ordered. I know you said he spent time in West Finley and Beaverdale, so I had them start there. Figured I’d catch you before you clocked in.”

  She walked back into the hall and reached into her pocketbook, which was hanging on the coatrack, then pulled out her notepad and pen and sat on the landing of the stairs. “That’s great,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “What’d you find?”

  Liam cleared his throat. “James Darville was a substitute teacher in West Finley after leaving a private school in Ohio in 1979. Place was called the Lynch Academy. According to the records at West Finley, he worked at Lynch for three years, left before he was able to obtain any kind of tenure, and came to West Finley Middle School as a sub. He taught English to all grade levels for five years, never rising above substitute, and left in the summer of ’84. That’s the last time anyone heard from him there.”

  “Short stays at both schools.”

  “He got his footing when he moved to Beaverdale. The district there hired him as a middle school English teacher, and he floated between the middle school and the high school over the next twenty years. After the 2005 school year, he announced he was leaving. Since he was too young to retire with a pension or social security, folks figured he’d found another opportunity at another school, but he drops off the map until he comes up on your case fifteen years later. He lived in all the towns he taught in. Apartments in Ohio and West Finley. Bought a house in Beaverdale. My contact at the state police made a call into Ohio for me to look for any next of kin or distant relatives. Looks like your guy was the last leaf on his family tree. That’s all they could find with the systems they were using. The feds would have the rest.”

  Susan stopped writing and closed the notepad. “Thanks, Liam. I’m really grateful for you doing this.”

  “Anytime. Kind of made me feel like a cop again.”

  “Grab that feeling and get back on the horse. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Now go have breakfast with your family and tell everyone I said hi.”

  “Will do.”

  “See you soon.”

  She hung up, and before she could place the phone in her pocket, it rang again. It was Crosby.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “You on your way in?”

  “Just about.”

  “We got the DNA results back from the two teeth you found. Took a little work, since DNA only started being used in criminal investigations in the late eighties.”

  “They’re that old?”

  “Yup. Luckily, the Pennsylvania State Police kept pieces of clothing and other items from the victims, so we were able to match the DNA with today’s technology.”

  “Hold on,” Susan replied. “Pennsylvania State Police? Victims, plural? What did we stumble onto here?”

  “The tooth you found in James Darville’s house belonged to a young girl named Bonnie Bernstein. Bonnie was fifteen years old when she went missing on her way home from school in Shintown, Pennsylvania, back in 1989. Never found. Case has been cold since ’91. No trace evidence up to now. You just found their very first clue.”

  Susan could feel her stomach tighten as she squeezed the phone. She flipped back into her notepad, ripping through the pages as she went. She stopped when she found what she was looking for. “When I was interviewing Darville’s neurologist, Dr. Phines, she gave an example of one of his episodes, and it involved him talking about two kids, Bonnie and Sonia. I don’t know who Sonia is, but we got Bonnie right here. Darville has something to do with the missing girl.”

  “Wouldn’t think he’d have her tooth otherwise,” Crosby replied. “There’s more. The tooth you found on our Jane Doe in the trunk of the nurse’s car belonged to someone else. A young man, Marcus Ruley. Went missing when he was twelve on his way home from basketball practice in Hawley, Pennsylvania, in 1985. Never found. No traces.”

  And just like that, clarity.

  “Darville’s a serial abductor,” Susan muttered. “Maybe a serial killer. Someone found out, and after all these years, they came calling.”

  “We got a victim and a suspect in two cold cases entangled in our active case,” Crosby said. “Get here as soon as you can.”

  48

  “It’s him,” Trevor whispered, taking Cindy’s hand and pulling her into the dining room. “David is Hagen. I have the proof.”

  Cindy followed Trevor, and they stopped when he reached his desk. Trevor opened a small backpack that was sitting in the chair.

  “I got into his house and started digging around. David’s got a spare bedroom that he converted into an office with a bunch of file cabinets.” Trevor pulled a sheet of paper from the backpack and handed it over. “This is a pitch letter to his agent. It doesn’t specify James or the missing kids, but it pitches a true crime story that solves a series of kidnappings in Pennsylvania that have been unsolved for decades. I found a bunch of research about the abductions in the file cabinet too. He created a timeline, and his notes were in the process of linking James to two of the child disappearances. In the letter, he promises a big story that would garner national attention.”

  Cindy read the letter. “Oh my god. You were right. He’s in this to sell his story. All the stuff about his mother and her liver was just nonsense. This giant mess for a book. He needed me to put the rest of his story together, to get a confession from James. That’s why I’m here.” She looked at Trevor. “And you’re the plot twist. The son James never knew he had.”

  “I’m going to kill him,” Trevor muttered. “I’m going to give him an opportunity to tell me where my wife and son are, and then I’m going to kill him and get the hell out of here. The police can find the rest.”

  “If he doesn’t tell you where your
family is, you have to keep him alive,” Cindy whispered, craning her neck to make sure they were alone. “We need to play dumb for now to protect ourselves. As long as he’s here, we can keep tabs on him, and he can’t do anything to harm us or your family.”

  “I’ll beat it out of him. Whatever it takes.”

  “No.” She grabbed him by the shoulders. “As long as he thinks he’s still in control, we’ll have the upper hand. We have to keep acting like the plan is in motion. Keep doing what we’re doing.”

  He finally relented. “Okay. For now.”

  Cindy let go of his shoulders and stumbled backward, clinging to one of the dining room chairs to stay upright. The room was spinning, and she thought she might be sick. “David’s been Hagen this entire time. I can’t believe it.”

  “There’s more.” Trevor dug into his bag and came away with a set of papers. “I printed these from his computer. He’s got detailed information about James’s physical therapy sessions and his appointments with his neurologist. Rebecca wouldn’t have access to these. She just gets general notes about progress and meds. This is patient-confidentiality stuff.”

  Cindy skimmed the reports. “So maybe one of James’s doctors is involved after all.”

  Trevor took the pages and stuffed them into his backpack. “That’s what I’m thinking. And whoever David’s partner is at the hospital, there’s a good chance that person has my family.”

  49

  Crosby had the files waiting for Susan when she arrived. She sat at her desk and laid them out in front of her, grabbing Bonnie Bernstein’s case file first. The pages were half handwritten and half typed with an old-school typewriter. She could see the coffee stains and tears in the papers that had been photocopied along with the information. Bonnie was fifteen when she went missing in 1989. Shintown, Pennsylvania, was drive-through country, small and safe. She left her middle school at the end of soccer practice in late September and never arrived home. The local police began the search, which was soon escalated to the Pennsylvania State Police, but after two years of chasing leads, the case was marked unsolved and put away. Her parents, Rob and Elizabeth Bernstein, were still living in Shintown as of the last note in 1991. They had a younger son who was seven at the time, as well as an older daughter who was in high school when Bonnie disappeared.

  The second file contained information on the disappearance of Marcus Ruley. Marcus went missing in 1985 on his way home from basketball practice in Hawley, Pennsylvania. Susan circled the fact that both victims had been coming home from an after-school sports practice and made notes on the side of the file.

  Abductor was waiting after school. Knew there would be kids practicing sports.

  Not as many kids around vs. a general dismissal. Easier to take?

  Like Bonnie’s abduction, Marcus’s case began locally with the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department, then got handed over to the state police. And, like Bonnie’s, Marcus’s investigation ran for two years and was then filed unsolved. Marcus’s parents, Chip and Marie Ruley, were also still living in Hawley. Marcus had been their only child. He was twelve when he went missing.

  She made more notes.

  James was a teacher. He’d know about the after-school activities. Has to be involved. Has teeth in his house.

  He abducted them alone? With someone? Killed them? Are they alive? Does he know where they are?

  Someone knows James’s secret and took him like he took the kids. Relatives of the missing kids? Friends? The people on the dashcam.

  Where’s Rebecca?

  Who’s Jane Doe? How does she fit in this?

  Susan leaned back and closed her eyes. At the time of both abductions, James was working at Forest Hills Middle School outside of Beaverdale, where he lived. From Beaverdale, Hawley was a four-hour drive, one way, and two and a half hours, one way, to Shintown. Both long, but doable. She’d have to call the Forest Hills school district and ask about employee and attendance records. Perhaps they’d catch a break if it was documented that James had called out sick or taken vacation around the times Bonnie and Marcus went missing. But that still wouldn’t answer the question of where the old man was.

  According to the files, Bonnie’s parents would be in their late sixties now, and Marcus’s parents would be in their midseventies. Not the young man and woman she’d seen on the trooper’s dashcam, but Bonnie’s brother and sister would be a more likely scenario. The son would be in his late thirties. The sister would be in her midforties. Darville would be easy pickings for someone like them, and they fit the general profile of the people on the video.

  Susan pulled up Google Maps to find the distance between her house and the towns where the two kids were taken. Hawley was only an hour and a half away, and Shintown was another three hours past Hawley. It was a trek, but something that needed to be done if she was going to figure out how all these pieces fit together. She took her phone from her pocket and dialed.

  “Hey there,” the voice on the other end said.

  Susan sighed and ran her free hand through her hair. “Hey, Liam. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Just watching some TV. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to ask you a potentially crazy question, and if you can’t do it, it’s totally fine. I don’t want you to feel pressured to say yes. This is just me taking a shot in the dark.”

  “Okay. I’m officially intrigued.”

  “Promise you won’t feel pressured to say yes?”

  “Yes. I mean, I’m not pressured. I mean, yes, I promise.”

  Susan shook her head. “This is a dumb idea.”

  “Just ask me.”

  “I need to take a road trip into Pennsylvania tomorrow. Probably going to take two days. I got a lead on my missing persons case, and I need to shoot over to Hawley and then to Shintown. I still don’t know if I have enough to engage the state police there or the FBI, so I want to check it out myself first. Any chance you’d want to keep me company and act as my Pennsylvania ambassador in case I need one?”

  She crumpled onto her desk after her question was finished, feeling like a bumbling eighteen-year-old girl asking a boy to prom.

  There was a long pause on the other end.

  “You can say no,” Susan said, desperate to fill the quiet.

  “Hold on,” Liam replied.

  She could hear typing.

  “Hawley is like two hours and change for me—”

  “If it’s too far, I get it. No problem.”

  Liam laughed. “Take a breath. I was just going to suggest I drive to Hawley, meet you at the police station up there, we’ll talk to the sheriff so he knows we’re in town, then we’ll take one car to the first address you need to go to. From there we can head to Shintown. When we’re done, we backtrack, and you drop me at my car in Hawley. Sound good?”

  Susan got up from her seat and began pacing around the unit. “It’s so last minute. I don’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re not putting me out. I’d love to be your Pennsylvania ambassador. And, like I said before, it’ll help get my juices flowing again. I need a little police work in my life.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I have no plans for the next few days. It’s all good. Email me the details, and I’ll meet you there.”

  Susan stopped pacing and smiled. “I appreciate your help.”

  “And I appreciate yours. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She hung up and sat on the edge of her desk. Her hands were still shaking from the adrenaline, although she didn’t know exactly why. She knew she should have a little backup and also knew Crosby wouldn’t let Triston leave his shift for two full days. The other investigators had their own cases, and although she probably could’ve borrowed a trooper or another investigator from the Hawthorne barracks or Manhattan, she preferred the company of someone she already knew and was fairly certain she could trust.

  But that was all it was. Nothing more. Backup. A temporary partner. Someone to bounce theori
es off of. A professional.

  So why was she still shaking?

  Susan sent the details to Liam, setting a time for nine in the morning to meet at the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department on Main Avenue. When she was done, she made her way into Crosby’s office to fill him in on her plans. With any luck, she’d be leaving Pennsylvania with a few more answers than she was starting out with.

  50

  Hawley, Pennsylvania, was a quintessential blue-collar town that had thrived in decades past but was now crumbling under the weight of progress. It was built in the same vein that all the old industrial towns in the Northeast were built. This one happened to be founded around coal, but with its single main street, which stretched between three- and four-story brick buildings that had shops on the first floor and offices or apartments on the upper floors, and its single traffic light in the center of town, Hawley was identical to most of the other towns built during the Industrial Revolution.

  Just as Google Maps had predicted, it had taken Susan a little under two hours to arrive at the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department. Liam was waiting in his car when she arrived. He’d stopped off and gotten them each a coffee and a bagel in case she was hungry and tired from the ride. She sat with him in the car, finishing the bagel while they talked through their plan. She took her coffee, and they went inside the station house to see the sheriff together.

  Sheriff Brody sat behind his desk and stared at his new guests. He was a stout man, late thirties or early forties, his tired eyes making him seem older. The top two buttons on his uniform shirt were undone, allowing his neck some room to move. His breathing was loud and labored. The cigarette burning in the ashtray didn’t help.

  “So you want to see the Ruleys,” he began. The skepticism in his voice was unmistakable.

  Susan nodded. “As I explained on the way up, I’m investigating a double homicide and missing persons case back in New York, and I think part of my investigation has intersected with what might’ve happened with their son.”