Don't Ever Forget (Adler and Dwyer)

by Matthew Farrell

  The girl was trapped between the car and the sergeant.

  “Leave me alone!”

  The girl was, indeed, young, skinny, her face dirty under the extra lipstick, blush, and eyeliner she tried to cover it up with. Her skin was olive, her eyes and long curly hair brown. Under her gray fur that flapped open when she walked, she was wearing a pink miniskirt with fishnet stockings and black heels. A tiny pink leather coat covered her upper half.

  Susan hopped out of the car and held up her hands as if she were the one surrendering.

  “I’m not NYPD, and I’m not here for you or your friends. My name is Susan, and I work for the state police. I just need to ask you about another girl who works out here. I’m hoping you know her.”

  “I don’t know anything,” the girl spat. “And I ain’t no snitch, so I’m not telling you shit.”

  “This isn’t about being a snitch. I’m working a homicide.”

  It took a minute for the girl to understand what Susan meant. Her face suddenly softened, and her shoulders sagged. “I still don’t know nothin’. You’re wasting your time with me.”

  “Can we just talk for a sec?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “How about your name? Can you at least tell me your name?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then.” Susan looked her up and down as she slowly approached, hands out, unarmed. “I’m going to call you Pinky. For your outfit. If you get tired of that nickname, you tell me what you want me to call you.”

  “I want you to leave me alone. I ain’t telling you anything, and we’re not going to have no conversation.”

  “Let’s start with my victim’s name. Can I tell you her name?”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “It was Kim. Kim Kitten. She’s dead.”

  Pinky stumbled backward when she heard the name. She stopped just before falling into Triston, tears immediately welling in her eyes. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Kitty’s dead?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  Her head fell. “Damn, I thought she got scooped by a Streeter.”

  “A what?”

  “A Streeter. That’s what we call them rich guys who take you for a couple of days. Wall Street types. I knew she got picked up a while back, but I never thought something bad happened.”

  “What’s a while back? How many days ago?”

  “Like, four days? Maybe five?”

  “So you knew her.”

  Pinky wiped her eyes and shrugged. “Yeah, I knew her. She was the best. Kind. Took care of her johns. Taught us new girls how to roll. How things worked. How the four of us had to stay on this side of the block and never go around no corners. Stuff like that.”

  Susan put her hands down and stood next to the young girl. “Were you working the night she got picked up?”

  “Yeah, but I already got me a john. By the time I got back, she was gone.”

  “And all these days she was gone, it never occurred to you that she might be in trouble?”

  Pinky cocked her head and waved her hand. “I told you, I thought a Streeter picked her up. That’s like winning the lotto. You milk that for every day they wanna keep you. The more you do for him and his friends, the more they might keep you around. I figured she was doing her thing, you know?”

  Susan looked up past Triston and could see another girl emerging from the park. As soon as she saw them, she disappeared again.

  “Anyone else working that night who might’ve seen who Kim went with?”

  “I have no idea. I mean, there’re four of us who work this side of the park, and if I was out and Kitty’s the one who got picked up, I guess that leaves two, but I wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”

  “Who are the other two? What’re their names?”

  “I told you,” Pinky sneered. “I ain’t no snitch.”

  “Fair enough.” Susan took out a business card and gave it to the girl. “Do me a favor. Don’t throw this out. Tell your friends about what happened to Kim and ask them if they saw something. If they did, have them call or email me. They can keep it anonymous. I’m not interested in busting prostitutes. I need to find a few missing people and solve two murders. If your friends do right by me, I’ll let the NYPD know how helpful you all were. Maybe they’ll cut you some slack for whatever you get yourselves into next time.”

  Pinky took the card without saying anything. She slipped it into her pink pocketbook and pushed past Triston toward where she’d been standing with the others when Susan first turned onto 143rd Street. Susan watched her go.

  “We need to see if this park has any security cameras set up on this side.”

  Triston nodded. “And we should go door-to-door once these businesses open and see if they have any cameras that point to the street. Maybe we get lucky.”

  “Maybe.” Susan turned and walked back toward the idling Taurus. “In the meantime, let’s find a diner. Breakfast is on me.”

  “Well, that’s nice of you, considering you pulled me out of bed at this hour.”

  Susan opened the driver’s-side door. “Anything for my partner.”

  TRANSCRIPT

  The message on my machine wasn’t long: “Come home. I’m with Sonia, and I need you to put her back for me.”

  It had been four years since I buried the boy, and I was beginning to think the madness had ended and Noreen’s pressuring me not to go to the police that day had somehow saved us both. I still felt the guilt of what I’d done—there was no question about that. But moving from West Finley to Beaverdale had changed my surroundings, which changed my perspective on things, and suddenly I didn’t have to think about what I’d done every day. My new job as a middle school English teacher helped too. Being part of a new community. Having a new life. It was all so cathartic. I’d volunteered for everything the town offered as some kind of way to pay penance for what I’d done. Trash pickup, Big Brothers, homeless supply drive, food kitchen. Whatever they had, I took part in, and it felt good. Giving back was helping.

  I hadn’t heard from Noreen since her last trip with the catalogs for the fall/winter season. As her mental state started to decline, I joined her on her trips for as long as I could to make sure she could keep it together. She thought she was keeping an eye on me, but it was really the other way around.

  The last trip had been good, and it seemed as though we were both getting past everything. As time went by and I took root in my new life, I found myself fighting the urge to call her and check up on things. A part of me wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, but another part of me wanted to see if there was an opening for me to get to know my daughter. I’d mentioned it a few times on our trips, but Noreen would dismiss me or change the subject, so I didn’t press. After enough time passed, I came to the realization that us not interacting was probably for the best. But all those good feelings of optimism and hope disintegrated the second I heard her voice on my answering machine. “Come home,” she’d said. She didn’t mean West Finley. She wanted me to come to the cabin.

  Four more years of seasons had pushed the cabin further toward the point of collapse. Large holes in the roof had allowed the rain and snow to fall into the structure, which warped the wooden support beams and bent the drywall into different shapes. Black mold had grown halfway up the walls, and the kitchen counter was full of mouse droppings and nests rodents tried to make in the corners. The blue braided rug I’d dragged up so many years ago was now brown with filth and muck. And the cot remained in the bedroom area, its frame rusted, the mattress torn and dirty. Noreen was sitting on the mattress and looked up when I came in. She smiled, and my stomach turned. In her lap was a girl, older than the rest of them, the blond wig secured on her head, the red ribbons still intact.

  “I thought we were done with this,” I choked. I remember my mouth was so dry I could hardly speak.

  Noreen nodded. “I had nothing to do with this,” she said, her voice holding that familiar dis
tant, dreamy tone. “I was minding my own business, driving home from one of the shops in Shintown, and I saw her. She was perfect. I thought Sonia was gone forever, but there she was, walking alone on a side road. She looked over at me, and I knew it was her. I just wanted to spend some time with my baby girl, that’s all. I hadn’t seen her in a while. But I need you to put her back for me.”

  I crossed the room and looked down at the girl. She was sleeping, but still alive. Her porcelain face was full of tiny freckles, and I could see a birthmark on her chin. Tiny strands of red hair slipped out from beneath the blond wig. “Why her?”

  “It’s Sonia.”

  “It’s not Sonia,” I growled. “This is an innocent girl, and I’m not going to let you kill her. It’s over, Noreen. Sonia is dead. You smothered her, and I buried her seven years ago. We committed the worst sin you can imagine, and you can either live with it and try to move on, or we can turn ourselves in, but this insanity has to stop.”

  “I just wanted to spend some time with my little—”

  I slapped her across the face as hard as I could. She looked at me with a combination of rage and madness, but her grip on the girl didn’t waver, and she wouldn’t budge from her spot on the rusted bed.

  “Give me the girl,” I commanded. “This is not going to happen.”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to hurt her.”

  “I love her. I would never hurt her.”

  “Give her to me!”

  Noreen pushed back against the wall. “Leave us alone!”

  “Give me the girl!”

  “Get out of here! I changed my mind. I don’t want you here! You’re spoiling everything!”

  I took the girl’s arm and started to pull her off Noreen’s lap. Noreen began screaming, yanking her back on her lap. It was a tug-of-war that neither of us was willing to lose.

  “Hello?”

  The voice registered in my mind, but I was so busy concentrating on getting this poor girl away from Noreen that I didn’t give it the attention it deserved. It wasn’t until Noreen’s grip loosened and I saw her gaze shift to something behind me that I turned and saw the boy standing in the doorway, watching us.

  He was wearing a white sweater, a beige nylon vest, jeans, and hiking boots that were caked with mud. Acne dotted his face. He kept looking at us as we were looking at him, the cabin silent, the girl on Noreen’s lap hanging half off the cot.

  “I heard yelling,” the boy finally mumbled. “Is everything okay? Does she need help?”

  I remember my chest rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath, imagining what this scene would look like to someone walking into it. I put on a smile that felt so utterly fake and crossed the room toward him.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. My voice was cracking, still dry with fear. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “Hiking,” the boy replied. “I need to log a ten-mile hike for my Boy Scout badge.”

  “You’re by yourself?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a map and compass, though. I know where I’m going.” He looked past me and pointed. “Are you sure she’s okay? I have a first aid kit in my backpack, if you need help.”

  I turned around, readying myself with an excuse and an assurance that she was fine, but stopped cold when I saw only the girl lying on the cot. I heard a loud thump and spun back in time to see the boy falling to the floor. Noreen stood over him, gripping a log from a pile of firewood we’d stacked next to the kitchen. We looked at each other, and we knew without saying a word.

  Things were spinning out of control.

  I rushed over to the boy and knelt beside him. The front of his head was bleeding, and a large lump was already forming just above his right ear. He was breathing, but he’d been knocked unconscious.

  I was about to stand when I sensed Noreen behind me. Before I could react, I felt a blow to the base of my skull, and everything dimmed. I tried to stand, but she kicked at the back of my knees, and I fell to the floor. She hit me again, and this time there was only blackness.

  (Eleven-second pause in tape.)

  That was good, but I want you to try that last part again. You need to make it—

  58

  Susan and Triston returned to the park two hours after leaving Pinky. A middle-aged man was unloading a bread truck that was double-parked in front of the bakery across from the park’s side entrance. They pulled onto the curb and got out.

  Susan held out her shield. “You the owner?” she asked.

  The man hardly looked at them and didn’t stop working. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’ll move it in five minutes. You swallow your ticket, and I’ll hook you up with some of the freshest bread you ever tasted.”

  “Oh, now you’re bribing us?”

  “Come on! I’ll move it in a minute. I’m almost done!”

  Only in New York, Susan thought. She stepped closer and met the man as he climbed down from the back of the truck. “I don’t care that you’re double-parked. I’m state police. All I want to know is whether you have a security camera that looks out onto the street.”

  The man walked past her, his arms full of loaves. “Yeah, I got one in the corner.” He motioned toward where a gutter pipe ran from the second floor of his shop to the street. Nestled against the gutter and the brick was a tiny camera no bigger than a Snapple bottle top.

  “How far out does it capture?”

  “It’s a fish eye, so it ain’t the most accurate picture, but it gets a wider view. Takes the front of the store, both neighbors on each side, and across the street to the park. Got it at Best Buy for like a hundred bucks. Nice and easy. Hooks up to my phone. With all the overnight crap that goes on in the park, I gotta make sure my store is safe. And if I catch any of them hookers turning a trick in my alley, there’s gonna be problems.”

  Susan and Triston followed him into the store. The smell of fresh baked goods almost knocked her off her feet.

  “How long does the camera archive for?”

  The man laughed and dropped the loaves on the back counter. “Everything’s in the cloud now, lady. I don’t think it has a limit, far as I know.”

  “Good,” Susan replied. “Then I suggest you finish up with the truck and get back here quick. Me and your phone are going to be spending the morning together.”

  Morning dragged into early afternoon. The owner put Susan and Triston in a back office where they could work in private. She spread out a picture of Kim Kitten on the owner’s desk, and they took turns watching the videos, fast-forwarding through the days and nights, searching for a woman they couldn’t quite see, not knowing what night she’d actually been picked up. It was a shot in the dark, but it was all they had for now.

  Triston suddenly sat up as his pudgy fingers stabbed at the screen to pause the video. “I think I got something.”

  Susan put down her coffee and climbed from her chair. “What?”

  “That’s her, right?”

  She took the phone and held it closer so she could see. “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Hit play.”

  Susan tapped the screen and watched as the prostitute turned the corner onto 143rd Street, walking slowly, purposefully, as if on display. She stopped when a silver Honda Civic pulled up alongside her.

  “That’s Rebecca Hill’s car.”

  Triston nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  They continued watching as the driver, who was hidden in the shadows, talked to Kim, who bent toward the passenger’s-side window. Kim talked and laughed, throwing her head back so her coat would open, engaging the driver. After a few more moments, Kim nodded and opened the passenger’s door. When she did, the Civic’s dome light came on.

  “Stop!” Triston shouted.

  “Oh my god,” Susan whispered. “Is that—”

  “Yes, it is. Plain as day.”

  She pulled out her phone and dialed the barracks. “We need to get back up to HQ now,” she said to Triston. “I’ll have C
rosby get a team assembled.”

  Triston nodded. He was focused, looking at the screen. “Ten-four.”

  The driver was David Hill.

  Rebecca’s brother.

  59

  Cindy and David were in the kitchen preparing lunch in relative silence. David was mixing two cans of tuna in a bowl while Cindy set the table. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to determine if he really could be the one behind all of this. There was no way to tell. She could be Hagen as easily as he could. Too many questions. No answers.

  At first it had sounded like a perfect plan. Kidnap the old man and finally get the truth that she’d been longing to hear for three decades. She knew Hagen was planning on killing Darville when he arrived, but no one else was supposed to get hurt. When Rebecca was telling her about the plan, Cindy had no idea families were going to be kidnapped or organs were going to be withheld from recipients in exchange for their help. All she was focused on was learning the story behind what happened to her sister so she could finally let Sonia and her mother rest in peace. The burden of being the last Garland left weighed heavily on her. She had to hear the story from the old man, but she knew she was running out of time. Hagen was coming. Or maybe he was already there, making tuna sandwiches with her in the kitchen.

  “How did Hagen contact you?” Cindy asked, piercing the silence.

  David didn’t look up. “I already told you.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “He got in touch with Rebecca. That’s all I know. He told her he knew she was James’s nurse and that he had proof James was the man responsible for killing a bunch of kids back in the day. Over a period of like six weeks, he would send her newspaper articles and timelines of where James was when one of the kids was abducted. Some of the names matched names she’d heard James talk about when he was confused. He convinced her, and at that point he told her he could get my mom to the top of the donors list for her liver if we could recruit you and then follow through with a plan he would tell us about later on.”

  Cindy was familiar with the proof Hagen had sent Rebecca. Rebecca had shown her the same things, but even that hadn’t been enough at the time. Cindy needed to hear the old man’s confession from his own lips.