Don't Ever Forget (Adler and Dwyer)

by Matthew Farrell

  The notes hidden in his mattress flashed through his mind again as the fog tried to roll in.

  THEY WANT TO HURT YOU

  YOU’RE IN DANGER

  THEY’RE NOT WHO YOU THINK THEY ARE

  THEY’RE GOING TO KILL YOU

  James tucked his hands into his armpits to protect them from the cold and started walking. The pain in his hip and knee was worse now, but there was nothing more he could do but try and find a way out. But a way out from where? That was the real question.

  66

  Triston was waiting in the parking lot when Susan pulled up to the barracks.

  “Still no sign of David Hill,” he said as she climbed out of her car. “We went to his work, and they said he took a couple of days off. They figured it had to do with his mother’s condition, but we went by her place, and she claims she hasn’t seen him.”

  “Did you try tracking his phone?”

  “Phone’s turned off. No signal. Last trace it pinged at was his house two days ago. He’s off the grid for now. We have a BOLO out for New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut. We’ll find him.”

  Susan opened the steel door that led directly onto the investigators’ unit. As soon as she did, Crosby stood from his desk and motioned for her to come into his office.

  The unit was quiet, which was unusual for that time of day. Susan walked into Crosby’s office and shut the door. “Where is everyone?”

  “Out looking for David Hill.”

  “Triston told me about the BOLO.”

  “Not much we can do now but wait until he makes a mistake and someone picks him up.” He handed her a file. “We got the trace back from the Pennsylvania phone number that kept showing up on Rebecca Hill’s cell phone records. Number belongs to Cynthia Garland.”

  Susan smacked the file as she opened it and began reading. “Sonia’s sister. I knew it. Cynthia and Rebecca have been calling each other for the last six months.” She looked up at her boss. “This whole thing was planned, and that trooper got in the way. We got Rebecca caring for a man who was friends with Cynthia’s mother back in the day. Cynthia’s older sister, Sonia, went missing in ’82, and all of a sudden Darville’s nurse becomes cell phone buddies with the last surviving Garland?”

  “I think you finally found your connection.” Crosby pulled up an old newspaper article on his computer. “Sonia Garland went missing in the spring, about a month before the school year ended. According to what the papers had back then, she was an average student, no extracurricular activities except cheerleading in the fall. She went home on the bus from school on Tuesday, and no one saw her after that. Bus driver claimed he let her off at the corner of her street like he did every day. Student witnesses support his version of events. No suspects or charges were ever formally brought. They did the whole search party thing and interviews of townspeople. Even the FBI took a look, but no one turned up anything. West Finley isn’t big. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew the Garlands.”

  “That’s Darville’s MO. He only took kids from small towns who were walking home alone from school. This one was a little close to her house, though. Risky.”

  “This was ’82, so it could’ve been his first one,” Crosby replied. “Darville was close to the family. In the same town. If it wasn’t his first, it was one of the first. He was still learning how to do this. He hadn’t created his full MO yet.”

  “Maybe.”

  Crosby continued reading. “The Garlands held a memorial service on the five-year anniversary of Sonia’s disappearance. That’s the last time anyone wrote anything about it.”

  “And now we have Cynthia Garland appearing out of nowhere.”

  “Not completely out of nowhere. She hosts a rather successful podcast about true crime and unsolved cases. She’s done a lot of episodes on her sister. People know who she is.”

  “Is her phone still off?”

  He nodded. “And voice mail is still full.”

  Susan closed the file. “Okay, so where are they? Rebecca calls Cynthia Garland, tells her what she knows about Darville. Rebecca lets the woman into Darville’s house, which is why we see no B and E. Cynthia and David Hill take the old man, and Rebecca goes with them, willingly or unwillingly. But where? And we also have David picking up the prostitute because she was a look-alike for his sister, but why?”

  “We’re checking second homes and alternate locations for everyone in the picture,” Crosby said. “We’ll find them.” He pointed to her desk. “Your job is to go deeper and find out everything we can about Cynthia Garland. We find her, chances are we find everyone else. Go.”

  TRANSCRIPT

  The boy was gone. The girl was in the trunk of my car. I placed Noreen on the cot and just stared at her for what seemed like forever. I know this sounds strange, but even after all of that, I still loved her. I told myself that if things had been different, I would’ve gladly spent the rest of my life with her. But the truth of that matter was, I couldn’t be a part of her insanity any longer. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be free of the guilt and sorrow I’d felt every day since that moment in my classroom. I wanted to be able to get on with my life—whatever kind of life that might be—without the constant fear of getting a phone call from Noreen, telling me she’d found Sonia and that I’d have to put her back. I would end this, move on with my new life in Beaverdale, and work each day to repent for the sins I’d committed. It was the only path I could see to take.

  I used the kerosene that I’d stored under the sink a few winters before, when we’d sneaked a portable heater up to keep warm. We figured it would attract less attention than a campfire, and we’d be able to put it out quicker if we heard someone coming. I never thought I’d be dumping it around the interior of the cabin, up onto the cot, and over Noreen herself. I walked the kerosene back out of the structure and then tossed the can into the corner of the living room before leaving.

  Noreen was dead. It was over. I had created a monster that needed to be put down, and I’d done just that. As I lit the match and watched it drop from my fingers onto the dilapidated porch and heard the roar of a fire coming to life, I knew this would be the end. It had to be. No more.

  In the days, weeks, and months that followed, it was determined that Noreen, so distraught over her daughter’s disappearance, decided to take her own life in an abandoned cabin in Cross Creek County Park, up in West Middletown, about an hour north of where she lived. Her husband said she’d often talked about her fondness for Cross Creek Park, although he’d been unaware that she’d ever visited and had no idea whose cabin that had been. I wanted to assure everyone that Noreen hadn’t felt a thing, but I knew I couldn’t. I moved on like I said I would, knowing that the many lives that had changed—and ended—over the course of those eight years had been my fault. If only I’d locked that classroom door. I’d have to carry that with me forever, or at least until this sickness takes the memories from me. Noreen Garland was dead. The killing was finally over.

  She left me with one final task to complete before I could move on with my new life. That task was wrapped in a dirty sheet in the trunk of my car.

  I had one more body to bury.

  I had to put Sonia back one last time.

  67

  It was midafternoon, almost three. Susan was exhausted. She was on her fifth cup of coffee, struggling to read the reports on her computer, her eyes sliding in and out of focus, heavy with fatigue. The background check on Cynthia Garland was typical. She was single, lived alone in a house in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, west of Philadelphia. Aside from hosting and producing her somewhat popular podcast, she worked as a customer service rep for a dog food manufacturer in Wayne County and had been there since moving to the area fourteen years prior. She had no arrests, no parking tickets, and no traffic violations. She paid her taxes on time and volunteered at a homeless shelter in West Philadelphia. Cynthia Garland appeared to be the quintessential law-abiding citizen, conscious of those around her who were less fortunate, an
d always there to provide help.

  The Upper Merion Police Department checked on her house as well as her place of employment. The house had been empty, and her work said that she’d gone on short-term leave for a family emergency about a month ago. Considering she had no living family, Susan knew this had to have been the beginning of the execution of her plan with Rebecca, but the details of the plan and the location of where the rest of that plan was being carried out remained a mystery. Her podcast was still uploading new episodes, and the tech team out of Manhattan HQ was trying to trace where that connection was coming from. That could be the key they were missing.

  The BOLOs issued for Cynthia, David Hill, Rebecca Hill, and James Darville had been updated to include New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Almost the entire Northeast was looking for the old man and the crew who took him. Now it was a matter of waiting to see what someone might find.

  Susan yawned as she scrolled through Rebecca Hill’s phone records again, this time looking at each occurrence of Cynthia Garland’s number. The call frequency diminished the closer it got to the date of Cynthia’s leave from work; it looked like once the plan had really gotten rolling, they’d moved to disposable cell phones. They’d had no reason to think they would ever get caught, but everything began to unravel when they killed the trooper. No one could have foreseen that.

  The phone rang at her desk, and she picked it up with one hand while printing some records from the screen. “Adler.”

  “Hey, it’s John Chu.”

  “What’s up?”

  “We finally got the extensive check back on James Darville.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “We had to cross-reference like six different databases, courthouse records, and medical files and trace his life through his social security number. We found a bunch of documents, and in one set we found court papers from a Madeline Foster seeking to change her son’s birth certificate to her maiden name instead of the father’s.”

  Susan gripped the phone. “Darville has a son.”

  “Yup. Lives upstate on a farm in Gloversville. Name’s Trevor Foster. Born August 1985 to a Madeline Foster. James was listed as the father on Trevor’s original birth certificate, but the mother got approval to change it. Remember the dirt we found in the Civic and the house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s consistent with the soil composition of a farm in upstate New York.”

  Susan laughed out loud as she shot out of her seat. “John, have I told you how much I love you?”

  “No, but I could use all the love I can get.”

  “I do. I love you very much.”

  She hung up and ran into the lieutenant’s office; he was finishing up a call of his own.

  “Boss! I know where they are. Darville had a son. Trevor Foster. He owns a farm up in Gloversville. I think we got ’em.”

  Crosby, still holding his phone, began dialing. “I’m rolling units from Troop T up that way, and I’ll have them call in to the Gloversville PD for assistance. I’ll instruct them to hold a perimeter until you arrive. Get going now. And take Mel with you. Lights and siren the entire way. Be careful.”

  68

  Her fumbling hands struggled to find the right button to stop the tape. Sniffles and heavy, labored breathing filled the dining room. Cindy stared at the cassette player, James Darville’s voice still resonating in the chambers of her mind. She felt no more panic or tantrums, no outbursts or screaming. Shock had taken over with each part of the story James had told on the tapes. She was calm now.

  Trevor sat across from her, watching, waiting for some kind of reaction. She looked at him and wiped tears from her eyes with clenched fists. “These are lies,” she said, trying to convince herself more than him. “He’s lying.”

  “Yes, he could be,” Trevor replied. “We won’t know unless we get him to remember, and you’re the only one who can do that. You know how to get him to talk. I’ve seen it. That’s why you’re here, right? To get closure? It’s what you’ve been searching for since 1982.” He stood from the table. “Or he could be telling the truth. It could’ve been your mom who killed your sister.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “But you have to leave open the possibility that it could have been. And if it was, this could also be an opportunity to get to know your real father before it’s too late.” He offered his hand. “Let’s go find out if the stories on those tapes are true. James won’t know to lie now. Not with his mind failing him. This is the time to get the real story about your family. And at the very least, you got a half brother out of the deal.”

  Cindy took his hand and got up from her seat. She followed him out of the dining room, and they walked down the hall toward the front door.

  Trevor stopped. “Someone’s here,” he said, craning his neck to listen.

  “Who?” Cindy pushed past him and looked out the window in the top of the door. A black BMW was pulling up the long driveway, headlights on in the dusk.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  The car came to a stop in front of the house. The headlights shut off, and the driver’s-side door opened. When she glanced back at Trevor, he’d gone pale.

  “It’s time,” he whispered. There was panic in his voice. “Hagen’s here.”

  “I thought you said Hagen was David.”

  “I guess I was wrong.”

  Cindy heard him run back down the hall behind her. She remained glued to the window. A figure climbed out of the car and looked up at the house. The porch light cast strange shadows, but there was no mistaking it was a woman.

  “Who is that?”

  Footsteps returned. Cindy spun around in time for Trevor to thrust a shotgun in her hands. She caught it against her chest as he looked out the window.

  “That’s Sara Phines,” he said. “James’s neurologist. She’s Hagen. Or she’s working with David, or he’s working with her. She’s David and Rebecca’s connection at the hospital.” His eyes were wide with panic. “We’re all here now. It’s time. She’s going to kill us, and then she’s going to kill my family.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “They didn’t do anything wrong. They don’t deserve this. We don’t deserve this!”

  “You talked to Hagen on the phone. You said it was a man.”

  “It was. At least I thought it was. The voice had that distortion to disguise it. I figured it was David, but it could’ve been a female. There was no way to know!”

  “Okay, we need to calm down,” Cindy said. “If she’s Hagen, then she’s just here for Darville. That was the plan all along. We knew Hagen was coming up here for him.”

  “No, things have changed. I know it. We’ve screwed up too much, and we’re all loose ends now.” He grabbed Cindy by the shoulders. “I don’t want to die. I just wanted to be left alone. Why did you guys have to find me? Why is this happening?”

  Dr. Phines was getting closer, the tall woman walking with her head down, balancing as she navigated the gravel driveway in her heels.

  Cindy held up her shotgun. “Is this loaded?”

  He nodded. “Just pull the trigger. Pull the trigger and end this!”

  “I’m not shooting anyone! We’ll hold her until we figure out what’s happening and use her as our hostage to protect ourselves from David, if he really is Hagen.” She ran to the window in the kitchen and looked out from the back of the house. “Is David still with James?”

  Cindy returned to the front door. Dr. Phines was walking up the steps to the porch. Cindy could hear her heels clicking on the wood.

  “She’s g-going to kill us,” Trevor stammered. Panic had completely overtaken him. “My beautiful family. Oh my god, she’s going to kill us all.”

  Before Dr. Phines could knock, Cindy opened the door and let it swing back on its hinges. She retreated a few steps down the hallway until she was between the front door and the dining room. A small table next to her held the mail basket, a mug that contained a set of keys, and two fra
med pictures of the family Trevor was so desperately trying to save. She held the shotgun up and aimed it at the doctor.

  “Get in here and shut the door. Slowly.”

  Dr. Phines looked shocked, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. She raised her hands. “What’s going on?”

  Trevor was cowered around the corner, crying and breaking down. “Ask her where my family is. Ask her if they’re okay.”

  Dr. Phines closed the door with her foot and stood still, hands in the air, her pocketbook strung across her chest.

  “Are you Hagen?” Cindy asked. The gun was heavy in her hand.

  “Who?”

  “Hagen! Are you Hagen?”

  “Please. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m here for Trevor.”

  He squealed when he heard his name. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. She’s going to kill me. She’s here to kill me. You have to shoot her.”

  Cindy tried to hold the shotgun steady. “What do you want with Trevor?”

  “I have to see him.”

  “Why?”

  “He knows why. Please. I don’t want any trouble. Is Trevor okay?”

  “Shoot her. Shoot her. Shoot her. Shoot her.”

  Cindy tried to concentrate, but a voice kept whispering in her mind.

  Why is Trevor so panicked?

  This is not the same man who killed the trooper and dumped the car.

  It’s his family. He’s scared for his family.

  He doesn’t want to die. Not like this. None of us do.