The Trees Beyond the Grass (A Cole Mouzon Thriller)

by Reeves, Robert

  Speaking in skeptical words, Cole asked, “Why do you ask?”

  “From your look and the fact that you just checked it with your hand I’ll take that as a yes. The others, all three, had scars in the same spot. I’m going to take a wild guess as say it’s small, maybe an inch high and wide, with what appears to be a ‘P’ inside the box. Am I right?”

  There was a long pause before Cole answered. “No. Mine’s a large gash, about the same size as you mentioned, but there is no box. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I was playing with cousins at my Granny’s. We were horse playing on a tall pile of top-soil for her garden and I fell against her joggling board.”

  “Her what?”

  “It’s a Charleston thing; think yoga ball from the 1800s. A very long, flimsy board suspended at two ends, painted Charleston green. You sit and bounce on it. I think it turned into some dating tool or something; but like most things Charleston, it sticks around because, well… it’s old and we like old. Granny’s had a broken corner, so when I fell against it, it cut my back. But why are you asking about my scar?”

  “Mr. Mouzon…”

  “Please, call me Cole.” Cole felt weak in permitting the Agent to call him by his first name. It went against his rules of engagement. But he justified it since the guy appeared to be here to actually save his life.

  “Thank you… Cole, do you remember that happening?”

  “Well, no. I was like maybe one and a half, two when that happened. I can’t recall that far back. But my mom can certainly tell you all about it. From what I understand, she about killed my cousins and my Granny switched them good from what I recall.” Cole’s childhood is where his memory failed him. He had tried to access it many times as a teen. But, it was just black until he was maybe three or four. He could never remember a time Ava wasn’t his mother. The only image he had of Libby Mouzon, his birth mother, was that of her picture in an old gold frame in his grandmother’s home.

  “Mr… Cole, the other three, they had similar scars. None of them knew each other and they came from different parts of the country. I read some files on the plane that indicate, well… They indicate all three were kidnapped somewhere between the ages of one and two and disappeared for up to a week before being found. When they were found, they had a scar, the same scar you have, though it sounds like yours was removed.”

  Cole shook his head in disbelief. “Dude, are you fucking crazy? I wasn’t kidnapped as a kid.” This was more than he had ever expected when he scheduled this coffee date, and he was just trying to digest it. He leaned back into the couch as Leas turned slightly to pull something out of a pack of folders held together by a red rubber band. He withdrew a folder with some Post-it flags and passed it to Cole, who immediately speed-read through the pages.

  Just pages in, Leas added, “Cole, you were kidnapped when you were two. It’s all in there. It took some digging at the Mount Pleasant Police Department by our guys, but, at least from what it says in there, you weren’t injured by horseplay. Someone snatched your mother and you and you both disappeared for five days. Like the others, you had been branded with a ‘P.’”

  Cole’s head hurt. What was he saying? Kidnapped? But he had no memory of that…just blackness.

  Leas kept going. “The scary thing, if it can get any scarier, is that your mother and you, and the other kid, appear to have been the first kidnapped, branded, and then released across the country between 1982 and 1983. Your mother was tortured and died, but only after escaping with you and one of the boys. In all the other cases, the parent or parents were killed, slaughtered. And it was only here, with you, that more than one kid was taken at the same time.”

  Kidnapping, branding, release…escape. The words circled in Cole’s head like flies. No amount of mental swatting would knock them down so he could think. He placed his hands on either side of his head, looked down, and closed his eyes in deep thought. The wall was partially down and he was trying to push it back up.

  Agent Leas was patient, letting Cole take it all in. He had been here before in other cases and learned that the best approach was a slow one.

  Cole’s steely persona, momentarily shaken, was back. He looked up and placed his hands on his knees. “So, what are we going to do about this? From the sounds of things someone is out to collect what escaped thirty, thirty-one years ago? Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to go down like that. Point me in his direction and then get out of the way.” Cole’s anger was seeping out.

  “Hold up, Mr. Mou… Cole. The worst thing you can do is go off half-cocked and seek out this person. From what we know so far she acts slowly and either watches or studies before she acts. I doubt she has had enough time to get here and do that sufficiently to feel comfortable acting. Comfort is a big deal to these fucked-in-the-heads. So, let’s just think about this. Have you noticed any suspicious people, has anything suspicious happened lately?”

  COLE LIKED HIS idea better. He had represented enough criminals to know how to take someone out successfully and get away with it. But for now he would agree to work with Agent Leas. Cole rested his chin on his left fist, which was being supported by his knee, and shook his head. Unfolding his fist and running his fingers down his five o’clock shadow, Cole thought harder. His mind flicked through images of the last few days like album covers in iTunes, each hour a different image that he could process in microseconds. His photographic memory wasn’t always perfect, but if he paid any amount of attention to something, that image was locked in his brain for life. Great for arguing treatises and law, tragic consequences for his personal life. Being right rarely resulted in the best outcome. So he had learned to play dumb, a lot.

  He said ‘she.’ His scan of memories uncovered nothing significant. “No. I haven’t picked up anything. Can you tell me anything about the others, I mean as to their final day or days that might be playing out with me right now? No, wait!” Cole remembered the note that he thought Ann had sent. He turned to his right hip and started patting. Agent Leas was getting interested in what Cole was feeling for as he dug into his front pocket. “Is this related? I found it in my hotel room this morning. It just says… SHIT! It says, ‘I’m before you.’ He’s here, Agent, isn’t he? He’s here and has been in my room. Admit it. You’ve seen this note before. And, a woman?”

  Leas let out a deep sigh and then looked up, having seen inside the linen letter just handed to him. “Yeah. Both victims had similar notes. And video from the second confirms that the last person to be seen with Mr. Patrick was a woman…blonde.” Cole rubbed his head; it was throbbing as Leas spoke.

  He took a deep breath. “So is this the sign that she is about to act? What’s the M.O.?”

  “Honestly, we have no clue. You say you got this one this morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, from what we’ve been able to determine, it was only at the time of death that both of the previous notes were delivered to the prior vics, so this is a change.”

  “What the hell? So I’m being played with? I’m supposed to wait like I’m in The Ring or something, anticipating my death? FUCK YOU!” The whole café went silent and looked at Cole for leaning his head back and howling that out in public. The tattooed waitress gave him a ‘eat shit’ look and then went back to wiping the counter. Clearly it wasn’t impressive to her.

  “I’m putting police protection on you. And I know you’re here only for vacation, but I don’t recommend you go back to Denver. You’re already here. I’m here. And it appears that Charleston may have been where this all started.”

  Cole rubbed his eyes; all this had worn him out. “What do you want me to do, Agent?”

  “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “I’m staying next door in the Omni. The killer clearly already knows that since he…I mean, she, left me a note.”

  “You can’t stay there. Can you stay with family tonight? We can sneak you out tonight and she will lose your trail for a while until we can figure this out.”r />
  “Agent, I can’t expose my family to this. If this crazy is coming to kill me, I don’t want my family in the fire.”

  “You have to trust me; it would just be for a night or so. Your sister is a cop, isn’t she? A pretty damn good one from what I’ve heard so far. Stay with her.”

  “She has my nephew; that is the worst option.”

  “Cole, she’s already agreed. I talked to her before walking in here. I didn’t fill her in on all this. I just let her believe what she had already thought, that some ex-client was on the loose and your name popped up on a hit list. She is cool with it and you are NOT staying in that hotel again.”

  Cole crawled off the couch, whispering “Fuck you,” in Leas’ ear as he passed by on the way to the counter with his empty mug. He knew that if his sister had gotten involved he had already lost this argument. But it didn’t mean he had to like it.

  FROM THE GUCCI store across the street Poinsett had watched it all, and she didn’t like what she had seen. The FBI agent from Dallas was here, in Charleston, and was clearly trying to mess up her plans. She’d wanted a challenge, and, more importantly to let the Taker know, but she had gotten more than she had planned for.

  Whatever he told Mouzon, it wasn’t taken well. And Mouzon had shown the guy her note. It wasn’t that she didn’t think an investigator would be looking into her vics, but that he got a jump on her and frustrated the hunt pissed her off. Make lemonade out of lemons. She’d wanted a challenge and it looked like she had just been given one.

  CHAPTER 43

  COLE HAD MADE IT to his sister’s home in the Old Village, with Agent Leas introducing himself at the door to Jackie before leaving. He had booked a room at local hotel for his stay and agreed to meet in the morning. Cole had intended to go boating to Bull Island with his college friend Victor Sweeney, or ‘Vic.’ Once a pirate hideout, the only pirates it served now were Captain Morgan’s sauced boaters who could make it to the secluded national wildlife reserve island for a day in the sun. But Cole’s desire for a PBR and coconut rum day wasn’t possible with all the events of the night. So he texted Vic during the drive to let him know he needed to cancel and would owe him big, perhaps beer before he left. Vic had texted back that he understood and to just check back in later in the week. If there is a later in the week.

  His sister wore concern on her face as Cole walked into the house. She was quiet as Agent Leas left, waiting for Cole to start. Cole went up to the spare room, threw his bag on the floor and came back downstairs. “I need a drink, and then we are going to talk. What’s your poison?” Because of her history with William, she didn’t keep much in the form of alcohol in the house. He opened the cabinets one by one until he found a half-empty bottle of gin and a new bottle of tonic water. He held the two bottles in the air. “Gin and tonic it is.” As he mixed the drink, he looked up at his sister, who was still silent. “Kidnapped? Kidnapped, Jackie? And, my mom… Libby was murdered?” He let the words float out there. He was bordering on rage, disappointment, fear…swirling like a whirlpool in his mind.

  Her mouth dropped. That was clearly the last thing she’d expected to hear out of his mouth. “Oh my god, Cole. Is that what this is about?”

  “You knew. You knew? And you and Mom and Dad didn’t think to tell me? I mean, isn’t that something you would think is important? Hey, Cole. So you know when your mom died. Well, actually she was raped and tortured. Yeah, like a bad movie. And you may be a little fucked in the head because of that. Don’t worry, we have insurance for therapy.”

  Jackie rounded the corner of the kitchen counter to get closer. “Cole, please understand. You had no memory of it. I was seven and from what I recall there was a therapist, he…he said that it was best to just leave you without remembering. That it was your mind’s way of protecting itself.” She was sobbing. “…He said it would help you heal.”

  Logically, he understood that and the choice. But he couldn’t be logical right now. He had been kept in the dark for over thirty years, played by his own family. “And this brand thing? Is that what this scar is?” He pulled up his shirt, flashing his back to his sister.

  She looked down to his back, her eyes wet from the tears. “Mom and Dad hated that thing. It reminded them of the horror Aunt Libby went through. Dad and Libby were close, crazy close. So they had it removed while you were still in the hospital. What’s happening, Cole? I thought that this was about one of your ex-clients in Georgia. How does that have anything to do with what happened thirty years ago?”

  “Dammit Jackie, someone is back…killing those who were kidnapped like me. She’s back and she wants me dead.” Cole trembled as he said it out loud; his wall was unintentionally down. Jackie ran over to him and clasped her arms around him, sobbing harder.

  COLE’S EYES WERE red from fresh tears as he looked up to the ceiling and faked a smile. “But you’re a bad-ass cop with a Glock 21, right sis? You’ll kick his ass.” Cole tried to add levity to the moment. It was a way for the wall to be raised again. His sister released and punched him in his arm, still upset. Cole had an aversion to being serious for too long. And his brain tired quickly without a break from the seriousness of life and always processing it in high-definition. This moment was burning his brain. “Do you have any Tylenol? My head is killing me.” His sister rushed to a cabinet and poured out three pills from the bottle she had grabbed. Swallowing them down, he chased the pills with his gin and tonic.

  His sister spoke more calmly now, the tears controlled. “I don’t understand, Cole. Who is back…to kill you?” She choked on the last words.

  Over the next hour Cole filled his sister in on everything: the others, the murders, the note. He was still mad about the secrets. But he was even more pissed that someone dared to think they were going to take him down without a fight.

  CHAPTER 44

  Day Six Ninety-Two.

  IT WAS FIVE-THIRTY Monday morning and Cole was sitting on the back porch of his sister’s home, his arms wrapped around his knees with his feet tucked under him, seated in the rocking chair he had crawled into several minutes before. The sun was slowly peeking in, beckoning another day. Though her home didn’t sit right on the water, he could see it thirty yards off, through a separation between the homes directly behind hers.

  The dream had come again, followed by the hollowness of longing when he woke. Sitting in the chair, his mind was now silent as he stared at the ripples in the distance. The tide was moving out. The soft sound of the lapping waves filled the silence otherwise left by those around him sleeping. He took it all in, zoning on the buzzing of energy around him. His body mimicked the waves as he rocked. He could feel the inertia and ebb through his body. It was like this for a while. Silence. Peace. Healing.

  Jackie could be heard rustling in the kitchen by six. The thick, chocolate-laden smell of coffee wafted Cole’s way and a few minutes later Jackie came out to the porch with two cups, catching the screen door with her hips so it didn’t slam shut. She sat next to him and began to rock. No words were spoken until both had taken a few sips of the coffee and the marsh view.

  “Okay, so according to my scanned reading of the file materials Agent Leas gave me, I was taken in March of 1982, along with a Mark Calhoun and my mother, by a fake cop. Four or so days later, I was found in the marsh, behind the Academy, by one of MeMe’s boys.” There was a long pause. “…Mom dead, the Calhoun boy and I huddled around her.” Cole took a deep breath. “Branded, dead mom. That about sum it up?” Cole looked over at his sister, who had her head down, clearly holding back from crying again.

  “Cole…” She spoke softly and slowly, “…I really don’t know. I mean, I remember the event. I remember you being found and that you had that mark. I remember a lot of crying and screaming by Mom and Dad. And then…well, you didn’t remember and so I remember Mom and Dad making it very clear that I was to never speak of it unless you did. You never did, Cole. You never did.”

  “Sis, I’m not blaming you. It wasn’t your fau
lt I was taken. Hell, I hope you haven’t been carrying that all these years. Have you?”

  “I know that now Cole. But…” The tears had returned.

  Cole reached over to his sister and grabbed her forearm. “Sis, I am so very sorry if you ever felt that way. If you do now, stop. As a cop, you know better than anyone that it was not your fault. What’s happening now is not your fault.” He spoke the last three words slowly. She nodded her head.

  Of course it all made sense now. The dream, the nightmare…it was my mind trying to remind me. And I was stubborn and refused to see it as anything other than a stupid, disruptive dream. The marsh, the field, the hand, it was all real. Shit. Cole had come to this conclusion sometime after waking up at three a.m. and being unable to fall back to sleep.

  Cole took a deep breath. “Jackie, I don’t want you involved. You’ve done enough. I will not have you and Billy in danger.”

  “Cole, you’re my brother and I’m not going to let some fucker mess up that pretty face.” Like Cole, Jackie liked to disrupt serious moments from taking hold. “Plus, I’ve seen you handle a gun, it’s not pretty.”

  Cole let out a singular laugh. “Oh, please. You know, Little Miss Annie Oakley, I can take you any day.” He made a finger gun and shot it sideways, gangster-style, adding the sound effects.

  She pinched her mouth tight on one end to show her skepticism. “In your wet dreams!”

  Cole almost spit his sip of coffee out with laughter. “I love you, sis. You truly are my favorite sister.”

  Jackie stuck out her tongue and turned back to the marsh view. The sun had risen and orange had turned to blues and greens.

  CHAPTER 45

  “COLE, PLEASE DON’T take this out on Mom and Dad. They were just being parents and wanted you to have a normal life. As far as anyone knew, the creep just liked marking and releasing kids. No one knew he was going to come back.” The conversation had moved to the kitchen where liver puddin’ had been fried and poured over speckled grits, still steaming on Cole’s plate. Aptly named by some as liver mush, the rich, grey concoction of liver, random pork parts, rice, and spices native to the lowcountry had been sliced from its soft sausage form and fried until it turned into something that resembled a meaty sauce more than any solid meat.