“My dad,” Rachel replied, pressing her finger on the picture and looked to Peak, who had his own revelation.
“That’s not the only thing,” Peak said. “John Parkman is the Mayor. Al Jacobson is the town Treasurer.”
Principal Godfrey smiled. “Told ya. Honor society networking goes a long way in Highlands.”
Rachel suggested they split the list. Peak concurred. He’d seek out Parkman, Jacobson, Umphrey, and Ball while Rachel tackled Jennifer, Thompson, and her father. After snapping a few photos of the documents and yearbooks with their smartphones, they thanked Godfrey and headed out. Rachel dropped Peak off at the police department to pick up his car. Alone, Rachel went to the bowling alley.
Rachel parked outside of the Right Lane Bowling Alley. In the midafternoon of a weekday, the only people that attended were the competitive bowlers, Rachel’s father being one of them. After he gave up alcohol, something had to fill the gap. Rachel stepped inside and was bombarded by the sound of crashing pins. In one of the farther lanes she spotted Liam. Bowling glove on, the white haired man picking up a red ball from the ejector.
Rachel snuck in behind him as he lined up the shot with full concentration. Exhaling, he moved forward with perfect form, and let the ball go. It rolled down the lane and smashed into the pins, sending all ten scattering.
“Thank you, Lord,” he mumbled, looking up at the scoreboard with his damp face. Strikes and spares only.
“Hey,” Rachel said, crossing her arms.
Liam turned back to her, forehead glistening with sweat. “Didn’t expect you to be off work. Wanna hop in? I have the lane for the next…” He checked his watch. “Forty-three minutes.”
Rachel took a seat. “Not really, Dad. I wanted to talk about something.”
“Shoot,” he said, picking up his returned bowling ball and wiping it down with a soft cloth.
“You were in the Highlands Honor Society?”
He stopped rubbing the ball for a moment. “Yes. For my last two years of high school. Why?”
“So, you knew about the girls that vanished in the late ‘70s?”
Liam studied her for a moment and then sat down in an adjacent chair. “What is this about, Rach?”
“I found their remains, Dad. Dumped in a killer’s burial ground located in Nantahala National Forest. They were murdered forty years ago.”
“I... That’s horrible,” her father replied, looking at his bowling shoes.
“The killer’s still out there.”
Her father looked at her, the blood gone from his face. He turned about the alley, making sure no one was eavesdropping, and then leaned in close. “You must be careful spreading such rumors, Rachel.”
“You’re acting dodgy, Dad,” Rachel said suspiciously, feeling her heart rate rise. “And these aren’t rumors.”
“Lord, help me,” Liam mumbled a short prayer and then spoke quietly to Rachel. “There are certain things in this town that are better left… covered. Mistakes. Sins.”
“What sins?” Rachel asked. “These girls are dead. I need to know.”
Liam sighed heavily. “We’ll talk somewhere private.”
“No,” Rachel said, calm but commanding. “Tell me now.”
Her father squirmed. “You're not making this easy, Rachel.”
Rachel crossed her arms and glared at him.
“I knew the girls, of course,” Liam reluctantly started. “I dated one of them before I met your mother. Her name was Dakota Mulberry. Pretty blonde gal. A real looker. But what drew me to her was that, like myself, she’d taken a pledge of purity. A lot of people did back then, but she actually meant it. I actually thought I’d marry her, believe it or not, but...”
“What happened?” Rachel asked, remembering the girl’s neck and black-blooded face.
“She wanted to leave Highlands and go to a bigwig college in some faraway city. To be a historian, of all things. I was content here. Back then, this was my home. My blood. One night as we were walking by Dry Falls, we decided it would be better to go our separate ways. The irony of the whole situation is that I went Princeton Theological in Jersey after high school. Anyway, a year after we broke up, she was gone. Heck, every one of those girls were gone.”
“Any theories?”
“We thought that Louise ran away. With sports and grades, she was under a lot of pressure from her parents so it made sense, but then Kensie vanished over the summer. She wore a cross but wasn’t very Christian, if you catch my meaning. The word on the street was that she found another boyfriend and left with him. Still, something seemed off. She was prone to gossip and would’ve told somebody
“A few months later, Heather stopped coming to school. The twins that winter. Amber started flipping out, saying that someone was following her. Me and the boys kept an eye out for her and found no evidence of that. Come February, she went poof. The police didn’t have a clue what was going on. No one did. The town issued a nine o’clock curfew. Far too late in my opinion. The boys, Jennifer, Dakota, and I were all that were left. Jennifer stayed with Al. Broke her own supposed pledge of purity but stayed safe, in a manner of speaking. I wanted to keep close to Dakota, but she’d found other friends at the school and was so focused on her studies that her missing peers weren’t her primary concern. A few months after she vanished, graduation came along and the curfew ended. Everyone in the town chose to bury the fiasco. Better for tourists. Better for everyone.”
Liam put the bowling ball aside and rubbed his palms on the top of his slacks. He sighed. “I didn’t know why it stopped or how, but I thank God it did. I loved your mother very much, I moved away with her, but sometimes I wonder what could’ve been if Dakota hadn’t vanished.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel replied.
“Don’t be. I have you now. All part of His plan.” He looked at his toes, lost in thought.
“At the time, did you think that Dakota was murdered?”
“I had my guesses.” He paused for a second. “It wasn’t until nearly fifteen years later that I knew.”
Rachel straightened her posture. “Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“Not enough conclusive evidence, and I gave me word.”
“Tell me what you learned, dad. This is very important.”
Liam struggled to find the right words. After a moment of quiet, he said, “A man came to me when I had the church, asking for my help. He told me that guilt was eating him up. That he did some bad things he couldn’t shake. I told him to elaborate, but he refused. He said that it was better if I didn’t know the details, only that he had blood on his hands. By his age and occupation, I knew it to do with be girls. He didn’t strike me as their killer, but he knew something. I could feel it. Nonetheless, it was my pastoral responsibility to help pray through that guilt. I needed to help him get right with the Lord, and I believe I did.”
Rachel shifted in her seat. The information wasn’t as impressive as she expected. “What’s his name?”
“I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“These girls are dead, Dad. Dakota is dead. This man may know their killer.”
“He’s been washed by The Blood, Rachel,” her father argued. “Do you really want to open old wounds?”
“If it means putting this case to rest, absolutely,” Rachel said firmly. “Now, what’s his name?”
Liam’s face sank into a heavy frown.
Rachel stood in the shadow of the massive two-story house. Over the home’s multi-peaked roof, the crimson glow of the falling sun slowly faded. The property overlooked dozens of miles of rolling hills, mountains, and vegetation. Guilt pitted in Rachel’s stomach knowing that she strong-armed her father, but the find was worth the conviction.
Small-town cop Frederick Fiedler lived in this half a million-dollar house.
The doorbell rang and Rachel waited on the welcome mat. A few moments later, the silhouette of a man appeared behind the wavy glass. The door opened. Unlike the exterior of the house, Fiedler
, around seventy years old, was a rough man with saggy skin, a stained white tee-shirt, pepper-colored stubble, and grey eyes that had crow’s feet. The crown of his head was bald; the rest had disheveled gray hair.
“What do you want?” he asked. His breath reeked of alcohol.
“I’m Homicide Detective Rachel Harroway.” She flashed her badge. “I have questions.”
Fiedler squinted at her in scrutiny. “You have five minutes.”
He turned his back on Rachel and walked into the dark hall, leaving the door open. After a moment of hesitation, Rachel followed and closed the door behind her. Old family photos hung from the wall of Fiedler and his son, a cute blond boy with a missing front tooth and freckle. Happier days for sure. The house was unkempt and dust gathered on most surfaces. Magazines and newspapers littered the floor in large leaning stacks. Rachel’s Sense sent a chill down her spine as she passed by a loaded handgun abandoned on a lamp stand. In the wide living room, Fiedler sat down in a rocking chair beside the fireplace. The couch was covered in magazines and newspapers, so Rachel found a seat on a nearby piano bench.
Her attention was drawn to the nearby bathroom. The door was open. The room was pitch black. Standing in the frame was a little blond boy, four years old, with a bruised head and sickly skin. Is he an Orphan? Rachel couldn’t tell.
“What’s this about?” Fiedler asked Rachel. He paid no mind to the boy.
“You worked a missing persons case forty years ago. The Highlands Police Department has just uncovered the remains of seven females, and I’m after answers.”
“I don’t have any to offer,” Fiedler replied sternly. “The case went cold.”
“It’s not anymore.”
“Sure about that? If you’re coming to me, you must be grasping at straws.”
Rachel looked around the living room. “Nice place. How did you come to afford such a thing?”
“I saved up.” Fiedler replied. “Bought smart.”
Rachel and Fiedler sat in silence for a moment. Time to change tactics. Rachel looked at the boy. “What’s your son’s name?”
Fiedler frowned. “Why does it matter to you? He’s dead.”
Rachel blinked and studied the boy again, focused on the head bruise and pruned skin. “He slipped in that bathroom over there, didn’t he? He hit the rim of the tub and drowned.”
Fiedler’s face went white. His rocking chair stopped moving. “How…?”
“I have a Gift, Fiedler,” Rachel said. “I can talk to the dead.”
The drunken old man dug his nails into the arms of his chair. “You’ll insult my son’s memory in my own home? Make another joke like that and I’ll bust your teeth in.”
“You don’t believe me?” Rachel crossed her legs. “Child. Come out here and tell me a secret that only you and your father know.”
The little boy shyly left the dark shroud of the bathroom and shambled toward Rachel. Fiedler looked at him but couldn’t see or hear. He stood from his chair.
“Get out of my house,” he barked at Rachel. He cursed at her.
The boy froze, but Rachel beckoned him closer. He leaned into Rachel’s ear, water spilling from his bottom lip as he whispered. The vein in Fiedler’s neck bulged. All his blood rushed to his face. Rachel turned to him as the Orphan pulled away. “After Susan, your wife, left, you were watching a movie with your son. A Western. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Ivan passed in front of the TV. You got mad. Yelled at him and pushed him down. A moment later, you regretted it. Held him close and cried with him, telling him that you’re losing control. Ivan, you’re my anchor, you said. And I’m a sinking ship. Forgive me, my boy. Forgive me.”
Fiedler trembled. His teeth chattered. “What the hell are you?”
“Ivan says he loves you, Mr. Fiedler,” Rachel said as the boy stared at her in silence. “Says that he forgives you.”
The old man sank back into his chair. “I don’t… Is he here?”
“He is. He wants to go home.”
“But this is his home.” Tears welled in Fiedler's tired eyes.
“I mean his true home. Understand now?”
At a loss for words, the old man nodded.
“I can help Ivan, but I need your help in return. Will you help me?”
The old man wiped his face. “And then he can… rest?”
Rachel nodded slowly.
Fiedler took a deep breath. “The girls of Highlands High. I buried their case.”
“Why?”
“I was going to be a father. I needed the money. Someone working with me must’ve heard and passed it along. I got a call one night after the second girl vanished. Someone telling me to fudge the evidence, destroy fingerprints, falsify reports. They put a taste of the profit outside my front door. Five grand for doing nothing. It was wrong, but I kept my Ivan in mind. So I did it. After the Mulberry girl, the money stopped. I resigned a year later and didn’t spend heavily to keep the suspicion down. After Susan left and Ivan fell, I blew it.”
“Who gave you the money?”
Fiedler groaned. “I don’t know. Someone willing to spend it. Someone in a place of power. The less I knew, the better.” His story came to an end. He locked eyes with Rachel. “I’m intoxicated. Everything I say is faulty at best. Bring this to court and it won’t be pretty for either one of us, but you knew that, didn’t you? That’s why you told me about your…”
“My Gift.”
“Yeah.” Fiedler locked eyes with Rachel. “Now, let my son go in peace.”
Rachel glared at the boy. “You’ve forgiven him. There’s nothing else for you.”
Ivan frowned and stepped back into the dark bathroom, vanishing from sight.
Rachel said her goodbyes to Fiedler, sure that he wasn’t the changed man her father claimed him to be. She followed her next lead. Honor student Gunnar Thompson. She called up the number linked with his address and a woman replied. Rachel filled her in on the situation and asked to speak to Thompson.
“He passed away,” the woman replied in the phone. “Influenza, about a decade ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rachel made a note in her sketch book next to Gunnar’s name. “Tell me about him.”
Rachel learned of his military background, favorite foods, disconnect with the town of Highlands and, in all, nothing useful or related to the girls. His parents died of natural causes when he was young. His wife, the widow who Rachel spoke to, married him when they were in their late twenties, claiming that he never mentioned any girls that vanished from the honors student society. That could mean he didn’t care that much or that he knew something that he never told another soul. Unfortunately, Rachel would never know those answers. Gunnar Thompson was cremated. If charred bones remained, then maybe Rachel had a chance. That was a big maybe, too.
Jennifer Blankenship was a different story. Living in Spartanburg, South Carolina, the chain smoker was eager to answer Rachel’s eight o’clock call, but when asked about her murdered peers, this was the response Rachel received.
“Don’t call here again. Ever.”
“Ms. Blankenship, I only have a few quick questions.”
She could hear the woman take a long drag on her cigarette. “You’re asking the wrong lady. If I had something to say, I would. Goodnight, Detective. Good luck.”
Rachel made note of the response under the dim light of her car’s interior. Jennifer Blankenship had something to hide. Spartanburg was only a two-hour and fifteen-minute drive. Maybe Rachel would pay the sole survivor a visit, but first things first.
Tall glasses clinked together.
“Prost,” Detective Peak toasted.
“Prost,” replied Rachel.
They both sipped down craft beer in The Lost Hiker, the far less pretentious of the two bars in Highlands, North Carolina. Local rockers strummed the strings of rustic guitars on a little stage near the back of the room while muted news anchors discussed the seven girls of Highlands High from TVs above the bartender.
“We’ll see what sort of mud slide this stirs up,” Peak said, watching the screens from their tall, round, two-person table.
“A necessary one,” Rachel replied. She set the mostly full glass down on the tabletop, intent on having a quiet night. “A serial killer in Highlands, even forty years ago, isn’t even imaginable.” The TV showed images of skeletal remains, tacked down blue tarp, and yellow tape. “It should draw old and new witnesses out of the woodwork. Heck, we might be so lucky that the killer confesses.”
Peak smirked. “Doubtful. What’s most likely to happen is for someone to claim they are the Highlands Roper for a chance at immortality. Idiots.”
Rachel sighed. “What did you learn about those on your half of the list?”
“Michael Umphrey, the tall, Lovecraft look-alike with glasses, was mauled by a bear in ‘94. Parts of his pulped torso decorated a less traveled wooded trail. Hikers found the meat of his thigh first.”
“Please, don’t spare any gritty detail,” Rachel replied sarcastically.
“I wasn’t planning to,” Peak joked dryly. “Umphrey was a bust. John Parkman: charismatic athlete turned family man turned mayor had me talk to his secretary because he was out on official town business. That could be a front, or he may not want to be associated with the skeletons of the past. Either way, the cat is out of the bag. He’ll have to cooperate soon.
“Treasurer Jacobson invited me into his office for fifteen minutes, expressing his deepest condolences for the girls, but none of it seemed sincere. Kensie Herd--the slutty one--was being groomed by her father to be grandfathered into the Board of Commerce after college.”
“She was the second victim, right?”
“Yep. Jacobson seemed none too beaten up about it, and there was a smugness in his victory. The chance that a fellow student systematically killed his peers in pursuit of a job twenty years later seems unlikely. Nonetheless, he may be holding back.
The Haunting of Rachel Harroway- Book 1 Page 5