by R. D. Brady
“Thanks, guys, I appreciate that. I’ll grab something after I check on Julie and Bess.”
Evelyn sniffed. Craig wrapped an arm around her, nudging his chin toward the kitchen. “They’re back in the office with Nevaeh. Go on back.”
“Thanks.” Declan stepped past the counter and pushed open the swinging doors into the kitchen. The kitchen was small, consisting of a large stove along the left-hand wall next to an industrial-sized sink. A long metal prep table was in the center, and on the other wall were shelves stacked with supplies for the coffee shop. At the back of the kitchen were two doors. The one on the left led to the supply room and was closed. The room on the right was the office. The door was ajar and the light on inside. He could hear low voices as he approached. He paused in the doorway. Nevaeh was kneeling down in front of Julie and Bess. She looked up, catching sight of Declan before he could knock.
Julie’s eyes were downcast. She sat rocking in place, holding on to Bess, a blanket draped around the two of them.
Nevaeh stood and waved Declan outside. Nevaeh pulled the door closed after them and stepped toward the large table. “She’s in shock. If they had been just a little bit earlier …” Nevaeh shook her head, her chin trembling.
Declan took a deep breath, tensing in fear. “Steve?”
“I called Reggie to go get him. I didn’t want him driving here on his own.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“I’m going back to the clinic. You’ll stay with them?” Nevaeh asked.
“Yeah.” He knew he should ask about Laura and the scene, but right now he just didn’t want to know. Right now, he needed to focus on Julie and Bess. “When Steve arrives, I’ll come help out, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll see you there.” Without another word, Nevaeh headed for the front door.
Declan took a deep breath and stepped into the office. Julie didn’t even budge. Slowly, he knelt down in front of her. “Julie?”
She lifted her eyes, but it took her a moment to focus. “Declan?”
He kept his voice low, soothing. “Yeah, honey. It’s me. You okay?”
“Laura … Laura’s dead.”
“I know.”
She gripped his hand. “It was Jack. He’s back. He got poor Miss Minnie too.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“No, no. He’s locked up. He can’t get out. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Jack.”
Her grip on his hand tightened as she shook her head, a tear escaping down her cheek. “No. It’s Jack. He got out. Somehow he got out.”
“It’s not him, honey. But I asked Russ to stop by and check and make sure that Jack’s still there. Okay?”
Julie stared at somewhere beyond Declan. “Okay. But he’s not there anymore.”
She leaned her head back down on the top of Bess’s head and continued to rock. Declan stood, looking down at the two of them and feeling completely useless. He knew it was the shock talking and not Julie. But her words left him chilled.
It’s not Jack. It can’t be Jack.
Chapter Thirty
Phineas wasted no time heading out to the lumberyard. He’d finished up the beef stew while Jared told him about the two Albany detectives that had been in town a few days earlier. They had to have gone out to the lumberyard too.
Phineas stepped into the reception area of Dover Lumber, surprised at how modern it looked. A young man sat behind the reception desk and looked up as Phineas approached. “May I help you?”
“I was hoping to speak with either Reggie Tully or Steve Davidson about a project I’m working on.”
“I’m afraid both of them are busy at the moment. Would you be willing to come back in about an hour?”
Phineas shook his head. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll just wait. Maybe I could take a look around?”
The young man waved his hands toward the showroom entrance. “By all means. There are books and catalogs inside as well if you want to flip through and get some ideas.”
“Thank you.”
Phineas headed around the reception desk and pushed open the double doors to the showroom. The scent of freshly cut wood greeted him as he stepped in. He wrinkled his nose. He never did like the smell of wood.
He wandered through the displays, not really understanding why people would pay extra to have kitchen cabinets handmade. Machine-made seemed just as good and a lot cheaper. His eyes had nearly bugged out when he looked at the pricelist. Who could afford these?
He did have to admit it was a skill, though. He’d tried whittling one camping trip and nearly took off his own thumb. He couldn’t imagine actually crafting something that someone could use out of wood. He wandered through the aisles for about twenty minutes before he reached the back of the room.
A set of double glass doors provided a view of the lumberyard. Stacks of different-sized pieces of wood were piled out there. About a dozen workers moved pallets of wood. A bulldozer made trails in the snow, pushing mounds of snow into the corners. Dover Lumber was a busy place.
He had no interest in going out into the middle of that, even though he had a feeling Steve Davidson was out there. He headed back toward the reception area. He would sit down with his laptop and draft up some notes. Figure out some questions and some angles. If he was right and Steve Davidson was in fact Steve Kane, then he knew exactly why Gomez and Sullivan had shown up here. Did that mean they thought that Steve Kane was actually the killer of Millners Kill? Now that would be a scoop.
He’d almost reached the doors to the showroom when the doors from the lumberyard opened.
A man stepped into the showroom, his cheeks bright red from the cold. He whipped off his hat as he strode down the aisle. He had a full beard and wore a light-blue fleece. He removed his gloves as he made his way toward the doors for the showroom. He gave Phineas a nod as he passed.
Phineas stayed where he was, rooted to the spot. The beard and the work clothes had thrown him for a minute. As had the extra muscle he’d put on over the years. But there was no doubt in his mind that Steve Kane had just walked past him.
And he was getting away.
Phineas hurried after him. “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
Steve frowned, glancing toward the showroom doors. “Well, I’m about to meet with a client, but I can answer something quick. And then we can schedule an appointment to speak more later.”
Phineas smiled, pulling out his phone. “Great. Could you tell me how long you’ve been living in—”
“Steve.” Reggie Tully called out from the showroom doorway. Steve looked up, his brow furrowing.
Reggie waved him forward. “I need to speak with you. Right now.”
“Um, excuse me for a second.” Steve stepped past Phineas and hurried over to Reggie. Phineas moved closer, trying to overhear their conversation. Reggie looked concerned.
“What?” Steve exclaimed.
Reggie put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked up at him and then sprinted for the doors.
Reggie quickly followed him. Phineas made his way to the doorway, watching Steve disappear through the doors and into the parking lot. I wonder what that’s all about? He frowned.
For a moment, he was worried that his cover was blown. That somehow Reggie had found out he was a reporter. But he didn’t think that was the case. Reggie hadn’t even looked at him. But something had definitely happened.
There had been a dozen or so people out in the yard. Phineas could get a little background from them. Probably would be a better approach anyway. Reggie would be a good source as well, but Phineas was a little hesitant to speak with him. He had a feeling Reggie wasn’t going to be an open book, and there was probably a good chance he would kick him out of the lumberyard.
He turned on his heel and headed toward the doors leading to the outside. I’ll start with the yard guys. Excitement churned in his gut.
Pulitzer, here I come.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pine City, New
York
Dread built up in Russ’s chest as he spied the barbed wire fencing of the Southport Correctional Facility. Built in 1988, it was New York State’s first supermax prison. An average of 350 inmates were held in special housing units where they were on lockdown twenty-three hours a day and had limited to no human interaction.
When Russ had first heard that the country was going to start building supermax prisons, he’d been amazed and then concerned. It seemed like a lot of money for prisons dedicated to a small violent group. They couldn’t possibly fill all of them.
He had greatly underestimated the United States’ criminal justice system.
Supermax prisons were filled practically before they were built. What had been designed to house the worst of the worst had been expanded to house the pretty bad. Now he wondered if most of those individuals didn’t deserve to be somewhere else. Supermax prisons were notorious for abuse through extensions of solitary confinement. Humans were not meant to be left alone with nothing but their thoughts for days, never mind months and years on end.
But if there was anyone who deserved to be locked away from humans, it was Jack. But Russ knew Jack wasn’t the one responsible for the murders in Dover, although he couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was one of his followers.
He showed the guard at the gate his ID, and he was waved through. “You’re all set, Sheriff.”
Russ wound his way along the drive, his mind focusing on the building that housed New York State’s prisoners, a few who Russ had helped place there. As a boy, Russ had loved to play cops and robbers. He’d always insisted on being the cop. Throughout his life, he’d never wanted to be anything else. For the last ten years, he’d lived his childhood fantasy.
And now he was the living embodiment of being careful what you wish for.
Russ knew he’d done a lot of good as a police officer over the years. But the misery he’d seen had taken ahold of his soul. About five years ago, they’d started to see a significant uptick in overdose deaths. Meth had taken hold of old town Millners Kill. He’d busted up the one meth lab on the island, but there had been at least a dozen more over on the mainland. People now simply traveled to get their drugs.
And that was just one drug. The biggest growing drug problem was prescription drugs like Oxycontin, and he had no way to combat that. They’d had overdose after overdose. Most had been on the beach, tourists who came over, got high, and stayed forever.
But the worst had been last year. He’d gotten a call about mail piling up at a house. Inside, he’d found the bodies of a man and woman, both in their early twenties. They’d been dead for at least a week. He knew the woman, Rachel Hannigan. She’d been the daughter of one of his parents’ friends. The last time he’d spoken with her, she was seven and had gone everywhere with her doll. The image of her and her doll in matching outfits had sprung to the forefront of his mind when he’d read her name on her driver’s license, and he hadn’t been able to shake the image for days.
But that hadn’t been the worst part. The worst part was checking the house and finding their one-year-old daughter upstairs. She’d been covered in her own filth and listless after going without water and food for days.
Russ had rushed her to the hospital himself, leaving the scene to his deputies to handle. He didn’t need to oversee them processing the scene. God knew at that point, they’d had enough experience. He’d barely taken his foot off the gas on the drive to the hospital.
But it had been too late. The little girl was too far gone. And Russ had been unable to shake her death. He’d gotten into law enforcement to help people. But he felt like a hamster on a wheel these days—a hamster wearing a very heavy backpack that was trying to keep him down.
When Declan had retired, he’d offered to move back to Millners Kill until Russ retired. But Russ knew that Declan wanted to move to Dover. And to be perfectly honest, so did Russ. The idea of starting over somewhere, not having to face human tragedy every day, it became this idea in the back of Russ’s head that he couldn’t shake.
So instead of Declan waiting for Russ, Russ had informed the town council that he would not be running for reelection. The minute he told them, it was like a weight had been lifted off of him. The idea of starting a new life with Declan in Dover, with Steve, Julie, and Bess, it became the new life that Russ wanted to see happen.
Now I just need to get through the last few months of my old life. Russ pulled into a parking spot in the visitors lot, staring up at the intimidating prison. He didn’t know what was happening over in Dover, but he knew it couldn’t involve Jack. The criminal justice system had a lot of problems, but they tended to keep track of their popular inmates.
Jack had been a focus of not only the criminal justice system but also the media. If he’d disappeared or escaped, someone would know. But Declan had been scared. Russ had heard it in his voice. And if making sure that the monster of Millners Kill was still securely locked in a cage would ease some of Declan’s worry, then that was exactly what Russ would do.
He stepped out of the car, pocketing his keys. There was a bite in the air. The storm that was heading up north was going to only drop a few inches in New York State. But the temperatures were still supposed to plummet.
Maine was supposed to really get hit again. He wanted to be in and out of the prison in an hour tops so he could get on the road. He’d take it slow and pull over if it got too bad. But he had a feeling Declan was going to need him.
Locking his car, Russ hurried toward the administration building, steeling himself for the visit.
Prisons were another aspect of his job he now hated. There was no hope in them. The system had been created so that once offenders did their time and got out, there were so many roadblocks to them becoming a productive member of society again that it was nearly impossible for them to stay out. Recidivism rates across the board were at around seventy-five percent. Half were re-arrested their first year out. Instead of a deterrent, prisons had become a revolving door.
Diversion programs, the elimination of mandatory minimums, and increases in mental health and drug treatments were the very beginning of where they needed to start. He also now believed in legalizing drugs, especially marijuana.
Russ smiled, realizing how much his views on crimes and criminals had shifted now that he was part of the system, and a part that was putting people in places like this.
Yep, I’m not cut out for this work anymore, Russ thought. The sooner I get this visit over with the better.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dover, Maine
The knuckles on Steve’s hand stood out as he gripped the handle of the passenger door. Reggie was driving carefully through the streets, and it was taking everything in Steve not to yell at his friend to go faster.
Laura was dead. It was unbelievable. She was just … so alive. She had become a pseudo-mother to him and Julie and a pseudo-grandma to Bess. She biked in the summer and went snowshoeing in the winter. She’d been on the Olympic team for archery when she’d been in college. How could she be gone?
When Reggie first told him, Steve had gone perfectly still. Reggie had still been talking, but Steve had barely heard him. It was like he was underwater. Then he’d snapped out of it and couldn’t seem to move fast enough. He’d sprinted out of the building, nearly breaking his neck flying out the front door. All he could picture was Bess and Julie screaming.
Reggie had practically tackled him in the parking lot to keep him from getting into his car. He’d grabbed the keys from Steve and insisted on driving him. Steve had said yes immediately, knowing Reggie would dig in his heels.
Now he was glad Reggie had taken over driving duty. Steve could barely focus on the road. His heart was racing so fast, he was surprised it hadn’t jumped out of his chest yet. This couldn’t be happening to them again. It couldn’t be Jack. Jack was locked up. He was in supermax, for God’s sake. He didn’t even get to speak to anyone for twenty-three hours a day.
But who
else could it be? He’d done his research after everything had happened in Millners Kill. Contrary to the level of fascination they inspired, there simply weren’t that many serial killers out there. In a country with over 350 million people, there were pretty slim odds that they would run into another one.
It could be drug related. He knew that there had been an uptick in drug use across the state. That could explain someone going to the clinic and looking for drugs. But why on earth would they go to the library?
And right after Keith Hodgkins was killed? That was too big a coincidence. And if even he, the one person in the whole world who would want more than anything to believe it was a coincidence, couldn’t buy it, how could anyone else?
But all those fears and worries were background noise. Right now, he just desperately needed to see that his girls were all right.
Reggie swerved onto Main Street, the back of his car sliding out. He scrambled with the wheel, the telephone pole coming up fast to the side of his car. He wrestled control back and took a few deep breaths. “You good?”
Steve nodded, even as a drop of sweat rolled down his back. If he’d been driving, he would have been wrapped around that pole.
Steve glanced behind him as Tanner took the turn a lot slower. He was going to drive Reggie back once they reached the clinic.
Ahead, the awning of the coffee shop was like a beacon. Once again, he had to actively keep himself from urging Reggie to go faster. In fact, Reggie did the opposite, easing up on the gas. He pulled carefully into the parking lot next to the clinic, the tires sliding a little as he tapped too hard on the brakes.
Steve was out of the car before it was fully stopped. He sprinted for the coffee house door. He slipped as he turned the corner, his hand plunging into a pile of snow. Sharp needles of pain cut into his hand, and he yanked it out as quick as he could.
Craig held the door open for him. “In the office through the kitchen.”