“Fair enough.” Scott clapped his hands and rubbed them together in a let’s-begin gesture. “Brass tacks. What have you got?”
Janis scooted back on the bench until she was sitting up straight. “There’s a lot of information out there, some of it conflicting, and some of it noise for the time being—like David and his friends threatening the doctor. It doesn’t matter who threatened him. We want to know who murdered him. And the best information we have for finding that out are the energy fingerprints, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“That’s where we need to focus.”
“All right?”
“So, let’s work backwards,” Janis said. “Based on those fingerprints, whoever murdered Dr. Fields also killed the husky and also broke into your house, right? Now let’s put that in its simplest, most concrete terms. Whoever stole your father’s shirt killed the doctor.”
A light seemed to go on in Scott’s head. “And you want to learn where David found that shirt.”
“From there I may be able to pick up an energy trail.”
But just as quickly as Scott’s face lit up, it clouded over. “Look, I’m prepared to admit that I was wrong about—well, almost everything—but can I assume you have a better idea than asking David himself?”
“You heard Detective Buckner,” she said. “Any future information relating to David or the case will have to come through official releases, not him. I sensed his resolve. He won’t yield.”
“Couldn’t you just read the detective’s thoughts?”
“I’d have to dig for information that specific, and digging doesn’t come without consequences. So, no.”
Scott sighed. “The state prison is in Statham. That’s fifty miles inland.”
“Just get your mom to drive us.”
Scott smirked when he saw she was joking. “A bus runs out that way twice a day,” he said. “At least it used to. I was really into maps when I was younger—sort of a prelude to my fascination for telecommunication networks. On slow afternoons, I’d go to the station and stare at all the routes.”
“Do you remember when the next bus leaves?”
“What about the Program?”
“We’ll send an official request.” Janis punched a message into her watch. “And…” She hit send. “ … viola!”
“Oh, c’mon. They’re never going to let us—”
Janis’s watch beeped twice. “‘Request approved,’” she read. “Now what about that next bus?”
Scott laughed and shook his head as he stood. “Only one way to find out.”
He offered her an elbow.
As Scott watched a prison guard search through his backpack, it occurred to him that he probably should have left the laser and car battery at the beach house. Force of habit. Fortunately, he hadn’t packed his lock-picking tools.
The guard tapped the battery with a meaty finger. “A twelve volt? Were you hoping to help out Mr. Sparks?”
“I’m sorry, who?” Scott said.
“Mr. Sparks. Though he goes by Sparky, too.” The slabs of the guard’s cheeks lifted into a grin.
He’s talking about their electric chair, Janis informed him.
“Oh, Sparky,” Scott said. For the first time the idea that four people could be put to death for a murder they didn’t commit landed against his gut like a fist. An anxious feeling climbed his throat.
“No,” Scott finished.
“Well, can’t let you take it inside.” The guard zipped the pack closed. “We’ll hold onto it until you come out.” He tied a tag to one of the straps, handed Scott the stub, and stuffed the entire pack into an office cubby hole. After having Scott and Janis go through a metal detector, he passed them to a second guard.
They walked along an industrial-green hallway that reminded Scott of his elementary school. En route, the guard reminded them that their conversation with David would be monitored.
Scott and Janis nodded and murmured their understanding.
The guard unlocked and opened a door to a no-contact room. Scott found himself looking at a line of chairs that fronted a partitioned wall of Plexiglas, much like the ones he’d seen in prison movies. Instead of telephone receivers to communicate by, though, the Plexiglas featured a constellation of small holes.
Scott and Janis took seats at the second partition.
“The prisoner will be brought in shortly,” the guard told them. “When you’re ready to leave, wave up there.” He nodded toward a mesh window high in the wall at the other end of the room.
I’ll do the talking, if that’s all right, Janis thought in his head. I want to see how much I can open him up.
Fine by me, Scott answered.
He hadn’t been looking forward to another encounter with David, much less having to speak to him. He seemed to possess a strange ability to needle Scott’s insecurities, to make him feel small. An ability that neither a Plexiglas wall nor any number of guards could do anything against.
Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched the door on the other side of the glass.
A minute later, it opened. David strode through as though he weren’t cuffed or being led by a guard. His black duster and boots were gone, replaced by an orange prison jumpsuit and white sneakers. But the change of wardrobe didn’t diminish him. If anything, the orange fabric, which cast his skin in an eerie yellow, almost jaundiced glow made him appear even more supernatural.
When David saw who was awaiting him, his eyes seemed to dance in their skeletal sockets.
“Well, this is a surprise.” He sat and let the guard push his chair in. “Have you come to gloat?”
The guard exited the room.
“We’ve come to help,” Janis said.
David moved his pale blue eyes with their pin-prick pupils between them.
“But first we need to know where you found Scott’s father’s shirt,” Janis said. “The black one you were wearing the first time we saw you.”
“You mean the one you had me arrested for?”
“That was an honest mistake.”
Scott burned at the idea of apologizing to this creep, but in order to help Janis he muttered a confirming “yeah.”
The sharp lines of David’s lips continued to grin.
“So, the shirt,” Janis prompted him. “Can you tell us where you found it?”
“Sounds like I would be the one helping you.”
Scott sighed. This is pointless.
David’s eyes flicked toward him as though he’d picked up the thought.
“Look,” Janis said, lowering her voice. “We know you didn’t kill Dr. Fields. We know you and your friends are innocent. If you can tell us where you found the shirt, we may be able to help get you out of here.”
David scraped a waxy finger around one of the holes in the Plexiglas and purred, “Are you sure you want me back on your side of the wall?”
“Move away from the glass!” a sharp voice called from an overhead speaker.
David withdrew his cuffed arms slowly. For the first time, the seam of his grin spread to reveal the tips of his fangs.
Scott had seen enough. “What’s your problem?”
David touched his fingers to the V-neck of his jumpsuit in mock surprise. “Moi?”
Janis placed a restraining hand on Scott’s knee, but he wasn’t done.
“We came here with an offer of help, and you—you act like it’s some kind of game! Look around yourself. Look where you are. I’ll give you a hint, it’s not Romper Room. There’s a chair in the basement called Sparky, and that’s exactly where the DA plans to strap your scrawny ass.”
Scott had embellished the basement part, but he had underlined his point. Or thought he had.
“Sparky,” David said with a reflective chuckle. “Now that is rather clever.”
“Let’s go,” Scott said to Janis, scooting his chair back with his legs. “This is a waste of time.”
But Janis remained where she was. David flashed a victorious grin
.
Yeah, up yours, Scott thought back.
“David,” Janis said, leaning toward the glass. “Scott’s right, you know. This isn’t one of those misdemeanor charges you can play legal jiu jitsu with in a local court. It’s murder one. A capital offense.”
David sat back in his chair, as though tiring of the conversation. “Oh, I don’t plan to argue my way out of this one.”
“Great plan,” Scott muttered.
“Can I ask why?” Janis said.
“You can ask.”
Janis cocked her head, showing annoyance for the first time. That seemed to revive something in David. Light glinted from his eyes, the skin around them folding into smile lines.
“Let me ask you something, dear Janis. Would you water your garden right before a rain storm?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Oh, it has to do with everything.”
Janis’s brow furrowed as her lower lip pouted out by degrees. Scott called it her problem-solving face. He didn’t know why she was even bothering. David was obviously toying with them.
“What you’re suggesting…,” Janis began, then paused. “What you’re saying is that preparing a legal defense is pointless because some bigger event is going to overtake it, regardless.”
David applauded slowly, mockingly.
“I believe your friend there is still imagining an actual garden,” he said of Scott.
A searing heat stung Scott’s cheeks, and he began to sputter. “And you’re still … still a—”
“Tell me, David,” Janis cut in. “Who’s he going to kill next.”
David’s gaze cut sharply back to her.
Wait, what? Scott asked, stunned.
He knows that the killer’s going to strike again, Janis replied. And he knows that whenever that happens, he and his friends are free birds. That’s why he’s not planning to do anything.
“I have many skills,” David answered, “but reading a killer’s mind is not one of them.”
“You don’t have to read his mind. He wanted Dr. Fields dead for the same reason you threatened him.”
David recovered his grin, but it no longer appeared to be a natural feature of his face.
“Tell me,” Janis pressed. “Who else did you want dead?”
David pushed his chair back. “It’s been a delightful visit, my friends, but I believe we’ve all tarried here long enough.”
“Hey,” Scott said. “She asked you a question.”
He’s done, Janis thought-spoke. We’re working at cross-purposes. Any outcome other than the killer striking again jeopardizes his chances of being released. He doesn’t want the killer stopped before that happens.
David must have seen the worry on their faces because his lips pulled from his fangs again. “Ta-ta.”
“Wait, since you brought up gardens earlier,” Scott said. “What about yours?”
David paused. “Ah, that,” he answered after a moment. “A pity you happened upon our farming sundries illegally.”
“A pity,” Scott agreed. “But, you know, Janis and I had the most pleasant stroll through Murder World yesterday evening. We know you told us never to go back there, but, well, we figured you had more pressing concerns than a couple of romantic-minded teens.”
“And it was such a nice night,” Janis said, catching on.
Scott turned to her. “It was a nice night, wasn’t it? Mild. Breezy, but not too.”
“Oh, but what about that stink behind the Bloodsucker ride.”
“There was a stink, wasn’t there?”
“Sort of skunky,” Janis said.
“Very skunky.”
“Like something was, I don’t know, growing beneath the ride?”
“We just need to figure out who to call to check it out.” Scott turned back to David, whose lips had gone perfectly straight. “Hey, you know the town a lot better than we do. Would that be a job for parks and recreation, or would it be better handled by the Murder Creek police department?” He paused for a full beat. “Of course, we wouldn’t have to make that call at all if…”
David’s eyes burned into his for a long moment.
“You want to know where I found that shirt?” he said at last.
16
Janis watched Scott unfold the map they had picked up from Murder Creek’s moribund visitors center and spread it over the coffee table. The returning bus had dropped them downtown in the late afternoon. Upon returning to the beach house, Janis was sure Scott’s parents—or at least Mrs. Spruel—would demand to know where they had been, but she was so absorbed in a phone call when they walked in that she only gave a distracted nod. Mr. Spruel was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was probably combing the beach again.
Janis helped Scott press the map flat.
“All right…” Scott scanned the map with a finger. “David said ‘New Car Road,’ which I’m pretty sure is County Road Twelve. Here.” He tapped the blue line twice. “And then he said something about a shack and a hand pump…”
Janis nodded as she leaned over the map.
Though David had eventually given them the location where he’d found the shirt, he had done so vaguely. Their follow-up questions had made the muscles in his temples tense. By the end of their meeting, all charm had left him.
As Janis studied the county road, a small revelation struck her.
“This is the road we drove in on that first day, right?”
“Yup.”
“Do you remember that vagrant we saw? The one pushing the shopping cart?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, he pushed the cart off the sidewalk and onto a dirt path. That would have been about here.” She circled a spot with her finger. “And there was a shack nearby. I’m not sure if it had a hand pump, but there was definitely a shack.”
“Do you think the vagrant is the killer?”
“He did seem a little crazy,” she said, remembering how he had shouted at them as they had driven past. “But if he lives back in those woods, near where your father’s shirt and some of the other stolen items were found, he might at least have some idea who dropped them.”
“Sounds like a lead,” Scott said, then peered out the sliding glass door. “Starting to get dark, though. First thing in the morning?”
Janis brought a strand of hair around to her nose. She didn’t like the idea of giving the killer another twelve hours to operate in the shadows. But neither did she like the idea of wandering into some dark and unfamiliar woods where he was potentially staked out. She could always project herself there, try to perceive who she and Scott would be dealing with. Even though her ability to remote view into unfamiliar places was still screwy, she might—
Mrs. Spruel hung up the phone with a clang.
“I’m sorry, kids, but we’re cutting the vacation short,” she announced.
Janis spun toward her. “Huh?”
“What are you talking about?” Scott said.
“What am I talking about?” Mrs. Spruel was in the kitchen, snapping open a paper bag. She began pulling food packages from cupboards and dropping them inside. “Has it occurred to you that there’s been a murder here? This town has clearly degenerated beyond the point of rehabilitation. Especially with that Beanpole or Walpole or whatever he calls himself in office. I just got off the phone with an area realtor. She happens to agree with me. If we don’t sell now and cut our losses, we would be looking at the very real prospect of being stuck with the property.”
Scott grumbled, “The realtor agrees with you because she wants the commission.”
“And your father and I were planning to put the appreciation in home value toward our retirement!”
“Do we have to go home tonight, Mrs. Spruel?” Janis asked. The idea of leaving the small community to the mercy of a killer opened a jar of moths in her chest.
“The realtor wants to host an open house here on Tuesday,” Mrs. Spruel answered. “She needs tomorrow to get the plac
e ready and then, of course, the next day to host the event. So yes, hon, we need to clear out tonight.”
Mrs. Spruel cannoned back the top of a red cooler and began scooping the contents of the fridge into it.
We have to do something, Janis thought toward Scott.
The door to the garage swung open and Mr. Spruel snapped in on his thick flip-flops, his metal-detector propped over one shoulder. Beneath his swell of stomach, his mesh fanny pack jingled and jangled. The worry lines receded from Scott’s face.
Maybe my dad will nix the idea.
“Stanley, I need you to go upstairs and pack our suitcases,” Mrs. Spruel said. “We’re driving back to Gainesville tonight.”
“Gee.” Mr. Spruel looked around and dug at his goatee. “Already?”
“Yes, already.”
“Hm. Okay.”
Ugh, came Scott’s voice.
“Look, Mom, Dad.” He stood from the couch. “I get where you’re coming from, but why not wait for this all to pass? Potential buyers aren’t stupid. They’re going to use the murder as a reason to bid the price down. Six months, a year from now, this is all going to be history.”
“I think I know the mind of a potential buyer a little better than you, mister,” Mrs. Spruel shot back.
Scott circled the couch, his hands held out as though placating a giant hippo whose pond he was wading into.
“I’m just saying to give it some time.”
“Well, time is something we cannot afford.” Mrs. Spruel jammed an eight-pack of Oscar Meyer wieners into the edge of the cooler. “What if there’s another sensational crime? What if there’s another murder, for Pete’s sake? With the ditch the mayor has driven this town into, that wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Our home value would end up in that ditch, as well.”
Janis cleared her throat. “If we leave, there will be another murder.”
Mrs. Spruel froze where she knelt and raised her blinking eyes. “What did you say?”
By Janis’s read, directness was their best chance. She walked around the couch until she was standing beside Scott.
“You’re aware of our abilities,” she said. “We’ve actually been using them for the past few days. The first thing you should know is that the four men who were arrested are not the killers.”
XGeneration (Book 5): Cry Little Sister Page 11