by L. T. Ryan
Dinner was good. The beer dessert had been better. During my meal, Sam called to let me know he’d picked up Ella and my mother and had them safely at his house. Confident they were okay for the night, I settled in on the couch for a little TV time.
I’m not sure what time I fell asleep. I hadn’t made it to Letterman. Hadn’t even seen the late news. Probably better. That stuff can be depressing. I knew it was two in the morning when the doorbell rang, though. The cable box said so.
Chapter 33
It felt like hours had passed since Debby had last heard the banging. In the time since, she’d dozed off a few times. How long? She had no way of knowing. Of all the things that were in Beans’s backpack, there was no watch. They found some snacks, which were welcomed to say the least. A bottle of water, which they split equally, as best they could tell. His books were in there, and two small flashlights. Debby took one, Beans the other. Neither had been brave enough to use them, not even to make sure they worked.
As she lie there wondering what had hit her in the face, she fought against the temptation of pulling the flashlight from her pocket and turning it on. What if the men were out there? They’d see the light and come in and take it from her. At the very least, that was all they’d do. They might beat her for it. The ceiling creaked. Footsteps followed, a pattern of three steps, then a pause. The steps resumed as the walker went from one side of the room to the other.
Debby reached over and shook Beans’s leg. He kicked back in response. She needed for him to wake up, so she shook him again. Not too hard, though. She didn’t want to make his arm move and cause him any more pain.
“Get up,” she whispered.
“What?” he asked, sounding groggy.
“Quiet down.” After a pause, she added, “Did you hear that?’
“Hear what?” he whispered.
“Those footsteps.”
She felt a slight breeze as he shifted forward, followed by the smell of his lotion. A few moments passed. His hand wrapped around hers when the footsteps started again.
“I thought whoever was up there had left,” he said.
She nodded, and then realized that he couldn’t see her. “Me, too.”
The sound of the steps went around the perimeter of the room once, then twice. After that, they crossed to the middle and stopped right above them. Debby dug her nails into Beans’s left hand.
“I’ve already got one broken arm,” he said. “You squeeze any tighter, I’ll have two.”
She let go and said, “Sorry.”
He laughed softly. She wondered how he could do that through the pain of a broken forearm. She’d broken her leg in the past and could still remember how bad it hurt, and they’d given her pain medication. She didn’t get to take all of the pills, of course, thanks to her mother.
The sound of a door opening and then shutting echoed through the small room. A second set of shoes walked on the floor above. The door opened again. A third person entered the room. The steps became a hodgepodge of clicks and clacks that reverberated inside Debby’s head like an unmatched drum set.
“Who do you think it is?” she asked.
“Has to be them,” he said. The fear had left his voice. It was as if locking Beans in this room with Debby and having a broken arm had made a man out of him. He had to protect her. She was impressed by his resolve. Maybe she’d never have to protect him from the other kids again. Beans the Recess Yard Conqueror would make them pay for years of previous torment.
It sounded like two distinct sets of feet passed overhead. A snare and a bass. They traveled in the direction of the door. At least where Debby figured the door was located. A couple minutes passed. Debby hoped that the ruckus was nothing more than a changing of the guard. The overnight shift taking over for the late shift. Please, let it be that, she thought.
The scraping sound against the door that held them inside the room told her otherwise.
She attributed the sound to a piece of wood or metal that they used to secure the door. A lock could be picked. Maybe not by kids, but why take chances, right? But barricading the door would prevent any chance of Debby and Beans escaping the dirty dungeon.
The scraping stopped. A thump and a click followed. Maybe another lock, she guessed. For a second she felt hopeful that they were being rescued.
“Get behind me, Debby,” Beans said.
She didn’t. Beans would not take the fall. She stayed right beside him, clutching his hand in hers.
The door opened, grating across the floor. The doorway remained dark for a moment, then it erupted into light. The bright artificial sun had returned. Pain shot through Debby’s eyes all the way to the back of her brain. The hope that she held for a rescue attempt disappeared with the darkness.
“Opposite sides,” the guy said.
Debby held onto Beans’s hand, and he hers. Neither of them moved. She covered her eyes with her free hand, using it to block out the bright bulb. She made out the shape of the man who’d taken Beans from the recess yard. Behind him was another man. Maybe the guy who drove the van.
Who remained upstairs?
The guy duck-walked his way through the doorway. He looked at her, then Beans. “Opposite sides!” he shouted.
Beans clutched her hand tight, refusing to let her go.
“You little bastards,” the guy said. “You want another broken arm?” He pointed at Beans.
“Go ahead, break it,” Beans snapped back. Beans the Brave. His story would be told from the highest slide at every playground across the country.
The guy smiled. “Oh I will. And then I’ll break hers.”
Beans let go of Debby’s hand and then scooted along the floor to the other side.
“Beans,” she said.
“Just do what he says, Debby,” Beans said.
“Yeah, Debby,” the guy said. “Do what I say.” The smile on his face broadened. He’d cut his hair down to his scalp since she’d last seen him. She thought he looked like some kind of sick dog, hunched over and ready to pounce. She bet that if she looked closer, there would be drool hanging from his mouth. “Move!”
Debby jerked to the side. She crawled to the wall and leaned back against it. Inspiration filled her at that moment. “What do you want with us?”
The guy stared at her and said nothing. She looked past him and noticed that the other man had left. Where had he gone? Why had he been there if he was only going to leave again?
Her questions were answered a moment later.
The guy reappeared. He ducked down and stuck his head into the room. Once again, he looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place him.
“Get the girl,” the man outside the room told the other guy. “And leave the boy for now. He’s the important one. She’s just…trash.”
Debby had been called many things during her short life. Nerd, geek, loser, dork, pain in the ass, dumb little kid, and a few others that she’d blocked from her memory because they’d come from her mother. But she’d never been called trash. She never wanted to be called that, because there were only two things you did with trash.
Throw it away, or burn it.
“Come on girl,” the buzzed head guy said.
She balled up and began to cry. The man wrapped his hands around her upper arms and dragged her along the floor.
“Let her go,” Beans said.
“Don’t you move,” the other man said. It sounded like a gun was cocked immediately afterward. Debby didn’t open her eyes to check.
“Debby,” Beans said.
She wanted to call out to him. So many things to say, so few feet left to say them in. I love you, Beans. Be careful, Beans. Cooperate, Beans. Tell my mom I love her. She wasn’t sure if the last one was true or not, but at least it would make her mom feel better. Not a single word escaped her mouth, though. She felt herself hoisted into the air and heard the door slammed shut. She opened her eyes and saw a thick board being placed across the door. Then her world went black. They’d sl
ipped a hood over her head. The footsteps returned moments after. Close, this time. Underneath her. Thump, thump, thump. Up the stairs they went.
Inside? Outside? It was all the same to Debby, who remained in the dark.
Chapter 34
I rolled over on the couch and felt around the floor for my pistol. Cold steel brushed against my fingertips. The gun had somehow ended up underneath the ottoman. I grabbed it, rose and walked to the door. Unlike Lana’s front door, mine had a peephole. I peered through to the dark porch. The light was off. I expected to find Vinson and Braden on my porch. The figure I saw standing there belonged to a female. I couldn’t tell who, though. Definitely not Lana.
“Open up, Mitch,” the woman said.
I took a moment to place the voice. The distinct southern accent was not one you heard around these parts that often. It belonged to Bridget Dinapoli.
“Come on, I know you’re there.” She tapped against the door lightly. “You blocked the light in the peephole.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “All right, give me a moment.” I looked to my right. A full-length mirror hung on the wall. I stood there in my boxers and nothing else. What would the neighbors say? Who cares, I thought. I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Bridget stood on the porch, about two feet from the open doorway. She had on blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a logo I couldn’t make out in the dark. Her hair splashed across her forehead and cheeks, and hung over her shoulders. It framed her face. Made it seem softer. She smiled at me and stuck her thumbs in her front pockets.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s late. I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking I should apologize.”
“For sending your guys after me?”
“What?” she leaned back. “Sam told me about that. I had nothing to do with that, Mitch. I still don’t know who did, but I’m trying to find out.”
I studied her for a minute. She looked sincere, but that’s what made the best liars successful. Came with the territory. “Well, what are you apologizing for then?”
“I feel like this mess you’re in is my fault.”
“You didn’t make me hit another man.”
“But I might have contributed to extra stress that in the end sent you over the edge.”
I laughed at this. “A murdered woman contributed to this. A murdered principal, gunned down in front of his school, contributed to this. A girlfriend with a broken leg and concussion, two kids taken, that’s what contributed to this. Believe me, Bridget, you had nothing to do with this. I’m used to dealing with adversity on the job. I leave it at work. Besides, you already eased up. This morning is water under the bridge.” I paused and shook my head. “Then that asshole goes and makes a comment about Lana. It set me off.”
She nodded. “I’m sure that’s a touchy subject.” She reached out, placed her hand high on the door frame and leaned forward. “I’m sorry about that, too.”
“About what?”
“I…” She straightened and hiked her thumb over her shoulder while looking to the side. Her hair whipped around. I caught a whiff of the scented shampoo or conditioner she used. Lavender, I thought. “I should probably leave. I think I’ve overstepped my boundaries and said too much.”
I took a step back to unblock the doorway. “Come on inside.”
“I shouldn’t.” She retreated a couple steps back.
“You came all this way. I think I’ve got a few beers in the fridge in the garage. Might as well come in for one. We’re both up.”
Bridget chewed on her bottom lip while looking toward my feet. After a moment, she agreed to come in. I waited for her to pass, then shut and locked the door.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“Beer first,” she said without looking back. She stopped at the end of the hall and waited for me to lead her to the garage. I opened the door and flipped on the light. “Nice Mustang.” She walked over to the Boss and traced her fingers along the hood. “This a seventy?”
“Sixty-nine. All original.”
“How long have you had it?”
I opened the fridge, pulled out two beers and opened them with the bottle opener mounted to the freezer handle. “A little while.”
“Gift to yourself when you became single?”
I shrugged and looked away. “Let’s get back to Lana. What’s there to be sorry about?”
“Fairchild said he sent you the transcripts of his interview with Ben McCree.”
I recalled seeing the message right before Vinson and Braden knocked on Lana’s door. I’d forgotten about it until that moment.
“Did you read it?” she asked.
“I haven’t.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I can right now.”
“You might want to be alone.”
My curiosity was beyond piqued. “That’s okay. Come on.”
We walked back into the house. My garage wasn’t very well insulated, so the air was hot and damp out there. The kitchen felt like Canada in comparison. My laptop idled on the kitchen island. I ran my finger along the track pad to wake up the screen. A few moments later I had the email open and scanned the transcript. When I saw Lana’s name, I stopped. I glanced over at Bridget. She tried to hide the concerned look on her face. I returned my gaze to the screen.
Fairchild said, “Tell me about Lana Suarez.” He noted in the transcript that McCree smiled.
McCree said, “She’s a special one, all right. She’s been with us since she was a student teacher. We got along real well. Real, real well, if you know what I mean.” I imagined the guy lifting one of his eyebrows high into his forehead or winking. McCree continued, “I couldn’t let her leave, so I had to clear a position. This old bat, I can’t even remember her name now, well she chose to retire early and Lana Suarez took her position.”
“Chose to retire early?” Fairchild asked.
It was noted that McCree nodded.
“Continue.”
“Well, every year, hell every semester, brings in a new crop. I usually have nothing to do with the women afterward. They go back to school and then onto their new jobs at schools elsewhere. But Lana and I kept seeing each other on and off. I guess seeing is the wrong word. It’s just sex.”
“When’s the last time you saw her outside of school?”
“A couple weeks ago. At my place.” It was again noted that Ben McCree smiled.
I’d read enough. Betrayed wasn’t a strong enough word to describe my feelings. I closed the lid to my laptop and finished off my beer.
“I’m sorry,” Bridget said.
I glanced over at her. “Want another?” I asked, tipping my empty bottle in her direction.
She shrugged, pouted her lips and said, “Sure.”
A minute later I returned from the garage with a six-pack of beer. Stuck four in the fridge and opened two.
“You okay?”
I sat down across from her. “I’d say I can’t believe it, but, after nearly twenty years in this job, nothing surprises me anymore.”
Bridget nodded, took a sip from her bottle and said nothing.
“The thought that it wasn’t going to last, or that it was going nowhere, was there. Ella, my daughter, enjoyed her company. Lana had started spending more time with her recently, watching her at night for me when I got stuck on a case. I guess I thought something could grow from it. It had only been four months, after all. But this, man, I didn’t expect this.”
“We never do.”
My gaze shifted from the ceiling toward Bridget. I dipped my chin halfway to my chest. “You speak from experience?”
She nodded.
“Recently?”
She nodded again.
I glanced down at her left hand and saw the tell-tale sign of a recent divorce. A thin pale line below the second knuckle of her left ring finger. She moved her hand below the countertop.
“Sorry,” I said.
�
�It’s okay, Mitch. These things happen.”
“I suppose they do.” I took a deep breath and exhaled, letting my lips flap. “Want to talk about it?”
A few tense minutes passed where we did not speak. Our gazes crossed paths a few times. Uncomfortable stares between two strangers who knew too much about one another.
“Was there anything useful from the McCree interview?” I asked, re-breaking the ice.
She shook her head. “He answered everything perfectly. Saw nothing. Knows nothing. Hates his brother, but feels compelled to help him out in hopes that the guy would change his ways. Hadn’t seen Lipsky in years. Said he’ll take responsibility for the hire.”
“Responsibility?” My voice rose in anger and my chest and arm muscles tightened. “Then he can carry his ass to jail since he’s responsible for getting those two children kidnapped.”
She reached over and placed her hand on mine. “I know, Mitch. Trust me, they are going to go after him once this is all over.”
“They?” I asked.
She stared at me for a moment before answering. “I don’t know if I’m on this case anymore. All those changes, Major Crimes and the Mayor, just posturing to get us removed.”
“I see,” I said, nodding.
“My guys did find out that the little girl, her name’s Debby Walker, her family is pretty poor. No real reason for a motive there. Mother’s a piece of work. Said she seemed distraught enough, but something was missing.”
I felt my heart break a little. Would the girl truly be missed by anyone if she were never found? “The motive, well, they said it looked like she attacked the guy that took the boy.”
Bridget nodded, placed her forearms on the counter and leaned over the island. “Bernard Holland. They call him Beans. His parents recently started calling him Bernie, at the kid’s request. The poor thing, he’s got a ton of health issues, asthma, as we learned earlier, being the least of them.”