“What do you want?” she finally managed, trying to get control of her emotions.
“Half a million,” he said. “That’s the price for your life.”
It occurred to her that that was exactly half the amount the company had settled for. What was going on? He looked amused. “Yep. Half seems fair to me.”
Not so surprising that he would know about the settlement, she reasoned. It was published in the paper. But that was three months ago. He would have been in jail at the time. She realized none of this was random. He’d planned it all. But why? Why her?
“Trying to withdraw that kind of money will raise all kinds of flags,” she said. “They’ll figure someone else has access to my account and the bank will probably freeze my money and you won’t get a cent.”
“We’ll see. You have no idea who I am, do you, Abby?”
She looked at him, the tears still coming, even though she kept trying to stop them. She sat down on the edge of the big chair by the window again, her back to the yellow mound in the bed. “No. Why would I?”
“You were married to my brother.”
She could only stare at him, uncomprehending. Then she said, “No way. My husband was an only child. Someone like you could never be Corey’s brother.”
But there’d been something about him, hadn’t there? In the shape of his head, the way his hair grew in the back. Certain gestures that triggered a tug of familiarity.
“We weren’t full brothers. Half-brothers. We had the same mother.”
And then he told her the strangest story about the two people she had never really gotten to know, as she was sure Corey hadn’t either. According to Ken Roach, while Corey’s father was in Iraq, Corey’s mother met a man named Delbert Roach (everyone called him Del, he said) and they had a brief affair that resulted in a pregnancy. Nine months later she gave birth to a baby boy who would grow up to be this man in front of her. Corey would have been two at the time. “She never told her old man,” Roach said.
Abby connected the dots. Worried for herself and perhaps for her husband as well, thinking such news might increase the physical danger he was already in, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him in a letter about the baby.
“She ended the affair,” Ken Roach said, “but when her old man returned, he beat the hell out of her and told her to get rid of the baby or he’d leave her and take the kid— Corey— with him.”
So much made sense to Abby now.
“So she chose Carl Miller over me,” Roach said, a bitter smirk on his face. “Then she drove across town where my biological father was living in a rooming house and handed me over to him.”
“Your mother would also have lost the child she already had if she hadn’t,” Abby said. It seemed impossible that she was talking about Corey in this context. “Anyway, giving you to your biological father doesn’t seem to me such a terrible thing under the circumstances. He took care of you?”
She should probably be floored at this latest news, she thought, but somehow she wasn’t, just merely surprised. She supposed the mind could only process so many shocks in the run of an hour. That Ken Roach would turn out to be Corey’s half-brother seemed just another part of this hellish nightmare.
“I mostly took care of myself,” he said, “but yeah, we were tight. Till I was twelve, when he died. His girlfriend used to pretend to like me when he was around, but there was no more need once he was gone. She had no use for me and she let me know it. After a month or so, she met some guy who liked using me for a punching bag so I ran away and lived on the streets.”
“I’m sorry — Ken. You were just a child. I can’t even imagine how terrible it must have been for you. But you might like to know that Corey didn’t have all that great a time of it either.”
“Don’t tell me how tough my brother had it,” he snapped at her. “Did he ever scrounge trash bins for food? Sell himself for a meal? Sleep under a bridge, half frozen to death with only a sheet of cardboard between him and the open air and praying no predator would come in the night?”
“No,” she said quietly. “No, he didn’t. And if he’d known that’s how you were living, he would have been there for you. Corey was a good man.”
He gave no response to that. “My father told me everything before he died. I wanted to meet my brother. I even wrote him a letter when I was thirteen, but never got an answer.”
“His mother probably got to the letter first and destroyed it,” Abby said. “Enid Miller wasn’t a woman of great courage. But I’ve no doubt it was torture for her to have to give you up, Ken. It wore their marriage away. It was a cold house that your brother grew up in.”
Not long after Corey and Ellie were killed, Enid and Carl Miller finally split and she moved to Florida to live with an older sister. God, how she must have hated him for forcing her to give up her child. But she likely hated herself more. Carl himself suffered a stroke not long after and was in a nursing home. Abby went to visit her father-in-law once, but he didn’t know her.
“No, she wasn’t a woman of courage, was she?” Ken Roach said, ignoring the second part of her comment. “Do you know where she is? I had her address once but she’s not in Langston anymore.”
“No.” He was no doubt planning on paying a visit to his mother, but Abby seriously doubted it was because he was looking to begin a relationship with her.”
“You’re lying.”
“No. The family wasn’t close, I told you that. She left her husband and went to live with a sister somewhere. I have no idea where.” She wasn’t a big fan of Corey’s mother, but neither did she have any intention of putting her in harm’s way.
“Hmph. Maybe you’re telling the truth and maybe you’re not. Doesn’t really matter. So now that you know who I am, then you get why I have a right to half of whatever my brother had. Since he’s gone and you got the settlement from the accident, I want half. That’s half a million dollars.”
She didn’t quite follow his logic, but she got the intent. “I would give it to you gladly, Ken. I never cared about the money.”
Why was she calling him by his first name? Maybe because all she could see standing before her right then was the angry twelve year old he had been. Corey’s little brother. Had Corey known about him, she knew things would have been different. But he hadn’t known.
“Enough talk. C’mon.” He pulled the black knit hat onto his head. It changed the shape of his face, made it appear rounder, younger, which she guessed was the idea.
“Where to?” she asked.
“To use the computer so you can transfer the money. What else?”
She almost laughed but thought better of it. “You think I can transfer half a million dollars?” It was why he’d wanted Donnie to steal the laptop. She had guessed that was the purpose, but hadn’t for a moment imagined the amount he had in mind. He was insane if he thought his plan would work.
“Sure you can. It’s your account. Your money.”
She didn’t argue. Could she be wrong about that? She didn’t think so.
“You’re my wife, remember that,” he said, gripping her arm. “Look pleasant. We’re just going to send an email to your mom.”
Well, at least he didn’t know everything about her or he’d know her mother was dead. Not that it mattered.
Still numb with shock at the casualness of the vicious murder she had just witnessed, and his matter-of-fact manner afterwards, Abby let him lead her out of the room. He held her hand tightly while he made sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign was hanging outward on the doorknob before they proceeded down the hallway. She was relieved to be out of the stifling room, away from the corpse beneath the yellow blanket.
The hallway was deserted, although they did pass one woman on their way. She was just letting herself into her room. Once inside, Abby heard the woman slide the chain lock into place.
The desk clerk, an older woman with white hair, had been behind the counter when they checked in but apparently had gone off on some errand. T
hey went into the little alcove next to the lobby.
As Abby typed in her information into the computer and brought up the bank account, Ken Roach stayed close behind her, his hand on her shoulder. The kind of possessive gesture a husband might make. That Corey might have made. But this touch was not the same. It held only greed and violence. When the notice came up on the screen that $2,500.00 was the maximum amount she would be permitted to transfer to an account in Mexico, she felt his hand squeezing her shoulder.
“Why the hell should that be?” he said, keeping his voice low.
“It’s to protect the customer.” She’d been right of course. “And the bank. They wouldn’t want to have to repay that much money if this is something I’m being forced to do against my will. For all they know, I could be tied up someplace and it’s someone else who’s logging into my account. I am a missing person, after all.”
“So how do I get my money?”
“We could go into my bank, give them your information, and my permission to make the transfer.”
“Don’t be a smart ass.”
She said nothing.
“Log out,” he said.
“You don’t want the twenty-five hundred?”
“No. Log out.”
She did.
He took the phone out of his pocket and thrust it at her. “Phone your sister.”
“Karen can’t...”
“This is ransom money, Abby. So you make sure she doesn’t involve the cops. I’ve got nothing to lose. You convince her to make this work if she ever wants to see you again.”
“They’re just regular people, Ken. There’s no way they can come up with that kind of money?”
“That’s not my problem, is it?” He flashed the knife’s blade at her. Though he’d wiped it with the towel, streaks of blood remained, turning brown now. She looked at the blade, then back into his cold eyes, a paler amber than his brother’s, but without an ounce of humor or tenderness.
“They might be able to get a hundred thousand. But that’s tops. And that’s not a bad amount.”
“No deal. Half a million. Or you can make this your goodbye call to her.”
Abby dialed the familiar number. Karen answered on the first ring. Abby had thought she might be sleeping, but she should have known better. Abby had a hard time calming her down enough so that she could explain the reason for the call, but she finally managed.
“Whatever you need me to do, Abby,” Karen cried. “Just tell me.”
Abby complied. “Don’t call the police, Karen,” she said, keeping her voice even, at which point Ken Roach grabbed the phone from her hand. “Make sure you don’t,” he said. “And come alone. Or I’ll mail your sister to you in pieces, wrapped in brown paper.”
She could hear Karen begging him not to hurt her sister, that she would get the money somehow. He listened with that smirk on his face he so often wore. Then he told her where to bring the money.
Ken Roach had crossed over some invisible line, even in his own mind, she thought. He was right; he had nothing to lose. She had no idea what he would do next. She still could not stop rerunning the awful sounds and sight of Tattoo as he died. Choking on his blood, clawing at his throat as he gasped for life-giving air, his eyes filled with terror and helplessness. She had to remind herself of the little girls he had killed in terrible ways. And how terrified they must have been. Donnie had told her about that. And Tattoo would have killed her too, without a second thought. But then, so would this man standing next to her.
On the phone, Karen’s emotions had run the gamut between joy and terror. Hysterical, laughing and crying at the same time. Abby could hear Pete in the background, so there was no question of Abby keeping anything secret from him. She didn’t think Ken Roach had heard his voice or he would have mentioned it, not that he would give a damn. He was counting on Karen’s love for her sister to make things all work out in his favor. Karen had promised not to involve the police, but Abby didn’t see how that would be possible.
Abby hadn’t been sure how Karen would react to Ken Roach’s demands. She had a mind of her own and you just never knew with Karen. She was far braver than Abby, far more fierce in life. But she had promised to get the money as soon as the bank opened and bring it straight to him. She would follow his orders. “Just don’t hurt my sister,” Abby had heard her say. “Don’t hurt Abby.”
It was hard to hear her pleas. But at least she knows I’m still alive. It also made Abby feel somewhat comforted knowing that Pete would be in on this. Pete was a practical guy. He would insist on enlisting the help of the police, thank God, even if the bank didn’t, and of course they would. The last thing Abby wanted was for Karen to play heroine and come winging her way down here on her own to rescue her.
She had to make sure that nothing bad happened to Karen. And she wasn’t all that crazy about having her own throat slashed either.
She glanced up at him, noting only now that he was about the same height as Corey, maybe six feet or a little less. Holding her arm in a tight grip, he stared straight ahead as they walked to the exit and out the door. The knife was in his right hand, hidden, should a straggler in the night appear. And no one had to tell her how lightning fast he was with that knife.
Chapter 26
The funeral had been held the day before. The cemetery had smelled of upturned damp earth and too many flowers. Al Redding had stood with Betty among the mourners. It was a large crowd, even though many of Ethel’s and Hartley’s friends had already gone on to meet their maker. Still, there was a smattering of grandparents, faces he recognized, nodded to. There were old school mates and their parents. The caring and the curious. Friends and strangers. He saw no one who aroused any suspicion though, not that he really expected to, but you never knew.
Sally had fought to keep it together but looked as if she would crumble to the ground at any minute if not for the two young women on either side of her, literally holding her upright. Seeing the crushing grief on her face refreshed his anger at those who put it there.
The minister read a passage from the Bible. He was a young man with a voice that could have brought him success in radio or television. Finished the reading, he closed the book and nodded in Al’s direction. Sally had asked Al to read the eulogy, and though it was the last thing in the world he felt competent to do, he couldn’t say no to her.
Shoveling a small rattling of earth onto the coffins, he turned and faced the mourners and spoke his piece. It was short, but heart-felt, and he felt his eyes well up and his throat get tight, but he managed to get through it with only a stumble or two over the words. Finally, it was over and people were walking back to their cars.
After giving him a wan smile that said he had done fine, Betty invited Sally and her friends back to her place for refreshments. She invited him, too, but he said maybe later. He had an appointment.
Twenty minutes later he was on the elevator with O’Malley on their way down to the morgue which was located in the bowels of the hospital, where they were to meet with a pharmacist from Erinville.
As they walked down the long corridor, hearing their hollow footsteps on the floor, Al got a queasy feeling in his gut the way he always did no matter how many times he walked toward that door with the word MORGUE printed on it. He could already detect a hint of decaying flesh and formaldehyde even the activated charcoal couldn’t quite mask. The door opened and Al felt the change of temperature, the refrigerator-chill of the air. There was a soft buzzing of fluorescent lights. Beneath them, gleamed the stainless steel autopsy table, sliding drawers, and an array of instruments.
Calvin Barry was already there, standing just inside the door, hands folded together in front him like he was about to pray. Maybe he was. He wore a grey suit and dark-rimmed glasses, and though he looked about forty, had lost most of his hair. Al recognized the pharmacist from the description he’d given of himself on the phone. He looked more than a little relieved to see the two detectives. A tentative smile on his face, he
stepped forward and they shook hands. Al introduced O’Malley. Then they got down to business.
The morgue attendant pulled out one of the steel drawers and without preamble or hesitation, lowered the sheet from the corpse’s face. The man who had been beaten to death for a cheap laptop, had, through his fingerprints been identified as one Donald Leaman, also called Dog by some in the prison population who knew him. They also had his boot prints which matched those of the boots he had on when he was driven away in the ambulance. They didn’t need more, but the pharmacist from Erinville had insisted. And he had no trouble identifying the escaped prisoner, despite the victim’s face being battered as it was.
“It’s him,” he told them, as soon as the sheet was lowered. The words rushed from him as if he’d needed to get them out before he fainted dead away.
“He’s the man on the flyer. The same man I served in the store. I thought at the time he might be coming back with his friends, that he was just there to case the store, so I locked the door.”
“That was wise,” Al said. “You never know.”
Mr. Barry kept nodding, his face as white as the sheet that covered the dead man. They could have spared him this unpleasant task but he wouldn’t hear of it, and it couldn’t hurt to have added confirmation. Could be he just wanted to prove to himself it really was the same man. Or even morbid curiosity. But Al’s best guess was that the man simply saw it as his civic duty. At any rate, Mr. Barry would have quite a story to tell his grandkids if he chose to do that. They offered him a ride back but he said he’d driven here in his car. Al asked him if he was okay to drive, but he waved his concern off, said he was fine. Behind him, the corpse was being slid back into its dark space in the drawer. The sound of it closing sent a chill through Al. No one escapes the drawer.
Back in the car, Redding and O’Malley discussed what they had. The bank records showed that Abby Miller withdrew money from an ATM a number of times, always taking the max allowed. They were never more than a couple of hundred miles from Three Brooks when the withdrawals were made.
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