Dead Air

by Michael Bradley

  He looked at her through the back-seat window of the police car. Her eyes were red, puffy, and held his for a moment with a vacuous gaze. She looked frail and helpless. He was reminded of his daughter as she was driven away from his home the morning they’d come to arrest her. She’d pleaded and cried, clawing at his arm as two officers handcuffed her wrists and dragged her from the house. His wife had stood behind him, not saying a word. A precursor of sorts to what was to become of their marriage. He tried again and again to justify his actions, explaining that he had a duty to uphold the law. He was only doing what he thought was right, but his wife never understood. “She’s your daughter, goddammit,” his wife had said more than once. The divorce came the week after his daughter was convicted and sentenced.

  “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day. Thou canst not then be false to any man,” he said quietly, reaching for the car door handle.

  Kaitlyn stepped from the police cruiser and stood before him; her eyes turned down toward the ground. Her shoulders hung heavy in shame. “Am I under arrest?”

  “For pepper-spraying a homeless man?” He shook his head. “No. It was a mistake. He’s going to be fine.”

  “I feel . . . so stupid. He didn’t threaten me. I panicked.”

  Rodney slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He frowned, shuffled his feet, and then said, “It happens to the best of us.” He realized how superficial his words were and shrugged as if to apologize for the perfunctory response.

  She tried to avoid eye contact, glancing along the trail behind her. But he saw the fear in her eyes despite the detached facade she struggled to maintain. Rodney felt sorry for her. He’d seen stronger people crushed by less hell than what Kaitlyn was going through. However, his sympathy for her was curbed by the knowledge that her suffering was, in part, self-inflicted. If she would only open up . . .

  He studied her carefully, noting the dark shadows beneath her eyes. This business was taking its toll on her. Even more reason for him and Julie to make some progress, sooner better than later. Rodney knew that Kaitlyn was hiding her past from him. If she would just confide in him, they could get to the bottom of this more quickly. Maybe, he wondered, it was time to get things out in the open.

  He gestured back toward where his car was parked. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  They walked side by side in silence for a few moments. Kaitlyn kept her head down, while Rodney glanced ahead along the trail. She coughed, probably still trying to clear the pepper spray from her throat.

  “Things are getting serious. There’s been an attempt on your life, and your fiancé is dead,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what this is all about?”

  She never looked up, just kept her head bowed and continued to walk. “I’ve told you everything.”

  Perhaps Julie was right. It was time to put on a little pressure. “No. Tell me about the Shallows . . . Laura.”

  She gasped and halted, turning to face him. Her eyes were wide with surprise. It reminded him of his daughter on the morning he confronted her over the hit-and-run. “You know?”

  “Some. I know your name was Laura Hobson, and you were the last person to see Jesse Riley alive. I think it’s time we talk about it.”

  Kaitlyn glanced away toward the cemetery, which was just visible through the trees. She seemed to be weighing her options. He stood in silence, making a careful study of her face, looking for a hint to what she was thinking. Perhaps the fact that he knew so much already would get her to open up. While he waited, a breeze blew through the trees and swirled around them. The rustling branches sounded like a thousand distant whispers, calling out from the graves beyond. Eerie. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being observed. He took a quick glance up and down the trail. The uniformed officer was speaking to one of the EMTs while the other EMT helped the homeless man into the ambulance. The officer looked toward Rodney and gave a nod as if to signal he was preparing to leave. There was no one else in sight. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe Kaitlyn wasn’t the only one being affected by this case.

  Without turning toward him, she said, “Take me home so I can shower.” She paused, then added, “Are you free to go for a drive this afternoon?”

  He nodded. “Where are we going?”

  “To the Shallows.”

  30

  During the drive across the Commodore Barry Bridge, Rodney attempted to rouse some form of conversation from Kaitlyn. Perhaps elicit more detail about where they were headed and what it had to do with Brad’s murder. But despite his best efforts, she said very little. She remained slouched in the seat next to him, her arms folded, head turned to gaze out the passenger window. He turned, at her direction, left onto Route 322 off the bridge into New Jersey. Passing the exit for Bridgeport, he recalled coming to the town’s small race track once as a teenager. The roar of car engines and smell of exhaust fumes returned to him. The trip had been his father’s attempt to bond with his son, but Rodney’s preference had always been an evening in the library.

  When Kaitlyn gestured for him to turn off onto a narrow side road, Rodney saw wooded acres interspersed among sprawling farm fields. The occasional farmhouse dotted the rural landscape. The street sign read Center Square Road.

  “Turn here,” Kaitlyn said, pointing to a dirt-covered road leading into an overgrown field. It was barely wide enough for his car. He’d have driven right past it if she hadn’t pointed it out. He drove slow and easy, careful to steer around the deep craters that littered the road. The overgrown weeds formed a thick wall on either side of his car. No one has plowed here for ages. The cloud of dust that rose behind the car obscured his view in the mirror.

  As he drove onward, Rodney saw a line of trees ahead, stretching the length of the field. At first sight, the barrier looked impenetrable, but, as he drew closer, he saw an opening where the dirt road passed through the center. The sunlight dissolved as he drove into the thick foliage, the overhead tree branches creating a canopy of impenetrable shadow.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “We’re almost there. Just around this bend.”

  The road turned sharply to the left, and Rodney saw the sunlight break through a small opening in the trees ahead. Passing out of the shadowy backwoods, the road widened and circled around to the right as it entered the overgrown yard. An old farmhouse loomed out from the wild grass. The windows of the first floor had been boarded shut; a gaping black hole was where the door should have been. Most of the second-floor windows had been broken, and a portion of the roof had collapsed into the attic. The decayed wood of the weather-beaten slat siding was a sickly shade of gray.

  He drew the car up to the front of the house. “Nice place.” He opened his door and climbed out of the car. “Has a real welcoming feel to it.”

  Stepping from the car, Kaitlyn stood silent with her hands in her coat pockets, staring at the dilapidated house. “Jesse and his family lived here. The house wasn’t in all that great a shape back then either.” She turned to look at Rodney across the car roof. “They moved away shortly after he died. They never found anyone to take over the farm.”

  As he walked around the car, Kaitlyn moved toward the broken porch stairs with slow, cautious steps. Rodney touched her arm. “It might not be safe.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

  As she mounted the stairs, Rodney heard the wood creak in protest. He reached for the stair rail, more out of instinct than need. The railing shifted under his touch; the rotten wood broke free and fell to the ground. Treading cautiously up the remaining stairs, he stopped behind Kaitlyn. She was motionless in the doorway, transfixed by the darkness beyond, and didn’t seem to notice his approach.

  “If thou gaze long into an abyss,” he said, “the abyss will also gaze into thee.” Rodney placed his hand on her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch. “You probably shouldn’t go in.”

  She shook her head. “Just revisit
ing some old ghosts.” Kaitlyn turned to face him. Her eyes were moist and held a deep sadness within. “I spent a great deal of time here when I was a teenager. Almost every other night. They were like a second family to me.”

  Kaitlyn walked down the porch stairs and moved off along a narrow path beside the house. Rodney followed close behind, listening as she continued to speak. He wondered if she was talking to herself more than she was to him. Her words were distant, as if she was carrying on an inner monologue rather than a conversation.

  “We met in high school. Jesse was a year older than me,” she said. “I was always welcome here. Day or night.” Rodney noticed that she kept her head bowed as she walked, never looking to the right or left. “Mr. Riley worked the farm. Jesse helped out before and after school. I remember playing in the corn fields. Running through the rows and rows of stalks. Jesse, me, and his little sister.”

  Rodney glanced back toward the house. They must have walked half a mile, he reckoned. Ahead he saw a sparse line of trees. Did he just hear a car rush by?

  “They never had a lot of money. Just getting by on what came in from the farm,” Kaitlyn said. “Jesse told me that his dream was to become a doctor. He wanted to support his parents so they wouldn’t have to work the farm anymore. But they could never have afforded to send him to medical school.”

  They passed beneath the trees, and the ground sloped down to the water’s edge. Kaitlyn halted, gesturing before her. “Detective, welcome to the Shallows.”

  The pond wasn’t large—the length of a football field, and half as wide by his estimation. Rodney figured it would be an easy swim from one side to the other and wouldn’t leave even the most amateur of swimmers winded. A dilapidated dock stretched out into the water, the front corner dipping below the surface. The pond’s opposite bank sloped up to a wire fence, on the other side of which was the interstate. A blur of red flashed by along the highway, leaving behind the whoosh of a speeding car.

  He stepped to the pond’s edge and surveyed the algae-covered water. “This is where Jesse drowned?”

  Kaitlyn nodded, then moved to a nearby bench. The pavilion that covered it looked as dilapidated as the dock. He sat down next to her, hoping the old rotted bench would hold their combined weight. In front of them was a short, sandy beach that led down to the water.

  “We came here all the time. It doesn’t have a real name, but we always called it the Shallows. It’s not too deep, but you can’t stand in the center without it being over your head. This is where you’d find us swimming every day in the summer. And in the winter, we’d come here to ice skate.”

  Rodney pointed toward the pond. “You’d swim in this?”

  The corners of Kaitlyn’s mouth curved upward. It was the first that he’d seen anything that remotely resembled a smile since they’d started this trip. “The water was clean back then. This . . .” She looked down at her feet. “Just the passing of time.”

  He followed her gaze back toward the scum-covered water. Green algae drifted in aimless clumps on the pond’s calm surface. A dragonfly skimmed across the surface, landing on a branch that was half-submerged.

  Rodney leaned forward and clasped his hands together, allowing them to hang down between his knees. “Tell me what happened.”

  Kaitlyn breathed in deep, then sighed loudly as she exhaled. “Jesse and I came down here one evening. April 25th. I’ll never forget the date. We’d been lounging on the dock. It was getting dark. Jesse was telling me about the acceptance letter he’d gotten from the University of Delaware. He was brilliant. Could’ve gone anywhere, but he’d only applied to schools that were close to home. I’d like to think that he’d done it to stay close to me, but I knew it was more about his family than about keeping our relationship going.”

  “You were assuming it would end when he went to college?”

  She shook her head. “Not assuming. I knew it would. I was planning to break up with him over the summer.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the interstate. “Too many of my friends got hurt when their boyfriends headed off to college. I didn’t want to be one of them.” She shrugged. “He didn’t need some teenage high school sweetheart holding him back.”

  Rodney followed her gaze, catching sight of a U-Haul barreling by. “What was he like?”

  “Witty. Smart. Good-looking. He was very popular in school.” Her voice wavered as she pondered her next words. “But he was troubled.”

  Rodney looked down at his brown leather shoes, shifting them in the sand beneath his feet. “What do you mean?”

  “Jesse could be a bit—what’s the word—manic. His episodes were rare, and he did a good job of hiding them from most people. But I was all too familiar with his sudden outbursts. So was his family.”

  He glanced at Kaitlyn, noting a tear moving down her cheek. “Did he ever hurt you?”

  Kaitlyn gave her head a vehement shake. “No. No. His episodes weren’t necessarily violent. More like he became ultra high-strung. He had his moments of anger, but he never hit me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Did he have one of those episodes the night he died?”

  She didn’t answer right away, just stared at the old dock. Rodney figured it was best to not push it, just let her speak in her own time. Her silence lingered until she finally spoke, “No. It was dark. He missed his step and fell off the dock.”

  “How’d he drown? You said the water wasn’t that deep.”

  Kaitlyn turned toward him. More tears fell from her eyes. She gestured toward the beach in front of them. “Over here, the water isn’t too deep.” She nodded toward the dock. “It’s much deeper over there. Even you would struggle to keep your head above water.” She paused. “There are spots . . . by the dock. Muddy spots below the water—two or three feet of thick mud—if your feet get stuck, the mud sucks you down. Worse than quicksand.”

  Rodney turned “He couldn’t get free?”

  “He was just out of reach of the dock. I managed to grab his hand for a moment, but I couldn’t pull him back up. He kept splashing and gasping for air.” She clasped and unclasped her hands, her voice wavering.

  “Is that how your blouse got torn and you got the scratches on your arms and legs?” Rodney said.

  She looked up, as if to question him. He said, “I’ve seen the police report on Jesse’s death. What happened then?”

  Kaitlyn turned away from him. “If you’ve seen the police report, then you know already.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  She snapped at him. “Why? Do you enjoy making me relive this horror? I’ll tell you the same thing now that I told the police back then.”

  He heard the agitation in her voice. He feared that she’d shut down completely and he’d get no further information from her. “I just want to hear it from your perspective . . . in your own words.”

  She sighed, crossing her arms. “When I lost my grip on his hand, I knew there was nothing else I could do. I ran back to the house for help. By the time I returned with his father, Jesse was gone.”

  Rodney stared across the water. It was still and silent. “Must have been tough.”

  “Today is April 24th.”

  “Yes. So?”

  She turned to him. “Tomorrow is the sixteenth anniversary of Jesse’s death.”

  31

  Kaitlyn once again slouched in the passenger seat as Rodney followed the signs back to the bridge and toward the city. They had sat in silence on the bench for close to twenty minutes before she rose, quietly walking back toward the house. She could tell he had more questions, but she was glad that he wasn’t asking them. Tired, both physically and emotionally, she didn’t want to think about the Shallows anymore. She simply wanted to go home.

  He flipped on the wipers as the first signs of rain spotted the windshield. “Why’d you change your name?”

  She didn’t turn to look at him, not even acknowledging that she’d heard his question. She wondered if being inquisitive was
a natural impulse for him, or if it was something he’d been trained to do.

  When she didn’t respond, he sighed and drove on, the monotonous rumble of tires on the pavement the only sound to fill the void between them. She listened to the droning, allowing it to subdue her weary mind. It was a few minutes before she spoke again. “Jesse’s death was big news around here. Everyone knew what’d happened. Everyone knew who I was. It must have been a slow news month because the story kept resurfacing in the papers. The final months of my junior year of high school, as well as my senior year, were hell. I’d become an outcast. Some thought of me as a harbinger of death. A few, a murderer.”

  As they proceeded up the Commodore Barry Bridge, Kaitlyn glanced out at the Delaware River. The encroaching storm had stirred up the water, forming small white caps on the river’s surface. It reminded her of the Shallows.

  “But his death was ruled an accident,” he said.

  “That sort of thing doesn’t mean much to a bunch of teenagers. To many of them, I’d killed Jesse.” She fell silent, and then added, “I’d been accepted to Rowan University. Do you know it?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s in Jersey, about twenty minutes from home. Close enough that my name was known. I wanted a fresh start in college. My parents helped me change my name. By the time I got to college, Laura Hobson no longer existed.”

  Rodney changed lanes to pass a slow-moving truck, grunting when he found a slow minivan in the lane he’d just drifted into. “Must have been pretty traumatic for you.”