by Anthony Izzo
“What do you think?”
“Awesome,” Emma said.
“Oh yeah,” Chris said.
Cassie greeted them at the door, hugging each one of them and telling Chris how tall and handsome he was.
“Don’t let it go to your head, too-tall,” Paul said.
She led them to the great room where Ronnie waited, pacing back and forth in front of the bar.
He gave them a broad wave of the hand. “C’mon in, guys. Have a drink. It’s on me.” He guffawed at his own joke.
A table stood in front of the bar and on it rested a glass bowl filled with ice cubes. Bottles of grape Crush were tucked into the ice, beads of moisture dribbling down their sides.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Emma said.
“No problemo,” Ronnie said.
Cassie slid into the room behind them and came up behind Chris. She rested her hand on his shoulder and said, “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“I have a little bit of a gift in that regard. Why don’t you tell me about it? Maybe I can help you.”
“I don’t know if you could.”
She took him by the hand and led him to the couch. Chris sat down and Cassie did the same.
“I can help,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk in front of the guys and Emma,” Chris said.
“You’re among friends here.”
He told her about the problems with Robbie Munch and how he eventually wound up suspended from the basketball team.
“Now his dad’s upset with him,” Jack said.
“Yeah, he’s a real maniac when it comes to sports,” Paul said.
“I can make arrangements so that things are better for you. I can fix things, right, Jack?”
He wasn’t sure if she meant the healing job she had done on him the other day, so he nodded, hoping he was on the same page with her.
“How would you like to stay here for a while? Away from your father so things can cool down a bit.”
Chris said, “It would be nice to get away from him for a while.”
“Stay as long as you would like,” Cassie said.
“One problem, too-tall,” Paul said. “Your dad will never go for that.”
“Leave that to me,” Cassie said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Winter.”
“Cassie,” she said.
John entered with an armful of pizza boxes, and for the next half hour they feasted on pan pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, and onions. John still seemed awfully quiet, nodding at them as he came in and leaving quickly, as if he had something important to do. His normally rich brown skin looked gray. Maybe he was getting the flu.
After the pizza, they played Foosball, darts, pool, and when those became boring, they went into Wrestlemania mode, smashing each other with fake clotheslines and body drops. When they were tired out, all five friends plopped on the couches near the big-screen television. Ronnie offered up a dare.
He said, “When you guys come for the sleepover, I’ve got a great dare.”
“Remember what happened the last time we tried something like that?” Jack said.
“You’re not a chicken, are you? We’ll go out into the woods and do dares. Like who will go farthest into the trees by themselves. No flashlight. Or who can tell the scariest story.”
“We can tell scary stories inside,” Emma said.
“Yeah, and there’s three feet of snow out there,” Paul said.
“Not a good idea, Ronnie,” Jack said.
“We’ll see.”
He got a gleam in his eye that the devil would have envied. Something told Jack they were about to take another ride on the roller coaster that was Ronnie Winter.
John wrapped himself in a blue wool blanket and collapsed onto the couch, his head still singing from the hurt Cassie had put on him. It was all he could do to drag himself to Pizza Hut to get the food for the kids and then drive back to his house. Her interrogation session had left him with a pounding headache. The blood pulsed through the veins in his head, each throb reminding him how close he came to dying.
If Kempf called again, John was to tell him he made the story about the Wraith up and not answer questions. Cassie told him if he talked to the detective again, he would not only never see his wife and son again, but she would flay him alive. The woman was a powerful motivator, you had to give her that.
He was about to drift into sleep when the phone rang.
“Son of a bitch phone.” He reached behind his head and picked up the receiver.
“John, It’s George Kempf. Where the hell are you?”
“Hmmm?”
“You were supposed to meet me and Chief Ramsey.”
“I won’t be able to make it,” John said.
“Well, you’d better change that. This whole case could be riding on what you told me at Rudy’s.”
“I didn’t tell you anything at Rudy’s. And even if I did, I won’t repeat it to you.”
Silence came from the other end, punctuated by heavy breathing. He sensed Kempf was gathering steam, like a locomotive speeding from the distance.
“What kind of crap are you trying to pull on me? Do you have any idea how this is going to make me look? I promised the chief someone who knew more about the killer. Not to mention that more people might die because of this. What is it again? The Wraith?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry.”
“What’s sorry is the bullshit you’re giving me. Don’t make me have you brought in.”
“That’s the only way I’ll come down. I have to get going.”
“Just tell me one thing. Did she put you up to this? She did, didn’t she?”
“I have to go, Detective.”
He hung up the phone.
It was then he considered leaving the estate for the first time, maybe traveling to Chicago, where his brother lived. Sam would put him up for a little while, and it would put some distance between him and Cassie Winter. He doubted even her powers could reach that far. In his heart he knew his wife and son were gone, most likely murdered in the same way Ronald Winter had been killed. His only hope was that they were at peace somewhere and that their torment had not lasted long.
The only thing keeping him from packing up his bags was Ronnie. In the absence of his own son, Ronnie had filled in nicely, and the boy needed a guiding hand. The other kids who befriended him were a start, but he sensed that their friendship with Ronnie was due more to fear of Cassie than the desire for true companionship. That led to another dilemma. If Jack and his friends slighted Ronnie in the smallest of ways, Cassie could hurt them.
Can’t let her hurt those boys, he thought.
So he would stay, not give her any trouble (at least not openly), and keep an eye on the children.
Right now, though, he needed sleep. The inside of his head felt as if it had been lashed with pricker bushes. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Kempf slammed the receiver down with such force that the momentum knocked the phone off the side of the desk. It sounded like a gunshot in the small office. Cursing to himself, he bent down and picked up the phone.
“Problem, Tank?”
He was back to being Tank again. Ramsey must have cooled down about the newspaper article. “Phone service is bad.”
“When’s your witness coming?” He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.
“He can’t make it down today. Not feeling well.”
“I see.”
Ramsey smirked, and Kempf had the sudden desire to punch him in the mouth and see how many of those perfect teeth he could loosen.
“I’m going to reschedule a meeting with him.”
“If you say so. Just remember what I said about the Winter Estate. I promised Cassie we wouldn’t pester her. No need to.”
“So she’s Cassie now. I didn’t realize the two of you were on a first-name basis.”
“Mrs. Winter. Is that bet
ter?”
“I can’t just walk away from it. She knows who the killer is and she may be harboring him. I don’t know why you think that’s so ridiculous. I’ll go back up there, and if it means my job or it means suspension, then so be it.”
“It’s your future, Tank.”
With that he walked away.
Kempf had graduated in the middle of his class at the police academy. He was never the fastest one to complete physical drills, or the one to score highest on the tests. There were no commendations in his file, but no reprimands, either. He became an average detective in a small town where, up until recently, there was no crime. But he never gave up, and this case bothered him so that his own stomach seemed to be intent on devouring itself. Despite what Ramsey said, he would not bow out gracefully.
He would go back to the estate again.
CHAPTER 34
Jack pulled out his books, checked his locker mirror, and smoothed his hair with his hand. It was the day of the Christmas dance, and he had to look good, because he would be seeing Emma in a few minutes. He shut his locker and turned around to find Vinnie, Leary, and Harry standing there like trolls.
“Hey, faggot,” Vinnie said.
“I’ve got to get to class.”
Vinnie placed a hand against Jack’s chest. “I got detention because of your fat friend. You guys are going to pay for that.”
“You dumped garbage on him.”
“Shut up,” Harry chimed in.
“We’ll be looking for you at the dance,” Vinnie said.
As they walked away, Harry hawked up a wad of phlegm and spat it on the floor at Jack’s feet. Jack wrinkled his nose. It was like dealing with a subhuman species disguised as seventh graders.
Chris, Paul, and Emma joined him at his locker a moment later.
“What did the Three Stooges want?” Chris asked.
“They want to beat the crap out of us again,” Jack said.
“What do you mean us?” Paul said.
“You, me, and Ronnie. Vinnie’s mad because he got detention and he thinks its Ronnie’s fault.”
“I’ll walk home with you guys. They won’t bother you if I’m with you,” Chris said.
“Thanks, but they said they were going to get us at the dance tonight,” Jack said.
“Then we’ll stick together and nothing will happen,” Emma said.
Chris nodded, affirming her statement.
“Are you really going to stay at Ronnie’s house?” Jack asked him.
“I’m thinking about it. Maybe it will make my dad appreciate me a little more than he does. Get him off his sports kick.”
“If you do, be careful,” Jack said.
“You guys worry too much.”
The homeroom bell dinged, and the remaining stragglers in the hallways scattered like roaches caught in a kitchen light.
Kempf had called nine times before John picked up the phone again. He had hung up on Kempf another three times before Kempf could get anything out of him.
“I told you I didn’t want to talk,” John said.
“I don’t have time for bullshit so I won’t waste words. Help me find it.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Take me into the tunnels. I’ll get a search warrant.”
“You’ll get us both killed.”
Kempf rolled a yellow pencil between his fingers. The receiver was tucked into the crook of his neck.
“It’ll kill again. You said so yourself,” Kempf said.
“I don’t care. I’m getting out of here soon.”
“I don’t believe that. Ramsey doesn’t want me going near that place again. Any ideas why?”
A pause, then John clearing his throat. “She probably has a hold on him.”
“I have an obligation to do my job.”
“Spare me the hero cop rap. Talk to those boys. They saw it too.” Another pause. “I have to go.”
The phone clicked, and the dial tone rang.
He needed John to change his mind. John knew the tunnels, and Kempf didn’t. Regardless, he would still go after the killer, but having John present would make it easier.
He pulled out a phone book, found the Harding address, and wrote it on a scrap of paper. He did the same with the Fussel address.
At the Fussel house, he slogged through the snow toward the door. Bare wires poked out from where a doorbell had been removed. He rapped on the storm door, and after five minutes, a lumpy bearded guy came to the door.
“What do you want?”
His breath smelled of sour beer.
Kempf flashed his badge. “Detective Kempf, Brampton police.”
“So?”
“Are you Mr. Fussel?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m looking for your son, Paul.”
“He ain’t here. You’re a cop, right?”
“Last time I checked I was.”
“Neighbor kidnapped him. They think I’m beating him. You believe that?”
“I don’t know you well enough to say. Where is he staying?”
The man scratched his head and flakes of dandruff tumbled off his scalp. “Hardings’ house. Down the street. And I want to file charges against them.”
“For?”
“Kidnapping. Like I said.”
The guy had been into the bottle and Kempf had no trouble imaging him smacking a kid around. He didn’t have time to deal with this. Let Social Services handle it.
“Bring my son back.”
He reached out and patted Kempf on the shoulder, nearly stumbling out the door.
“I want to ask Paul some questions. Is that okay with you?”
“Just bring him back to me.”
Kempf walked away and underneath the wind, Mr. Fussel grumbled about kidnapping.
Kempf pushed the Hardings’ doorbell. A balding man who looked like the blueprint for bankers and computer guys answered the door.
“Can I help you?”
Kempf flashed the badge.
“Detective Kempf. I’d like to ask your son and his friend a few questions.”
“Is Jack in trouble?”
“No. He might have seen something in regard to the murders in town.”
“Jack?” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “I’m sorry. Come in,” he said.
Kempf took off his coat and sat at the kitchen table. The boys came out dressed in button-down shirts and wool dress slacks.
“Paul’s father gave me permission to talk to him.”
“That’s fine,” Mr. Harding said.
The smaller kid looked like he couldn’t wait to go to the bathroom. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. That had to be Paul. The other kid was taller and regarded Kempf with a cool gaze.
The boys sat down and Jack’s father joined them at the oval table. A moment later Mrs. Harding buzzed into the kitchen. Kempf stood up and introduced himself. Her handshake was soft, like squeezing a glove stuffed with cotton batting.
“What’s this about?” she said.
Wearily, Kempf explained the purpose of his visit.
“You’re not suggesting they’re involved, are you?”
“They’re not on the list of official suspects.”
She took a seat at the table next to Jack and it became apparent he was going to talk to the entire Harding clan.
“Do you guys know John Brown? Cassie’s assistant.”
They looked sheepishly at each other, then at Kempf.
“He’s Ronnie’s limo driver,” Jack said.
“John tells me you saw something in your garage.”
“That’s news to me,” Mr. Harding said.
“We did,” Paul said. “Are we going to jail? ’Cause I’ll get killed in juvenile hall.”
“You might get the chair,” Kempf said.
Paul watched him, perhaps trying to determine if Kempf was serious.
“Can you describe the man you saw for me?”
“He was tall and he had bandages over his face. No eyeballs,”
Jack said. “And he wore coveralls.”
“That’s right,” Kempf said. He took a look at Jack’s mother. She was whiter than copy paper.
“How did you know that?” Paul asked.
“I’ve seen him too. He’s killed two people and will probably try for more unless we catch him.”
“Jack, what the hell happened?” Jack’s father said.
“We were afraid to tell you.”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Kempf said, taking out his steno book and pen.
Jack told the story, how he and Paul went out to take care of the trash and they spotted the bandaged man at the window. Apparently they freaked, and John showed up to scare the bandaged man away.
Kempf sensed anger rising from Mr. Harding like lava in a volcano. “Don’t be too upset, Mr. Harding. The boys are okay now and they’re being a tremendous help.”
“You’re not going to the dance,” Mrs. Harding said.
“What dance?” Kempf said.
“The Christmas dance at school,” Paul said.
That explained the dress clothes.
“Mary, you can’t stop them from going,” Jack’s father said.
The woman frowned.
“Please, Mom?”
“All right. But I’m dropping you off and picking you up at the door. And you can’t leave the gym for any reason.”
“Cool,” Jack said.
“Did he say anything to you?” Kempf asked.
“No. He just smelled really bad,” Jack said.
“And his skin was cold,” Paul said.
“Tell me again what happened after John showed up.”
“It grabbed him by the throat and then it left. Ran,” Jack said. “And how could he find us with no eyes?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mary Harding said.
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Harding. I saw it too,” Kempf said. “How did you boys meet Ronnie Winter?”
Paul told the story of how they met on the snow hills behind the police station.
“Have you been to the estate?” Kempf asked.
They both nodded.
“I talked to Mrs. Winter and she seemed very protective of Ronnie. What do you guys think?”