The Darkness We Hide

by Debra Webb

  A smile slid across her lips. “You have a deal, sir.”

  He extended his hand. “Fletcher Holmes.”

  Rowan shook the offered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Fletch. That’s what everyone calls me.”

  “Fletch. You should call me Rowan.”

  He nodded. “Well, Rowan, the place you’re looking for is off Highway 16, Keith Springs Mountain Road. Just stay on that road until you see Old Rowe Gap Road. Drive slow along that road. You’re looking for a yellow ribbon hung on a tree branch. Once you spot it, pull off the road. You’ll have to walk from there.”

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Take some cookies, candy bars or chips,” he suggested. “They don’t get snacks like that often. It might make what’s following you a little less problematic.”

  “Good idea.”

  Rowan walked out of the store with four plastic bags overflowing with a variety of cookies, candy bars and chips. If he’d had any fresh fruit she would have bought that as well, but he’d sold out earlier in the day. She stowed the bags on the passenger side, slid behind the wheel and headed back across town. Keith Springs Mountain Road was on the Huntland side of Winchester. The road rolled out into the country and then snaked up the mountain.

  The trip took a full twenty minutes. Her security team followed right behind her. She imagined the officer in the WPD cruiser had already reported her movements to Billy. She’d likely get a call anytime now.

  Once she’d made the turn onto Old Rowe Gap Road, she slowed down to a crawl and peered at the thick woods on either side of the road. He hadn’t mentioned which side. Probably depended on which end of Old Rowe Gap Road you started at. The road snaked through the woods and came out on Keith Springs Mountain Road closer to the base of the mountain.

  She missed the yellow ribbon on her first pass. But after turning around at the end of the road and retracing her path, she spotted it. Fortunately there was a decent shoulder to pull onto, rather than just a ditch. She parked and climbed out. With her cell tucked into one hip pocket and her key fob in the other, she slid her weapon in her waistband at the small of her back. After covering the weapon with her sweatshirt, she grabbed the bags. She bumped the door shut with her hip and hit the lock mechanism.

  She was several yards into the woods when one of the men shouted, “Dr. DuPont!”

  Rowan glanced back. The uniformed officer had gotten out of his car and was already following her, but the FBI agent didn’t appear so inclined.

  She paused for the officer to catch up. “Yes?”

  “Can you tell me where you’re going, ma’am?”

  “To see a friend. No need for you to tag along.”

  The federal agent now leaned against his sedan and had withdrawn his cell. He was probably calling Pryor. Nothing she could do about his actions.

  While the officer seemed to contemplate what to do, she moved on.

  The path wasn’t exactly clear, but she spotted the occasional broken limb or trampled brush that suggested foot traffic had been through. She stayed with the vague path. She hadn’t gotten far when the officer called out to her again.

  “Dr. DuPont.”

  She paused and turned back once more. He wasn’t far behind her. “Yes?”

  “Would you like me to carry those bags?”

  “As a matter of fact, I would.” This was precisely why she had made the snack purchases. Well, this and to be kind. Of course, she couldn’t take credit for the brilliant idea. That had been the store owner’s. Since the officer was determined to follow her into the woods, it was imperative that he appear a friend rather than a foe.

  She waited for him to reach her position, then she handed him the bags. “Thank you—” she glanced at this name tag “—Officer Gabrielle.”

  “No problem, ma’am.”

  Rowan picked her way along the path. Underbrush clawed at her jeans. Billy had told her Ms. Alcott’s place was considerably overgrown, so both yesterday and today Rowan had dressed appropriate. Hiking boots, jeans and a sweatshirt. She’d tucked her hair into a ponytail. She had never been more glad to dress so casually than she was now.

  “Does this friend camp out in these woods, ma’am? As far as I know no one lives out here.”

  “I was told he lives here,” she answered without looking back. “I suppose we’ll see if the information I was given is correct.”

  A partial view of the first gray top of a tent snagged her attention. Her pulse rate reacted to a blast of anticipation. As she moved closer, winding in the direction of the tent, more of the same came into view. The dwellers had positioned their tents more carefully this time. The colorful ones—reds, blues and yellows—were in the back nearer to the thicker trees and heavier underbrush. The sandy or gray ones that blended into the late-winter surroundings better were in front. All looked old, the colors faded with patches in the fabric here and there.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the officer behind her muttered.

  As they reached the small, main clearing, Rowan paused. “Officer Gabrielle, I’d like you to wait right here.”

  “Ma’am, I have my orders to keep you in sight.”

  “I think we can manage that without you following me any farther. The bags are for the people here.” Rowan smiled at him and moved on.

  He did as she asked, looking like a mannequin advertising a grocery store with those bulging bags in hand. She hoped the name of the convenience store stamped in blue on the white plastic would set the folks who lived here at ease.

  Faces peeked from their tents but only two dwellers emerged. Both men. Both looked directly at her.

  “You lost, lady?” the taller one asked.

  “No, sir, thank you. I’m here looking for a friend.” She tugged the cell from her pocket and pulled up a photo of Julian. Turning the screen so the two men could see it, she asked, “Have you seen him around here? He has dementia and I’m very worried about him.”

  The one who asked if she was lost shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

  The other looked from the screen to her and back. “I can’t be sure,” he mumbled.

  “What’s he here for?” tall man asked with a nod behind her.

  Rowan looked back. Officer Gabrielle was surrounded by children. Rowan did a quick head count. Ten kids. He was busy digging goodies from the bags and passing them out. She turned back to the two men. “He came to help me if my uncle grew combatant. He’s very ill. You might not recognize the problem when you first meet him, but he can’t conceal the trouble for long. He can be quite dangerous.”

  The two looked at each other. Rowan’s anticipation climbed. They had seen him. That was obvious in their body language and in their vague answers. Her heart started to pound a little faster.

  “There’s a tent over that way.” The shorter man hitched his head toward the north. “He stays away from everyone else. I didn’t get a real good look at him, but that might be your uncle.”

  “I saw Mr. Utter earlier today,” Rowan said. “Has he returned yet?”

  “He came through a few minutes, maybe half an hour, ago,” tall man said. “Went back to the tent he—” he nodded toward the other man “—mentioned.”

  “Thank you.” Rowan turned and waved to the officer.

  He handed the bags to the kids and headed her way. The two men who’d spoken to her ducked back into their tents. Neither wanted to risk the officer getting too close while they were out in the open.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “We’re going this way,” she said as she headed beyond the cluster of tents.

  When they had moved beyond the main cluster of tents, she spotted a lone one thirty or so yards in the distance, tucked into the trees and underbrush. As she drew closer, it was obvious this tent was not like the o
thers. It was new. Very sleek-looking. An expensive tent. Rowan instinctively reached beneath her sweatshirt and curled her fingers around her weapon.

  Gabrielle tapped her on the shoulder. She stopped, turned to him, and he motioned for her to let him go first. She started to argue but he was the one with the most field training, so she relented. Besides, the officer would have to answer to Billy if she refused his offer and his chief found out.

  They approached the tent as silently as possible considering the leaves and twigs layering the ground. Once again Gabrielle motioned for her to stay behind him. As annoying as it was, she did so. The entrance to the tent was unzipped.

  “Police,” Gabrielle announced. “Whoever’s inside the tent, come on out.”

  Rowan held her breath. No sound. No movement.

  Though every part of her understood that Julian likely was not in that tent at the moment, she was certain he had been here.

  Standing back from the entrance, Gabrielle used the barrel of his weapon to push aside the flap. When there was still no sound or movement, he crouched down and had a look.

  “Holy hell.”

  The horror in his voice sent a chill through her, sending goose bumps rising on her skin. Rowan crouched beside him to have a look.

  Owen Utter was in the tent, his throat slashed, blood still oozing from the wound.

  Gabrielle called for backup and emergency medical care while Rowan checked the man’s pulse. Nothing. Skin was cold. His eyes were wide-open. She used the flashlight app on her cell to check for a response from his pupils. Nothing. A massive puddle of blood had pooled on the nylon floor of the tent creating an ominous circle around his body. He was dead. No amount of resuscitation attempts would help at this point.

  She glanced around the interior of the tent and saw nothing but the blood. “There’s nothing we can do for him, Officer Gabrielle.”

  He nodded somberly. “I’ll need to protect the scene until backup arrives.”

  Rowan was aware of the routine, but he might not know she was an experienced investigator and she couldn’t wait. “Do you have gloves with you? I need to check inside his mouth.”

  Thankfully without questioning her, he opened a small pouch on his utility belt and removed a pair of latex gloves. “Here you go, ma’am.”

  Rowan thanked him and tugged on the gloves. Before when Julian left a victim in a similar condition outside the funeral home, he also left Rowan a note. Usually tucked into a small plastic bag and inserted into the victim’s mouth or into the wound itself. If there wasn’t a note in Utter’s mouth she would wait for the coroner to check the wound.

  Burt.

  Her chest squeezed. Burt wouldn’t be coming. An ache pierced her.

  Pushing aside the sad thoughts, she did a swipe through Utter’s mouth. They hadn’t found a note in Layton’s mouth, but this time could be different. Her breath caught when she encountered an object. She pulled it from his mouth and it was a small plastic bag with a folded paper inside just like the previous ones.

  Julian had been here.

  And Utter had been foolish enough to do his bidding.

  She removed the paper and unfolded it. Read the words scrawled in Julian’s bold strokes.

  Rowan, sorry I missed you. See you soon. Julian

  She pushed to her feet and scanned the woods now seemingly closing around them. Fury bolted through her. “What’re you waiting for, you son of a bitch?”

  Her words echoed through the trees, made her flinch.

  “Ma’am?”

  She ignored Gabrielle. He didn’t understand. He didn’t get it. Another person was dead because of her.

  * * *

  Within half an hour cops were combing the woods. The residents of tent city glared at Rowan as if she’d brought a biblical plague down on them. What they didn’t realize was that the plague had already been here and gone, leaving only one casualty. They were incredibly lucky only one of them had died by his hand.

  Rowan stood on the fringes of the buzz of activity. She felt cold and alone. How the hell did Julian keep eluding the police and the FBI? He was an old man, for God’s sake. Why wasn’t he exhausted from this deadly cat and mouse game?

  She was worn-out from it all. She wanted it to end.

  He had told her he would do this. He had promised that she would want the pain to end.

  “You got what you wanted, you bastard,” she murmured. “Now let’s finish this.”

  “Ro.”

  She lifted her gaze to Billy’s, at once grateful to hear his voice and dreading what he would say about her recent activities. Her statement had been given. Billy had asked the questions, but Pryor had been standing by. They knew about Utter’s visit and his message. Gabrielle had filled them in on all the places she visited before coming to this location. The idea that many of the tent city dwellers were already taking down their tents to move sickened her. She had brought trouble to their door yet again. Forced them to move. Though it was mid-March, many of the nights were still cold. Finding a usable location where they wouldn’t be discovered had to be difficult.

  This, too, was her fault.

  She summoned her failing wherewithal and responded to Billy, “Yes.”

  “Would you like Gabrielle to take you back to the funeral home?”

  That was the last thing she had expected him to say. She had anticipated that he would scold her for all that she had done this day. Going off investigating without him. Getting into things that might get her hurt. Failing to keep him informed. But he said none of that.

  “My car is out there. I can drive.” She took a breath. “Ms. Donelson’s viewing is tonight. I should get back, yes.”

  “I’ll have Gabrielle follow you and finish out his shift.”

  She stared at Billy, couldn’t help it. “Is that all?”

  Maybe she felt guilty for letting him down yet again. Maybe that was the reason she couldn’t be thankful he wasn’t giving her hell for not being careful enough. She wanted him to yell at her. To be disappointed in her actions. To remind her that she’d disappointed him like a dozen other times.

  He nodded. “That’s all I can think of at the moment.”

  She blinked. Decided she had pushed him over the edge and he couldn’t argue with her anymore. He was too weary of the battle to fight it any longer. Wow. She had really done it this time.

  “Okay.”

  She turned and started back toward the road.

  “Ro.”

  She paused, turned back to him.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  She nodded. Couldn’t speak without the risk of falling apart. Because she wasn’t okay. Another man was dead. Billy was disappointed in her and Julian just wouldn’t stop.

  The walk back to her car felt like a death march. She sensed the homeless people staring at her. They knew what she was. She was the reason trouble had descended upon them. She was the reason one of them was dead. When she reached her car and climbed in, she fought to keep the tears at bay.

  Julian Addington was not worthy of her tears.

  She had cried because of him too many times already.

  The victims were the ones who deserved something from her and it sure as hell was not tears. They deserved justice, damn it.

  By the time she reached the funeral home she was so furious she could scream. She grabbed her bag and stomped to the door. Gabrielle waved as he drove on past the front parking lot to take his usual position. The nondescript sedan the FBI agent drove pulled to a stop on the street in front of the funeral home.

  She unlocked the door and then relocked it after closing it behind her.

  Freud and Charlotte met her in the lobby. “You okay?”

  Rowan shook her head. Not trusting her voice. As if he sensed her distress, Freud trotted over to her and pushed his head under her hand.
She scratched him behind the ears, tried to smile. Failed.

  “Everything’s ready,” Charlotte assured her. “We have plenty of time. Why don’t you go relax for a while?”

  Rowan nodded and headed for the stairs.

  “There was a woman,” Charlotte said.

  Rowan paused at the newel post and turned back to her.

  “She stopped by a couple of hours ago and said she needed to see you. She said she had come a long way to find you.”

  Beulah Alcott’s words echoed inside Rowan. She had said a woman was coming—one who had come a long way to see Rowan.

  “I offered to call you,” she went on, “but she said she would come back tomorrow. She didn’t leave her name or a phone number.” Charlotte held out an envelope. “But she did leave this. Maybe her name and number are in there.”

  Rowan took the envelope, too tired to work up any specific emotion. She opened it and pulled out an old photograph. There was nothing else inside. The photograph was the sort taken with film and then developed. She instantly recognized one of the two women in the photo. Her mother. The other woman, a brunette, looked to be around the same age as her mother but she didn’t look familiar. She held a single, long-stemmed red rose. The two smiled as if sharing a secret only they knew.

  “Does this look like the woman who was here?” Rowan showed the photo to her assistant.

  Charlotte studied the image a moment. “It does. Her hair was sprinkled with gray and she was older, obviously, but I think that’s her. Yeah.” She frowned and looked closer still. “Is that your mother?”

  Rowan swallowed back the emotion crowded in her throat and nodded.

  “She was beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  She came a very long way to find you.

  Maybe this was the woman Alcott was talking about.

  Rowan would find out tomorrow.

  And maybe no one else would be murdered between now and then. Not that she expected this woman to provide any earthshaking information that would help stop Julian. Alcott had said she could help but Rowan wasn’t holding her breath.

  So far no one had been able to help.