Two Guns

by Jette Harris

  “No, Mama, they’re just assisting. They think it might be related to a case in another state.”

  “Jovita said the FBI investigates kidnappings and human trafficking.”

  “It’s not human trafficking, Mama.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Byron sighed. “They think they know what happened, they just need to… need to get more evidence.”

  “If the FBI solves this case, they will take all your credit.”

  “I’m not going to get any credit, Mama; I’m not a detective. I’m just working with them, I’m not investigating.”

  Oforlea fell silent. Byron could practically hear her wondering why he had not been made detective yet. “Well, whether it is the FBI or your country friend or you, I hope they find your friend.” She didn’t trust a man with an accent as thick as Kondorf’s, and only referred to him as Byron’s “country friend.”

  Byron snorted. “Three friends, Mama. If it was just Witt, we wouldn’t be so worried.”

  “Witt? I do not mean that racist-ass boy. I mean your friend, the skinny one. The runner.”

  “Heather?”

  “Yes, Heather. I hope you find her. I know you feel for her.”

  “Mama!” His face burned.

  “What? You think you so slick. A blind man could see you like her. Every game, you looked around for someone. I knew it was her when you were talking, I call your name four, five times, and you still don’t look up. Ever since then, whenever she is around, you act like the rest of the world has disappeared.”

  Byron swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He buried his face in his hand. “Oh, God, Mama.”

  “What is it?”

  “Please, please, don’t tell anyone that. If anyone found out, I could be taken off the case.”

  “I thought you were not investigating the case?”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t be allowed to help.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Look, Mama, I gotta go. I’m gonna get ready for work.”

  “I thought you were sleeping?”

  “Not anymore. ThanksIloveyouBye.” He hung up before she could reply. Dropping the phone back on his bedside table, he covered his face and fell back onto the bed. “It’s not that obvious,” he said aloud.

  He took a long, deep breath and furrowed his brow. He shot back up, grabbed his phone, and hit Call twice.

  “Mama,” he said as soon as the call connected, “did you say ‘Jovita Moore’?”

  “Yes, of course. I don’t like that other man.”

  Byron couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “We were on Channel 2?”

  27

  Lauri Shatterthwaith sat with rigidly-erect posture. Aneta Vlasov was the opposite: sitting deep in her chair with the air of a woman drained of energy. They both, however, wore the same drawn expression. The officers bustling to and fro around the station did their best to avoid them beyond offering water or coffee. Tragedies like theirs were not supposed to happen in Cheatham Hill.

  Frank and Cathy Witt sat opposite the ladies. Frank brooded, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, clapping an open hand over a fist. Cathy glanced at the other women, but did not speak to them.

  Tech sat next to Lauri. His posture mirrored Frank’s: leaned forward, elbows on knees, but his hands were still, fingertips pressed together. His hands would quake, and he would press them together until the tremor passed. The Witts knew Tech by reputation: He had been notorious in Cheatham Hill and Kennesaw first for being the only soldier in the area to return from Vietnam, and second for getting sloppy drunk and brawling in bars. Lauri, however, was the only one who knew him as the sober man he had become in the past three years.

  Desperate to break the silence, Tech spoke:

  “Does anyone else know anything about these… other cases they mentioned on the news?” He didn’t usually watch the news, but he had done little else since Heather disappeared. Funny movies had become absurd, sad movies unbearable. It hurt to watch the news, but it was better than the possibilities running through his mind.

  “Phoenix,” Aneta murmured. She and Lauri exchanged a glance. “Detroit.”

  “San Francisco,” Lauri added. Swallowing hard, she continued, “Two men, two women.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her voice even, but it came out fast and strained: “He… he r-rapes them, keeps them for… for a few weeks, maybe a month, then kills them and burns the house down.”

  Tech lowered his face into his hands. He had heard the same, but he had trouble believing this could be what his granddaughter was experiencing. She was so strong, so fast, so clever.

  “What…” Everyone looked up, surprised to hear Frank’s voice. “What does he do with the men?”

  Everyone’s face fell. It took him a moment to realize why.

  ****

  “We need to find out what about their child may have caught his attention,” Steyer said, scribbling in his notepad. Remington nodded, shuffling through the victims’ files and making notes for his own questions.

  “And if they noticed—” Remington was interrupted by a commotion outside the interview room. They threw open the door to find Aneta and Frank yelling and pointing aggressively. Tech was blocking her with an arm. Officers crowded around, trying to calm them.

  “—won’t have a faggot returning to my household—”

  “—I can love my son unconditionally—”

  “—your son had the Stokes girl to whore around with!”

  Tech broke forth with a right hook across Frank’s jaw, knocking him to the floor.

  “Call my daughter a whore again!” Everyone stared in stunned silence. “Gran… granddaughter,” he stammered, straightening his jacket. Lauri wrapped her hands around his arm in an attempt to pull him back to his seat.

  Frank, rubbing his jaw, struggled to his feet. Steyer stepped between them. Hands in his pockets, he looked at each of them with his cool, composed expression, then swept his eyes over the women.

  “Your children are dying.” He paused for this fact to sink in. “Some of them may already be dead.”

  Cathy raised a hand to her mouth. She had somehow convinced herself her son was simply absent, not involved in this mess. Aneta stared, so pale, she looked as if she were about to faint. Lauri reached out to clutch her hand.

  Steyer turned, standing toe-to-toe with Frank. His eyes were hard now. “And did I hear you imply… your son would become gay because he was raped?”

  Remington scoffed and covered it with a cough. Frank’s mouth flapped, but nothing came out. Looking him up and down, Steyer shook his head.

  “We’re starting now,” he said, still standing uncomfortably close. “We’ll start with you.” He turned back toward the interview room and paused, twisting his wedding band. “Let’s just ask them everything,” he muttered to his partner before moving inside.

  Nodding, Remington motioned for the Witts to follow.

  ****

  By “everything,” Steyer included the self-incriminating questions they would ask if the parents were also suspect. Although this was not the case, the questions were efficient at shining a light on one’s failures as a human being. This was exactly why Steyer wanted to use them with the elder Frank. This was Steyer’s method of punishing him for his ignorant words.

  Those, however, would have to wait. The agents were focused on answering two questions: Why these kids? and Did they notice anything or anyone out of place?

  Since Steyer was still seething, Remington asked the questions, pressing his fingertips together. He rarely got to play Good Cop. “As we’re sure you’ve seen on the news, we believe Chuck and the other three students were abducted by the same man. He’s committed similar acts three times before, that we know of, and it’s always the same: two men, two women. Everything else—race, age, occupation—varies widely. We believe he abducts his victims based on appearance, but there could be other factors.r />
  “What we need to know is: Of all the seniors at Cheatham Hills, what do you think made your student stand out from the rest?”

  Frank stared at him. Remington fought to keep a straight face and a closed mouth. Cathy glanced from her husband to the agents and lowered her eyes to the table. After an awkward silence, Frank caved.

  “Uh…” he shrugged. “Chuck… well, he’s the best athlete at that school. Very… fit. He can be loud sometimes, I hear. People sometimes find him… intimidating, call him a bully. That’s all nonsense. He’s smart, if he puts his mind to it.”

  “Very attractive,” Cathy added in a small voice. Frank stared at his wife, his face flushing.

  “That is relevant.” Steyer drew Frank’s attention to him.

  “It’s a wonder he chose those girls, then.” Frank barked a laugh. Cathy turned to him, face red, eyes wide. Even Remington looked taken aback. Steyer was the only one who appeared unsurprised by the comment. He continued to stare at the man coolly. Frank cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the table. “Excuse me.”

  ****

  Aneta Vlasov, still in her Waffle House uniform, sat down across the table. Remington disappeared and returned with a coffee, setting it in front of her.

  “You are like my son,” she told him, sniffling. A placid expression came across her face, the closest she could get to pride.

  “Really?”

  “He is very thoughtful, like you.”

  Remington sat down and smirked. He had never considered himself thoughtful. “What other qualities make Zach stand out?”

  “Oh, he is not like that with everyone. Only people he cares for: me, his friends, that girl…”

  “Which girl?”

  Aneta waved her hand at the door. “The old man’s granddaughter… Heather.”

  Steyer lifted his eyebrows and took a deep breath. “Did you know your son and Heather had an… that they dated?”

  Aneta snorted and she took a sip of the coffee. “Agent Steyer, you and I both know that is not what they were doing.”

  “We were led to believe you did not know about that,” Remington said.

  “He was upset for a very long time. He did not talk, did not eat much. Finally, I stay home from work to talk to him. This upsets him, too, but he tells me.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  Aneta shrugged again. “I never know how to feel. Life here is very different from Ukraine. There, no one would think twice. Here, it is cause for concern. I am not concerned, as long as he is with me, and not with his father.”

  The men nodded. They had had a difficult time tracking down Zachariah’s father, but found him serving time for a DUI.

  “Is there anything else that might make your son stand out?” Steyer asked.

  Aneta smiled. “He is smart. Very smart. I don’t know where he gets that. He is strong. Helpful. Not unpleasant to look at.” She chuckled, shaking her head. Her smile became sad. “My son is strong, clever, and with people he cares for.” She nodded, taking consolation from her own words.

  ****

  “Monica… is beautiful…” Lauri said with a sigh. “She is… magnetic, sweet, endearing.” She rolled her eyes with an amused sniffle. “She can be a brat, but…” She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry my husband couldn’t come,” she said. “There was no one else to watch the kids. Usually that’s Monica’s job, or—uh—Heather’s, if Monica is busy. She’s right next door; It’s convenient.” She glanced at the door, placing a hand on the purse in her lap. She lowered her voice. “I didn’t want him to come, because I thought you… I thought this might help.” She pulled out an envelope and pushed it across the table.

  The envelope had been ripped open. The torn edges were soft with age. Remington turned it over. Monica’s name was written across the front in bright blue ink. There was a single piece of paper inside, tri-folded. Unfolding it, he found the same neat handwriting and the same blue ink. Monica’s name was at the top; Heather’s signature was at the bottom.

  Skimming it, Remington’s jaw went slack. His eyebrows crept up his forehead. He read it more carefully before pushing it over to Steyer. Steyer read it with interest, then sniffed.

  “Did you know about this?” Steyer asked.

  Lauri nodded. “Well, I knew… I knew Monica and Heather had… experimented with one another.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know it was anything other than that. I didn’t know Heather developed feelings. I didn’t think she was like that.”

  “Like what?” Remington asked.

  “Like… a lesbian. I didn’t think she was a lesbian.”

  Remington and Steyer exchanged a glance. “It’s not uncommon for young ladies to experience conflicting emotions like this in their formative years,” Steyer offered.

  Lauri nodded, taking another deep breath.

  “How long have you had this letter?” Steyer folded and returned the letter to its envelope.

  “Since Tommy and Jamal came to say they found the car,” Lauri replied. “I went searching through her room. She has a shoebox of letters under her bed. Most of them were stupid… high school, middle school stuff with her teammates. This was at the bottom.”

  “When did this take place?” Remington asked. “This… experimenting?”

  Lauri pressed her fingers over her mouth, looking down at the floor. “They were thirteen. I think it started at the end of eighth grade. I don’t know when. I don’t know how long it lasted. I caught them… late June. They said it wasn’t long.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “There’s so much I don’t know. They were just little girls. They are still just little girls!”

  ****

  Steyer tried not to let it show, but he was nervous about interviewing Tech. At the house, they focused on what happened to each of them after the war. When the conversation steered to Heather’s disappearance, Steyer had to watch as his old comrade digested the idea she was likely being raped, beaten, and starved.

  “Well,” Tech pointed out after a long silence, “you’re here. If you’re here, after forty years, then maybe—” He cracked a strained smile. “—maybe everything else we believe is wrong.”

  Steyer had nodded. He nodded now, as Remington showed Lauri out. He was about to beckon Tech in when he noticed Steyer’s expression.

  “Need a minute?”

  Steyer tapped his fingers on the table to bring himself back to the room. “No. Show him in.”

  After the warmth of their reunion, the two men seemed awkward now: Tech avoided looking at his old C.O. and Steyer kept flipping through his notepad, as if they were both reminding themselves, We are professionals. This is serious. This is an investigation.

  Steyer cleared the air with an uncharacteristic wave of his hand. “Tech,” he began, leaning forward, “was… is there anything about Heather that would make her stand out?”

  Tech shrugged. “I… no. Not really. Looking at her, there’s nothing that stands out, not like Monica stands out. But… there’s nothing about her that doesn’t stand out, if you know her. All you have to do is listen to her, or talk to her, or be around her for a few minutes, and you would realize that.

  “She’s a good kid… most of the time. And she’s brilliant.” Tech’s eyes lit up with pride. “French, poetry, science, even mechanics—there is nothing she encounters she does not meet with… deconstructive understanding. My old Mustang, she can pull up the schematics, play with it for a few hours, and have it revving… at least for a bit. And she can run. Running is like breathing to her. Just… just get her out the door, and she will run… run to freedom.”

  Falling silent, Tech sniffled. “Now, tell me something…” He looked from one agent to the other. “Tell me, honest, what’re her chances? What are the chances of Heather—of any of them—coming home?”

  Steyer dropped his eyes to the table. He opened his mouth, but closed it again.

  Remington tapped his notepad. “There have been four selected vic
tims in each city,” he replied, “and none of them have survived.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “That’s not counting two police officers and one federal agent who were murdered in the course of investigation.”

  Tech turned to Steyer beseechingly.

  “I want to say something encouraging, or comforting. I really do,” Steyer said, not looking at him. “But we started the San Francisco investigation after a week, only a week, after the victims disappeared, and the house still went up in flames. So unless someone has seen something, or thinks of something we haven’t thought of…” He chose his next words carefully: “It hurts to say this, but you should prepare for the worst. ‘Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.’”

  Tech stared as his words sank in. “I—um—I have a… a plot… for me…” His body shook. Tears filled his eyes. “For me!” He banged his fist on the table and spread out his hands in supplication. “There’s nothing… nothing I can do? Nothing? Anything?”

  Shaking his head, Steyer squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want to watch the old man’s heart break.

  ****

  Steyer walked Tech out of the interview room with a hand on his shoulder. Lauri had waited for him. Tech put his arm over her shoulder, and she slipped hers around his waist.

  “We’ll stay in touch,” Steyer assured them.

  Remington nodded his good-byes and followed his partner back to their temporary office. Steyer stood before his desk, staring blankly at his chair and twisting his wedding band. He started when Remington tapped his elbow.

  “It’s coffee o’clock.”

  Steyer nodded. “Then the school, then…” He searched the ceiling for a plan and sighed.

  “Then more coffee and we regroup.” Remington patted Steyer’s shoulder. He had never seen the senior agent so despondent and it unnerved him. Steyer was supposed to be the focused, indefatigable one.

  They gathered the materials they would need for the school visit, nothing more. Grabbing their suit jackets from the coat rack, they headed out.