by D E Dennis
Michael gazed at her, feeling a mix of distaste and pity. The seething jealousy on her face twisted it into something unrecognizable. It was clear there was no love lost between Harper and Ximena.
“A memorial piece is sweet, but people don’t want sweet.” Ximena sniffed, folding her arms. “A man kills three children and is finally caught when he tried to make his own children his next victims. That’s the news people are interested in. They want to know that Liam Antarr offered no defense, but was still given a light sentence. They’ll be interested to hear no one, not his lawyer or his cellmates, have heard him utter a word since. And they’ll just die when they find out the great hero who saved the children and brought Antarr to justice, was a murderer herself. If Harper was so great, she would have discovered that on her own.
“But no, the first article she writes that wasn’t handed to her is a puff piece but Ximena Cordova does not write puff pieces. I write the real news and I—”
“Wait.” Monica held up a hand, eyes growing wide. “Cordova? Ximena Cordova?”
She frowned, rant running out of steam. “Yes, Ximena Cordova,” she drew out like she was talking to an idiot.
“Cordova as in... Woodworking by Antarr and Cordova.”
Ximena immediately lost her sneer. Taking a step back, she replied, “What? What did you just say?”
“I said Woodworking by Antarr and Cordova.” Monica stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “We paid Liam Antarr a little visit today. On his porch, we found an old sign with the names Antarr and Cordova. Antarr owned a woodworking business twenty years ago and apparently, he had a partner. You know anything about th—”
“No!”
Michael lifted a brow. You didn’t need to be particularly observant to pick up on what Ximena Cordova was putting out. Eyes darting, fists balled, cocky expression nowhere to be found.
Michael grinned, stepping to his sister’s side. “We don’t believe you, Miss Cordova, and you see, my sister and I are great private detectives. We know what the police and juries like to hear. They want to know that Harper’s coworker had a grudge against her. Hating that she outshined her. They’ll be interested to hear that you have a connection to this case. And they’ll just die when they find out you hid that connection in the midst of a murder investigation.”
Monica mirrored Ximena’s earlier smirk. “So I ask again, do you know anything about that sign, Miss Cordova? Was Antarr’s business partner your relative?”
She shook her head roughly. “I said no.”
“Alright,” Monica replied with a shrug. “A couple of talented detectives like us. We’ll have no problem finding the information out on our own.”
“There’s nothing to find,” she cried, stumbling back. “Just leave me alone.”
She scurried away as fast as her heels could carry her.
Michael watched her go. “Mo,” he said, gravely. “Did you hear what she just said?”
“You mean about the hero who saved the children being a murderer herself?” she said softly, not letting her voice carry. “Yeah, I definitely heard that.”
“Rowan Presley? How can that be? And how could we have not known about it?”
She turned to him. “There seems to be a lot of things we’re missing here. The flash drive, Ximena, Presley, Kaiden. We know who killed her and why, but somehow this case just keeps getting more complicated.”
He nodded slowly. “We need to go back to the office. It’s time we pull out the big guns.”
“I agree.”
They took a few steps to leave when Monica stopped. “Hold on,” she said to him, and she ran back to Lyle’s desk.
Michael followed, walking up as she said, “...me everything. Everything that Harper had you collect for the article.”
“I don’t have her notes or drafts,” Lyle said. “That was erased with her hard drive. I only have a few addresses and some photos.”
“The photos are all I need,” she replied. “If Ximena won’t honor Harper’s wish to memorialize the kids, then I will do it myself.” She straightened, looking at Michael. “This weekend at the ball. I’ll dedicate a song to the children, and put together a video with their pictures. It doesn’t sit right with me that Harper most likely died for a piece that no one will ever read. I want to do what I can.”
Michael squeezed her shoulder. “I think that’s a great idea, Mo.”
They left with Lyle’s promise that he would send his research over as soon as he could.
“What a day,” Monica said after they climbed into the car. “I think I’m going to need a vacation after this one.”
Michael hummed absentmindedly, thoughts already turning back to the case.
MONICA SHOOK HER HEAD, hands on her hips. “And by big guns, of course, you meant that blasted whiteboard.”
Michael laughed as he erased the board, prepping it for another mystery-solving brainstorming session.
“It helps me to get it out of my head and see it laid out.” Michael uncapped a marker and got to work. “Alright, so this is what we know. It’s been almost twenty years since the Siren Woods Killer took the lives of three children: Andrea Taylor, Nicholas Milton, and Irina West.”
Michael wrote Liam Antarr’s name at the top of the board and the three children directly under him.
“The children were missing for weeks, having disappeared on their walks home from school. Soon the town finds out what happened to them after the body of Andrea Taylor is found. All three suffered blunt force trauma to the head and were left in a wood even the most experienced hikers feared to tread.”
Ella drifted into the breakroom to listen, taking a seat next to Monica.
“Detectives Singh and Rowe are assigned this case,” Michael continued. “They struggle, getting nowhere with no witnesses or a shred of physical evidence until they catch a big break. Rowan Presley, a woods-dwelling recluse, discovers Liam Antarr trying to abandon his own children in the woods, and she rescues them.”
Michael wrote Presley’s name next to Antarr before continuing. “The police know they have their man, but the lack of evidence still hangs heavy over their heads. They have proof of child endangerment, but nothing on the murders. A confession is their only hope, but Antarr never talks. A habit he has kept up according to Ximena Cordova. They can’t get a word out of him and fearing double jeopardy if he is tried for the murders and found not guilty, they don’t charge him with murder at all.
“Antarr is sentenced to ten years in jail, his children are sent away to a distant relative, and he never answers for what he did to those children.”
Hazel and Gregory are next to be placed on the board.
“Elias Rowe is tortured by this. The killer he couldn’t put away for good. The town he was supposed to protect but let down. Even his son, who was just a child, could see his father’s struggle. Kaiden watches Antarr destroy another life in the form of his father’s disgrace.”
Elias Rowe joins the board along with Kaiden. “Kaiden married the smart and ambitious journalist, Harper Taylor, but like so many others, Antarr’s cruelty has touched her life too. She cannot move past Andrea’s murder, nor can she stand that Antarr now has his freedom. Kaiden wants her to stay away from Antarr but finding the proof the police missed is her obsession.”
Harper’s name finally appears on the board, this time with an underline and a circle. “The twentieth anniversary approaches and Harper plans to memorialize Andrea and the other victims. She had her assistant collect photos while she conducted interviews. Somewhere along the way, she discovered something, no doubt the proof she has been looking for. Her computers are sent a virus and she is killed, burying whatever Antarr did not want us to find.”
Michael’s last act was to draw lines showing how everyone in the case was connected. Then he stood back.
Monica appeared at his side, studying the board.
“You see what I see, Mo,” Michael said softly. “Like a trail of breadcrumbs all leading to on
e place... Antarr.”
Slowly, Monica shook her head. “Let me see that.”
She slipped the marker from his hand and descended on the board, faint squeaks filled the room as she wrote.
Michael claimed her seat on the couch, settling in next to Ella.
“You’re right, Michael. This is all connected to Liam Antarr in some way. The children he abandoned. The witness who saw him. The cop that arrested him. The detective’s son who hated him. The woman who investigated him. But those aren’t the only connections.” She stepped aside, revealing her addition. There were a myriad of dotted lines, all leading to someone else: Harper Rowe.
“Since Liam Antarr had returned to Castle Rock, he hasn’t been involved in or suspected of a crime. Except for him silently and creepily stalking his children, he has kept his nose clean.” Monica’s hand flashed out, striking the board. “But then comes Harper. She’s been investigating him, trailing him, speaking to his former cellmates, and looking for anything that could put him away for good this time.
“This doesn’t sit well with Kaiden Rowe, son of the disgraced Elias Rowe. He already hates her job. Doesn’t even want to discuss it at home. The risk is too great in his eyes and he pressures Harper to stay away from Antarr.
“She may have done her best to keep that promise. She decides to do this article and instead focuses on her sister and making sure she and the other children are not forgotten. She digs into the past, tracking down all the people involved, and pursuing interviews with dogged determination. She even speaks with a wealthy recluse who shuts everyone out, only emerging from the woods to work. A recluse we just found out was involved in another death we’ve heard nothing about.”
She circled Rowan’s name twice for good measure.
“Harper is hitting the streets, putting together this article, all the while her coworker sits a few desks away, burning with jealousy over being passed over and hiding a few secrets of her own. Cordova was written on that sign right next to Antarr’s, but for some reason, she does not want us to know why. Maybe she didn’t want Harper to know why either.”
Monica looked back at Ella and Michael, her face grave. “Antarr is involved in this case, there’s no doubt about that, but he isn’t the only one at the center of it. Harper was digging back up the past and maybe it wasn’t just Antarr’s secrets that were at risk of being exposed.”
Michael leaned back, considering her words. “Are you saying Antarr might not have killed her?”
“I’m saying he might not be our only suspect. We haven’t looked into Ximena’s implications. We haven’t looked into Ximena at all.”
Michael sighed. “Well, let’s change that.” He turned to Ella. “We went to Liam Antarr’s place today and—”
“What did he say?”
Monica snorted. “Not a single syllable.”
“He didn’t speak,” Michael echoed. “But he did admit that he knew about Harper’s death and we saw a shotgun.”
“Was she killed with a shotgun?” Ella asked, covering her mouth.
“Yes, sadly,” Michael replied. “We also saw an old business sign with the name Cordova. Harper’s coworker with the same last name got all shifty when Monica brought it up. She practically ran away from us after that. Did you come across that name when you researched Antarr?”
Ella shook her head. “No Cordova. I found a few articles that mentioned his work, but he was only referred to as a woodworker. No official business name.”
“Alright, look into that,” he said firmly. “If there’s a connection between Ximena Cordova and Liam Antarr, we need to know about it. As for Rowan Presley—”
“Find out everything you can about her,” Monica said, taking a seat next to Michael. “She must be a very wealthy woman, but instead of living in Fairy Tails, she lives alone in a dangerous wood with minimal contact with the outside world. Why the self-imposed exile?”
“Penance?” Michael asked. “For the murder Ximena Cordova says she committed?”
“Murder?” Ella blinked. “Surely if she killed someone, she would be sitting in a cell, not a cabin in the woods.”
“You mean like Liam Antarr?”
Wincing, Ella replied, “You have a point.” She blew out a breath. “Alright, I’ll get started on all of that right away.”
They thanked her and then turned to each other.
“What’s our next step?” Monica asked.
“I was thinking about something you said today,” he replied, chewing his lip. “About knowing three people who could crack Lyle’s computer like an egg. Do you know anyone who could trace a computer virus?”
“Maybe. What are you thinking?”
“We’re in the same place those detectives were all those years ago. The suspect handed to us, but no evidence to convict. Well, that virus is evidence. The killer wanted what she knew gone forever. We may never find out exactly what it was, but if we can find out who the sender was—”
She sat up. “We’ll have evidence tying directly to Harper.” Just as suddenly, she slumped back into the couch. “We can’t get our hands on the laptop or the work computer though. The police have those locked away in evidence. Mira’s chief doesn’t want them telling us if one of the suspects has a papercut, let alone letting us fiddle with evidence.”
“Can’t they figure it out without the laptop?”
“They aren’t magic, bro.” She bit her lip. She shared that bad habit with Michael. “Dougie could hack into her accounts and see if the virus was sent through an email or something.”
“Great. Have Dougie do that.”
She laughed. “I can ask, but he was the one I mentioned that works at a price. We’d have to pay him and it won’t come cheap.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Michael said firmly, stomping on the voice that reminded him of his current bank balance.
“Okay, I’ll call him today before we leave for dinner.”
Michael nodded. “And I’m going down to the police station first thing tomorrow morning.”
“What? Why?”
He glanced away. “I need to speak to Samira’s boss. This always-being-two-steps-behind thing is crippling us. We haven’t seen the death threats yet. No ballistics reports. No nothing. We can’t keep working like this, not on this case or future cases. We all want the same thing, to put Liam Antarr away, so I need to convince her we’re on the same side.”
“Good luck,” Monica said, snorting. “She’s always had it out for you, ever since you dropped out of police training.”
Michael nodded, eyes still averted. “Time to see if she’s willing to let go of the past.”
His sister patted his shoulder and stood. “Don’t sit here obsessing over your whiteboard all night.”
Chuckling, Michael rose to do exactly what his sister told him not to do.
His pocket vibrated, and he paused to answer his phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Michael. It’s Hazel. You free tonight?”
Michael spared the board one more glance before looking away. “I don’t have plans for dinner.”
“Actually,” she sang out. “You do. Come by my place at seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
Michael hung up and, with a sigh, left the breakroom. That board didn’t have any answers for him and neither did his cluttered mind.
Almost a week had past, since he had been hired on this case, and he was no closer to getting justice for Harper Rowe.
Chapter Six
MICHAEL WOKE IN A SWEAT. The remnants of another nightmare evaporated from his memory like smoke, but the fear remained. He groaned, rubbing his tired eyes roughly.
This case is getting to me. It’s in my head.
Michael had a horrible feeling he couldn’t shake. One he couldn’t put into words. Maybe it was the shadowy figure he saw when he came out of Hazel’s house last night or the memory of Kaiden Rowe curled up on a couch clutching his wedding photo.
What was the word I used
for Kaiden? Oh yeah, unraveling.
The nightmares, the late nights, the fevered runs. Maybe Michael was unraveling. Maybe Antarr was going to take him apart like he had the detectives before him.
MICHAEL PARKED HIS car in front of the station. He didn’t get out right away, taking a minute to let his memories suck him in.
The memory of a twenty-four-year-old working three jobs while training for the one he always wanted. By his side, his beautiful fiancée who left her home and family to help him take care of his.
A smile spread across Michael’s face, before he realized what was happening. Things were tough back then, it was the hardest, most difficult time in his life, but he had her, Samira Reddy. He had her... until he screwed it all up.
Smile gone, Michael climbed out of the car and walked into the Castle Rock Police Station. It was a small outfit. Castle Rock didn’t see much crime, although that had changed recently.
Nevertheless, Michael walked into a quiet space. A uniformed man stood behind a glass partition. Michael had to call a few times before he noticed the presence of another human being and took out his headphones.
“How can I help you?”
Michael fished out his wallet and held up a business card. “I’m here to speak to Chief Jackson. Is she here?”
“Yeah, she’s here.” He squinted at him. “She know you’re coming?”
“Nope, but if you tell her it’s Michael Grimm, she’ll want to talk to me.”
He scoffed. “If I tell her? Do I look like a receptionist to you?” He flapped a hand. “Go through and tell her yourself.”
A mechanical buzzing to his right drew Michael to the unlocked door. He slipped inside. There wasn’t much to see back here. A half a dozen desks ranging from pristine to paper-ridden disaster areas. This was the heart of the community’s moral center. Its first line of defense. It’s—
A fierce snort jolted Michael to attention. Another uniformed officer lay slumped over his desk, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.
Michael tore his eyes away and landed on the woman bearing down on the sleeping man, a glint in her eye. There was no time to get out a warning before—