There Was a Crooked Man: A Psychological Thriller

by Katrina Morgan

  He explained the situation, but Gertie hadn’t seen or heard from Katie either. As a last resort, he drove by the other addresses Katie had temporarily worked at during August. They turned out to be dead ends. Out of options, Jack drove home, still calling Katie’s phone and fuming.

  Katie watched the afternoon news, flipping through local channels, and holding her breath. Nothing yet, thank God. She stroked her new hair absently, wondering what to do to fill the time. She pulled out the pad of paper from the motel drawer and began to outline what still needed to happen.

  As she wrote, Katie realized she needed dishes, linens, and a few personal items. It would make her story of starting over, more believable. She added ‘household stuff’ to her list.

  Reading through what she still needed to complete, Katie sighed heavily. God, there’s so much that can still go wrong.

  Jack looked at the clock. ‘It’s fucking six?” He slammed his glass into the sink, not caring that it shattered. “I need to speed things up.” Grabbing his keys, he headed toward the local police station. He marched in, already talking, “My wife is missing! You’ve got to do something.”

  The officer at the front desk barely acknowledged Jack, “I’ll be right with you. Have a seat.” He inclined his head toward the row of dejected chairs guarding the wall.

  Jack chose one far away from the people already seated. Eyeing their shabby shoes and street clothes, he turned himself sideways. After ten minutes, Jack approached the desk again. “Officer, I have an emergency!”

  The policeman rolled his eyes. He peered over his glasses and took in Jack’s appearance, nicely dressed, hair mussed, face flushed. “Let me finish this form, and I’ll be right with you.”

  Jack stood ramrod straight at the counter.

  A second officer strolled in, read the paperwork, and glanced at Jack. The first police officer leaned sideways in his chair and addressed the other people who were waiting patiently.

  “Sorry, folks. this man seems a little desperate. Be right with you.” He caught his partner’s eye and made a face.

  Jack launched into his story, “My wife is gone and has been for hours. Her car’s still at Cooper Medical. Her phone says she’s there, but she’s not. The office closed at six. I’ve called her boss and her clients. No one’s seen her. Something’s wrong.”

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Slow down.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Nine hours.”

  The first officer leaned back, tipping his chair onto the rear wheels. “Nine hours isn’t so long. Hell, my wife can spend that long at the mall.”

  The other officer grunted.

  “She’s not at the damn mall. She doesn’t even shop!” Jack shook his index finger at the officer, with each word he spoke, “You’re not listening.”

  The first policeman raised his eyebrows. “You need to settle down.”

  The second officer stepped forward, and the two presented a formidable front.

  Jack put his hand down and slowed his speech. “I’m telling you she was supposed to be at the doctor’s office, but she’s not.”

  “Your wife is still at a doctor’s office?” The second officer checked the clock and frowned.

  Jack sighed. “No. She was supposed to be at the doctor’s office but never showed up.”

  “None of this sounds like an emergency,” the first officer commented nonchalantly.

  “Why are you so upset?” the second policeman asked.

  “I’m upset because her car is in the lot, but no one has seen or heard from her all day. She didn’t show up for any of her appointments. She had one at nine-fifteen, ten-fifteen and eleven. I’ve been there, asked around. She never showed up for any of them.”

  “All those appointments? Is she sick?”

  “No. It was all routine visits.”

  “But her car is there?” the second officer asked, needing further clarification.

  “Yes! I’ve already said that. I’m telling you she’s gone. The first twenty-four hours are crucial, right?” Jack was breathing hard again, and the officers paid more attention to him.

  “You watch too much TV. Twenty-four hours isn’t always true for adults.”

  The second officer asked, “Does she have a mental condition?”

  “Jesus Christ. No!”

  “A medical condition? Diabetes? Handicapped? Pregnant?”

  “No. She’s healthy. Why in the hell would that matter?”

  “Well, we can speed things up if there’s a mental or medical necessity. Faster than the twenty-four hours you mentioned.” Sarcasm dripped.

  “I’m telling you she’s gone.”

  They watched his agitation grow, and the officers double-teamed him.

  “Are things okay at home?”

  "Nothing wrong with leaving, right?”

  “Does she have a boyfriend, maybe?”

  “She better fucking not,” Jack mumbled under his breath.

  “What was that?” The first officer leaned forward. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

  “I said, I hope not.”

  “Hmm. I thought you said something else.” The first officer made eye contact with his partner again.

  The people waiting in the row of chairs leaned forward, listening intently. This confrontation was far more interesting than counting floor tiles or staring at the wall.

  Jack shouted, “We aren’t having problems!” Spittle flew as he ticked a list off on his fingers. “She’s never late. She always checks in, and always goes where she’s supposed to.”

  Both cops raised their eyebrows at the last comment and stared at Jack.

  “Let’s start with having you fill out a questionnaire. Do you have an actual photo?”

  Jack dug in his wallet, pulled out an older, folded picture of him and Katie. His hands shook. These jerkwads are wasting my time.

  Katie sat on the bed, packing and re-packing her new tote. She’d read every pamphlet in the room and loaded her extra phone minutes. Wandering the shrinking room, she checked the clock for the hundredth time. She hadn’t anticipated interminable waiting.

  Jack stormed out of the police department and called the local TV station. They always bragged about their hometown pride and how they were there for their viewers, often airing small stories to endear them to their viewership. The station was interested in Jack’s story. “Can you get here soon? Bring a picture.”

  Jack agreed and sped toward the station. After waiting a nerve-wracking two hours, a harried reporter hustled over to do a quick interview. A triumphant Jack opened the gallery on his phone and showed them a recent picture of Katie.

  “She’s a pretty woman,” the journalist commented. “We’ll need to upload this to our IT guy.”

  Right or wrong, Jack understood the implication. A good-looking woman garnered more interest. The technician, Georgio, enhanced the picture and added an image of the medical building. Jack stood directly behind him, breathing the same air.

  Georgio scowled. “Look, man, you’re making me nervous. How ‘bout you wait over there?” He pointed toward several fold-up chairs on the outskirts of the set.

  Jack reluctantly sat down.

  Katie wandered to the bathroom. Locking both arms on the vanity, she stared long and hard at herself, taking in the shorter hair, the bangs, and different color. “You can do this, Katie. I mean Cassie.” Katie gently bumped her head against the mirror. “You are Cassie.” Thump. “You are Cassie.” Thump. She opened her eyes and looked at herself again. “Maybe I should go by Anne or Annie. That’d be easier since it’s my middle name too.” As the more familiar name rolled off her lips, she smiled and climbed into bed.

  Katie turned on the news at ten, half-tuned into the weather, and a traffic accident earlier in the day. At 10:27 p.m., she bolted straight up in bed, shocked to see her picture with the words: “Possible Disappearance in Uptown Savannah.”

  The newscaster gave a fifteen-second explanation, “Kathryn Follings Werner,
aged twenty-eight is possibly missing. Although her car is located at a local doctor’s office,” a picture of Cooper Medical Complex appeared on the screen, “she never signed in for any of her three scheduled appointments. Foul play isn’t being ruled out at this time. She was last seen wearing a purple sweater and black pants.” Katie’s picture filled the screen again with a number to call the TV station with information. Katie was instantly nauseous. “Oh God.”

  Jack watched the newscast and erupted, “Fifteen seconds? That’s all I get? Jesus! The fricking commercials are longer!” Jack left the station, still muttering under his breath. At home, he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and fumed over Katie’s disappearance.

  An hour later, Katie sat up with a start, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. Hearing tires crunch on the loose gravel in the parking lot, she slid her hand under the motel pillow and pulled out her new scissors.

  Headlights stabbed through the thin curtains, making her heart accelerate. She eased from the bed and stood behind the door, gripping the only weapon she had. I’m not going back.

  A car door slammed, and Katie counted to ten, then twenty, squinting hard and evaluating every noise. Watching the clock, she waited for the minute hand to turn over, convinced she’d hear Jack’s angry fists banging on her door.

  Further down the row, a different door thumped shut, and she let loose the breath she’d been holding. It was just her overactive imagination—probably a result of the earlier broadcast.

  Keeping the scissors nearby, Katie curled up in the lumpy corner chair. “There was a crooked man, who walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked…”

  She repeated the rhyme one more time, calming down, and grateful she’d survived day one.

  Chapter 31

  Saturday morning turned out to be unseasonably warm, and Katie was grateful. It meant she could wear her new shorts and flip-flops. Cramming all her earthly belongings into her new tote, and the plastic bags from Dollar General, she checked to make sure the motel room contained no evidence.

  The five inches of hair she’d cut the night before had been carefully gathered into paper towels and every inch of the bathroom scoured. She stuffed the plastic grocery bags with the price tags, the box of hair color, and her original tote. Satisfied she’d covered her tracks, Katie munched one of her breakfast bars, took a last swig of the Diet Coke, leaving the containers as the only trash in the room.

  She walked back toward the business area, shoved the trash into a nearby container, and waited at the bus stop for her next ride toward freedom. Paying the three-dollar fare, she found a seat toward the back. Despite her semi-disguise—hair, glasses, clothing—she was terrified she’d be recognized after last night’s news story. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

  To take her mind off Jack and his evident pursuit, Katie thought of her bookstore Inklings. She didn’t care what anyone else said about libraries and bookstores disappearing. There was still something magical about holding a book in your hands. She pictured her store: an adult area full of classics and the latest bestsellers and a separate children's area. She’d have small-sized furniture, stuffed animals, and cozy rugs, begging a child to curl up with a book. She wanted a turnstile full of postcards and a section with local recipes and history. Coffee. She definitely wanted to serve coffee so customers would wander.

  The bus shuddered to its last stop, ending her daydream. She was south of Georgetown, on the outskirts of Savannah. It was less than thirty miles from home, but as far as the Savannah bus lines went. From here, she’d need new transportation.

  Katie had done her homework and knew there was shopping, another branch of First Bank of Atlanta, and a small city motel. Entering the bank, Katie walked up to the first available teller. “I’m interested in opening an account.”

  The woman, Alicia, directed Katie toward a desk where a financial planner was waiting. Katie plucked Alicia’s business card off the counter before moving toward the cubicle.

  Katie started a dialogue immediately, “I’m in a hurry this morning, but I’d like to come back and talk about opening a checking account with direct deposit.”

  The young man rattled off all the options, as he’d obviously been trained. Afterward, he handed her a brochure and one of his business cards. “We’re open at eight a.m. Monday through Friday. Ask for James when you come back.”

  “I will. Thank you.” She pocketed his card, giving her a total of four from First Bank of Atlanta. She hoped it would be enough.

  She crossed the street to the City Manor Motel. The faded blue paint was peeling, the roof sported a full layer of green-gray moss, and the parking lot asphalt had long since crumbled. They rented kitchenettes by the week, though, which meant no problem with cash, and no questions asked.

  Jack shoved his way out of bed at 6:30 a.m. Sitting at the end of the bed, his brain woke with a single purpose—find Katie. “I know I’m missing something.” He rummaged through the dresser, then the closet, pushing hangers out of the way, and checking all pockets, Katie’s other purses, and even her shoeboxes, looking for any clue, any evidence of another man. Tossing the last two boxes in the corner, he growled, “I will find you.”

  He pawed through the jewelry box again, slower than he had the night before. He held up a thick gold chain. “Would you leave this behind?” Fingering the necklace, a ghost of concern floated across his brain. Maybe something has happened to her. He dismissed the notion and pulled out the jewelry drawers to look underneath.

  Remembering his hidden papers, Jack hurried over to his suit jackets and extracted the Kane Brothers receipts Katie had found months prior. “Shit. These have to go.” He shook his head in frustration. His plans for mild extortion were disappearing fast thanks to the ongoing audit at work and now, Katie. He shoved the receipts down the front of his pajama pants.

  Once downstairs, Jack logged into the office computer, performing for the camera and unknowingly emulating Katie’s actions. He had every intention of going back to the police and assumed they’d want to search the house, watch the video footage, etc. If he turned the cameras off, it would be questioned.

  He opened the middle drawer, hiding his lap, and extracted the papers from his pants. Mixing them in with a few documents from his desk, he made a big show of pawing through files. He pulled out papers from Katie’s employer, the bank, and the doctor’s office and put them in a folder, along with his own secrets. He added a picture of Katie, taking it out of the frame on his desk. He knew the cameras would show an image of a sleepless, worried man.

  Checking the time, Jack went back upstairs to dress and was in the car by 8 a.m. Driving past the medical complex, he saw Katie’s car still parked there and drove toward the police station. He ripped up the Kane Brothers receipts as he drove, shoving them into a trash can outside the police station. No one will look there.

  Jack headed straight toward the front counter, ignoring the crying woman already in line. Naturally, a different cop was sitting at the desk, and Jack released a heavy sigh.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Jack barked the word. “I was here last night to report my wife missing. No one took me seriously. She’s still gone. Her car is still at the doctor’s office, no phone calls, no contact whatsoever, and I need someone to help me!” He took a deep breath, not wanting to seem overly agitated.

  “You were here last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Filled out paperwork?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, let’s start with your name, and I’ll see what’s going on.”

  “Jack Werner.”

  The officer carefully wrote it down on a pad of paper, verifying the spelling.

  Jack read the officer’s name, Wells, and committed it to memory as this woman was seriously pissing him off.

  The officer dug through the pile of unfiled reports from the night before. An impatient Jack, leaned across the counter, reading upside down.

  “Hey, buddy, step bac
k from the counter.” She pushed away from the desk and placed a hand on her hip, where she wore her gun.

  Hands in the air in mock surrender, Jack stepped back. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  Another person walked into the lobby, and officer Wells pushed the intercom button, “We need an officer to the front desk.”

  A policeman pushed through the door, and Jack couldn’t help but notice the crew cut, and a muscular body packed into the uniform. It screamed ex-military, and Jack backed away.

  Wells greeted the officer, “Sergeant Darrow.”

  “You okay out here?”

  “Mostly,” Wells answered. “We’re backed up a little.”

  Darrow motioned the next person in line forward.

  Officer Wells relaxed and shuffled through papers again. “Ahh, here we go.” She smiled at Jack, pleased to have found the form. “Missing wife. Kathryn Werner, right?”

  Jack crossed his arms and nodded.

  “Missing less than twelve hours at the time of the report. No mental or medical problems. Do you have any newer pictures of Kathyrn? The one from last night is folded.”

  Jack handed over the one he’d taken from the frame.

  “Oh. I recognize this lady from the news last night. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You guys weren’t doing anything.” Jack gestured wildly, and his voice grew louder, “My wife is gone, and I needed some help before she gets too far away.”

  “What makes you think she’s far away?”

  “I don’t know where she is.” Jack waved his hands around again. “Gone? Disappeared? Kidnapped? Jesus, I sure as hell don’t know the right words.”

  “I’m going with what you said. You said you didn’t want your wife to get too far.” Wells turned to Sgt. Darrow, “That is what he said, right?”

  Darrow nodded and tapped the report. The Friday night officer had written: “Husband seems angry, not concerned.”