Secrets Boxset: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery Collection

by J. S. Donovan

  The bathroom and study had yet to surrender to the water, and, as long as the broken floor clung to the half of house that stood, the rooms would remain partially “dry.”

  Anna shuffled her body on top of the floating door she’d shot open and felt it wobble beneath her and fold into the water. Using her limited mobility, Anna jolted up and grabbed the remnants of the study’s door. She could see the small amber glows on the other side of the room. The desk had vanished in the water, but the tops of a few file cabinets remained. Documents floated around like toilet paper. Anna climbed inside, pressed her palms at the threshold of the door, and leapt on the cabinet’s head. She moved quickly to the next, watching her previous landing pad topple into the water. Evidence gone, she thought, but now survival mattered more.

  The fire had weakened certain portions of the upright wall that allowed Anna to kick footholds in or pull burning wood with her hands. She climbed into the dense haze of smoke interrupted by endless rain pellets. Her arms and back were weak. Her eyes stung because of the smoke and all the scrapes on her tanned flesh. Her fingers were blackened with soot and pruned from the rain. She reached the top of the wall where the floor was held together by cracked planks and a miracle. She slung one arm over, catching her long sleeve on a wooden spike. When she reached to get a better grip, it tore, but she was beyond caring at this point.

  She put her second arm up and wiggled her feet up the floor-turned-wall when she heard the gut-wrenching snap. The front half of the building gave way and tore free from the standing side that shifted uncomfortably into the running river. The falling side crashed into the river and slid another seven feet into the water before stopping. Part of it poked out of the water.

  Anna’s feet dangled over the edge. Falling into water from fourteen feet up wasn’t fatal, but the chunks of sharp wood and other stabby things below were. She balanced her weight on her forearms and pushed up, feeling pointed wood scrape against her belly. Almost losing her grip on the slippery edge, she made it inside of the house, or what remained.

  The steps had burned away and the walls were black and burnt, ready to be blown down by the slight breath of the Big Bad Wolf. Anna pressed her front to the handrail and scooted down the stairs. The fire on the first floor was still very much alive. It danced on table tops and kitchen counters. Black mist clogged up the place. The building supports yawned and threatened to collapse. Anna sent her boot against the charred front door. The action reminded her of the cut on her ankles. It jolted up her whole leg. With the front of her wet shirt covering her mouth and nose, she took a few paces back and charged the door. It rattled but didn’t break. She shook her head and readied another strike. The building groaned again, but this time the danger was obvious. The flame-scarred walls bent in as beams tumbled. Implosion was imminent.

  Anna charged shoulder first, knowing that she had one shot to break that door before the building broke her body. She let out a war cry of sorts and punched the door with her shoulder. It flung open violently, sending Anna careening to the muddy grass, and the building collapsed into a heap of burning wood.

  She crashed into a puddle, splattering herself with cold dirt. She sank her palms into the mud and pushed up. Her body trembled and her elbows gave way, sending her chin back into the mud. Her muscles ached and pain clenched her, but she wouldn’t give in. She pushed again, but this time someone caught her.

  Muddy, beaten, and tired, Anna turned her face up to Agent Rennard. His soft hazel eyes were wide and alert. His strong grasp gently lifted her to her feet. Anna followed the drops of rain running down his jackknife jaw and dimpled chin just as the storm began to die into a drizzle.

  “Took you long enough,” Anna said, relieved and smiling weakly. His warmth wasn’t just welcome. It was needed.

  Rennard smiled softly. “I was ready to run in after you.”

  Sirens screamed. Police cruisers and fire trucks skidded to a stop at the front yard. A few poncho-wearing officers stepped out of their vehicles in awe. Anna pried herself away from Rennard and turned back to the riverside house. It was a smoldering ruin of steamy wood, not even fit for a dumpster fire.

  Sheriff Greenbell marched across the grass with a sullen face. “How the hell did you escape that?”

  Anna shrugged, not able to think of what to say.

  The white-haired sheriff put his hand on her shoulder and frowned. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Both of us,” Rennard interjected.

  “He was here,” Anna refocused on the task at hand as she sat on the back step of the ambulance. “Him and the girls.”

  “Will we be fishing them out of the sea?” Greenbell asked.

  Anna shook her head and winced as the EMT treated a cut. “No, just the evidence. Or whatever survived. I got pictures on my phone.”

  She felt the front pocket of her slacks. Gone, along with her gun. She cursed under her breath.

  “You shouldn’t have gone in there alone,” Greenbell scolded her. “This could’ve all been prevented.”

  “He would’ve heard us coming from miles away. Sound travels out here, and so do flashing lights,” Anna enlightened him, knowing that he knew these facts.

  “What matters is that you’re alive,” Rennard said, the blood gone from his face as he looked at the pile of smoking junk.

  “Any news on the Mitsubishi?” Anna asked.

  “We’re still looking,” Rennard replied. “If the guy burned this place down, he cann’t be far.”

  “Right,” Sheriff Greenbell agreed. “I’ll get my boys to start turning over rocks out here. If he has the girls, we can’t afford to let him past state lines.”

  The EMT stepped back and looked at Anna. “You don’t have any broken bones, but you still need to go to the hospital.”

  “I’m not spending the night there, but I’ll certainly go.”

  “I’ll keep you in the loop.” Rennard said as the EMT closed the first door.

  “I’m counting on it,” Anna grinned at him, wishing he was still holding her. The ambulance wasn’t a fraction as warm. Its double doors closed.

  Fire trucks killed what little remained of the flame. Sergeant Mathis wasted no time getting divers and tow trucks to pull out large chunks of walls from the river. They fished out file cabinets and burned furniture. Most of the documents were water damaged, burned, and soggy, but they recovered what they could alongside a family photo missing a few members, the dog cages, dozens of ring boxes, a self-help DVD, two chairs, a bed frame, and the carton of milk in the mini fridge. Most of the surviving fingerprints were partial at best.

  A police chopper flew over the surrounding woods in search of Cain and the girls, but only found treetops kissed with the orange and yellow of autumn. Either Cain had gone underground or escaped in his car. If the latter, Greenbell had an unmarked cop car on every road out of town.

  Anna left the hospital, stitched up, bandaged, and bruised, with a bottle of painkillers jiggling in her pocket. Her father had brought her a fresh t-shirt, pants, socks, and undergarments from home.

  “Have this, too,” Richard said, struggling to pull a cell phone from his pocket.

  “But this is yours,” Anna reminded him.

  “The only people that call me are my family,” her father explained and extended the arm holding the phone. “And this is the answer to that call.”

  Anna took it and texted Rennard and Greenbell her new number. She gave Allen a call as well, letting him know that she was okay. Her father’s old Chevy bumped down Main Street and through the red brick historical district of Van Buren. The buildings conjoined to one another boasting Victorian architecture. The musty smell of the Arkansas river filled the air. The sky had cleared up nicely, and she rested her elbow on the rolled-down window. For the briefest moment, it felt like there was not a problem in the world. Then, Anna blinked and she was home. Her body ached, she craved sleep, but her niece and the heart of Van Buren were still missing.

  They ate spaghetti and m
eatballs, peppered with spices and with Caesar salad on the side, just as her late mother’s cookbook described. Evan sat adjacent to Anna while Grace faced Richard.

  Her brother wore his bent billed hat. His eyes were cold and droopy while specks of soot-colored hair grew out beside his furry goatee. Grace’s hair was disheveled and her alluring eyes seemed to stare out into nowhere more times than not. Richard looked the same. His short grey hair curled under his frilled fishing cap and his alert gaze seemed to stay ever focused. Anna had her hair cut to a short length that hugged her head, with a couple inches down her neck. She missed her silky brunette locks, but her business required something more practical.

  “I’m thinking about going to the Bahamas.” Grace broke the silence and her bread roll. “You’ve been there, right Anna?”

  “Can’t say I have,” Anna admitted.

  “A honeymooner’s paradise for all the silicone girls and their rich old boyfriends,” Grace cracked a smile at Evan and took his hand. “I used to hate those people, but that sounds pretty darn nice right now. Also, it will give us a chance to make love somewhere other than your high school bed.”

  Anna and her father traded glances before continuing their meal.

  “Sure, babe.” Evan lightly squeezed her hand and ate with the other.

  “Lily’s not seen the beach yet. It will blow her little mind.”

  “Sure, babe.”

  Grace crinkled her brows. “I’m serious.”

  Evan turned to her. “I know,” he said angrily. “Once we get Lily back, I don’t care if we go to Alaska. Whatever will make you happy, or our daughter happy, and gets me as far away from this town as I can.”

  “I’m doing my best,” Anna felt obligated to say.

  “You don’t need to remind me,” Evan replied coldly. “I’ve been looking into those people by the way.”

  Anna had forgotten she had hired him. “And?”

  “The critic is a lonely woman who’s enjoying the perks of online dating, and the art museum curator may or may not be a kleptomaniac. They don’t got Lily and probably don’t have an inkling of who does.”

  Anna twisted spaghetti around her fork. “Figures. Any of them try to skip town?”

  “No,” Evan said with frustration.

  Grace put down her fork and looked at her untouched plate.

  Anna lost her appetite as well. She felt like she was back in the sinking house again.

  Her phone rang. It was Rennard.

  “We got something big.”

  8

  Listings

  The towline pulled taut and rattled in the water. The coil on the back of the truck hummed as it pulled the two-door Mitsubishi from the river. Water cascaded out of the vehicle’s underbelly as its wheels eased onto dry land. There was no license plate, and evidence of a cadaver remained to be seen.

  “How did you find it this far down the Arkansas?” Anna looked over the wide river winding down the far southern portion of the town. The water snaked for miles between Van Buren and Fort Smith, the larger of the towns, and cut into green pastures and autumn-touched trees where they stood now.

  “A mile back, a gas station camera caught it. The owner gave us a call when he reviewed last night’s footage,” Rennard explained. He stood next to a few other officers, watching the towline do its job. “None of the following roadside or traffic cams caught anything, so I thought we’d go fishing.”

  They peeked inside of the driver side window, seeing a cement block crushing the accelerator. The backseat didn’t have anything but wet seats.

  “He must’ve ditched it after I escaped the house.” Anna stepped aside, allowing an officer with a pry bar access to the vehicle.

  “Cain knows we're onto him,” Rennard said with shaky confidence. “He’s burning bridges.”

  The trunk opened with a loud pop. Inside was a full sink of water and a submerged spare tire. Anna took a breath, feeling a semblance of relief as she thought of her niece. At least he’s not burned every bridge.

  “You think he’s going to skip town?” Anna asked as she moved to the front of the car and jotted down the VIN at the driver side seat.

  “If I were him, I’d go.” Rennard walked over to Anna. “How did you find his house anyway?”

  “Strife’s videotapes,” Anna said, being reminded of the hours of horror she subjected herself to, the screams of all those girls and her own abuse. Suddenly, she became lightheaded. “They... worked together in the latter years.”

  Rennard thought for a moment before asking, “Was there anything else on those tapes?”

  “Nothing damning against Cain apart from the photograph of his house.” Anna handed the VIN to one of the officers. “Let’s find out who this car belongs to. It probably won’t be Cain, but it may lead us somewhere.”

  And it did.

  Larry Treeman. They pulled up to his two-bedroom duplex in a rural area of town and gave the door a knock.

  “Police, open up,” Officer Ashburn shouted. Sweat glistened on his wrinkled forehead and stained the pits of his uniform. After a few moments of quiet, he gestured for the Kevlar-wearing officer wielding a black battering ram. It took one good hit to burst the door open. Anna waited outside, watching the policemen vanish into the dusty residence. The bulletproof vest snug against her torso gave her flashes of her time in Miami. Back when corpses and persons of interest were a dime a dozen and her life was run on black coffee and adrenaline. Though it was rural and quiet, Van Buren felt the same to Anna these days. Maybe Grace was right. Going to the Bahamas didn’t sound that bad. Not at all, Anna smiled shyly to herself.

  Grassy yards spread far and wide around the surrounding lower income duplexes that were shades of brown with slanted roofs. Swarms of gnats congregated above rain puddles. The mucky water captured the brilliance of the sunset.

  Ashburn exited the dark doorway of the house. “We got a body.”

  The boy was in his twenties and by the abundance of flies on his body, he’d been dead for at least a week. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head. The black bruise was smooth and it may have been the same baton used to hit Grace, only this time it was fatal.

  “No one smelled it?” Anna scrunched her nose, harshly reminded of how the dead stank.

  “He’s the only person living in the duplex now,” Ashburn said, flashing his long torch over a few open beer cans, a Hooters pin-up poster, and a gaming console. “College kid.”

  Anna excused herself and vomited on the lawn. Maybe it was sleep sickness, maybe it was the stink of death, or it could be that Cain kept getting away with everything he did. Anna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, concluding it was all three. The forensic team arrived and without surprise, found no fingerprints, no tire tracks, and no trace of the man’s presence. Anna had begun to suspect a ghost.

  Back at the bullpen briefing room, they reviewed the whiteboard cluttered with dozens of new photos. First of the ruined house, then of the objects within, and finally of the murdered boy. The car had its own photo, too, not like it meant anything.

  Anna sipped her coffee, allowing its strong smell to overtake that of death. Sergeant Mathis, Agent Rennard, Sheriff Greenbell, and a few other officers/forensics analysts were with her. The usual suspects, she joked internally. Days without rest and multiple near-death experiences made her surprisingly loopy.

  “The house was 1342 Clemons Lane,” Mathis pointed out, his bulldog-like face aimed at the crowd of seated officers and consultants while his finger pointed at the ruins of the house. “We had to dig deep to find that one, but we know the last known owner was an accountant named Terrence Jenkins and his wife Rose. They were killed in a car accident in ‘83 and the house was bank owned until ‘02 when it was bought up by an anonymous party. We made a few calls and quickly learned that the lawyer who made these transactions is living out his retirement in Paris, France. He has no interest in speaking to us.

  “Of the few residents that live on the street, none c
laim to have ever see anyone around the house during the day. The closest report to any suspicious activity was a light in the upper window sometime last year. Thanks to Anna Dedrick, we know that this is the home, or a home, owned by our abductor, Cain.” Mathis nodded at her.

  “What do you mean a home?” Greenbell asked with his hand folded on his lap.

  Mathis pointed to a taped-up photo displaying torn and water-damaged documents. “These are property papers alongside a few listing purchases and sales by an anonymous party to an anonymous party across the state of Arkansas.”

  The properties he went over were as small as three-acre fields to as big as condemned foundries and rail yards purchased over the last twenty years.

  “The guy has money,” Rennard thought aloud.

  “We’ll be probing each one of these properties, leaving no stone unturned,” Mathis said in his commanding voice. “Cain has gotten away with these hijinks long enough. It’s time we put him to rest.”

  The men in the room nodded and murmured in agreement with one another. Anna raised her hand without bending her elbow. Mathis gestured for her to speak. “Did the Jenkins have children?”

  “Yes. A son and daughter that were put into foster care after the accident.”

  Interior cogs turning, Anna straightened her posture and bounced her eyes between her fellow officers. “Maybe it’s a long shot, but what if one of Jenkins’s kids bought the house?”

  All eyes turned to her.

  “I found a family photo in the Jenkins’s house and an aged dining room table with old engravings. I know a property like this is one hell of a hideaway, but it could have sentimental value to Cain. What’s more sentimental than your childhood home?”

  “It’s worth looking into,” Greenbell admitted.