There’s a rustle of leaves behind us, before Officer Clancy walks out into the clearing. “Didn’t find anything, Holt. What’d you guys get?”
“Here, give me a hand, guys. Let’s clear some of these leaves and see if we can get a shoe print.”
The three men kneel above the forest floor and brush piles of leaves away near my backpack.
“Got something here. I think…I think it’s blood. Oh wow, and there’s a lot of it.” Officer Clancy’s stoic voice cracks as he clears away more leaves.
“Okay, back up, guys. We may be dealing with a crime scene here.” Detective Holt pulls a little glass vial from inside his jacket pocket.
He uncorks the top of the vial, inverts it and grabs the wooden end of a cotton swab. He dips it into the thick liquid, and the tip of the white cotton swab turns crimson as it absorbs the gelatinous liquid. He pulls out a resealable plastic bag from his pocket and deposits the cotton swab inside before sealing it.
“I want you to go back to the station and spray this with luminol. If it hits, get some labs run ASAP.” Detective Holt hands the bag to Officer Clancy who turns and hurries through the woods to the patrol cars.
Detective Holt pulls out his walkie-talkie.
“Marcy, are you there? Over.”
“I’m here. Over.”
“We’re going to need to bring Sammy Needles into the station. Can you send Officer Ivansek to his house? Over.”
“Dispatching now, Holt. Over.”
“Also, find out anything you can on Sammy Needles’ friend, Myron. And reach out to all the churches, any community groups really. Tell them we need volunteers. Lots of them. I want to organize a search party for this afternoon. Everything just got a lot more urgent. I want everyone to meet at the end of Parson Street at noon. Over.”
“Will do, Holt. Over.”
“Brooks, I’m going to need to get you home now. Officer Morrow, please stay here with the backpack until I get back. Grab a sample of that black substance on it. Don’t let anyone get near this area. Matter of fact, tape off this area as best you can. I don’t want someone from the search party trampling all over my crime scene. Let’s go, Brooks.” Detective Holt leads me through the woods to the patrol car.
We drive home in silence. I retreat to my thoughts. Is Sammy a killer? Has he done something to poor Margo? Will anyone ever see her again? My chest tightens as I wonder how her parents must feel and the overwhelming fear Margo must’ve felt if something terrible happened to her.
Detective Holt pulls into my driveway and puts the car in park. His eyes meet mine.
“Thank you for your help, Brooks. I need you not to talk about what you saw back there. It’s very important for the investigation that you do not tell anyone what you’ve seen. Do you think that you can do that for me?”
“Yes sir.” Another wave of heaviness pours into my chest.
“Okay then. Go back inside.” He reaches across my body and opens my car door.
I get out of the car, and Detective Holt backs out of the driveway and speeds off.
Chapter 11
The Interrogation of Sammy Needles
DETECTIVE HOLT WALKS into the interrogation room and closes the door behind him. He’s carrying a folder, notepad, and pen. He pulls out a chair and lays his things on the table. Sammy Needles sits sideways in the other chair. He crinkles his nose and crosses his arms.
“Well, no need for introductions really. I think you probably remember me, Detective Holt.” He opens his notepad.
“Yeah, I remember you, cop.” Sammy breathes an agitated sigh.
“Good. Sammy, I have a few questions to ask you. I’m going to record our conversation today.” Detective Holt presses a button on the mini recorder on the desk.
“Good for you.”
“Sammy, do you know why we brought you in here today?” Detective Holt trains his eyes on Sammy with razor-sharp focus.
“This is Brooks’ doing, ain’t it? I’m gonna kill that twerp!” A shot of color speckles Sammy’s cheeks as he clenches his pudgy fists.
“And why would you think that Brooks had something to do with you being here? Is there a reason that Brooks would want to get you in trouble, Sammy?”
“Well, no. I mean, I just don’t trust him. You know, he kicked me in the nuts yesterday.”
“That’s funny, he—”
“How’s that funny? Ha, Ha. Well, ain’t you gonna do something about it? Like go arrest him? I just told you he kicked me in the nuts.”
“If you’d let me finish, what I was going to say is that he doesn’t strike me as the violent type. I’m a pretty good judge of character being that it’s my job and all.” Detective Holt cracks his neck.
“Well, maybe you just suck at your job.”
“Or maybe you did something to him before he kicked you.”
“No man, me and Myron was just minding our own business. And he just comes up and kicks me in the nuts for no good reason. I mean, he’s the one you should be talkin’ to, not me. That little weirdo’s probably got something to do with this whole thing.”
“What whole thing? What do you mean?” Detective Holt studies Sammy’s facial expressions.
“Me gettin’ brought down here and all, that’s all.” Sammy shifts in his chair.
“This Myron friend of yours, does he have a last name?”
“What kind of stupid question is that? Of course he’s got a last name.” Sammy pushes back in his chair and grins.
“Well, what is it?”
Sammy crosses his arms. “Why do you want to know, anyway?”
“Let’s see if he can back up your story, and maybe I’ll consider going to arrest Brooks.”
A thin grin emerges on Sammy’s face, and a vengeful twinkle flits through the rims of his eyes. “Finally gonna do your job, huh? Thompson. His last name’s Thompson. Now, why don’t you let me out of here and go arrest Brooks?”
“And do you know where I might find this Myron Thompson friend of yours?”
“How the hell should I know? What do I look like, his keeper? Probably at his house. What? I gotta do your job for you?”
Splotches of red appear on Detective Holt’s face. Sammy’s grin spreads wider. Holt’s nostrils flare and he leans into the table, delivering his words like blunt force trauma. “What do you know about a brown backpack?”
“I got no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sammy squirms a little in his chair. His eyes swim around the room like skittish fish while Detective Holt studies him. Detective Holt opens the tan folder and pulls out a picture.
“You and your friend Myron didn’t have a brown backpack yesterday? Something that may have looked like this?” Detective Holt slides the photograph across the table to Sammy. Sammy sneaks a glance at the picture of Brooks’ backpack. He takes a deep breath and a big gulping swallow. He clenches his jaw tight as he comes to the furious realization that Brooks must’ve gone to the cops on him.
“Man, I don’t know nothing about no brown backpack.” He pushes the photo across the table, crossing his arms in defiance.
“Sammy, you remember when you got in that bit of trouble last year for breaking into those cars?”
“So what? Judge said just community service. And I done cleaned all them nasty bathrooms at Rife Park, twice.”
“Yeah, but do you remember what we did when we brought you in that day?”
“Yeah, you fed me some nasty bologna sandwich.”
“We fingerprinted you, Sammy. You know we keep all those fingerprints, right?”
“So?”
“And guess where we found your fingerprints? On a brown backpack that you ‘don’t know nothing about.’ So, I’m going to ask you this again, where’d you get the backpack, Sammy?” A ripple flits through Detective Holt’s facial muscles, before they harden.
A faint grin buds on the corners of Detective Holt’s lips as Sammy digests his lie about the fingerprints. Sammy’s eye twitches as he squirms in his
skin. Detective Holt cements his rigid glare. Sammy shuffles in his chair. Detective Holt bores his eyes into Sammy until his posture wilts.
“Me and Myron found it.” Sammy’s words gush like a broken fire hydrant. “On Chambers Road. But I don’t see what business that is of yours.”
“It’s my business because one of my deputies found that backpack in the woods near a whole mess of blood. Do you want to tell me what happened in the woods, Sammy?” Detective Holt leans into the table.
“I wasn’t in no woods. It must’ve been Myron. He’s the one who had the backpack anyway,” Sammy blurts out. His eyes pulse wide, a subtle tremble settling on his lips.
“When’s the last time you saw Myron?”
“Yesterday.”
“What time yesterday?”
“I don’t know, man, around one. I went to go get some lunch, and he didn’t come. That’s the last I seen him.”
Sammy’s legs fidget, and he rubs his hands over his fat knees, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
“Do you know Margo Combs?”
“No. Who the hell is that?”
“I think the kids call her Mysterious Margo. Do you know her?”
“That freak. Oh man. Yeah, I know of her. Why?” A smirk slithers onto Sammy’s face.
“Have you ever bullied Margo?”
“Man, I don’t bully no one, no how. Just mind my own business.”
“So, you never called her a freak or tripped her?”
“What’s with all the stupid questions? I done told you I ain’t bullied no one.” Sammy’s pitch climbs a ladder of denial, amplified at each contentious rung.
“Margo Combs is missing. There’s a bunch of blood next to a backpack with your fingerprints on it, right near where Margo was last seen. So, cut the shit and tell me what happened in the woods.” Detective Holt slams his hand on the metal table.
The sudden slap startles Sammy, and he jumps in his chair. Even though the room’s frigid, a torrent of sweat seeps from his pores, dampening his shorts underneath him.
“I told you I whatn’t in no woods. That’s the truth.” Sammy’s eyes glisten.
“There’s a backpack with your fingerprints on it that says otherwise.”
“I already told you, Myron had the backpack.” His voice stops a couple of decibels short of a yell.
“Well, that blood’s being tested right now, and if it turns out that’s Margo’s blood, you’re in a whole heap of trouble, son.” Detective Holt’s eyes inventory Sammy, studying all facets of his body language.
“I didn’t do nothin’. I didn’t do nothin’ to nobody, no how.”
“Where did you go yesterday after you left Myron?”
“I already said, I went home to eat lunch.”
Sammy’s face grows flush. The judge warned him about additional offenses. If he got into more trouble, the judge warned, he’d spend some time at Longfellow Juvenile Detention Center.
“And where else did you go after lunch yesterday?”
“Nowhere, man. I was at my house.”
“Is there anyone who can verify that?”
“Yeah cop, my mom and my sister!”
“You’re a real wise ass, ain’t you, son? We’re going to go pick up your little friend Myron and ask him some questions. If I find out you’re lying, lying about anything, I’m going to march your ass right back down to the station. And if you so much as lay a finger on Brooks or any of his friends, I’ll have your ass hauled in here so fast in handcuffs that your head will spin. Got it?” Detective Holt’s nostrils flare again, his cheeks turning fiery red.
“Yeah, whatever, man. I ain’t done nothing. You can’t hold me, no ways.”
Detective Holt jumps from his chair and erupts. “Get the hell out of my station! You can find your own way out.” He flings the door into the wall.
Once Sammy leaves the room, he grabs his walkie-talkie.
“Marcy, you there? Over.” A hint of anger straddles his words.
“Here, Holt. Over.”
“That Sammy Needles is a real piece of work. Can you please find out where Sammy’s friend Myron Thompson lives and dispatch a unit there? We’re going to need to bring him in for questioning. Over.”
“I’ll call the school principal and see if we can get his address. Over.”
“10-4.” Detective Holt straightens his tie and collects his things from the table.
Chapter 12
Search Party
THE DOORBELL RINGS again. I exhale a deep breath before going to answer it, a drag in my step. Tee’s standing at my doorway with Robby, their bikes parked in my driveway. At the sight of me, a big smile climbs Tee’s face and Robby grins. Robby gives me a fist bump.
“Ole Brooksie Boy, what you got cooking?”
Tee grins wide. “Yeah man, what you been getting into? I swear we can’t leave you alone for a few hours.”
I smile big at the welcome arrival of my friends. “What’s up, guys?”
“Oh, not too much, just a phone call to my mom from the police last night.” Tee lifts his eyelids in a playful gesture. “What’s that all about?”
Oh, man. They don’t know. “You mean, you didn’t hear? Margo’s missing.”
Robby’s jaw goes slack. “No way! But you just saw her.”
“Oh man. But they don’t think you had anything to do with it, do they?”
“No. I don’t think so. Come on in, guys.”
Tee’s wearing a blue basketball tank top and gym shorts. Even though he’s quite a bit shorter than most kids in our grade, Tee’s a great basketball player, good enough to beat out an eighth-grader to take the starting point guard position for our basketball team.
Robby’s also a basketball player. He hit a growth spurt much earlier than most of the other kids in our grade. He’s one of the tallest kids in our school. He’s long, lean, and lanky but not nearly as coordinated as Tee. He made the basketball team too but doesn’t play much.
“Let’s go down to the basement. I gotta tell you guys something, anyways.”
My mom rounds the corner, laundry basket in hand, overflowing with clean clothes awaiting folding. “Ahh, so these must be your new friends.”
Tee smiles at my mom. “Hi, Mrs. Raker.”
“Hello Tee. And you must be Robby?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you boys. Brooks tells me—”
“We’re going to head down to the basement if that’s okay, Mom?”
Please, please don’t embarrass me in front of my friends. I’m not sure what she’s getting ready to say, but my red face pleads for mercy.
“You boys have fun. There’s some Gatorades and Cokes in the fridge downstairs if you get thirsty. It was nice meeting you boys.” My mom smiles at us as she carries the laundry basket to the couch.
“Thanks, Mom!”
Robby returns her smile. “Nice meeting you too, Mrs. Raker.” We storm the staircase to the basement. Robby turns to me with laughter in his eyes. “Dude, your mom’s kinda hot!”
“Not cool.”
Both boys chuckle.
“I’m just messing with ya.”
“No, but seriously, she’s kinda hot. Maybe not as hot as Alyssa, but pretty hot!” Tee laughs out the words before giving Robby a fist bump.
“Dude. Gross!”
Alyssa Everly’s one of the prettiest girls in our school, earning her the nickname, Heavenly Everly, a name coined by a tenth-grader who shared the same bus route. She looks angelic with her silky blonde hair, big, light blue eyes and a smile that buckles boys at the knees. Like the rest of the boys in our school, I’m infatuated with her. To make matters worse, she stepped into womanhood at the end of the seventh grade, and her budding chest harnesses gazes. She caught me gawking at her in the hallway a couple of times. To my astonishment, she returned a smile of her own at me as she walked by, but I never found the courage to talk to her. News of her breakup traveled the hallways on fleeting whispers. Boys brag
ged, promised to woo her, but no one did.
Robby drops like a falling timber onto the couch. “So, what’s the story?”
“Yeah, why’d they have you at the police station?”
“Guys, I was the last one to see Margo, so I had to tell them where I last saw her. They say she’d already been missing for a couple of days when I ran into her.”
“No way. That’s crazy!” Robby straightens up in his seat.
“But that wasn’t the craziest thing! The detective asked me to look at some drawings. They were really weird. He’d gotten them from Margo’s house. Two didn’t really make any sense to me, but they were really creepy. But the third one…” My brows furrow.
Tee leans in. “What? What about the third one?”
“When I flipped the third one around, I almost threw up.”
Robby’s eyes slowly widen. “What was it?”
“Guys, it was Grief Hollow.”
“Aw man. You had me freaked out for a second. So, she drew a picture of Grief Hollow. That’s not that big of a deal.”
“No, Tee, it was what was in the picture. The black snake thing was wrapped around the tree. The large branch that almost killed me was on the ground. And the footprints of the thing that chased me were drawn into the bank of Copperhead Creek.”
“Whoa!” A sudden chill wriggles through Tee’s shoulders.
Robby scrunches his face for a moment. “Wait, how’s that possible?”
“Yeah, you said she’s been missing for a couple of days. How could she have drawn that picture?”
“I don’t know.”
Tee pushes a blast of air through his nose. “That’s super freaky, man!”
“So’d they find her?”
“No. I heard the detective say that they’re organizing a search party today at noon. They’re calling all the churches and everything for volunteers. Supposed to meet at the end of Parson Street.”
Robby springs from the couch. “That’s like right around the corner!”
“Markland X Crew’s gonna solve this one. Oh yeah. Legendary status.” Tee does a couple of dance moves, ending in a celebratory dab.
“Wait. No.” I raise my hands in protest.
The Tear Collector Page 5