by Jonas Saul
At the edge of the door, she flipped him over onto his back, his bound hands trapped under him. Then she dragged him up into a sitting position and he screamed at the sight of all the blood he’d lost.
The woman—Jamie Morgan—for some crazy reason he remembered her entire name from the past, glared at him in her madness, then reared back and kicked him in the face.
His upper body shot backward and was lost to the open space outside the door.
Then he was falling, the wind in his ears, blinding him.
Blessedly, he lost consciousness before he landed more than a minute later.
Chapter 15
Sarah watched Crawford leave the room in a hurry.
“Where’s he going?” DeOcampo asked before Sarah had a chance to.
Parkman pulled the toothpick out of his mouth. “Probably to run the name Hunter just gave him.”
“She’s dead,” Hunter whispered, looking down at his lap. “Jamie has to be dead.”
Today, he was a shell of the man Sarah saw at work yesterday. The realization of what was happening must have hit him hard.
She took a seat beside him. “Why should this girl be dead?”
“It’s been over twenty years.”
“We heard that already. Just tell us what happened, Hunter.”
Parkman closed the door and DeOcampo sat opposite Hunter and Sarah.
He had all of their undivided attention now.
“She was my girlfriend in high school.”
“What happened to her?”
“I found out she had been seeing another friend a few years back and didn’t tell me.”
“She cheated on you?”
He looked up, shaking his head. “No, she saw him, they broke up, then she was with me.”
“People that age do that all the time. No issue so far. Go on.”
“We used to all hang out at the barn.”
“We got that.”
“When Will told me that she was with him for over a year, I lost it. Thought I couldn’t trust her anymore.”
“Without debating how relationships work and how things fall apart, and then people go out with other people, what happened next?” Sarah waited a moment, then added, “You tested her, didn’t you?”
Hunter’s head shot up and he stared into her eyes. “How much do you already know?”
“Bits and pieces. Most of it, really, but they don’t. Keep talking. Other people’s lives depend on what you have to say.”
“We were all supposed to meet at the barn, but I arranged to have William and Jamie show up first while I waited outside with a few of my other friends.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I wanted to see if they would rekindle their closeness.”
“William was in on this?”
Hunter nodded. “To make sure she was the right girl for me, he said he would make a move.”
“And she let him?” This time it was a question.
“Yes.”
He paused so long, Sarah asked, “And?”
“And I lost it. I thought she was a slut. So I went inside the barn and chased her. I know it’s wrong, but I wanted to hurt her.” He raised his hands. “She was my girlfriend after all, right?”
When no one justified that comment, Sarah asked, “Did you catch her?”
Hunter shook his head. “We all did.”
“Did you beat her?” Parkman asked.
“We just took turns.”
“Turns?”
“Hitting her.”
DeOcampo clucked her tongue.
Hunter didn’t move or speak. He just stared at his lap as the truth came out.
Then he said, “It didn’t seem so bad because we were teenagers. I still remember thinking since she’d had sex with William and me, so who cared if we all hurt her a little, made her bleed.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and wet. “I know how wrong it was, but in those moments, when we were all taking turns punching her, I thought of all the times we’d had sex, and how she liked it rough. Even though she protested, screamed for us to stop, I thought it was part of the show.”
“She protested?” Sarah asked, trying hard not to pummel the man for his thickheadedness. Sarah was disgusted by men who thought this way, acted this way. Like it was their right—because they had a cock and were stronger—to do as they pleased with a woman, even if that meant beat her.
Hunter continued. “She screamed until she passed out.” He placed a hand on his chest. “It’s been so long but I remember those details quite clearly and I regretted it immediately.”
“What made you think she was dead?” Sarah asked, keeping the fury out of her voice.
He shrugged. “I thought I heard something about her parents having a car accident and the three of them dying in the fiery collision.”
“Why did she use the hanger on the pastor, then, I mean, if this is actually the Jamie Morgan from your past? What did you do with the hanger?”
He glanced up too quickly. Unable to deny it now, he hesitated, fidgeted with his hands, then mumbled a few words of explanation.
“When she was passed out, Alden had the idea that we could play with her, you know, since she was technically a girlfriend.”
“So you used a hanger?” The disgust was difficult to conceal from her voice. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her hands twitched, like she needed to grab him, throttle him. Parkman placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back.
“We were boys, barely sixteen or seventeen.” When he looked up, his pleading eyes got no sympathy from his audience. “We pushed the hanger inside her to see how far up it would go, and fished around. I remember thinking the blood was from the punches. That was it. That’s all of it.”
“She was bleeding. From there—didn’t you—”
“Sarah …” Parkman said, that tone of caution in his voice reminding her to not do something stupid. “Remain calm.”
Hunter lowered his head.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Crawford shouted, barging in the door open. “Everyone, get out!”
Sarah thought of several things she wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut. Crawford was right. She needed out of this room, away from Hunter. And Crawford seemed in such an irate state, that he was bound to arrest her just to shut her up if she protested.
They filed out into the hallway, with Crawford slamming the door behind the three of them.
“Well,” Sarah said after several minutes alone with DeOcampo and Parkman. “That’s some story—and it fits the motivation for why Jamie is coming after them now.”
“Seems like a long time to wait for revenge,” Parkman said. “And if he thought she was dead …” He left that open ended. “But, truly, would someone come back and murder them all because of a beat down?”
“I wonder what this Jamie has been through,” Sarah said out loud, as if talking to herself. “The life she’s lived, if in fact she’s still alive.” She blinked, then refocused on Parkman. “Shit.”
“What?” Parkman said, concern in his voice.
“Hunter is lying.”
“What?” DeOcampo echoed, moving in front of Sarah. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know yet, but Vivian just told me he’s lying. They didn’t just beat that girl up.”
“What did they do?”
“Something worse—far worse.”
DeOcampo put a hand over her mouth. After a moment, she refocused on Sarah. “That letter referred to Aaron’s sister. Tell me, is there any way Aaron would know who Joanne’s friends were back when she was alive?”
Sarah shook her head. “Joanne and Aaron led separate lives in the years before she was killed.”
“How about Vivian? Is she telling you anything about Jamie, or whoever the killer may be?”
Sarah slowly shook her head. “My sister won’t reveal anything about the killer to me. I’m pissed at her for that, but she is unmoved on the topic.”
DeOcampo tapped her bottom lip. “Hunter mentioned someone named Wi
lliam. We need to find that person and make sure they’re still alive.”
“You think we’ll get that list of names from Crawford now?”
“I’ll get it,” Parkman said, and shoved open the door to the conference room. He shut the door hard behind him.
“There’s more,” Sarah whispered to DeOcampo.
“More?” Her voice rose an octave.
“Plenty. Hunter didn’t tell us everything by far. There was someone else. Possibly more than two. The details are fuzzy.”
“How do you know? Vivian?”
Sarah shook her head. “Hunter didn’t hear about Jamie and her family dying in a car accident. My bullshit meter hit the red zone when he said that, but we ran out of time to push him. I think after they hurt her and violated her with that hanger, they may have tried to kill her. The young boys they were, they thought she was dead, but yet here she is, alive and well, and killing them for their role in ruining her life. At least that’s my guess. I’m so angry right now, that I want to walk back in there—” Sarah wiped her mouth, stopping her tirade.
DeOcampo held up her hands. “I’m angry, too. Don’t get me wrong. And there’s no statute of limitations on sexual crimes if that’s what we’re talking about here. If Hunter is still alive after all this, I’ll make sure he’s brought up on charges if they’re warranted, but for now, we need him.”
“Do we?” Sarah glared at her. “I vote we walk away, let Jamie Morgan take out the garbage.”
“Sarah, you don’t mean that.”
“No, but it still feels good to say it.”
The door burst open behind them so fast it smacked against the wall. Parkman shot from the room and bumped the opposite wall with his shoulder.
Sarah’s hands rose in defense, but before they were fully up in front of her, she figured out that it was just Parkman running too fast from the conference room.
Crawford and Hunter came out running, too.
“Hurry, to the cars,” Hunter shouted at her and DeOcampo.
“What’s going on?” Sarah shouted back as they all ran down the corridor toward the elevators.
“Another body was found.” This time it was Parkman who answered her.
“Another body? Where?”
“He was a pilot at the Buttonville Airport. The plane he was supposed to fly today was stolen.”
“This pilot match any of the names on the list?”
Hunter shook his head. “No, but he was supposed to take up a group of skydivers.”
The elevator opened and Crawford was the first one on.
“What happened to the skydivers?”
“They still did their jump, apparently.”
Sarah tried to follow the logic as the elevator headed down. “So someone unrelated was murdered? Why are we going?”
Hunter turned to her as the elevator slowed to a stop.
“They were going up to skydive with a group headed by William Mason.”
She stared at him. “The William from your story?”
Hunter jumped off the elevator and followed Crawford.
Over his shoulder, he shouted, “William and his wife are missing, as well as the plane. Meet us at Buttonville.”
Chapter 16
The Buttonville Airport is a privately owned airstrip in the north part of Toronto, Markham area. It took DeOcampo over an hour to navigate the Don Valley Parkway north to get there.
By the time they pulled in, the parking lot was filled with cruisers, marked and unmarked.
Sarah jumped from the rental even before DeOcampo had stopped. Parkman was right behind her, but they were held up at the police tape where they’d cordoned off the area.
“No public allowed,” a uniformed officer said, his hand up in front of Sarah.
Before she could respond, DeOcampo pushed past her, flipped open her FBI ID, and said, “They’re with me. I’m working with Detective’s Hunter and Crawford on this case.”
The officer lifted the tape. “Sorry, ma’am.” He pointed at the main doors. “They arrived five minutes ago. They’re in there.”
The trio strode across the concrete and entered the main airport terminal. It was a small airport, nothing like an international commercial airliner stop. It reminded Sarah of Ciampino, the smaller airport in Rome that budget airliners more often used for economical reasons.
They pushed through several groups of men milling around, some interviewing potential witnesses, others dictating jobs to uniformed officers, and some shooting the shit with coffee, and made their way to Hunter.
“What have you got?” DeOcampo asked as they stepped in beside the detective.
Crawford moved in front of her and Parkman. “Hey, there’s nothing for you to see here.” He pointed back at the door. “Wait outside. We’ll update you when we can.”
“Parkman,” Sarah whispered. “Help me. I don’t want to be brought up on charges today, but I think I’m going to fucking kill—”
“Hunter,” Parkman shouted, cutting her off and stepping in front of Crawford. “Rein in your guard dog, or lose Sarah for good.”
Hunter turned to face them all.
Parkman continued before Hunter had a chance to speak. “There was a reason Sarah’s and Aaron’s names were on that letter. She’s here voluntarily to help. Crawford’s an asshole. Make a choice, but know this—if Sarah leaves and investigates on her own, you lose control of the information.”
Hunter faced him now, and Crawford crowded him in.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Hunter asked. “You threatening me?”
“What he means,” Sarah said, forcing her way past Crawford and up to an inch from Hunter’s nose. “Is that my sister will tell me the truth about what happened that night twenty years ago, and how I can go about finding evidence. I’m here to help, and as the letter stated, I’m the only one who can stop this.” She eased back. “Or I can go home and watch what happens on the news.”
“I’m sure we’re all capable of stopping a murderer,” Crawford said. The din around them had quieted as everyone within earshot was listening now. “We’ve got badges and police cars, and all sorts of things we know how to do.” Crawford used his best pedagogical voice.
Sarah stared at Hunter, waiting for his response. She had to ignore Crawford for her own safety. She reminded herself she didn’t have to be there—in fact, Aaron preferred she wasn’t—but she wanted to be there for the victims, the innocents.
“You know you’re on the list, right?” Sarah said. “You could be next, Hunter.”
Crawford lost his shit, moaning from deep within his throat.
Then he jumped at Sarah, his hands up.
Parkman launched sideways, tackling Crawford to the floor.
Shouting erupted around them until several burly men tore Parkman off Crawford.
“Both of them,” Hunter yelled, his voice louder than all the noise in the small area. “Get them outside.”
Blood seeped from Crawford’s nose as he stared wide-eyed at his partner.
“Get out!” Hunter shouted in Crawford’s face.
Several officers led Parkman outside. Crawford followed them.
Hunter faced Sarah. “You’re on thin ice, Roberts. What was that all about? Why threaten me like that?”
“I said you’re next because it would appear that whoever’s doing this is going after the boys in that barn. You were in that barn, too, so logically, you’re next. The coat hanger is the dead giveaway, so to speak.”
“We haven’t confirmed William Mason is gone. Just that there was an incident—”
“He’s gone.” They stared at each other a moment, then Sarah said, “I’m leaving. Figure this shit out on your own. I can’t work with an asshole loose cannon like Crawford. Your partner needs to learn some manners. Parkman tried to teach those manners, but was taken off Crawford before a real lesson could be given.”
“You’re right, Sarah.” A man stepped in beside her. “Crawford was a dick and deserved that, worse
even.”
Parkman moved in closer. She wanted to hug him for what he did. There was not a scratch on him, either.
“Sergeant Mavin,” Hunter said, his tone tentative.
“Crawford’s gone home.” The sergeant glared at Hunter. “You’re off the case as of right now. Relinquish everything you’ve got for Winston and his partner. They’re taking over the case.”
“But Sarge, I got this—”
“You’re off the case,” the sarge shouted, his red tie billowing as he leaned forward into the shout. “You’re too close to this case and Crawford is acting as if he’s taking expired meds, or off his meds completely. Either way, this isn’t your case anymore. He tried to attack Sarah, a civilian who’s here voluntarily.” The man turned to Sarah. “I’ve heard great things about you and we appreciate your help.” He focused on Parkman. “I know you used to be one of us. Solid career, unblemished.” He redirected his attention back to Sarah. “Head home for now. Either Winston or myself will be in touch when we need more.”
“I’m off the case, too?” she asked.
“Not like Hunter, no. Just take a day or two of rest, let my detectives get up to speed on what’s happening. We’ll confer with DeOcampo, then get back to you. I’m sure you’ll be a big help moving forward.”
“This may be over in a day or two,” Sarah added. “Call me soon.”
“In that case, we may be in touch tonight.”
“Hey, Sarge,” a man yelled from across the room.
“Yeah?” he shouted, angling to see who called him.
A serious looking man strode toward them, his white shirt dark under the armpits. His tie was loosened and his shoes needed a polish, but it gave the impression that he was a hard worker. Someone who got in the trenches without complaint.
“Plane crash just north of us,” he reported as he got to within three feet of the sergeant. “Looks like it may be the stolen Twin Otter.”
“Any witnesses? Anyone already on site? Do you know how many were inside the aircraft?”
The man moved even closer to the sergeant as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “We have a preliminary report that the aircraft was empty. Autopilot failed or it ran out of fuel. But sir …”