by J. L. Hickey
“What the hell did we walk into?” Clent shook his head.
“So much for a quiet town,” Vanessa, brushed aside her partner and made her way out of the room. If she wasn’t careful, she would vomit again.
“Backups on its way, secure the area while you’re out there,” Clent knelt, taking in the scene. His stomach now, even more than ever, was on the verge of vomiting. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge.
“We lost him? Bob,” Vanessa asked. She stumbled her way out of the secret room of the shop.
“I think, in the woods. Watch what you touch, we need forensics,” Clent replied.
“Not if he filmed it…” Vanessa whispered to herself. “Fucking psycho…”
SIX
Haylee could not understand what she was hearing; she knew the victims, recognizing the Simmons’ house immediately. When she lived on Orr road, there weren’t many neighbors, being a country road and all. But she drove past the home whenever they made trips into the city. She recognized it, hell, she’d eaten dinner at their table with her fiancé, Robbie.
She and Robbie had made it a point to introduce themselves to the Simmons right away when they moved in. They did their best to be neighborly, and they had no friends in town. They had a son, she remembered, he was going away to college. He had visited for we week over Christmas. She thought his name was Brandon. She may be wrong; she blocked a lot out from her memory from that winter.
They were kind, loaded with money. The husband, Dennis, he drove a BMW and was out of town on business quite a bit. He was handsome, a bit mysterious. Always had folks coming in from out of town, the house was busy. She dog-sat for them a few times before their Great Dane passed, her name was Sadie. Beautiful dog, Haylee, had asked Robbie if they could get a Dane. He laughed at her, “too big,” he said. She looked at Trayer, who popped his head up excitedly. He let out an inquisitive whine. Trayer was the first purchase she made when she relocated into the duplex.
“He needs to be let out,” Haylee had been so out of it, she’d forgotten about him. Poor pup, she’s surprised he hadn’t had an accident.
“I got it,” Aaron replied. “C’mon boy,” he waved to the back door. “You knew them, huh? The people in that house?”
“I did,” Haylee shook her head in disbelief.
“Did you know them well?” he led the Dane through the kitchen towards the back screened sliding door.
“You could say that,” she turned the television off for the first time in months. “A few times, Nora knocked on my door. I think she was lonely. We’d share some wine, talk about family. She said her husband worked crazy hours. Always had meetings out of town, always had business partners and clients over for meetings. She opened up to me. Said he loved her but wasn’t in love with her. I believed her. Their son was older, never home much, left for college before everything…” Haylee caught herself. “You know, after what happened to me. She stayed in touch over the years, even after I moved. Got a Christmas card right before the holiday. She was kind.”
“I see,” Aaron opened the screen door, Trayer tore out of the house. “He okay outside for a while, in the cold?”
“Yeah, he’ll bark when he’s ready, he loves the snow,” Haylee spoke somberly. She wanted more pills already. Even though she still felt the after-effects from the night prior. “I need a drink,” she got up, made her way into the kitchen.
“It’s not even noon,” Aaron frowned.
“I just found out my old neighbors have been murdered,” Haylee retorted, “My nerves are shot.”
“Yeah, no…” Aaron fumbled, “I just meant, you sure that’s a good idea? You’re still recovering from last night’s mishap.”
“You’re free to go back home, if you don’t like my lifestyle,” Haylee didn’t need the lecture.
“Sorry, how about pouring me a shot too?” Aaron made his way into the kitchen. “I’m just trying to help, look after you.”
Haylee grabbed two shot glasses from her cupboard. She pulled out the Seagrams, twisted off the top, and filled both glasses. “I’m a big girl.”
“It’s not that,” Aaron stammered.
“—It’s okay,” Haylee interrupted. “Everyone means well, I appreciate it. I get it.”
“Seagrams?” Aaron chortled, trying to break the uneasiness of the conversation, “the expensive shit.”
“It gets the job done,” She held up her shot to cheers. Aaron obliged, they clinked glasses, they downed the shot in one long gulp.
“Not good,” Aaron swallowed hard. “I’m a Grey Goose guy.”
Haylee poured a second, offering Aaron a shot as well. He waved it off, so she poured her fill, took the second shot with ease.
“Better?” asked Aaron.
“A little,” Haylee frowned. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I get it, I do. I’m a mess.”
“Let’s just drop it,” Aaron replied. “You think it was a robbery? They sounded rich, and you said he drove a BMW? And that house looked like it was a mansion.”
“They said they were found mutilated,” Haylee corrected. The words stung as they rolled off her lips so causally.
“Right…” Aaron frowned.
“I don’t think robbers mutilate their victims.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Aaron took a seat at the table. Haylee’s laptop sat folded closed, charging.
“It happened last night, the local Facebook groups are probably having a field day reporting on it already,” Aaron flipped open the laptop. “You’d be surprised how much info you can find out on groups like these.” He wouldn’t tell her, but when news broke about what had happened in her home two years prior, he’d followed the story unfold for months through social media. Local newsgroups tended to have people close to those involved commenting. One could find shards of truths filtered through the ugly and often inhumane comments from internet trolls. Police reports leaked, transcripts of the 911 calls, screenshots of text messages, you name it, it made the rounds on the internet.
He remembered listening to her 911 call. He’d never forget the panic in her voice, the sobbing. He realized now that he was invading her privacy, and the guilt was gnawing at him. Yet, it was true. The internet had a wealth of information.
“We should see what people are saying,” he spun the laptop towards her, the sign-in screen was lit up.
“I don’t know if I should go digging,” Haylee shook her head. “My dad wanted me to stay away. Which means he realizes something he’s not telling me. Something he thinks will trigger me.”
“Maybe getting some answers will help?” Aaron replied. “Your dads not here after all.”
“I doubt it. I have enough issues. My stoner neighbor peddles me pain pills to keep me halfway sane.”
“—Hey!” Arron took offense. “Peddling makes me sound like I’m profiting. You and I both know; you don’t pay for those pills. I’m just a concerned neighbor, hoping to help out a friend.”
A loud bark came from the backyard. Trayer handled his business and was ready to go in. Haylee walked to the screen door, where he waited patiently. She opened the door, Trayer ran halfway into the kitchen, and in true doglike fashion, shook his entire body from the snow he’d spent the last ten minutes rolling around in. A dog’s life, Haylee wished for the simplicity. Haylee locked the backdoor and retreated to the disgusting puke colored couch.
Aaron made his way back, laptop in tow. They sat for a moment; Haylee lost in her thoughts. Aaron was not quite sure what to think. Curiosity burned inside him, what happened to the Simmons? Was it jealousy? A robbery? Revenge?
“…She was so lonely,” Haylee broke the silence.
“Who?” asked Aaron. “The wife?”
“Yeah, we became…” Haylee searched for the right word. Were they friends? Chatty neighbors? Associates?
“Close enough that this has you shook up,” Arron answered for her.
“Yeah,” replied Haylee. “I didn’t really know the husband, Dennis too well. We had dinner together once as a couple. He was more interested in Robbie than me. Took him out to show him his car he’d been restoring. Nora called it his Man’s cave. She wasn’t allowed anywhere near it. His space, she said.”
“Yeah, I need one of those. Except mine would be a giant video game arcade some dort of giant kids wonderland. And all the weed I could smoke. Not too much into the mechanical side of manliness.” Aaron joked.
“Isn’t that already your apartment?” Haylee found a half-smile.
“Maybe,” he shrugged.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. I think I need to get it out of sight out of mind,” said Haylee. “I promised my dad.”
“I know it’s eating you up inside, not knowing what happened. What’s your password? You said you’d stay off the internet, not me. Let me do the dirty work. If I find anything, it’s up to you if you want me to share it with you.”
Haylee sighed. The curiosity was killing her. She couldn’t fathom the horrors the Simmons suffered. Then again, she supposed if anyone could, it was her. She hoped it was a quick, painless death, unlike her sisters. Something in the back of her mind told her otherwise. What did her dad know? Why didn’t he want her to find out about it?
“Move over,” Haylee gave in. She quickly typed in her password, unlocking the laptop. “See what you can find. I’m going to put a movie on Netflix and try to relax. I’m still woozy–I need to work off these pills.”
“Deal,” Aaron nodded, already typing in Facebook on the web address bar and logging in under his name.
SEVEN
Detective Lewis Pike had gotten the call about a quarter to midnight. He’d laid down in bed, began the next chapter in the latest David Baldacci novel. He’d only made it to the second paragraph when his cell went off, vibrating loudly on his nightstand. The life of a Detective, it was one that he’d grown accustomed to.
No one ever calls with good news that late at night. Pike knew there would be little sleep in his foreseeable future. There never was. At least not until retirement, but he had a year to go. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about it anyway.
“Pike,” He’d answered the phone. He sat up, rubbing his temple. “Okay?” his eyebrows raised with curiosity.
“Orr Road, huh?” There was a long pause. “Two vics?” he stood up from his bed, made his way to his closet, dropping his flannel robe to the ground. He rummaged quickly through his closet, grabbing a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt. “—Yeah, I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He swiped the phone, ending the call.
There it was—a lot of info to digest. Pike’s brain was already swimming with pieces of a larger puzzle, already formulating how some pieces fit. There was a homicide on Orr road, two vics, suspect fled on foot into a heavily wooded area. The search party was already underway. Officers were on foot searching the surrounding area. Road’s been blocked off, five-mile radius. The home had been cleared, and the coroner’s already on site. More backup is on the way.
It’s a manhunt.
Orr road. He’d been there before, three years prior. That one still gave him nightmares.
Be ready, detective, it’s a messy one. He’d been warned before he hung up.
Pike’s heard that one before. Messy ones meant news coverage and nosey ass reporters.
Already disrobed, Pike slipped out of his stained grey sweats, slipped leg by leg into the pair of black slacks, they were poorly wrinkled, he didn’t give a shit. He tossed off his house slippers, stepped into his work boots. Quickly buttoned up his white dress shirt (also wrinkled to shit), shoving it into his pants, he buttoned the waist, zipped his fly. He was almost ready. The most important part of the uniform was next, Pike grabbed his firearm, a Glock 22 .40 caliber, secured it within his side holster.
He glanced at his watch, 11:52 pm, near midnight.
Dress warm, he thought, he peered between the blinds. The snow was heavy, the roads already blanketed with at least three inches of snow.
Steady and slow, no need for an accident on the way. He grabbed a cup of coffee he brewed earlier in the morning, microwaved it, and poured it into a travel mug. No doubt stale, probably burnt as well. He needed the caffeine, burnt or not. The standard twenty-minute drive into the country would take him over double, if not longer.
Fucking snow.
. . .
Detective Pike pulled up to the scene a little after twelve-thirty in the morning. He found a spot beyond a few police cruisers, lights illuminating the snowy countryside around them, a swirl of blues and reds beaming out into the blackness of the sky. He exited his vehicle, where two uniformed police officers met him, hands outstretched, the stench of death on their faces.
“Detective Pike,” Clent extended his hand to shake. Pike obliged. He’d recognized Clent right away, worked with him in the past, more than once. Good cop knew his shit. Strong as an Ox too, they don’t make guys like Clent anymore. Pike was happy to see him onsite.
“What’s that shit on your lip?” Pike pointed to the perfectly trimmed pencil-thin mustache on Clent’s upper lip.
“Always on, aren’t you?” Clent had half a smile, but Pike could see the seriousness behind his eyes.
“You know me,” Pike took a sip of the disgustingly bitter coffee. He could barely choke it down “—always the one to break the tension.”
“This makes 2017 Orr road look like a kids tea party,” Clent frowned. He’d been at the site with Pike back then as well.
“Shit, that bad?” Pike frowned. “Thought this was feeling a bit of Déjà vu,” Pike did not joke, it was a statement. His playful banter quickly dissolved. “So, fill me, in, and who’s this?” Pike nodded to Vanessa, who stood beside her partner, her face pale white, sweat glistened off her forehead despite the bitter cold. She looked physically ill.
“Detective, this is my new partner, Vanessa Velasquez,” Clent added. “First murder scene.”
Pike shook her hand and nodded. “Sorry, kid, the first is always the worse.”
“Especially this one,” Clent added.
“Yeah,” Vanessa answered. “It’s embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Shits not easy,” Pike spoke bluntly. “Unfortunately, you get used to it.”
“Sort of,” Clent corrected.
“What do we have?” Pike redirected the conversation.
“Backup secured the area. We got a group of about five guys looking through the woods, searching for the suspect,” Clent answered. “Coroner showed up about a half-hour ago, he’s in the garage now waiting for you,” Clent explained.
“Who do we got on scene? Fat Man?” Pike asked.
“Isn’t it always?” Clent replied.
“Okay, good. Give it to me from the beginning?” Pike asked.
“Simple Welfare check, or so we thought,” said Clent.
“Okay?” Pike took a long sip of the stale, burnt coffee.
“Well, we approached the home, a young man, mid-twenties answered. No ID claimed to be a friend of the homeowners in town staying with them. Friendly enough.”
“Let us into the house,” Vanessa added. “He answered questions asked, did not appear to be evasive, but he was...off?”
“Claimed he woke up and Dennis and Nora had left home earlier that morning, didn’t know whe
re or why they left, no messages were left behind,” Clent added.
“Home was cleared? Nothing noteworthy or foul play?” Pike led the officers towards the home, zipping his coat up to his chin.
“Home was clean, nothing to think anything suspicious went down, minus the pristine clean job and the faint odor of bleach,” Clent replied.
“Okay?” Pike was waiting impatiently for the ‘but…’.
“We noticed a fairly large garage outback. He led us there to have a look,” Vanessa added.
“He entered the garage in front of us, slammed the door shut before we could stop him.”
“He locked you out?” Pike’s head tilted. “No warrant,” he added.
“No warrant, it was welfare check called in from the out-of-state son.”
“So, he could have just said no, or claimed he didn’t have the key,” Pike raised one eyebrow, thinking out loud.
“Not sure what he was thinking, he seemed a bit aloof, but not like he was hiding two bodies,” Clent added.
“Panicked maybe,” Vanessa responded. “We got too close, tried to keep his cool, then just bolted?”
“Good bet. So, how did you lose him? You took chase?” asked Pike.
“We think he exited the back door, fleeing into the woods. We tried to get through the front. It was sturdy, took us a minute. You’ll see once we get back there, the garage extends into the woods, a good portion of it is completely covered into the forest. We didn’t know there was a backdoor for him to escape through,” Clent explained. “It’s a bitch crawling past the side of the garage up against all the damn branches from the pin trees. I fell, knocked myself silly.”
“I see,” Pike shook his head, took another sip of his coffee. Still tasted like shit, but the hot liquid warmed his body from the inside out. “So, you saw him flee into the woods.” This was a statement, not a question.