Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

  She has put so much into raising Mason that it feels like he’s her own son. The home-schooling, which she’s in charge of, has given them what she always thought was a special bond. Having him live with them has distracted her from her own inability to have children. He’s given her life purpose and she’s been able to overlook the underlying reality that he’s her sister’s son. But as she looks at him now, a teenager on the cusp of adulthood, she wonders whether he ever really gave up on his mom.

  Anger swells in her chest as she realizes he’d welcome Madison back with open arms, which means that everything she’s done for him over the last seven years has been unappreciated. This is exactly why they changed his name from Owen Harper to Mason McCoy. It’s why they took him out of the school system and never told anyone who his mother was. So Madison wouldn’t find him.

  As far as she can tell, Mason doesn’t know she was released from prison early. He hasn’t asked about her for years and she never told him which prison Madison was in. He thinks she still has just over three years left to serve. She can’t help wondering how he would react if he knew she was back in Lost Creek. A bitter taste rises in her throat.

  “Your father does want you here, Mason. He’s just bitterly disappointed that you’re thinking of moving on and not staying with us. You’re his son. He really wants you to take over the business one day.”

  He’s shaking his head. “No way. I want nothing to do with him. And I still find it hard to believe my mother ever slept with that asshole.”

  He’s confirming her worst fears. He’s not showing one ounce of gratitude for the life they’ve given him. Her heart hardens against him. He’s turning his back on them and for that she can’t forgive him. “Then you need to leave. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

  He looks at her, first surprised and then resolute. He zips his bag closed, shoulders his backpack, and makes for the door. She clutches his arm as he passes.

  “Let me give you some final advice before you go back to being a Harper. If you speak to the police about anything—your girlfriend, our businesses, us—you’ll be considered an enemy.”

  He looks afraid, and rightly so.

  She drops his arm. “I’ll give you a head start before I tell Wyatt what you’ve just said, but you do not want to be in Colorado when he finds out.”

  Mason stands up straight. “He’s my dad. He wouldn’t hurt me.” He searches her face for reassurance. When he doesn’t find it, he turns and walks out.

  Angie watches from the window as he throws his bags into his car and drives away. She feels defeated. She loved him like her own, believing he would repay her kindness. She should have known he would always pick his mother. The only consolation is that he’s leaving town before Madison can find him.

  45

  Madison’s showered and dressed before Nate. She heads to the living room with a bowl of cereal and watches the TV as she eats. It’s another bright start to the day. Her mind wanders to what Mike’s probably doing right now with the knife. She’d love to be a fly on the wall when he finds out whether it was Nikki’s blood on it, and who the prints belong to. She just has to hope he’ll tell her, seeing as she gave it to him. At least it should settle whether or not Nikki was murdered. How else would the knife make it all the way into the Haunted House after she supposedly slit her own wrists on the Wonder Wheel?

  Brody is panting on the floor at her feet. He’s already been out this morning to check the property for potential threats. She smiles. He’s missing police work too. She glances at her cell phone: no messages.

  Nate walks in with a coffee. “Hey.” He rubs Brody’s head and sits on the couch.

  “Hey.” She puts her bowl on the side table and glances at him. “Did you manage to get any sleep?” He looks a little tired and is still in his sweats.

  “I did. That bed’s surprisingly comfortable. It’s just a shame I have to share it with a dog.”

  Madison smiles. “I wondered where he was sleeping.”

  Nate looks at the TV. “Turn it up.”

  The local news is showing an aerial shot of the park, taken by either a drone or a helicopter. Madison turns the volume up and Kate appears on the screen. It looks like she’s not been allowed in, as she’s in the parking lot with the rides standing empty and motionless behind her.

  “Good morning, folks. There have been some significant developments in two ongoing police investigations overnight. Firstly, Detective Don Douglas has confirmed that a forty-year-old man from Prospect Springs has been arrested and charged with the recent rape and brutal murder of local woman Stephanie Garcia. The suspect’s name is being withheld at this time, but his lawyer has said his client denies any involvement.”

  Madison looks at Nate. “Mike didn’t tell me they’d charged the guy. They must have something on him. Some evidence that he killed Stephanie.” She grabs her phone. “I need to know his name so I can see why he was looking for me and whether I know him.”

  She shoots Shelley a text.

  “Who are you asking?” says Nate.

  “Officer Shelley Vickers, a friend in LCPD. She passed me some inside information on Steph’s crime scene that day you went AWOL. Hopefully she’ll give me a name.”

  They turn back to the TV, where Kate’s still talking. “And secondly, unconfirmed sources have suggested that a bloodstained knife was found here at Fantasy World last night, but not near the Ferris wheel. It has been taken away for forensic analysis and it might be linked to Nikki Jackson’s death. If this is the knife that was used, it would of course be extremely worrying for the community, as it would confirm once and for all that she was murdered. And with it happening so close to the slaying of Stephanie Garcia, it could suggest we have a serial killer in our midst. So the question now is: do the police have the right person in custody?”

  Madison’s surprised. “I can’t believe Kate’s made the leap to serial killer. There’s nothing to suggest that.”

  “No, but it’s good for ratings, I guess. Keeps people tuned in.”

  She shakes her head. “You know, if I hadn’t have gone to prison, I’d be there right now looking into it.” She sips her coffee. “I’d give anything to be working that case properly.”

  She keeps going over things in her head, thinking about the fact that her son has been in town all along, with that despicable couple taking care of him. She tries to imagine what it would have been like for Owen as a scared and sensitive ten-year-old boy being brought up as a McCoy.

  She shudders. Why did child services allow him to live with them? But, having worked alongside the department many times, she already knows the answer. When a child is removed from a parent, they will always try to place them with a family member before considering fostering or adoption. And unfortunately, Wyatt is his biological father. He has every right, legally, to take Owen in. But no right morally.

  She could cry. There have been so many injustices that have led up to this.

  Her attention shifts to Brody, who’s sniffing around the rug on the floor. He gets his nose underneath it and whines.

  “I can smell it again too,” says Nate, looking at her. “Can you?”

  She hadn’t noticed it before, but now that Brody’s shifted the rug, there is a faint aroma of dried blood in the room. She’s overcome with a feeling of hopelessness. “I can’t get over the fact that Stephanie never told me Owen was in town all along. If I’d known that, I would have come straight here after my release instead of heading to California to track you down. I’ve wasted so much time.”

  “Your sister’s husband must have threatened her into keeping quiet. I’m getting the impression they’re pretty influential around here, so they could have scared her.”

  Madison has considered that. “It would make sense, I guess.’ She shakes her head, feeling guilty all over again. “God, I bet she wished she’d never met me.”

  Nate touches her hand. “Don’t go down that road. Trust me, I’m still there with Stacey and we don’t
need any company.”

  She smiles sadly. “We’re pretty screwed up, aren’t we?”

  He laughs. “It’s a good job we have each other to complain to. No one else would believe the shit we’ve been through, never mind put up with us.”

  “Have you heard from Father Connor lately?” She remembers how badly Nate reacted to the priest’s emails he received when they were working on their last case in California.

  “Nothing. The trail’s gone quiet. Rex doesn’t know where he is at the moment.”

  “And Rex hasn’t got back to you with background information on Ryan’s dad or anyone at LCPD?”

  He checks his phone. “Not yet. He’s pretty thorough, so it might take a little while longer. The minute he knows anything, he’ll call.”

  She’s quiet for a minute, then she stands up. “I can’t sit around here waiting for Mike to update me or for Douglas to drag Owen in and frame him for murder. We need to try and find him ourselves.”

  Nate looks unsure, but to his credit, he nods.

  46

  Mike removes his jacket even though it’s still early morning. He’s got another throbbing headache threatening to ruin his day. Chief Sullivan has joined him at Fantasy World, as he wants the speculation and press coverage around Nikki’s death to end as soon as possible. He’s got the DA on his back pushing for an explanation. Five of their officers are searching the park. Detective Douglas is back at the station interviewing Paul Harris again about Stephanie Garcia’s murder.

  Sullivan approaches him. “The whole park’s secure and the uniforms have been instructed to do a proper search this time. We may have the knife, but whoever put it there might have dropped something else—a shirt, a glove, I don’t know. Just something to help us identify him.” He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. “I can’t believe this place doesn’t have security cameras. Apparently some of the staff have dash cams in their cars, so I’ve got Officer Vickers calling round and getting them to drop their footage at the station. You never know, we might get lucky and spot someone arriving as people were driving away that night.”

  Mike nods. “The nearby gas stations will have surveillance cameras. I’ll get an officer to go check those out.”

  “You said Dr. Scott gave Nikki’s time of death as between midnight and two a.m., so there shouldn’t have been many people about at that time of night. If necessary, I want you to identify the owner of every vehicle picked up on CCTV.”

  Mike tries not to sigh at the thought of such a labor-intensive job. “Where’s Alex?”

  “He’s back at the station analyzing the knife. Dr. Scott is performing a second autopsy on the girl’s body this morning, this time with a view to it being a homicide.”

  “It could still be a suicide, you know.”

  Sullivan shakes his head. “How do you explain the knife being found in the Haunted House if it was a suicide?”

  Mike thinks about it. “Maybe Ricky Gregor panicked after finding her and hid it in there. I don’t know. I’ve not been able to track him down, even now I know his real name.”

  “Why haven’t we brought Mason McCoy in yet?”

  “I visited his place last night, but he wasn’t there. Angie said he was camping. There’s a BOLO out for him, so it shouldn’t be long before he’s spotted.”

  Chief Sullivan shakes his head. “My money’s on him. I mean, she asked him to meet her here. We find him, we find out what happened that night. And we need his prints to see if they match the print on the girl’s face.” He pauses, as if deciding whether to start pushing further. “You know what? I’ll get a search warrant for Angie and Wyatt’s cell phones and their premises. They could be hiding him.”

  Mike remains silent.

  After another drag of his cigarette, Sullivan stares at him. “You’re not afraid of the McCoys, are you, Mike?”

  Mike raises his eyebrows. He knows what kind of upset that will create in the community. The couple have a lot of friends in both Gold Rock and Lost Creek, though they’re mostly paid friends, or people under their control.

  “Because I don’t need cops on my team who are afraid of criminals,” continues Sullivan. “You understand me?”

  There’s a lot Mike could say, but he bites his tongue. “I’m not afraid of them. But you know as well as I do that they play dirty. If we search their premises it’s going to start a shit show. Are you ready to see who they have in their pockets, Chief? Who really controls this town?”

  Chief Sullivan looks away, and Mike thinks he’s considering whether this is a battle he wants to start, especially so close to his retirement. “I’m ready. It’s time Wyatt McCoy was taken down a peg or two.”

  Mike’s impressed. Chief Sullivan is taking this seriously. But that also makes him nervous.

  After Sullivan instructs Mike and Douglas to haul the McCoy boy in, Mike drives them to Gold Rock. They’re followed by two cruisers, silent with no flashing lights. They’re going to try to do this without drawing too much attention.

  A red Ford Mustang speeds past him on the opposite side of the road, going way too fast toward Lost Creek. “Asshole.” Brad Skelton. Someone else Mike can’t stand. He has an attitude problem as well as six arrests for drug offenses. Plus he works for the McCoy family, although Mike has never been sure what exactly it is he does for them. He doesn’t know what most of Wyatt’s employees do other than stand around pretending to fix cars. It’s probably better he remains ignorant.

  He pulls up to the McCoys’ ranch and looks around before getting out, but it’s so bright the sun is bouncing off the windows, making him look away. He hears a horse whickering to the left, but that’s not as loud as the male voices singing along to eighties rock music in the auto repair shop to the right of the house.

  They both get out the car and Mike glances into the workshop as they pass. Two men are under separate vehicles, banging away, so he goes unnoticed. Douglas continues on to the scrapyard just beyond, presumably getting a feel for who’s around, just in case things take a turn for the worse.

  Mike’s always amazed by the number of cars spread over the site. They’re all in various states of disrepair, with parts missing or obvious signs of collision. There’s a huge scrap-metal weighing scale in the middle of the yard, but no staff anywhere. A sudden loud crunching and smashing sound makes them look to their right as a car is compressed in the huge metal crusher at the rear of the yard.

  By the time they reach the front of the house, they’ve been spotted. Wyatt opens the front door with Angie behind him.

  Mike slowly climbs the porch steps, followed by Douglas. The uniforms behind them keep their distance.

  “Morning,” he says. They don’t respond. “Is Mason here?”

  “Nope,” says Wyatt. “We told you he’s gone camping. Haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Reckon he could be gone for a week.”

  Mike leans against the porch, trying to keep it casual, but Angie’s looking past him to the cruisers. “Mind if we come in and check his bedroom?” he asks.

  “I do mind, actually,” says Wyatt. “I think we’ll wait for a warrant.”

  Douglas pulls out the arrest warrant for Mason. “We need to check if he’s inside, then we’ll be on our way.”

  Angie looks like she’s biting her tongue.

  Douglas brushes past her and the uniforms follow. Mike stays outside to keep an eye on the McCoys. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Brad Skelton arriving. He must have turned around when he spotted the cruisers. A few other guys who work for Wyatt have come out from the scrapyard to see what’s going on, but they keep their distance. At the moment they’re just smoking and shooting the shit. Everything appears relaxed, but there’s always an underlying tension bubbling away at this place and Mike can’t wait to get out of here.

  “It will be worse for Mason if he’s brought in by one of our officers,” he says. “There’s a BOLO out for him, so it’s just a matter of time. In the meantime, we’ll be contacting his friends and
visiting the places he liked to hang out. If he wants to explain himself before anyone else has their say, he needs to get in touch asap.”

  Neither Angie nor Wyatt responds. They just stare at him until Douglas returns.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McCoy, if Mason returns home, I suggest you ask him to turn himself in,” says Douglas. “If he wasn’t involved in his girlfriend’s death, he won’t be charged.”

  Angie laughs. “What on earth could you charge him with anyway? The girl killed herself. There’s no crime there.”

  Mike speaks up. “We have reason to believe it wasn’t suicide.”

  “So what was it then?”

  “You’ll find out when we charge your son,” hisses Douglas.

  Mike wishes the guy would keep his cool. He always goes in all guns blazing and it’s not going to work here.

  Angie steps forward. “You need to get off our property.” She’s clearly fuming. She looks at Mike. “Both of you.”

  Douglas turns to leave, but then looks back at them. “You could help us discount your son as a suspect, you know. You could start by telling us where Mason was between midnight and two a.m. on July fourth?”

  Angie doesn’t hesitate. “He worked until around eleven, arrived home at eleven twenty and then joined us for the end of our party. We were all here together celebrating. Even had a firework show.”

  “Is there anyone other than your husband who can corroborate that?”

  She gives him a deathly stare and then calls Brad over. “Hey, Brad, do you remember seeing Mason at midnight on July fourth? We were all celebrating together here with a BBQ, weren’t we?”

  Brad smiles widely. “Sure we were. It was a good night. God bless America.”