The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

  In no position to object - or give ultimatums of any kind – Reed had agreed readily to the stipulation. If things went as he hoped, the entire conversation wouldn’t take more than a few moments anyway.

  The bigger question was going to be how the one after that went.

  Using the ruse of saying they should meet at the diner since Reed already knew where it was, the real reason for choosing the location was clear as Martin walked up to the driver’s side window. Food and drink held in both hands, he motioned with for Reed to roll down the window.

  Stepping closer, Reed could see that the tie Martin had been wearing was gone, though he otherwise looked the same, as if he had come straight from the office.

  “Evening,” Martin said. “I got here a bit early, so I thought I’d pop inside right quick.”

  Not caring what the man chose to have for dinner, Reed waved off the explanation. “Just appreciate you making the time. You want to hop in? You can eat while I drive?”

  “Sounds good,” Martin said. Turning at the waist for just an instant, he added, “I know the owner pretty well. He won’t care if I leave my ride here.”

  Scads of retorts came to mind as Reed watched the man circle around the front of the SUV. Most of them centered on how much time the sedan was probably parked there as it was, he let each pass in silence.

  Martin was a friend of his father’s, and he was there doing him a favor.

  No need to insult him. Especially when the well-being of Serena Gipson could depend on it.

  Rolling up his window, Reed waited as Martin swung into the passenger side, a plume of grease and cheese and beef arriving with him. Squeezing himself into the bucket seat, Martin leaned forward and racked it back as far as it would go, a move meant far more to accommodate his bulk than his meager height.

  Giving him a moment to get settled, Reed asked, “Where to?”

  “You know where Oral Roberts is?” Martin responded, dropping his cup into the middle console before reaching across his body for the seatbelt. “Over in Tulsa?”

  That morning was the first time Reed had been to Tulsa in his life. Once or twice before, he’d been to Stillwater for the annual Oklahoma-Oklahoma State Bedlam game, but most of his experience in the area was confined either to the capital or the surrounding suburbs.

  From there, if they needed anything, it made more sense to head south to Dallas than to bother making the trek in the opposite direction.

  Easing out of the parking lot, Reed pulled away from the diner, turning back in the direction he’d just come from. Squinting against the sun shining directly in, he headed due west for the better part of a mile before turning north, retracing the steps he’d driven with Wyatt that morning.

  “I can get us to the city,” he said. “You’ll have to direct me in from there.”

  “Sounds good,” Martin said. Bending forward at the waist, he drew up the plastic sack he’d carried out from the diner, balancing it across his lap. “Gives me just enough time to eat before we get there.”

  If there was any concern about eating in someone else’s vehicle, the man failed to show it. His full energy went into attacking the meal as he unfolded the handles of the sack, the sound of plastic crinkling filling the vehicle.

  With each bit of unwrapping that occurred, the scent emanating from his lap seemed to grow stronger, reminding Reed that he hadn’t eaten since the chicken tenders earlier that day.

  Not that he trusted his system to hold much at all right now. His stomach was pulled in so tight he knew what any attempt at putting down food would likely do.

  “Apologies if I seemed a little out of sorts on the phone,” Martin said, his voice drawing over Reed’s attention, even as his own remained on the food before him. “It wasn’t that I had any problem with you coming over to talk to the kid, it’s that we just got a positive ID on the girl yesterday.”

  Alternating his glance between the road and the man beside him, Reed let the information settle.

  When he’d asked to speak to the boyfriend, he hadn’t thought that the death of his girlfriend had just been confirmed a day before. He’d only been considering it through the lens of her disappearance and the police looking into him months prior, thinking that his showing up now to ask some questions, extending the possibility of some answers, might be a welcomed thing.

  Now, he understood why Martin had acted the way he had.

  In truth, he would have likely done the same if the roles were switched.

  Twenty-four hours before, somebody from their department had been forced to walk up to this young man’s door and deliver the worst news imaginable. They had had to confirm every worst fear that had been harbored in the preceding months, finally extinguishing any lingering bits of hope there might have been.

  Essentially, they had reopened a wound that had only just begun to scab over.

  And now Reed was arriving as an unknown, a man working with no true affiliation, asking to poke at it further.

  “Appreciate you doing this,” Reed said, reiterating what he’d said earlier, adding nothing more.

  Grunting slightly, Martin finally reached the inner ring of his unwrapping project, revealing a loaded bacon cheeseburger, so fresh the grease hadn’t yet begun to congeal. Reaching in with both hands, he lifted it an inch or two from the container, juices dripping onto the paper wrapping below.

  As he did so, Reed’s phone erupted from the middle console, drawing both their attention toward the device. On the screen, a string of digits popped up, an area code for central Ohio serving as the foundation.

  Even without a name attached, Reed recognized it instantly. Having been expecting it since speaking to Grimes earlier, he was surprised it had taken so long to finally arrive, and he was still wanting no part of the woman he knew was waiting on the other end.

  “You need to get that?” Martin asked.

  “No,” Reed replied, reaching out and pressing the power button along the side to silence it. “It can wait.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Reed could imagine that there was generally very little foot traffic in the Biological Sciences Building at Oral Roberts at seven o’clock in the evening. Coupled with it being a Friday night and the first week of the new summer semester, he wasn’t surprised to find the place nearly deserted.

  Having not seen a single other person since exiting the SUV, the scene made Connors State look like Grand Central Station, he and Martin walking through the empty hallway with Billie between them. To either side were evenly spaced doorways, most standing open, the interior lights off.

  Filling the gaps in between were water fountains and bulletin boards, most of the usual flyers stripped away for the summer, leaving nothing but bare cork behind.

  “We sure he’s here?” Reed asked, his footfalls silent against the glossy tile floor.

  “Yeah,” Martin replied. “After you called earlier, I ran it past my guys Dunne and Martinelli. They’re still down in Checotah working the DT dump site, said we could find him here.”

  If they’d had any trepidation about letting Reed speak to the boyfriend, Martin said nothing of it, falling silent as he led them around a corner.

  Not that Reed would have begrudged them if they did. Never before had he had another detective call and ask to speak to someone who had previously been a lead suspect, though he could imagine his reaction would have trended toward the negative.

  If forced to guess, he was probably fortunate that they were still down in Checotah. Not because it put them geographically unable to run interference, but because after spending the better part of two days grasping at straws, they were probably pretty pissed.

  About what had happened to Darcy Thornton to begin with. About how she had been cast aside in the aftermath, found only through a mistake.

  About the way they were probably making very little headway on a case that had already made the airwaves once and was bound to do so again.

  As much as they might have disliked the no
tion of opening this kid up to further scrutiny, if there was any way Reed’s case was connected, any hope that they could push ahead because of it, they had to take it.

  An eventuality Reed would like to think he’d come around to as well.

  “Alright, this is the place,” Martin said, pulling up in front of a pair of glass double doors. Stenciled across them in block white letters were the words JONAS ATKINS LABORATORY, the building abbreviation and room number BS 105 beneath them.

  Who Jonas Atkins was, Reed hadn’t a clue, figuring him to be either a past professor or major donor, the answer not especially important as he held open the door. Waiting for Martin and Billie to both enter, he took no more than a couple of steps inside before pulling up.

  Noticing the sharp smell of disinfectant in the air, he immediately reversed course, stepping back into the hall. “Come.”

  Doing as instructed, Billie followed him to the opposite side of the space.

  “Down.”

  Again, she obeyed without objection, watching as Reed again made his way inside the lab.

  “Damn disinfectant is so strong in here, it’s burning my nose,” Reed said, returning to his post beside Martin. “Can’t imagine what it was doing to hers.”

  The lab seemed to stretch more than a hundred feet in total in either direction. Filling most of the space was row after row of stainless-steel tables, various instruments strewn across them.

  Along the far wall was a grid of cages, tiny white mice moving about within, everything illuminated by powerful halogen light fixtures hanging down from the ceiling.

  The room was void of life, save for a single male in the back corner who seemed not to have noticed that anybody had entered, standing hunched over a microscope. Dressed in a white lab coat with rubber goggles covering much of his face, he stood perfectly still.

  Not until Martin cleared his throat loudly did he pull back, visibly flinching at the sight of the two men standing just inside the door.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice conveying the undertones of the dread Reed had considered just minutes earlier.

  Stepping away from the microscope, he reached up and slid the goggles up over his head, wisps of dark hair peeling back with the movement before again falling across his forehead.

  Seeming to exude wariness, he moved a few steps before pausing, making no further effort to close the gap between them.

  “Hi,” Martin opened, raising his voice slightly. “My name is Detective Thad Martin, I work with Detectives Martinelli and Dunne with Muskogee PD.”

  At the mention of Martin’s colleagues, the young man seemed to flinch slightly, his body rigid as he nodded slightly.

  “And this is Detective Reed Mattox. He was wondering if he might be able to ask you a few questions.”

  Remaining in place, the young man’s gaze slid from Martin to Reed. “About what?”

  Sensing that the young man was going to come no closer, Reed took a few steps forward. He made his way past the first row of workstations, hitting a middle corridor and turning to face him square.

  “What else is there to possibly ask about?” the young man said, not waiting for a response. His voice cracking, it seemed to gain pitch with each word. “I mean, you guys found her, right?”

  Looking from Reed to Martin still standing by the door, he said, “She’s gone. And she’s not coming back. No matter how many damned questions you guys ask.”

  Even beneath the lab coat he wore, it was plain to see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. Blood flushed his cheeks as he continued looking from one man to the other, his body rigid, so many comments visibly lined up, ready to be lobbed their way.

  Right up to the moment when the combined weight of them became too much, pitching the young man in half across the table before him. His cheek mashed tight against the metal, he remained in that position, making no effort to rise as the first sobs slid out

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The young man’s name was Adam Fisher. Originally from Ada, he had moved north after graduating from East Central University to pursue a master’s in research biology.

  Where he planned to go or what he wanted to research in particular were still up in the air, his time on campus having been a series of starts and stops dictated by what had happened to Darcy Thornton.

  In his mid-twenties, he had shaggy chestnut colored hair and blue eyes set into a baby face that didn’t yet have a single follicle of a beard. Slight of build, Reed would guess him to weigh no more than one hundred and thirty pounds, no matter how much the lab coat he wore tried to hide it.

  A full ten minutes after their arrival, he was now perched on the opposite side of the table where they had first found him. Leaning forward, his elbows rested atop the stainless-steel surface, fingers wrapped around an Oral Roberts mug, the tag of a tea bag hanging over the side.

  Eyes and nostrils both rimmed red, he stared up at Reed, an array of emotions splayed across his features.

  “Sorry about that,” he whispered. Glancing away, he paused a moment, a tremor causing a muscle in his jaw to quiver, before adding, “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? I’d worked through every possible thing that could have happened to her. Even thought I had made peace with the fact that she was probably gone.

  “It’s just...getting that visit yesterday. Hearing the words...”

  His body went rigid, his gaze still aimed toward the door, before his focus fell to the mug. Releasing one hand from the side of it, he grasped the tag of the tea bag and began to work it up and down.

  A move Reed had seen many times before, people needing anything – no matter how trivial – to keep themselves occupied in the face of what they assumed were going to be difficult questions.

  Seated a couple of feet away on a work stool, Reed waited. The chair he was balanced on was terribly uncomfortable, but it beat the alternative of standing, appearing to be towering over Fisher.

  With his feet wrapped around the bottom rung of the crossbars beneath him, he allowed the young man to continue working on the tea bag, waiting until he raised his attention before beginning.

  “Like Detective Martin mentioned,” Reed opened, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to point to Thad Martin waiting out in the hallway with Billie, “my name is Reed Mattox. I’m a K-9 detective with the Columbus Police Department, and that’s my partner Billie outside.”

  Pulling his brow together slightly, Fisher flicked his gaze toward the door. “Columbus?”

  “Ohio,” Reed said. “My parents just moved to Warner and we came out to help them get settled.”

  Reed watched as the information landed, Fisher’s mouth forming into a circle as he slid his gaze back. “And you’re now working with the Muskogee PD?”

  “No,” Reed replied. “My father and Detective Martin are old football buddies, so I asked him for a few minutes as a personal favor.”

  In Reed’s experience, there were two ways to build rapport with a witness. The first - and one that he used the vast majority of the time - was to present himself in a purely business fashion. Assure them that he was taking everything extremely seriously, working as hard as possible to serve justice, in whatever form that took.

  Conforming with most people’s expectations, it gave them peace of mind. It made them feel secure opening up, knowing that anything they shared would be used to the utmost.

  The second method, the option Reed had settled on the moment he saw Fisher fold himself over the table, expelling the emotion he still carried with him, was to relate to them in a personal manner. To allow some of the glossy veneer of law enforcement to fall by the wayside, instead emphasizing how a case appealed to his humanity.

  “This isn’t about Darcy?” Fisher asked, releasing the tea bag and returning both hands to the mug.

  Matching Fisher’s pose, Reed leaned forward. He laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table as he peered across at the younger man.

  “I won’t lie to you. Thre
e days ago, I had never heard the name Darcy Thornton. Just like I’m sure you had never heard the name Serena Gipson.”

  Pausing, he waited until Fisher’s gaze rose to meet his. “Right?”

  A lump moved the length of Fisher’s throat as he swallowed hard, staring back in silence, before shaking his head just slightly.

  “But I won’t say this isn’t also about Darcy,” Reed said, “because I believe that what happened to your girlfriend also happened to Serena. And to a girl named Suzanne Bonham down in Longtown.”

  The surface of Fisher’s eyes glassed over as he stared across, his lips parting as his jaw sagged open. Again, his breathing increased, his grip on the mug tightening. “There were others?”

  “Nine others,” Reed said. “They were spread out long enough and far enough that nobody put together the pattern, but we now believe that they were all chosen for a reason.

  “What we don’t know is how they all intersected. How the kidnapper was finding them.”

  The moisture on Fisher’s eyes remained as he stared back at Reed. Moving not an inch, he merely breathed slowly through his nose, his nostrils flaring slightly.

  “Serena Gipson lives a very narrow life,” Reed continued. “She goes to work, goes to school, cares for her sick mother and young siblings. Rarely does she leave Warner.

  “The odds of her ever crossing paths with Darcy in her day-to-day life are pretty slim.”

  Considering it for a moment, Fisher blinked twice. Moving an inch past the emotion, the sorrow that he felt, his gaze cleared, his mind shifting to what he was being told.

  Much like it had with Trixie Laub.

  “I only knew Darcy for the last year, but I can say we never made it down to Warner,” Fisher said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If she’d ever been there herself, she never mentioned it.”

  His eyes shifted as he thought another moment, adding, “I’ve only been there a time or two for debate matches or to watch a basketball game in high school, but that’s it.”