The Dark Hour

by Erin Lanter

  “It’s not a suggestion, Tess. I’m sleeping out there.” Drew’s voice was firm and left no room for negotiation.

  “My knight in shining armor,” she said dryly.

  He shrugged and walked to the door. With his hand on the knob, he said, “I’m sure you want some sleep. You know where everything is. Goodnight.”

  When he was gone, Tessa unzipped her suitcase and grabbed her pajamas and toiletry bag. After a quick change, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, then pulled the covers back and sank into bed. Praying for a peaceful night, she drifted off to sleep. But the nagging thought at the back of her mind told her that the nightmare was just beginning.

  43

  Tears rolled freely down Camille’s cheek as she sat in the car, watching Drew’s house. She fought to control her breathing, which in her mind was dangerously close to hyperventilation.

  She was desperate to get back the feeling that Drew had given her of being worthwhile. Of course, sitting in her car outside his house wasn’t part of her grand plan to get him back, but she hoped to at least get a glimpse of him. What she saw, though, was Drew moving on without giving her a second thought.

  Her stomach dropped. “What does she think she’s doing?” she groaned as Tessa walked through the front door carrying an overnight bag. “I can’t believe he’s doing this!” she wailed. “I’ve never been treated so shabbily in my whole life.”

  Of course you have, a little voice in her head reminded her. But this is the first time it’s ever hurt.

  She leaned forward across the passenger seat and squinted, trying to see what was going on inside. Parked across the street from his house, she didn’t have a good view, but she could imagine.

  Tessa had been reasonable when they spoke outside her house. Maybe she could plead her case again.

  Slowly pulling out onto the road, she took one last glance at Drew’s house.

  “This isn’t over,” she vowed, and drove back toward her house and the bottle of wine she had on standby.

  44

  It had been another late night with not enough sleep. This was becoming the norm. Now, at six o’clock Saturday morning, Al Jefferson was at his desk again.

  “There’s not enough coffee on the planet to get me through this day,” he muttered as he walked to the coffee maker across the squad room.

  Most of the desks were still empty, leaving Al envious of his coworkers who were still asleep in their warm beds.

  He lifted the pot and filled his mug, debating whether or not to just take the whole thing back to his desk. Nobody here needs it more than I do, he reasoned, then thought better of it. It would just get cold sitting on his desk. Once he got focused on a case, he usually forgot about the coffee anyway and ended up dumping most of it down the drain.

  As he replaced the pot, he splashed some of the burning liquid on his hand and stifled the expletive that nearly escaped. Darlene hated it when he used bad language, and he’d been doing his best to watch his mouth.

  Returning to his desk, he plunked his Cincinnati Reds mug down and began making his to-do list. He’d learned early on in his career that he wasn’t naturally organized enough to get everything done without one.

  At the top of the list was getting Tessa James in to talk to a sketch artist. He needed to know what face she’d seen through the plastic. If they had any hope of identifying her, they needed to get at least a rough idea of what she looked like. Given the rain Monday night, and the distance Tessa was from the house, he knew a rough idea was all they could hope for. Also, since the home invasions seemed to be directly related to what she saw that night, he thought there was enough of a reason to invest a little more into the case, even though they still had absolutely no evidence.

  Until she came in, though, the most pressing thing on the list was finding out what happened to the girl they found on the creek bed. The medical examiner hadn’t gotten back with him yet about cause of death and they hadn’t even established her identity.

  He pulled out the file containing what little bit of information they had on the Jane Doe by the creek bed, then flipped through it and set it aside. It would have to wait until his partner, Isaac Dunn, got in. Until then, he had an hour and a half to satisfy his curiosity about Tessa James. There was something intriguing and oddly familiar about her.

  He searched the criminal database and, to his relief, came up empty. Her fingerprints weren’t on file and she’d never had so much as a parking ticket.

  Then why do I keep feeling like there’s a lot more to learn about her?

  Just as he was about to give up, a memory came slamming into his mind. A couple years ago some of his colleagues had responded to a 911 call. There had been a suicide. A woman had found her mother hanging from the second-floor stair railing of her home.

  What made me think of that case? he wondered. I wasn’t even there.

  He’d have to wait for Isaac for this, too. Isaac never forgot a name, a face, or a single detail from a case. He’d remember.

  After all, just before he made detective, Isaac responded to the call.

  45

  Tessa stretched and looked around at the strange but familiar surroundings. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she sighed deeply, rolled over, and shoved her arm under the pillow. She hadn’t slept that well since she moved into her own place, and it wasn’t just because her second-hand bed and mattress felt like a slab of concrete. Her psyche remembered the night sounds and the gentle creaking of this house, and she’d been lulled to sleep in no time.

  Finally resigning to get up, she dragged herself from the warmth of the bed. Life didn’t stop just because it was the weekend.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that, in the commotion of the night before, she’d skipped dinner. This morning she felt like she could eat a whole herd of cattle. Or pigs. Pigs did seem to be the official breakfast animal, after all.

  Without even taking a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser, she opened the bedroom door and was greeted by the smell of her favorite breakfast.

  Nearly tripping over a pillow and sleeping bag, she made her way to the kitchen. Drew was standing by the sink in gym shorts and a rumpled T-shirt, sipping his coffee.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Tessa asked, hope springing in her chest as she wiggled a finger toward the stove.

  “Yep. Biscuits and gravy for the house guest.” He put his mug on the counter and got two plates from the cabinet.

  “You always were a terrific host,” she said, saliva filling her mouth. She plucked three biscuits from the tray and broke them open on her plate. As she ladled the gravy over the biscuits, she said, “Why is there a sleeping bag and a pillow on the floor outside my room?”

  Drew shrugged and looked away. “I told you I’d be right out here to keep an eye on you.” He paused and rubbed his lower back. “I thinking I’m getting too old to sleep on the floor, though.”

  With a raised eyebrow, Drew watched as Tessa shoveled the food into her mouth. “You act like you haven’t eaten in days.”

  “I missed dinner last night, and it’s been ages since I’ve had biscuits and gravy. I fully intend to eat until I’m sick.” Tessa got back to her breakfast, then looked back up at Drew. “I can tell you’re judging me.”

  He just shook his head. “I was waiting for you, but it looks like you’re in no hurry to return the favor.”

  “Then hurry up, will you? I’m going to get grumpy soon.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” Drew said as he piled his own plate high with biscuits and saturated them with gravy. He took a seat across from her.

  They ate in silence, but when Tessa’s plate was half empty, Drew put his fork down.

  Tessa looked up. “Are you done already?” she asked, still chewing.

  “No. We need to talk.” His voice was serious.

  She pointed to her breakfast. “Don’t ruin this for me, Drew,” she warned.

  “I don’t intend to.”

  Tess
a wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on the table next to her plate. “Okay, then. What is it?”

  “I really want you to be careful.”

  “You’ve already told me this.” She started to pick up her fork, then paused. “I’m staying here so you can keep an eye on me. I’m being as careful as I know how to be. Unless I go to the safe house or end up in witness protection, this is as safe as it gets.”

  Tessa’s cell phone rang. She hesitated, then went to the bedroom to get it and brought it back to the kitchen. “Hello?” she said, her voice wary. “I see… Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She pressed the button to end the call and met Drew’s questioning eyes.

  “That was Detective Jefferson. He wants me to come to the station as soon as possible to meet with a sketch artist. He wants to try to get an idea about what the potential victim looked like, and he wants to double-check the identity of the guy I saw carrying her. Since there’s no evidence, it wasn’t necessary before. But he said that the break-ins at my house are too coincidental, and he wants to move forward with an investigation.”

  Drew watched her for a few seconds then said, “I’m coming with you.”

  “That really isn’t – ”

  “I’m coming. I don’t want you walking around out there by yourself. End of conversation,” he said, his voice stern.

  “Okay,” Tessa agreed. She tried to take another bite, but suddenly the meal that had been so delicious just minutes before was now dry and tasteless. She scooted her chair back and took the uneaten food to the trash.

  “I need to get dressed,” she said, then went to her room and closed the door, leaning against it to take a few deep breaths. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to recalling those dead, beady eyes of the killer, or the wide, staring ones of the victim.

  f

  The sketch artist’s hand moved quickly as Tessa recalled the features of the young woman she’d seen wrapped in plastic. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t recall enough detail to give him an accurate description. The finished sketch was general, at best. It could have been any woman between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.

  Describing the man was a different story. Her mouth dry, she described him feature by feature as the artist translated her words into an image that frightened her to look at. Drew, who’d insisted on accompanying her into the room, sensed her discomfort and placed a protective arm around the back of her chair.

  When the sketch artist was finished, he spun the paper around and slid it over to Tessa. “Does this look right?”

  Beads of sweat coated Tessa’s forehead. She swallowed. “Yes. That’s him.”

  Drew leaned closer and furrowed his brow. “Wait a second. This is who you saw?”

  Tessa nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  Even Detective Jefferson sat up straighter as he waited to hear what Drew had to say.

  Frowning, Drew said, “It’s just… I think I know this guy.”

  46

  The room went silent.

  “You know this man?” Detective Jefferson finally asked, urgency in his voice.

  Drew nodded. “He’s a new client.”

  “What can you tell me about him?” the detective pressed.

  “His name is Jacob Armistead. I haven’t been working with him very long, but he seems nice enough. Very backward, though. He doesn’t make much eye contact, but he was polite. The only time he really opened up was when he talked about his work.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’s a psychiatrist and seems really passionate about it. The bulk of his work is in private practice, but I think he moonlights at one of the hospitals.” Drew paused and looked at Tessa, whose wide eyes were unblinking. “When I first met him, I thought your mom might have benefited from someone like him.”

  Lowering her eyes, Tessa picked at a thread on her pants. Regret throbbed in her chest. Nobody could have helped Mama. She didn’t want help.

  Detective Jefferson interrupted the moment. “So, he’s a psychiatrist and your client. What do you do?”

  “I’m a financial adviser. I work with people of high net worth.”

  “That would explain the guy’s house,” the detective muttered. “What else?”

  Drew placed a comforting hand on Tessa’s knee and gave it a squeeze before answering. “He’s married, but from what I gather his wife travels a lot. She’s in sales for a department store. Makes pretty good money. He didn’t really talk much about her though.”

  Tessa’s fear that she’d imagined what she saw dissipated. Someone else recognized the face. Even without the evidence the police needed to do a thorough investigation, more things were stacking up to convince them that, even though they hadn’t found the body of the victim or any evidence that this man was the one who broke into her house, Jacob Armistead was far from innocent.

  “In the interest of full disclosure, I will tell you that this man lives in the house on the end of the street, and I think it’s time I paid him another surprise visit. Thank you both for your time. You’ve been very helpful.” Detective Jefferson stood and picked up the sketch, studied it for a moment, then looked at Tessa. “We’ll get him,” he assured her. “These guys always slip up, and being seen by you was his first mistake. His second was having the case land on my desk.” With that assurance, the detective stood and left the room. The meeting was over.

  Tessa and Drew left, too. As they walked out of the police station, hope sprang up in her chest. It sounded like they might start making progress. With renewed energy, she walked toward Drew’s car.

  She hadn’t imagined it. It had really happened.

  Just because Mama was sick didn’t mean Tessa was destined to be, too. As soon as this nightmare was over, she could finally start to live.

  That man, who she now knew to be named Jacob Armistead, had killed that woman. She was sure of it. She was also beginning to think she wasn’t the first person he’d murdered.

  47

  The door rattled in its frame as Al Jefferson pounded on it. Dr. Jacob Armistead hadn’t necessarily been evasive on Wednesday, but he certainly could have been more forthcoming. At the time, Jefferson had still doubted Tessa and wondered what the good doctor had been hiding. Now he knew.

  It was a stroke of luck that Drew James had accompanied Tessa to the meeting with the sketch artist this morning. Though he’d already done a check on the residents of that house, having the sketch confirmed by someone that knew him only strengthened his resolve to find out what happened in there Monday night.

  His stomach clenched as an image of Kimberly Hamilton’s lifeless body being hauled out of the garbage dump floated through his mind. Not taking a threat seriously was a mistake he’d promised himself he’d never make again.

  Now he feared history was repeating itself.

  He wasn’t getting complacent in his work. In fact, Al considered himself far from crusty and jaded.

  But he was tired. Tired of the long hours and the menial pay. When Tessa James came to report what she’d seen, it had been a rough day, and he hadn’t been eager to go looking for a major crime to solve. The fact that no body turned up hadn’t helped matters. He’d wondered if she’d been mistaken about what she saw. When they found the girl on the creek bed, he’d been certain they’d finally found the victim. But Tessa was emphatic that it was the wrong person, and that was the first time since he’d met her that there was no doubt in her voice.

  Wind howled against the house. Even though it was a warm July evening, it chilled him. He turned the collar of his suit jacket up. He sensed a storm was coming.

  Why isn’t this guy opening the door? Al wondered. He pounded again. A car was parked out front, so somebody was home.

  Finally, he heard footsteps approaching the other side of the door and the sound of a deadbolt disengaging. The door swung open and the same nondescript man he’d talked to the first time stood in front of him.

  “Sorry to show up unannounced like this, but
I have a few loose ends about that matter we discussed earlier that I need to tie up.” Al did his best to keep his voice casual. His gut told him he needed to build some kind of camaraderie with the guy.

  “Of course. Please come in.” Dr. Armistead stepped back, allowing the door to swing wide open.

  Al was greeted by spotless floors, neutral decor, and obviously expensive furnishings. Unlike the exterior, everything inside was just so. This guy was either a neat freak on steroids or had something to hide, and Al knew which one it was.

  “Nice place you got here,” he commented.

  “Thank you. My wife decorated it herself. She’s keeps wanting to start exterior renovations. That should take care of all the overgrown bushes and peeling paint. Frankly, I think it’s ridiculous to spend that kind of money, but it made her happy. Besides, she’s using money she inherited from a relative, so I don’t have much say in the matter. In fact, she used that money to buy this house in the first place.”

  “I understand…” Al said. That fit with what he knew about this guy being a penny-pincher.

  “Sorry it took so long to get to the door. I was in the middle of some paperwork and needed to get my notes jotted down while they were still fresh in my mind.”

  “Bringing the office home, huh?”

  “In a matter of speaking, I suppose,” the doctor replied. “I’m working on a book about conflicting delusions in individuals with paranoid schizophrenia. When something springs to mind, I have to write it down right away before I lose it.”

  Al grunted. “Sounds interesting.”

  “Oh, it is,” Dr. Armistead said enthusiastically. “It’s quite fascinating to see how mental illness manifests differently in each individual patient. Despite having the same diagnosis, all patients are unique. For example, two of my patients think they’re God, and they had an altercation because they disagreed with the way the other created the world. Absolutely fascinating…”

  Noting that the pulse in the man’s neck quickened when he spoke about work, Al wondered whether this guy just got really excited about his job, or if he had a sick fetish about watching people squirm.