The man reached for his flashlight and descended the stairs before Tom. “Can’t believe we nabbed the guy. Good spot on the nightstand,” Juan said. Tom liked the guy. He was married with a little girl. Tom had been to his house a handful of times with the guys for poker night. He’d finally started to integrate into the station out in Gilden, and he vowed to make more of an effort after this short stint in Red Creek. He also vowed to never again come to this hellish town if he could avoid it.
“Clear,” Juan said as he stepped on the floor. Tom saw a light flip on, and Juan was crouching at the bottom of the steps. The ceiling was low, just tall enough to stand up without his hair brushing against the tile panels. The floor was painted gray concrete, and Tom spun slowly, taking in the room. There were around twelve cages, six on each side of the space. The entire room looked to be about two thousand square feet, and the lighting was dim, even with the two fluorescent fixtures turned on.
Tom glanced up at one of them, seeing two of the four tubes burned out. It flickered softly as he walked by it toward the first cage. The far wall was concrete cinderblocks, unfinished, and water ran from a crack above. Water always found a way in. His old place in Chicago had leaking issues, and they’d had to get the driveway dug up to repair the foundation from the outside.
The tiny puddle rolled toward the first caged area, entering without permission and stopping against a wet cardboard box. The entire room was stuffy, and he wondered if there was mold down here. Suddenly, the space felt cramped, and Tom wished he could open a window or turn more lights on, or both. Juan lifted a finger to him from the stairs and ran away, leaving him alone.
The storage areas were enclosed in chain link, and Tom stared into the first one, seeing nothing unusual. The next two were empty, just some rat droppings on the floor inside both of them. The next one matched the number on Carl’s unit, and Juan returned with bolt cutters.
“Had them in the trunk of the chief’s car,” Juan said.
Great, the chief was here. Tom didn’t mind him, but he was always up in arms about some protocol violation or another. He hoped no one told the man about his punch to Carl’s gut upstairs.
The lock was cheap, and Juan snapped it off with the cutters in seconds. It felt to the ground with a clang and Tom opened the door, making sure Juan put a pair of gloves on as well before letting him enter the cage.
“Come on, give me something,” Tom said. There wasn’t much inside. A few boxes, stacked messily in the corner. A beat-up bicycle with fat after-market tires, covered in dried mud, and an old set of golf clubs. He doubted Carl hit the greens very often.
“Bartlett,” Juan said, his voice tight. “What’s that?”
Tom looked beside the stack of boxes, where Juan was pointing. It was a shirt, folded neatly. He bent over it, seeing the popular superhero cartoon image. It matched the description of the pajamas Fredrik Karlsson had been wearing.
“Bag it,” Tom said, his headache inching in. “We got him.”
Now he needed to get to the Red Creek sheriff’s office so they could get the truth from this Carl son of a bitch. They searched the rest of the room, but Tom was so intent on talking to Carl, he went against the chief’s protocol and rushed it.
Fifteen
“What do we do?” Brent asked.
“We wait until they’re done. Maybe they found something. They’ve been there a long time,” Taylor said. They’d sat there watching the police cruisers come and go for the last hour and a half. A car had left, passing them on the gravel road. She thought the driver seemed familiar, and thought it might have been Sheriff Tyler, her dad’s friend. She’d ducked, hoping he didn’t recognize her or stop and ask what they were doing.
Isabelle’s phone rang; the pop song was starting to grate on Taylor’s nerves. “It’s Mom again. What do I do?”
“Turn your ringer off. Let’s just find out what happened, and then we’ll go to your house, okay? We’ll tell them everything,” Taylor said, knowing her dad was going to give her a lecture to end all lectures. But maybe she deserved it. She’d been in over her head, coming here. She should have let the cops do their job like they were. Hell, if they’d caught the guy already, then she could have avoided all the drama and gone home for spring break.
“Fine, but you can explain me avoiding her too. You’re already going to be in hot water. You may as well take all the responsibility. You are the older one, after all,” Isabelle said, laughing at her own comments.
Taylor let out a laugh too. Maybe the cops had found the kids alive. Her foul mood was lifting, giving way to hope, and as if on cue, the clouds started to dissipate and a ray of sunlight peeked through, casting an orange glow on the orchard ahead. Her mom had always called that heaven’s window, and Taylor took it as a good omen.
They watched a steady parade of Gilden police leaving the orchard condo, cherries flashing but no sirens. A car drove by, unmarked, and the man behind the wheel slowed. Taylor locked eyes with him, and she shivered. He was intense, and a fire burned behind his gaze.
“Who was that?” Taylor asked her cousin, not sure she wanted to find out.
“Why, you want a date?” Brent asked, a slight joke to his tone. He hadn’t really ever been the jealous type, and she knew he was kidding, since the man was old enough to be her father.
“I don’t know. He’s probably from Gilden, judging by the other cop cars following him.” Isabelle got out of the car, and before Taylor could ask why, she saw her cousin flagging down the last car in the convoy. It was a local sheriff’s car, and the driver pulled over.
“Guess we should follow her,” Brent said, quickly hopping out. Taylor joined him and heard Isabelle asking the man a flurry of questions.
“Hold on, Izzy.” It sounded like he knew her. “I shouldn’t be talking about this case with anyone yet.”
“Come on. Just let us know if you found the kids,” Isabelle said, batting her eyes at the goofy-looking deputy. He had to be twenty-five at the oldest, and her charm seemed to work.
“Fine,” he said, glancing at Brent and Taylor before talking again. “Keep this among you three, okay?”
They all agreed to his terms. “We didn’t find the kids, but we did find something each of them had been wearing. We have the perp in custody, and it’s only a matter of time before the sheriff and the detective from Gilden get the details out of him.”
“It was a man?” Taylor asked, suddenly feeling foolish for her outburst.
“Of course it was a man. What, did you expect a ghost?” The deputy threw back his head and laughed. “Like I said, keep this on the down-low.” His cherries turned on, and Taylor looked away from the flashing lights. “See you at the diner, Izzy.” He winked at Taylor’s cousin and drove off, kicking up a cloud of dust.
They stood in the middle of the gravel road, and Taylor began walking toward the old orchard field. She hadn’t been here since she was eight, and she paused before stepping through the cast-iron gates.
“Tay, what are you doing? You heard that guy. They caught him. We’re done here, right?” Brent asked.
Taylor turned to him, hands on hips. “B, did you forget all the other stuff we’ve been talking about? What about Trevor Hayes? Do you think I’m making the Schattenmann up? You were there with me in the house. It’s creepy as all hell. You found that box with the journal and album in it. You were with me at the neighbor lady’s house while she spoke of all the homeowners and tenants bailing on the house, until the bank foreclosed it for good.” She was panting, out of breath.
Brent jogged over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Babe, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I believe you.”
She wasn’t sure if he truly did, or if he was just trying to appease the irrational girlfriend, but either way, at least he wasn’t picking a fight. Now wouldn’t be a good time for that.
Isabelle was beside them, staring at the condo. “Let’s take a walk,” she said, and she slipped her arm through T
aylor’s, leading her past the gate.
Taylor took a big gulp, expecting to feel something as her foot planted on the gravel within the orchard’s boundary. She waited but felt nothing but a light breeze on her face and the sunlight pouring from the clearing skies.
She spotted a few sporadic apple trees: remnants of the previous owners or newly established, she wasn’t sure. They weren’t very tall, so she suspected someone had planted them when the condo was being developed.
A few shady-looking residents were huddled around a lower unit with a field-facing patio. They glanced at the incoming trio suspiciously but continued talking amongst themselves.
“I think we should go. There’s nothing here for us,” Taylor said, glad she felt nothing but anxiety at seeing her parents.
She glanced up, catching a woman watching them in the window.
“Tay, you coming?” Brent asked, and Taylor nodded, taking one last look where the older lady had been staring. The form was only a shadow behind drawn curtains, and Taylor turned, catching up to the others.
Minutes later, they were heading into town, the orchard nothing but a speck in the rearview mirror.
_______________
Paul thrummed with energy, and he pushed the cup of coffee away from him. It slid on the table, a drop of brown liquid dripping from the stained rim onto the wood surface. “She is going to get an earful,” he said, not having to say who “she” was, or what “she” was going to get an earful of.
“They’ll be here soon. I was hoping the wait would relax you,” Beth said.
Isabelle had texted her mom that they were on their way home. That had been ten minutes ago. At least her daughter responded to her ceaseless texts and phone calls. Taylor hadn’t so much as sent an emoticon all day.
They’d arrived three hours ago. Three long hours. Paul had wanted to drop Terri and Stevie off at Beth’s and go looking for Taylor, but the two women had ganged up on him and told him to stay put. Even then, he’d been calm, until Beth got a phone call from a friend, saying a boy was taken from his bedroom in the middle of the night. It was happening again, Paul could feel it, and he didn’t like it one bit.
“I’m going out,” he said, getting up from the table just as the front door opened. He couldn’t get to the front door soon enough. Taylor was behind Isabelle, and she tilted her head up, a sheepish look across her face. “Taylor!” Paul hugged her, pulling her in close. He hardly noticed the young man beside her, and he felt her hands press against his chest, pushing him away.
“Dad, I’m fine. I’m sorry for worrying you so much.” As if to prove her concern, she wiped away a tear that broke his heart.
Stevie was running past Paul, jumping at his sister. He was at the age where loving your older sister was cool. Paul suspected that wouldn’t last more than another year or two, especially with their age difference. “Taylor! What have you been doing? Dad is pissed,” Stevie said, getting a laugh from the three younger adults in the room.
Paul almost laughed but saw Terri sneak up behind him. “Watch your mouth, Stevie. Only grownups say that word.” Paul knew the kid liked to say a few other swear words too, but he was a good kid, and you were only young and free once.
“You know better,” Terri was saying, giving her daughter a hug. Now Taylor was crying, and Paul watched as she looked at the boy beside her, while he tried to pretend he didn’t see her tears.
Beth called from the kitchen, “Don’t just stand in the entryway. Everyone inside. Scoot. Get to the table,” she said, using her best “mother” tone, and it worked. They eased their way through the living room and toward the dining room table. Paul waited and grabbed Taylor’s arm lightly, wanting a quick moment before they started the interrogation.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. As angry as he was with her, he was so relieved to see her standing there, healthy and beautiful.
“I’m fine, Dad. I… I found some things you’re going to want to hear about.” Taylor locked eyes with him, and he knew it was important.
“What kind of stuff?” he asked, feeling his skin flush and his heart rate pick up speed. She’d done exactly what he would have: digging up the past.
“Things about…” She leaned in close. “…our family. I know when it started.”
Paul’s jaw dropped. “We have to talk about this.”
“How freely do we want to talk about it?” Taylor asked, glancing toward the kitchen.
“They’re family with the Smiths too. They have the right to know,” Paul said. As much as he didn’t want to know what information she’d found regarding the Smiths, he couldn’t let her carry the burden alone.
“Schmidts,” she said softly.
“What?”
“It’s all in the journal,” Taylor muttered.
“What journal?”
“The one Brent and I found tucked away at your childhood home,” she said.
Paul slapped a palm to his thigh. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you she would have hidden something like that?”
Taylor smiled cockily. “Where do you think I got the idea from?”
“God, are you ever my daughter. We better get in there before they think we’re conspiring again.” Paul grinned at her, and Taylor leaned in, hugging him again, this time on her terms.
“Dad, I am really sorry. I heard about the girl, and I had to come. I needed to know if it was back,” she said.
“I know, honey bear. I know.”
Taylor started for the kitchen, and Paul joined her, looking to the table where the rest of the household was sitting. Stevie was in the living room, sitting in Darrel’s chair, playing video games with the volume low.
Taylor stopped before sitting with them and set her hands on the young man’s broad shoulders. “Dad, this is Brent. He’s my boyfriend.”
The boy stood up, nervously wiped his hand on his shorts, and stuck his hand out. “Mr. Alenn, I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
Paul shook it and smiled. “Yes, finally. Taylor’s told us so much about you,” he joked, and the ice was broken.
Paul sat beside Terri, who patted him on the leg, and he couldn’t wait any longer. “Tell us about this journal you found.”
_______________
Tom glanced at the clock on the wall. It was one of those round commercial ones you only found in schools and police stations, with a metal grate covering it. As if they needed to worry about a perp fiddling with the time.
It was a quarter after six, and Tom was getting hungry.
“Deputy Rich will be here in a few with the burgers.” The sheriff peered down the hall toward the holding cell.
“He’s not going anywhere, Tyler.” Tom wanted to start the interrogation. Every minute they waited, Tom knew their chances of recovering any live victims dwindled.
Carl had wised up and demanded a lawyer. They were waiting now, so Tyler had suggested they bring food in. Tom was hungry, but he didn’t know if he’d even be able to eat. He was full of anxiety and caffeine, with a side of adrenaline.
“Let me in there with him before anyone shows up. Just five minutes,” Tom said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to come off as too intense, because then Tyler would never go for it.
“Hold on there, cowboy. This is my department, and we’re going to play this by the book. I’m not losing this guy because you decided to go rogue.”
Tom deflated, sitting on the desktop, searching for the time again. Six twenty.
The entrance to the office chimed, and in walked Deputy Rich, holding three greasy brown bags. “Dinner’s here,” he said. It was just the three of them in the building now, after Tyler had sent the rest of Gilden PD home, and the secretary as well.
Rich plopped the bags on the front desk and started filling the top with an assortment of burgers, fries, and sodas. “On the house. Chuck sure is a nice guy,” Rich said, and Tyler nodded. Tom noticed the big sheriff was still watching the hall, as if Carl would walk toward them at any moment.
The door chimed again as Tom picked up one of the heavy burgers. He’d been trying to cut back on trans fats, and whatever else made him put on weight that he had a hard time taking off. Once he’d hit forty, he found his metabolism had gone to shit.
Tom looked to the door, seeing a woman walk in. She had a cheap navy pantsuit on, and her hair was a little disheveled. Local lawyer, no doubt, probably called in from her day off where she was prepping her garden for spring. Tom liked to guess people’s stories, and as she approached, hand extended, he thought he saw traces of dirt under her fingernails.
“Detective Tom Bartlett,” he said, shaking her hand.
She knew the others, and Tyler gave her a curt nod. “Addy. Nice to see you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”
She gave him a sad smile and pointed to the hall. “Where’s my client? There?” she asked, and Tyler nodded. “Give me two minutes.” She was already fumbling with a faux leather briefcase, and Tom felt a sudden wash of pity for her. Small-town lawyer in way over her head here. Carl was a child kidnapper, likely a murderer. She wouldn’t have dealt with something like this before. He saw her pause at the start of the hallway and take a breath before stalking down the hall with authority, high heels echoing in even strides.
“What’s her deal?” Tom asked, his mouth half-full of juicy meat. Damn if this wasn’t one of the best burgers he’d had in a long time. Since living in Chicago, where he’d frequented a local watering hole after the divorce, probably too often. Sam had made the best burger in Illinois, or at least he claimed to. Tom wasn’t going to argue. This was up there with it.
“Addy Sinclair. She’s reasonable. Not one of the usual ones,” Tyler said, taking his own bite before closing his eyes. He was obviously enjoying the food too.
“I think she’s kind of hot,” Rich said, and Tyler glared at him.
Tom shook his head, laughing at the kid. He was feeling good about the catch today. His gut had led him to that condo building, and they’d walked away with the bad guy, but he needed the kids. Where were the children? Were Brittany and Fredrik still alive somewhere? Were they scared and alone, wondering what they’d done to deserve this terrible fate?
Return to Red Creek Page 15
