The One Who Watches

by Emerald O'Brien

  Takes probable cause to get a warrant. Can’t put him at the scene of the crime. Can’t find evidence on him.

  Can’t question him.

  But…

  She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her before opening the door. “Mac?”

  He turned to her, still in bed.

  “We know Tyler stopped somewhere after work, before he started across the bridge to Tall Pines. It’s in Charles Gaines’ area. Gaines won’t talk to us, but maybe we can see if Tyler went to his place another way…”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I think the untraced phone call came from Charles, and I think he drew Tyler there based on false pretenses, or else why would he have gone?”

  “Okay, but those are just assumptions.”

  “Right, we need proof for a DNA warrant. What about outdoor video surveillance of businesses along the way? Some might ask for a warrant, but some might show us.”

  “That’s a good idea. About us, though. Banning wants me to stay in Tall Pines today and stick to Main Street.”

  “Ah, okay, that’s no problem.”

  “Sorry I won’t be able to help.”

  “I’ll miss your support, but I got this.”

  “I know you do.” He smiled as she bent, kissing him goodbye before heading back into the washroom to finish getting ready.

  Grace pulled up on the street in front of Tyler and Joel’s office building and plugged Charles Gaines’ address into her GPS.

  Too bad the GPS on Tyler’s car was destroyed in the crash. But his phone…

  She grabbed her phone and called Tarek.

  “Hey, miss me already?” he asked.

  “Tyler Gibbons’ cell phone. You have it, right?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I was going to check it into evidence today.”

  “No, that’s good. Does it work?”

  “No, it was totalled, remember?”

  “Right, what I meant was, can you still get information from it?”

  “No, even the chip was ruined.”

  She drummed on her steering wheel and bit her lip. “Okay, what about his Google account?”

  “What about it?”

  “Can you check it? Can you check the history on it?”

  “In his email?”

  “On Google maps. Maybe he entered his destination using his car GPS, but maybe he used his phone…”

  Or maybe he remembered how to get there, even though he’d only been there with Donelle a few times in college.

  “Okay, I have it.”

  “The last known address?”

  “Charles Gaines’ address.”

  “That’s it. Time?”

  “The search was made on the day of the crash, but there is no time here. Anything else?”

  “I need to get a warrant to search his residence and for a DNA sample. Hopefully this works.”

  “Hey, did anything come of that woman you were looking for? Julia Morris?”

  “Not sure.” Hopefully Madigan got my message by now. “Thanks, Tarek.”

  She hung up and called Banning.

  If I can get this warrant, I’ll have everything I need on Gaines.

  Twenty-Six

  Madigan rolled over in bed, and Buster licked her arm as she reached for her phone. The little light blinked, and she squinted at the time. Almost eleven. She stretched out and groaned as the tension throughout her body eased.

  “I know you want out, but I’ve only had four hours sleep,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. “You can go out through the doggy door on your own.”

  Buster rested his cold nose on her cheek, and she smiled, opening her eyes again. “You miss me, don’t ya boy?”

  She rubbed his head and sat up in bed, tapped her voicemail, and pressed it against her ear. She slipped her flip flops on to join Buster outside as he pushed through the doggy door.

  “Hey, Mad.” Grace. “I know it’s early, so sorry for calling, but I don’t have a lot of time, and I figured you’d want to know this.”

  She opened the door and stepped outside into the warm glow of the morning sun.

  “I had someone try to track down information on your mom, and there has been a Julia Morris checking in at The Amherst Mission a few times a week for months now. Maybe more. I don’t have the time to check it out, but I thought it would be worth a shot for you. It’s all I can find, so I hope it helps. Stay safe. Talk soon.”

  Madigan jumped back inside and changed as Buster did his business outside. She filled his bowls with food and water, and pulled her messy hair into a ponytail. She swung her bag across her chest before she opened the door again.

  “I’m sorry, boy, I have to go again. When we get back, you’ll get a nice, long w-a-l-k. I promise.”

  Buster sat and stared at her. “Don’t give me those eyes. I promise. I’ll be back for a nice one before dinner. I’ll even let you go in the o-c-e-a-n.”

  He licked his lips and trotted over to her. She scratched his head and tapped his backside. “Come on, up!”

  He hopped into the trailer, and she closed the door behind her.

  Madigan parked her bike along the curb and took her helmet off, staring at The Amherst Mission building from across the street.

  I don’t even know what she looks like. Should I just ask for a Julia Morris? And then what?

  If she’s there, I just meet her, like this? Hair all funny, haven’t showered…don’t know what to say.

  Don’t be a chicken. That’s what Drew would say.

  During her early teens, after she had gotten comfortable talking about her personal thoughts with her new-found brother, he had asked her once if she would want to find her biological mother one day.

  She remembered shrugging off the question and saying something like, “if she doesn’t want me, I don’t want her.” But it had never been true.

  Deep down, for as long as she could remember, she had wanted her mom.

  To know her. To have her support, her acceptance. Her love.

  But what will I say?

  A few men approached the building and opened the door, disappearing inside.

  I can’t let this chance slip by. If she’s in there today, she might not be tomorrow, or ever again.

  Her chest fluttered as she got off her bike and stuffed her helmet in her bag.

  Maybe just introducing myself is enough. Maybe it’ll flow from there.

  She jogged across the street and entered the same doors as the men, into a school-like lobby with a long table and a woman behind it.

  “Here for lunch?” she called to her.

  Madigan approached the table, keeping her voice low. “I’m looking for someone. Julia Morris?”

  “Can’t help you,” the woman said.

  “Because she’s not here?”

  “I’m not a directory, and I’m not going to disclose private information. I’m here to get people in off the streets for a meal. Do you need a meal?”

  No, but if she’s in there, I’ll eat whatever I have to so I can find out.

  Madigan nodded, and the woman grabbed a clipboard.

  “Name?”

  “Madigan Knox.”

  The woman scribbled it down and jabbed her thumb toward the dining hall behind her. “You’re a bit late, but we should still have some left.”

  “Thank you,” Madigan muttered as she walked around the table into the large room.

  Roughly ten people sat at each cafeteria-style table, and Madigan scanned the room as she approached the empty serving line. Two men stood behind the counter, and one wearing an apron approached her as she reached the glass shield and set a tray in front of him.

  “Hot soup’s all that’s left,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She leaned in as he scooped some into a small bowl and set a spoon on the tray before handing it to her. “Um, is Julia here today? Do you know Julia Morris?”

  “Oh yeah, she was here. Left early, though. You friends?”

  Mad
igan nodded. “We were supposed to meet here.”

  “Ah, I’m sorry. I guess she forgot. She can be like that sometimes, can’t she?” He chuckled, and Madigan smiled, nodding along. “Ah, well. You could probably catch her at the bus stop if it’s running late.”

  “Which one?”

  He pointed to the side of the building. “Right there on TK Street. Close to the corner. Can’t miss it.”

  Adjacent to where I parked my bike. Right behind the corner. I was so close.

  “Thanks,” Madigan called, leaving her tray and rushing back out past the woman at the table, bursting out the front double doors.

  She sprinted down the street, slowing near the corner to squint at the group of people scattered around the bus stop. Men and women sat inside the plastic shelter, and several with children stood around it.

  Madigan walked closer as the whooshing noise of a bus came down the same street. Her heart thudded in her ears as she rounded the corner and jogged down the sidewalk. A woman in distressed jeans and an oversized shirt turned toward the bus and squinted at it.

  Not her. Vic said we look alike. Which one looks like me?

  She reached the outskirts of the crowd as they surrounded the small cement patch by the curb of the road, huddling ever closer together, obstructing her view of those closest to the road. A woman with light brown hair in a pants suit left the enclosed shelter, purse held tightly under her arm.

  Not her.

  As she walked around the semicircle, a woman’s pale face caught her eye. She wore faded jeans and an olive green tank top, with her hair clipped up away from her pale skin. When she stepped toward the bus, Madigan caught a better look at the side of her face. Her simple features blended in against her skin—nothing standing out—but the slight upturn at the end of her nose gave Madigan pause.

  The woman turned to the man beside her and exchanged a small smile with him. Her slight cupid’s bow on her top lip and blue almond-shaped eyes matched Madigan’s own.

  Not until she smiled had her face been given life—charm.

  It’s her.

  The woman stepped onto the bus as Madigan watched, awestruck, struggling for each breath as her mom walked further from her, down the bus aisle.

  It’s her, right? It has to be her.

  Madigan walked along the side of the curb, following her until she turned to the opposite side of the bus and took a seat, disappearing.

  Should I get on? Get on and what? Sit beside her? Introduce myself, and then we’re trapped on the bus together?

  No. I have to follow her.

  As she ran past the bus doors, they whooshed to a close, and she sprinted to the street corner toward her bike. The bus pulled away from the curb as she ran across the street to her bike. She ripped her helmet out of her bag as the bus merged with traffic and drove through the intersection.

  She clipped her helmet on, started the bike, and made a U-turn, stopping at the lights as the bus continued down the street, and her mother—carried away with it—slipped out of sight.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Judge says you’ll need more than that,” Banning said.

  Grace clenched her jaw and turned away from Charles Gaines’ front door, pressing the phone to her ear. “How? How is the proof he went to Charles Gaines’ home not enough?”

  “He said he needs more for the warrant. That’s all I know, Sheppard.”

  He’s short with me. He’s disappointed I haven’t gotten further.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “It proves he put in the directions to map it out. Doesn’t prove he was there. You haven’t been able to prove the crash was anything more than an accident, and before you say anything, I’m still being understanding about the investigation. There’s evidence he was punched that day. Ties to this other case. I get it. Tyler’s family doesn’t. Neither will the media. I need something soon, Sheppard.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Call me when you have more. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He hung up, and she turned back to the house again, staring at the car in the driveway.

  There’s nothing else I can do. Nothing legal, anyway. I have to do this right, or whatever I find will be questioned. Scrutinized for error.

  She set her sights on the front door.

  I could just knock on the door, ask to talk…come with some empathy for what happened to Donelle…

  Donelle. His weak spot.

  Advice given to her by her foster father, Eli, had remained with her through everything she did and everyone she met, whether she liked it or not.

  It’s taking advantage of weakness. Preying upon it. It’s terrible.

  She bit her lip and stared at the house. At the windows on the second floor, imagining Donelle up there for the night, worrying about whatever was going on in her life, while her father slept not far away, oblivious to the fact that anything was wrong.

  He says he doesn’t blame himself, but he must in some way. It’s only human. He didn’t see what was happening. If he did sabotage Tyler Gibbons’ car—if he is seeking revenge—he won’t have found peace.

  She shoved her keys and cell phone in her pocket.

  I’ll tell him the truth. I’ve been looking into her death, unofficially. It’s the only thing that might get him talking.

  She stepped out of the car and strode to the door.

  I can do this.

  She knocked on the door and took a step back. It opened, and Charles emerged in an ink-stained gray sweater and black jogging pants. He squinted into the overcast light of the early afternoon.

  “I thought I made myself pretty clear,” he grumbled.

  “Mr. Gaines, you did, sir, but I’d like to talk with you one on one—”

  “Nah,” he swung the door closed.

  “You’re going to want to hear what I have to say,” she shouted.

  Maybe he couldn’t hear me. Maybe he could, and it doesn’t make a difference to him anymore.

  As she started to turn, the door creaked open. “What? What do I want to hear?”

  “About your daughter.”

  He left the door open and turned back down the hallway.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Follow me,” he grumbled with an edge to his voice.

  She followed him down the hallway, back into the kitchen, but he didn’t sit or offer her a seat. He folded his arms over his stained shirt and sneered at her.

  “Mr. Gaines, as you know, I’ve been investigating a case that has led me to your daughter. I’ve been looking into her case, studying the connections I’m finding between the two.”

  “What kind of connections?”

  “Specifically, to Tyler Gibbons.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve been getting more involved in your daughter’s case in an unofficial capacity because I believed it would bring me answers for mine, but I’ve got more questions now than I had when we first spoke.”

  “You think I can answer these questions?”

  “I think you could help me find the truth.”

  He squinted at her and raised his arm, pointing to the next room. “Let’s sit in there.”

  She followed him into a small living room with an old sofa set, and a TV that looked to be twenty years old. He sat on the sofa, and she took a seat on the couch as she glanced around the room. Pictures of Charles and Donelle Gains surrounded them on the mantel, the walls, some with other people, most with another woman.

  “That was Donelle’s mother. She died when Donnie was six. Hit by a car crossing the road in downtown Amherst.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He pushed his bottom lip up and rested his hands on the top of his lower thighs. “Now, they’re both gone. I’m surrounded by people in here, but only here. Their pictures keep me company. The rest of the world doesn’t understand what I’m going through. They don’t care.”

  He’s lonely—bitter—the edge to his voice gi
ves it away. Use it.

  “It must have felt empty in here after Donelle’s death.”

  He nodded, rubbing his palms on his pants. “Donnie was my life. She still is, really.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I find a way to live for her,” he said, keeping eye contact. “She wouldn’t want me to give up. She wouldn’t have given up.”

  “And you suspect something happened with her friends.”

  “Those boys.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Joel, Tyler, and that other boy. Roger.”

  He tucked Tyler’s name in between them. Not first or last. If he’s going to start talking, he’ll want to be taken seriously. It’s all he’s wanted this whole time.

  She took out a piece of paper and pen. “And you suspect it could have been one or all three?”

  He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “It was Tyler there that night, but I suppose it could have been more.”

  She wrote down just the name Tyler. “And what do you think happened?”

  With a stone-cold stare, he said “He pushed her.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because that’s what they all did to her, all the time. They pushed her until she paid more attention to being with them than her studies.” He paused but maintained eye contact, his eyes darker than she remembered. “They pushed her away from me, because I couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be a young adult and want to have a good time.” He’s pausing so that it sinks in. So I understand what terrible, manipulative people they were. “They pushed her away from her best friend, the woman in her life she could always talk to.”

  In the cool, dimly lit room, with all the eyes from the photos staring at them, Charles stared at her, so focused, so obsessed, a vein bulged from the side of his temple as he spoke. “They pushed her away from everyone who truly cared about her, everything that was important, and when she wasn’t any use to them anymore, not as fun as they hoped or as new as they wanted, he pushed her over the ledge.”