Shatter the Night

by Emily Littlejohn

  Though Finn had never met Milo Griffith, he was shocked that a local actor, dating Armstrong’s daughter, was Casey Black. “Is Lucas aware of the situation?”

  “Not yet. I want to wait until we know more. It all makes sense, Finn. I read or heard that Amelia Black went by Millie. Millie … Milo. When Casey changed his name, he chose something in tribute to his beloved grandmother.” I stepped out of my car. “And dating the daughter of a local cop is the perfect foil. He’d have had instant access to whatever Maggie knew. It’s the perfect cover.”

  I gave Finn a stern look. “Also, Ramirez is on her way. Try to behave.”

  Finn frowned. “Is she still pissed we brought her in for questioning?”

  “Yes. But I think she’s coming around. She knows why we did it.”

  Finn rubbed his jaw, looking out over the property. “This is going to be tight. We’ve got a neighbor ten yards down on the east side, another fifteen yards to the south. Let’s get these houses cleared.”

  We were in luck—both of Griffith’s immediate neighbors didn’t appear to be home; at least, they weren’t answering their doors. We saw a group of middle-school kids playing in the road one street down, and scared them off with promises of truancy charges. It was the middle of the day, after all, and they should have been in school.

  At one point, Finn took a phone call. He stepped away, his back to me. The conversation was short and when he returned, he had the strangest look of both disappointment and excitement in his eyes.

  “What’s up?”

  Finn slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “I have an interview in New York in December.”

  “Congratulations.” I meant it, though the thought of Finn leaving Cedar Valley left me feeling hollow. “That could be an amazing opportunity.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see. The more I talk to my buddies who are there, the less appealing it sounds. It’s expensive as hell. Maybe my folks have it right; get a little place in Florida and commute to the beach instead of to the concrete jungle.”

  Ramirez pulled up. Finn watched as she parked her truck and added, “And there might just be enough excitement in town to keep me here another few years.”

  Not if you don’t make some serious amends, my friend, I thought.

  The rest of Ramirez’s team was on-site within minutes. She and Fuego leaped from her truck, both ready and eager to get to work. The ever-faithful yellow Lab waited patiently, though, while Ramirez retrieved protective gear for them both from the cab. Meanwhile, the two paramedics she’d brought stood by, awaiting orders of their own.

  I hoped they wouldn’t be needed, that we’d find the house empty and abandoned.

  Ramirez joined us. “We’ll do the perimeter first, then move inside. If this guy is as much a pro as you say, he’ll have made the bomb that killed Montgomery somewhere else and we won’t pick up any trace. But I won’t take any chances. Fuego and I will enter the house only after I’m certain the outside is clear and that the place hasn’t been rigged. And get someone stationed at the end of the road, a street worker, someone with a big truck who can block off the entrance. I don’t want to be caught with my pants down when Griffith comes home.”

  It was a great idea. Finn made the call to utilities while I phoned Chief Chavez and let him know where things stood. I reluctantly told him that Maggie Armstrong was known to date Milo Griffith, and she, too, was missing. I heard his sharp intake of breath and winced; Lucas Armstrong’s reaction was apt to be ten times as bad.

  Our calls over, Finn and I joined the paramedics. Together, we watched in silence as Ramirez and Fuego walked the perimeter. They spent a good deal of time behind the house, out of sight, long enough to make me nervous.

  I pulled out my radio and switched to the frequency we’d agreed upon. “Ramirez? Do you copy?”

  A few moments of static, then, “Copy. I’ve cleared the perimeter and am moving into the house through an unlocked back door.”

  “Copy.”

  At the end of the street, a large city truck parked at a diagonal, barring anyone from exiting or entering the area. As the driver hopped out and proceeded to set up cones, a dark blue sedan approached. It slowed down, way down, as it passed, then sped up and was gone. I turned around to mention it to Finn when Ramirez’s voice, shaky and rushed, jumped back at me through the radio.

  “Get in here, right now. Bring the medics. And you’re going to want to call in your crime scene techs. You’ve got a live one, kids, in more ways than one.”

  We entered through the unlocked front door and found ourselves in a narrow foyer. A single denim jacket hung on a hook behind the door, next to a box intended for keys, a wallet. The house smelled of burnt toast and something else, like sweat but muskier.

  “Back here,” Ramirez called. We followed the sound of her voice to a bedroom at the rear of the house. Fuego sat just outside the room, keeping watch. Inside, we found Ramirez smoothing hair back from Maggie Armstrong’s forehead. The young woman lay on her side, on an unmade bed. Her eyes were closed, her feet covered with loose blankets. Her hands had been tied together, then laced through the bed’s frame. The left side of her face was bruised and swollen.

  “Oh my God.” I dropped to my knees beside Ramirez. Behind me, I heard Finn swear and pound his fist into the wall in anger. “Is she…?”

  “She’s alive. She’s breathing, but drifting in and out of consciousness. I haven’t been able to rouse her. If the guy you’re chasing did this to her, he’s a monster. Anyone who beats a woman should get a Taser in his nuts.” Ramirez stepped back and turned to the medics, who’d followed us into the room. “Her pulse is low. I think he gave her something, a sedative maybe. Get her to the ER.”

  There wasn’t anything more that we could do for Maggie, other than step aside and let the medics do their job. The four of us, Ramirez, Fuego, Finn, and I, gathered in the kitchen. It, like the rest of the house, was small and neat, with a few feminine touches that I was certain had come from Maggie.

  I called the department and spoke with the desk sergeant on duty. I asked him to pull up the car registration for one Milo Griffith, currently residing at the present address. I held while he did so, a sinking feeling in my heart. After a minute, the sergeant was back on the line. He read me the license plate number, then said, “It’s a four-door sedan, dark blue 2012 Honda Accord.”

  “Thanks, Dave.” I hung up and turned back to the group. “Damn it. Griffith drove past us just as the city truck was getting into place. He knows we’re onto him.”

  “So that’s good, right?” Ramirez asked. “He can’t possibly move forward with his plans now that his cover’s blown.”

  “Don’t be too sure. He’s a pro. I bet he’s got a backup nest somewhere. We haven’t seen the last of him,” Finn said. At his side, Fuego took a seat and looked up adoringly. While his master may not yet have forgiven Finn, it was clear the dog had.

  Finn sighed and scratched the animal’s ears. “Good boy. Good pup.”

  I watched as the medics carried Maggie out on a stretcher. As they maneuvered through the narrow hallway, her arm flopped off the edge and hung there, her hand outstretched. I heard a low moan come from her and a wave of nausea rolled over me.

  “We can’t let Griffith hurt anyone else. He’s done enough damage in this town for a lifetime.” I rubbed my eyes, willing some fresh life into my suddenly weary bones. “Ramirez, did you find anything?”

  She shook her head. “No, though Fuego picked up trace evidence. I can tell you Griffith handled materials, but not here. I think Finn’s right; Griffith’s got a hidey-hole somewhere. It’s got to be secluded, private. Off the beaten path. But, I did find something you should see. Come on, it’s in the other bedroom.”

  We entered what appeared to be Griffith’s master bedroom. A framed photograph of Maggie and him cuddling was on the dresser and I felt like picking it up and throwing it through the window. Maggie didn’t deserve what had happened to her, no woman d
id, and I knew it was a trauma from which it would take a long time to heal. The physical scars would fade but the emotional ones, the loss of trust and innocence, might last for years.

  Ramirez pointed to a door at the back of the bedroom. “I checked it—it’s clear of wires, timers, and traps. But it is locked.”

  “Not for long,” Finn muttered angrily. He stepped back and gave the door a mighty kick. It flew open, revealing a surprisingly large walk-in closet that appeared to have been converted to a tiny study. A table in the center took up most of the room.

  We stepped in, crowding around the table, and looked around.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed.

  Ramirez glanced around, then immediately stepped out. “I don’t do small spaces, let alone psychopathic shrines. You’ve all got one seriously screwed-up dude on your hands.”

  * * *

  Ramirez had been right; the room was a shrine of sorts. Plastered to the walls were old newspapers from across the nation, each with a different headline on the same topic: the infamous Josiah Black of Cedar Valley, Colorado. It was disconcerting to see pictures of my small hometown on the cover of all the major papers stretching from Los Angeles to New York.

  There were also home photographs, some of Josiah and Millie, some of Millie and Debbie, and quite a few of Debbie and Casey. The pictures of Josiah and Millie had been altered; the backgrounds were heavily scratched out, some hard enough to poke holes through the photo paper.

  “He’s taking his rage out on the town. Think about it, every picture of Josiah and Millie together had to have been taken before his arrest. They were taken here, in Cedar Valley.” Finn pointed to a small Polaroid picture of a young Casey on a trampoline, his face split by a grin that stretched ear to ear. “What happened to this kid? How do you cross the line to killer?”

  I shrugged. “One step at a time, I suppose.” It was unsettling to see the photographs, as they told the story of the rest of the Black family; what happened in the years after Josiah Black went away for his crimes.

  On the table, next to a blank notepad and a couple of pens, was a stack of comic books. Ghost Boy, to be specific. “Bingo,” I whispered.

  “What’s with the maps?” Ramirez asked from her place in the doorway.

  I hadn’t noticed, but scattered among the photographs and newspaper clippings were area maps. They were old maps, though, vintage renderings likely sixty or seventy years old. I went to them, tracing with the tip of my finger the roads and trails that still existed. The maps themselves were untouched, save for a single red dot on one of them. Unfortunately, it was a map without words, without familiar landmarks.

  Finn tapped it. “Where is this?”

  I started to shake my head, unsure, then stopped. I peered more closely. “This is the creek, isn’t it? And this here, that must be the pond out on Jack Welch’s old farm. I’d heard there was once a pond there, but it’s been dried up for years. So if that is the creek … and that’s the Welch property…”

  I felt myself go pale as Finn and I realized what the red dot represented.

  “What?” Ramirez asked, coming in close behind us in spite of herself.

  I answered her, my voice trembling. “It’s the Playhouse. Moriarty’s been right all along; Milo Griffith is going to hit the theater. For the last two hours, I’ve been racking my brain to figure out why Griffith got himself cast in a community play. Don’t you see? It was the perfect way to both woo Maggie and to learn the ins and outs of the theater. He’s probably already put his plan into motion. He can’t show his face; he’s supposed to be on stage tonight. So he’ll have had to set things up ahead of time.”

  I yanked my phone from my jacket pocket. Three rings and then Chavez picked up. “Chief, I don’t have time to explain. We think Griffith has rigged the Shotgun Playhouse, either to blow or somehow catch fire. If that happens, there will be hundreds of people trapped inside. You’ve got to send every available unit over there. I’m with Ramirez and her dog right now; they’re on their way there. If there are explosives, they’ll find them.”

  “Copy that. What else do you need?”

  I thought a moment, then said, “Send a team of officers to this address; we need the house thoroughly searched. We think Griffith might have a nest somewhere, a secret room or house. Maybe a cabin. Somewhere that he uses to prepare his explosives.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “At the hospital.” I explained to him that we’d found Maggie Armstrong, how she might hold the key to Griffith’s whole story. “Finn and I will try to get what we can from her.”

  “Okay. I’ll let Lucas Armstrong know what’s going on. A man’s got a right to know when someone has hurt his family.” As the chief ended the call, I heard him say, “Especially when it’s his child.”

  I put my phone away and stared at Ramirez and Finn. “We don’t have much time.”

  Ramirez and Fuego left first. Finn and I took a final look around the shrine.

  “Are we sure on this? It’s the Playhouse?”

  I’d been staring at one photograph in particular, an image of Josiah Black being led into the courthouse the day his trial started. In profile, it was easy to see a resemblance between Milo Griffith and his grandfather. I turned away. “It has to be. He’s had weeks to get to know the place. He’s kicked things up a notch from his grandfather. The masks, the dramatic gestures. There will be no bigger target in Cedar Valley than the Playhouse, not tonight.”

  Finn’s eyes were dark. “Then that’s where we’ll be.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By the time we arrived at the hospital, Lucas Armstrong was already there. He sat in Maggie’s room, his hands wrapped in hers. To my immense relief, Maggie’s eyes were open. Lucas saw Finn and I hovering in the doorway and stood up to meet us. We stepped back into the hall as he gently closed the door behind him.

  Then he turned and I saw the full force of a father’s rage in his eyes.

  “This guy is dead meat.”

  “We’ll get him, Lucas. Is Sonya here?”

  Armstrong shook his head. “No, thank God. This would break her. She’s with Megan; they went to visit Sonya’s folks in Atlanta for a few days. I’ll give her a call once I understand more.”

  That was one blessing; having Maggie’s mother and little sister on-site would have made it difficult for Finn and I to have a straightforward conversation with her. It was going to be hard enough to do it with her father in the room, but I held no illusions that he’d let us do it without him.

  “Have the doctors evaluated Maggie yet?” I asked gently.

  Armstrong nodded. “There’s no concussion. The bastard gave her some kind of sedative, then popped her in the face for good measure. When I get my hands on him…”

  Finn gave Armstrong’s back a solid thump. “We’re all feeling it, Luke. Has Maggie said anything?”

  Armstrong gritted his teeth and straightened up to his full six and a half feet. “She started to, and I asked her to stop; I told her to wait until you all arrived so she’d only have to go through it once. You know what kills me? Her first words were, ‘Daddy, I’m sorry.’ My baby didn’t do a damn thing wrong and she’s already blaming herself. Well, let’s get to it. As I understand it, we’re on a tight time frame here.”

  I sat in the room’s only chair and pulled it close to Maggie. My heart broke for her; the bruises and swelling on her face, combined with the thin hospital blanket, made her look even younger and more scared than she already was.

  Armstrong and Finn stood in opposite corners of the room, each discreetly fading into the background as well as they could, given the circumstances. They knew Maggie might talk more that way, if she felt as though she were only speaking with me.

  Maggie looked at me with wide, fearful eyes. She whispered, “Why did he do this?”

  “Milo is ill, Maggie. We need to find him so we can get him the help he needs.” I spoke softly, gently. “What can you tell us?”

  S
he closed her eyes; tears leaked out. “It was my fault. Milo told me never to open the closet door in his room. He said he kept his service weapon and memorabilia from his time in the Navy SEALs in there, and he wasn’t comfortable with anyone seeing it. I didn’t care about any of that, I was just looking for an extra towel.”

  Her eyes, open now, cut over to her father and then away. “I’d stayed the night there, for the first time. Milo went to the store to get bagels and fruit and I wanted to shower while he was gone. We were supposed to be at the theater early today for final rehearsal. Poor Nash. Is he terribly upset?”

  “No, Maggie, he’s just worried about you. Don’t think about the play right now, it will all be fine.”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  I prompted, “So you needed a towel…”

  “Yes, and there’s no linen closet in the house. Milo must have forgotten to lock the closet door; I wasn’t even thinking, I just opened it and that’s when I saw it. All of it. At first it didn’t make sense, why Milo would have all these old newspapers taped up. And those creepy comic books. But then I started reading the articles, and saw the photographs, and suddenly everything made sense. I remembered the murder board at the station, knew you had found similar comics at the crime scenes.” Maggie laughed bitterly. “Even him dating me, that made sense. I’m such a fool. I thought he loved me, and all this time, he wanted to be with me because of who my father is.”

  “I know it hurts, Maggie. What happened then?”

  Fear clouded her face and her voice began to shake. “He came home. I didn’t hear him, though. All of a sudden I felt someone behind me and I turned and there he was. The look in his eyes … I’ve never been so scared in my life. He slapped me and pushed me out of the room. I fell on the bed. Then he started laughing, but it was this awful crying laugh.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Armstrong physically trying to restrain himself from racing out the door, finding Griffith, and tearing his head off.

  Maggie continued. “Milo told me everything. For as long as he could remember, his grandmother Millie talked about her hatred for Cedar Valley. Millie said the town had robbed her of her husband. She’d been tormented and harassed by people for so long that she finally had it and left town in the middle of the night. Pregnant, alone. She moved around a lot, raising her daughter, Debbie, in town after town, never daring to get close to anyone, ever. And then Debbie grew up and fell in love with a businessman and had his child, Casey. But when Casey was just a toddler, the man died. A few years later, Millie passed. And when Casey was eighteen, nearly about to graduate high school, Debbie killed herself. Too much had been taken from her. He changed his name to Milo and enlisted.”