by L. T. Ryan
“Just put it on the bureau over there.” She turned and headed down the hall. “I’ll get your key.”
I stood by the doorway, scanning the layout. Everything in the place looked at least as old as her. She came back and tossed the key at me, then walked past me onto the front landing. I followed her down to a doorway hidden underneath the stairs. Musty air rushed past as I opened the door. I swear I saw mold spores smiling at me. She gave me a quick tour of the apartment, which ran the length and width of the house. Wasn’t much, just a couple of rooms. Plenty enough for me.
“If there’s anything you need, Mr. Tanner, you let me know. I’m here most of the time.” She eyed me as I dropped my things on the couch. “You know the most interesting thing about Savannah?”
I remained motionless for a moment, recalling any facts I’d learned along the way. Nothing sprung to mind, so I shrugged.
“There are about five thousand more single women than men in this city,” she said. “Those odds are in your favor.”
I smiled and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I eat dinner at six in the afternoon every single day. Don’t be late if you plan on joining me.”
With that, she exited the apartment. Sunlight knifed across the floor for a moment then vanished as the door fell shut. I had a pang of guilt, something telling me I should’ve gone to see Cassie first. Every second I wasted was an opportunity for Robbie to slip further away.
So why hadn’t I gone? What was holding me back?
That was easy to answer.
Fear.
Chapter Nine
A new plaything. It had been so long since he brought a new plaything to the cellar. There was that woman in the other cell, but she was already there. In fact, Novak wasn’t sure how she’d arrived. Had he blacked out again? Sometimes, when it had been too long, the experience was simply too much for him to handle and he lost all concept of space and time.
Killing the three women in Alice’s house would tide him over for a bit. Keeping Alice around would help him go even longer. She could keep him satisfied.
He pushed her door open and stood in the doorway, a slight smile on his lips. She lay on the bed, her back to him, knees tucked up to her chest. Her panties hugged her ass so perfectly.
“Hello, Alice,” he said.
She turned her head far enough to see him out of the corner of her eye.
“You’ve got nothing to say?”
She looked away again.
Novak entered the room and walked over to the bed. He placed his knee on the edge and shifted his weight toward it. The mattress dipped toward him, turning her body slightly. She covered her breast with her hand, but part of her nipple poked out. Novak leaned in further.
“You can say anything you want, Alice. Don’t fear me.”
How could she not? After what he’d done? He hoped she realized that wasn’t him in the house. No, that wasn’t entirely true. That was a different version of him. And, as he had told her earlier, if she didn’t want to see that version again, she had better start engaging him.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
She rolled over onto her back, covering her chest with both arms folded over. “Water. Please, I need water.”
Novak lowered his face toward hers and kissed her cheek. “Anything for you, my dear.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and tried not to cry, but it didn’t work. Novak almost felt sorry for her. Poor thing. She didn’t ask for this.
Shut up! She sure as hell did when she invited you into her car.
He had a point. Why on earth those women thought it was a good idea to stop and help him was one of the world’s great mysteries.
Novak left the room and headed back upstairs. He grabbed a cold bottle of water, unscrewed the cap and set the bottle down on the counter next to a stack of dirty dishes. He looked at them in disgust. Better to throw them away and buy new ones than wash them all. He searched the cabinet for the small vial of powder. It was further back than he remembered, and on its side. His fingers brushed against it, and it rolled further away.
“Son of a bitch!”
He grabbed a chair and stepped up on the seat, putting him eye level with the shelf. The vial had rolled all the way to the back. He reached his arm in past the elbow. The chair teetered and he spread his base to counter the effect and keep it steady.
Novak popped the lid off the vial as he stepped down. He pushed the chair out of the way, and sprinkled some of the powder into the water bottle.
“Here you go, Alice,” he said, reentering the room.
She remained on her back, but had given up covering her breasts. He tried not to stare. It would be impolite, right? She propped up on her elbows and snatched the bottle from his hands. He couldn’t help but watch as her breasts wiggled side to side. Alice sucked down the contents of the bottle in less than ten seconds. Water dripped down her chin, onto her chest, finding the groove between her breasts.
“It’s good, yeah?” he said.
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and she fell back against the mattress. She wouldn’t respond to his question. She couldn’t, not after what he’d just mixed into her water.
“And now we have fun.”
Chapter Ten
I took all of five minutes to relax before working my way along a roundabout path over to Cassie’s place, much to the chagrin of the rental car’s GPS. The well-maintained garden squares in the city, which gave Savannah an old-world European flair, gave way to a short jaunt through the ghetto and eventually what most would call the ‘burbs. A few landmarks later, I cruised past her house. Aside from the grass being a little overgrown, it looked the same as it had a few weeks ago when I visited with Bridget Dinapoli.
Would Cassie be the same? I had no doubt she would. She had a seriousness about her that wasn’t always present in folks these days. Everyone’s a damn comedian. At the same time, you could see right through her. She felt the pain of those she aided. It grabbed hold of her psyche and squeezed until she settled the spirits who pestered her.
I idled in front of the house for a few moments, staring across the green stretch of wavering grass blades leading to the door. The blinds parted for a moment. White gave way to black. I couldn’t see her, but it was almost as though she spoke to me.
Quit dallying about, Detective.
I was halfway up the drive when the front door creaked open and the screen door jutted outward. Cassie stepped onto the porch. Her dark hair was pulled back, with a few dark strands hanging down and curling under her jaw, framing her face. She tucked the left side behind her ear, smiled at me.
“Surprised?” I called out.
She lowered her head a tad and shrugged.
“Of course you’re not,” I said. “Impossible to surprise a psychic.”
“You know I don’t like being called that,” she said.
I held my hands up in mock surrender. “Only messin’ with you, Cassie.”
We stood on the porch, a couple weathered boards apart. The smell coming through the door reminded me of a farmhouse. Pumpkin spice, or something like that. I guess you could achieve the same effect at Starbucks, if you were so inclined. It was that time of year, after all.
“What brings you here, Mitch?”
“So you didn’t know I was coming?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“So you did, then.”
“And I didn’t say that.” That smile played on her lips again.
I dug my fingertips into my pocket where they came to rest on the weathered edge of the postcard containing Robbie’s note. For a moment, it felt as though he was reaching out and wrapping his little hand around my index finger.
“Mitch?” Cassie shuffled forward a step and placed her hand on my arm. It felt hotter than it should have.
Reluctantly, I pulled my hand out of my pocket and gestured toward the door. “Can we go in?”
I followed Cassie through the entrance and dow
n a dim hallway that led to the kitchen. The chair scraped across the floor as I pulled it away from the table. Cassie spent a minute at the coffeemaker. The machine started gurgling, and soon the smell of a fresh brew overtook the pumpkin spice.
She pulled a chair out and sat facing me. Her gaze traveled up and down, finally settling on mine.
“What’s in your pocket?” she asked.
I hadn’t realized my hand had traveled back to the note. I pulled it out, holding tight with both hands, and stared at the lettering on the front. My ex or another adult had obviously written the address, but Robbie had written my name. I traced the large M and T with my thumb. After a moment, I cleared my throat.
“It’s from Robbie,” I said. “Got it a few days after my last visit, after we rescued those kids.”
Cassie nodded and took a moment or two to compose her thoughts into words. She was like a therapist at times, at least when she wasn’t beseeched by the voices that demanded her help.
I interrupted her before she had a chance to speak. “I know you can’t promise anything. And it’s probably tougher than what you are used to, with him being alive.” I diverted my eyes toward the coffeemaker. Could I be so sure of that fact? “But if there’s any chance you can pick up on something, I…I need to know, Cassie. I need to know where my son is.”
Her hand fell upon mine, fingertips gliding over my knuckles. She traced the remnants of the cut I sustained from knocking out Fairchild. I fixed my stare on her delicate fingers as they slid off mine and settled on the postcard. She tugged slightly on the end nearest her. I released my grip. In that instant, her demeanor changed. Her brows furrowed, creating a crinkle that started at the bridge of her nose and traveled up to the middle of her forehead. Her breathing grew erratic, and her eyes dampened.
“Shit,” I muttered.
She looked up, shaking her head. “It’s not…It’s something else. I can’t quite...” She let go of the postcard and jolted to her feet. “Something’s wrong.”
I remained silent, watching her back up until she hit the counter next to the stainless sink. The purr of the house fan billowing down from an overhead vent drowned out a slight buzzing in my ears.
And then it sounded as though two rifle blasts echoed down the hallway. It broke whatever trance Cassie had entered. She walked past me, out of the room and toward the front door to see who had knocked.
Chapter Eleven
The cadence of their speech gave them away even before I managed to decipher what it was they were saying. There was a rhythm to the way they spoke that I was all too familiar with. There was also a familiarity in Cassie’s tone that indicated she knew the visitors.
And she wasn’t pleased to see them.
I waited at the table for a few minutes, catching bits and pieces of the conversation. After Cassie’s third request for the men to leave, and their subsequent refusal, I walked down the hallway with hard and deliberate steps and made my presence known.
The sunlight hit the men from the right, casting shadows across half their faces. They were roughly late thirties to early forties, about the same height as one another, but one was darker and stockier. His face was unshaven with about a week’s growth. He had a brooding look. The other was his complete opposite. Fair, clean-cut, light hair with a perfect part on the left side.
The two men made no effort to conceal their movements as they reached for their pistols after spotting me. Neither drew their piece. They surveyed the potential enemy inside Cassie’s house with a look of bewilderment. I guessed in all of their visits to her home, there had never been another man present.
Cassie was well aware they had spotted me. She swept her hand in front of the men. “You can put those away. He’s a friend of mine.”
“You don’t have any friends,” the dark, stocky guy said.
“You don’t know everything about me.” Cassie glanced over her shoulder. There was something reassuring about the way she looked at me. “Detective Tanner, come meet Detectives Pennington and Cervantes of the Savannah-Chatham Police Department.”
“Pennington,” the fair one said, reaching his hand past Cassie. “Don’t mind Cervantes. He’s got case-brain, and we’re working a rough one. Anyway, you’re a detective? Where from?”
I grabbed his hand, matching the strong grip. “Philly. Uh, Philadelphia.”
Cervantes said, “Bit out of your jurisdiction down here, ain’t you, Tanner?”
“Why’s that? This is a personal visit. Cassie is my friend.” I pulled free from Pennington’s grasp and placed my hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “She’s not just someone I use when I can’t figure out what the hell I’m doing.”
Cervantes puffed up like he was preparing to strike. Pennington, perhaps knowing his partner well enough to see what was about to go down, stuck his arm out and pushed the stocky man back.
“Listen, Tanner,” Pennington said. “We’re not trying to be rude or condescending. We’re a brotherhood, right?” He flashed a quick smile that was both rude and condescending. “We need to speak to Cassie about a case we’re working on. So, we’re gonna need you to leave for a while. Maybe head down to the river for a bit. Whatever. Just head out for a while, and call before coming back.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong here,” I said. “I’m not going no damn where.”
The men glanced at each other. Cervantes said, “Then we’ll take Cassie down to the station. You try to follow along, we’ll have you arrested. Then you can spend the rest of your vacation in our nicest cell.”
I had no misgivings about the condition of that cell. They likely planned to stick me in the drunk tank and forget to let me leave. Ever wonder how long it takes to adjust to the smell of puke, piss and shit? I didn’t have any desire to find out while in Savannah.
Cassie turned and spread her arms, creating additional distance between the detectives and me. She stared at me for a moment, then at them. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Detective Tanner. He and I have worked together numerous times. He’s a pro, and I trust him. And if things are bad enough that you need to drag me into the investigation, then I don’t think another experienced investigator is going to hurt.”
Cervantes cursed and reached his arm through the doorway as though he were going to drag her out of the house. I started to place myself between them. Pennington did the same.
“Cerv, that’s enough.”
His partner backed down.
“Cassie, it doesn’t work that way,” Pennington said. “We can’t just—”
“Then you won’t have my support this time.” She grabbed the edge of the door and swung it shut on the detectives.
We stood there for fifteen seconds. Silent. Beads of sweat dripped from my hairline, down my forehead. There was no airflow in the entry hallway. It seemed to amplify the late summer heat. The muffled voices of the two men rose and fell. One argued louder than the other. Cervantes, of course. He was pissed, and it was bringing his accent out, the one he obviously strived to keep under wraps while working.
The doorbell chime cut through the still air. Cassie looked at me, a wry smile on her face. She pulled the door open. Only Pennington stood there. Cervantes was at the end of the driveway, hustling toward their sedan.
“Ready to play by my rules?”
Chapter Twelve
I was surprised when Cervantes emerged from the car carrying a briefcase. I thought for sure he was done with us. Apparently not. He trotted across the yard and stepped into the house behind his partner. They both avoided eye contact with me. In fact, it looked like they wanted to spit on me. The disdain was etched deep into their faces.
And I can’t say I blamed them. We detectives are a territorial breed. Throw two opposing gumshoes in a ring together and you had better be prepared to clean up a mess. In this case, if the tables were turned, I’d have walked. Their need for Cassie’s help must’ve been fierce if it got them to swallow this much pride.
“Come on, Mitch,” Cassie said, gesturi
ng toward the hallway.
I followed her into the kitchen. The detectives’ hard-soled shoes slapped the old pine hardwoods and echoed down the corridor. I grabbed a chair and slid it a few feet away from the table. I wanted a bit of distance between me and them.
“Coffee?” Cassie said. “It’s fresh.”
Cervantes shook his head while thumbing open the briefcase’s latches.
“Thanks, I’ll take a cup,” Pennington said.
Cassie poured some into a mug, then set it on the table in front of him. The ensuing silent lull lasted almost a minute. All eyes focused on the manila folder, and the fragments of papers and photos spilling out from the side, the top one revealing the unmistakable sight of a blood-stained sheet.
“So, what is it?” Cassie asked. “Lost child? Runaway mom?”
Cervantes’ dark eyes bore into her. He shook his head, said nothing.
“Murder,” she said calmly.
“Triple homicide,” Pennington said.
“I haven’t heard anything about that,” she said. “When did it happen?”
“Night of the storm,” Pennington said.
“Two weeks ago?” Cassie crossed her arms.
“That’s right.”
“And it’s local?”
“Yup.”
“How come I didn’t hear about this?”
“We’ve kept it under wraps, but we all know that’s not going to last forever.”
Cassie shot me a glance. It wasn’t common for a triple-homicide to remain sequestered for so long. Someone would have leaked something to the media. Hell, they knew before most cops did when something like this happened. Nosy neighbors, and all that.
She asked the question we both wondered.
“Why?”
The two detectives stared at the folder. I could only imagine the brutal story the pictures within told. It can be hard enough to kill one person, let alone three.
Pennington cleared his throat. “Three women died in that house that night. But there were four there.”
