by Wes Markin
“A fucking junkyard,” Jake said.
“It’s how they made ends meet. Weighing in scrap, repairing and selling vehicles.”
“Is that profitable? How did they get enough together to own a thriving convenience store?”
“The brothers used to do odd jobs for Jotham MacLeoid.”
“Odd jobs? Is that your euphemism for violence and drug dealing now? For pity’s sake, was there anyone not on that psychopath’s payroll?”
Lillian wound her vehicle around the scattered wrecks, aiming for a decrepit, yellowing farmhouse.
“You’d think with a bit of money in the bank they’d have cleaned up the place,” Jake said.
“When you’ve lived in squalor for as long as the Davis family have, I guess you just accept it as normal.”
“Maybe we should talk to them about aspiring to something better before they destroy any more of the environment. I can’t believe how beautiful it was back there and how fucked up it is here.”
Lillian stopped beside a line of noisy coops. “The chickens sound unsettled.”
“Locked in there, are you surprised? Anybody buying eggs at their convenience store could do with stopping by and seeing where they’re sourced.”
“Maybe they’re allowed to graze in the junkyard?”
Jake smiled and opened the door. His hand flew to his nose. “Fuck. Do you smell that?”
Lillian put her hand to her nose too.
They exited the vehicle, and Jake pointed at the coops. “It’s coming from there.”
Keeping their hands firmly to their noses, they rounded the first coop and looked in.
“Disgusting,” Lillian said.
Most of the chickens were at the back of the coop, clucking and wallowing in their own filth. At the front of the coop were three chicken corpses. At first, Jake thought the nearest one was still moving, but it was merely the ravenous maggots writhing in the rotting flesh.
“Who are you?”
Jake and Lillian turned.
A squat, older man wearing a sweat-stained vest limped in their direction. His pudgy, hairy arms were covered in old tattoos, that had faded and blurred to the point that they resembled some unfortunate skin disease.
“I’m Officer Lillian Sanborn.”
“I know who you are. I was asking about the reverse Oompa Loompa next to you.”
Jake frowned. The insult was so obscure, it took him a moment to figure it out. “I’m new. The name’s Officer Reynolds.”
The man laughed. His teeth were blackened and crooked. “Rookie Reynolds, eh?” He eyed Lillian. “You training him, doll?” He winked, and his tongue darted over his top lip. “I bet you begged for that job. Can’t let anyone else get hold of his white hammer—”
Jake stepped toward him.
He raised his hands. “Calm it, skyscraper. Just messing.”
“You mess with the customers in your store too, Mr. Davis?” Lillian said.
He laughed again. “Call me Dom, ma’am. And look at me, you think my brother lets me anywhere near the store? Cam’s the polished one. He can also hold his tongue. I struggle with that.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “We hadn’t noticed.”
“You a Brit? Shit. Can’t remember last time one came into town. And I never had one on our land before.”
“You could have tidied up for me.”
“Why? Cam says there’s no point in having land you don’t use.”
Wreck, you mean. “Where’s your brother, anyway?”
“Well, he’s … how do they say it around your parts? He’s off to see a man about a dog.” He put on a dire, fake British accent.
“Can you be more specific?” Lillian said.
“Why? What you here for anyway?”
Jake got a nauseating whiff of the rotting chicken again and thumbed over his shoulder. “What happened in there?”
“What always happens … Brady!”
“Brady?” Lillian said. “He’s a child! What could he have to do with what happened to those chickens?”
“He got a new air pistol.” Cam smiled. “And he’s been out practicing as usual.”
Jake grunted. “And you allow that?”
Dom shrugged.
It was Lillian’s turn to step toward him. “You heard of the Preventing Animal Cruelty and Torture Act, Mr. Davis? It carries seven years in prison.”
He held up his hairy hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, Officer. His mother’s in the house. She’s the one who has lost control.”
Jake heard the front door of the decrepit farmhouse ahead of them open. A Native American woman in a flowery dress walked to the porch’s edge.
“Speak of the devil,” Dom said. “And a devil she is.” He winked and flashed his tongue again. “Never mind how quiet and timid she looks.”
“You’re starting to make me feel sick,” Lillian said.
“Me too,” Jake said.
Dom shrugged. “It’s my land. Figure I can say what I want.”
A slight breeze intensified the stench. Both Jake and Lillian covered their noses.
“The least you can do,” Lillian said, “is clean that out. It stinks.”
Dom shrugged again. “Why should I? Didn’t you hear what I just said? It wasn’t me. Never had children. Prefer my life to be my own. Like I said, it’s up to the mother, and Carson, I guess—although mainly the mother, in my opinion. Carson has big responsibilities these days.” Dom nodded, appearing contented over what he considered a profound opinion.
“And his son is not a big responsibility?” Jake said.
“It doesn’t pay the bills.”
“So, what is Carson’s big responsibility?” Lillian asked.
“Well, he’s at the shop.”
“Because your brother doesn’t trust you?” Jake said.
Dom smiled his blackened smile. “Something like that.” He thumbed back at Felicity on the porch. “Doesn’t trust her either. She’s only good for three things: cooking, cleaning, and …” He tapped his nose, and his smile grew an inch.
Jake spied Lillian’s reddening face. He coughed to distract her from her anger and nodded at her to indicate it was time to play their card.
Before Lillian could do that, the front door opened again, and a young male teenager peered out. He stared at the visitors for a moment and went to his mother, who looped her arm around him and pulled him in tightly.
Jake nodded toward Felicity and her son. “Is that Brady?”
Dom turned to look. “No. That’s the eldest. Owen. He’s mute.”
“I heard the diagnosis was non-verbal autistic,” Lillian said.
“Yeah, so his mother keeps telling me, but it’s a mouthful. Mute does the job.”
Jake felt his blood boil.
“Hey, why you here again?” Dom asked.
“We haven’t told you yet.” Jake played the card. “It’s regarding Brady, and, as you have happily admitted to washing your hands of the boy, I think it’s best if we just go right up and talk to Felicity.”
Dom contemplated this. He looked back at mother and son on the porch. “Can’t see a problem. Best if I come along though.”
“We’d prefer you didn’t,” Lillian said.
Dom shook his head. “Nah. Cam won’t like that.”
“Just us, Mr. Davis,” Jake said. “That’s the deal.”
“No deal.” He narrowed his eyes, and his arms stiffened at his side.
It was the first display of anger he’d seen from Dom, which was rather surprising, considering his reputation.
“The other deal,” Lillian said, “involves taking him into custody. Then his mother will have to accompany him.”
Dom took a deep breath and thought for a moment. He curled his top lip. “I’ll stay right here where I can see you then. And I don’t want you in the house.”
“Why?” Jake asked.
“It’s a mess,” Dom said.
Jake looked around. “After seeing this, I’m sure t
hat won’t bother us.”
Dom narrowed his eyes again and took two steps backward. “Stay outside.”
Jake smirked at Dom, and then, with Lillian, approached Felicity and Owen on the covered front porch.
As they neared, Owen turned toward his mother and pressed his face against her chest.
She wrapped her arms around him.
Jake let Lillian ascend the steps first, so as not to worry Owen further. Not because she was female, but because most human beings looked far less threatening than he did. Rotten floorboards creaked as they approached them.
When they were several feet away, Felicity said, “Please don’t come any farther. He won’t like it.”
Lillian stopped and turned toward Jake with a guilty look which demonstrated that she was having second thoughts about unnecessarily worrying this timid part of the Davis family.
Jake nodded for her to continue. He’d already pondered it long and hard. It seemed the speediest way to the information they needed.
“Mrs. Davis. I’m Lillian Sanborn from the Blue Falls PD. Would you prefer to send Owen somewhere so we can talk?”
“He stays with me. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, I prefer to keep him away from his granduncle.” She nodded in Dom’s direction.
Jake looked back. The pig stared at them while he scratched his armpit but remained out of earshot.
“Why?” Lillian asked.
Felicity opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of what she was going to say. She thought for another moment and said, “My son has needs. Dom isn’t patient with them.” She stroked Owen’s hair while his face remained buried in her chest.
“Are you sure it’s okay to talk in front of him?”
“He’s tougher than he looks.”
“It’s about his brother, Brady,” Lillian said.
“Figures. What’s he done now?”
“Shoplifting. We have several unhappy shop owners in Sharon’s Edge.”
There was some truth in this. Brady had recently been caught shoplifting in two stores. Both store owners had contacted the police. However, when the store owner found out that the boy was a Davis, they’d opted not to file a report, claiming they preferred their stores standing and not burned to the ground. Technically, there was no reason for Lillian to be here, but she wasn’t lying; the boy had been filling his pockets at someone else’s expense.
Felicity nodded. “It happened before, but it didn’t come to anything. The store owners let it go because he’s only young.”
Do you really believe that? Jake thought.
“It can’t go on,” Lillian said. “We’ve decided to take this to the next step.”
Felicity’s face flushed. “Which is?”
Jake stepped forward. “Is Brady here?”
Felicity pointed out a window on the second floor where a small, pudgy face was pressed against it. “He’s locked in his room today.”
Lillian and Jake exchanged a look.
“Why?”
She nodded toward Dom again. “Shot him in the ass with his air pistol.”
Jake forced back a smile.
“Is Brady safe here, Mrs. Davis?” Lillian asked.
“Of course! Why do you ask that?”
“Locked in his room? The chickens in the coop? The violence against his uncle?”
“I also know Peter Sheenan,” Jake said.
She flinched. “So?”
“He’s worried about you, and he’s worried about your children.”
“We’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about!”
“To be honest, Mrs. Davis,” Lillian said, “I think it’s time we all got together in the station—us, you, Brady, and his father, Carson. Hash this out.”
“No,” Felicity said, chewing on her lip. “That’s not a good idea.”
“It is,” Jake said. “We can nip this in the bud before it gets any worse.”
“No! You don’t understand.”
“What don’t we understand, Mrs. Davis?” Lillian asked.
“Have you really spoken to Peter?” She looked up at Jake.
He nodded.
“Peter should have told you that this isn’t a good idea,” she said.
“How so?” Jake asked.
“Because Cam, Brady’s grandfather, wouldn’t like us going with you. He’d get angry. And when he’s angry, he’s … he’s …”
“He’s?” Lillian prompted.
“He’s unpleasant. Is there some other way we could clear this up?”
Lillian and Jake eyed each other again. Jake said, “Maybe, yes.”
The young boy turned. He leaned back into his mother while she kept her arms looped over his chest. His hair was neatly cropped and waxed back. He was also neatly dressed in a shirt with the buttons done to the collar. He stared off into the distance with tired eyes.
“Hello, Owen,” Jake said. He waited for their eyes to lock onto each other, but they didn’t. He looked back up at his mother. “Did you hear about the body recovered from the Skweda?”
Felicity frowned. “Yes, but what does that have to do with us? You can’t think—”
“Calm down, Felicity. It’s not what we think at all. I’m just going to ask a few questions, and if you help me, we’ll help you and see what we can do about moving on from this situation with Brady.”
She nodded.
“Has any of the men you live with mentioned the recovery of this body?”
“Carson hasn’t, but Dom and Cam have.”
“What have they said?”
“They said it’s the body of a young girl who went missing in the nineties.”
“Well, that isn’t confirmed yet, Mrs. Davis,” Lillian said.
“How did they seem when they were discussing it?” Jake asked.
A look of nausea swept over her face, and she looked away. “Not how people should seem.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Davis?” Lillian said.
“They seemed happy about it.”
“Happy about a dead child?” Jake asked, inching forward, sensing the information he’d come here to find.
“Yes, because they believed that Mason Rogers would finally get what’s coming to him.”
Jake nodded. “Okay, so their hatred of the Rogers family is still very much alive?”
“Yes.”
“We were worried about coming here and asking you questions,” Lillian said, “in case it put Mason back on their radar.”
“He was never off their radar.”
“Still, if you mention our visit, it is best to keep it to Brady, and the fact that he’s on a warning. We don’t want them to think the link between Mason and the deceased girl is under investigation again,” Jake said.
“So, he’s suspected again?”
“Your discretion in this matter will be repaid. Brady will have nothing to worry about regarding this current crop of charges.”
She nodded. “I won’t say anything.”
“Can you tell us what is driving this hatred, Mrs. Rogers? Why are Cam and Dom Davis so desperate to see the end of Mason Rogers?”
She waved her hand over the dishevelled farmland. “Because the Rogers family caused this.”
“How?”
“The way Cam tells the story is that back when they were children, Silas Rogers’ evil shit of a son came by one night and poisoned all their cattle. Mad as they come, apparently. When they woke the next morning, their farming business was ruined. They’ve been on a downward spiral ever since. Carson isn’t that interested, to be honest. He had a few run-ins with Anthony Rogers before, you know, but nothing too bad. Cam and Dom won’t ever let it go though. They seem to think they’d be millionaires living on their own island by now if the Rogers kid hadn’t done what he did.”
“So, what happened to Mason after he poisoned the cattle?”
She looked confused. “Sorry. Did I not make myself clear? It wasn’t Mason.”
Jake felt his heart rate accelerate. “Sorry, I
don’t understand. Who was it then?”
1975
THE HEAT PRESSED down on Mason Rogers.
It had been Bobby’s idea to go to the patch by Waterford’s. “Mom and Dad love it out here. They said I was, you know, made here.”
Henry laughed. “That’s a lot of information!”
“I just wanted you to know how quiet it is.”
“And that we won’t be disturbed?”
Mason had stayed quiet regarding the plan because nothing had occurred to him. In conversations, things rarely occurred to him. That was the reason he had so few friends, and probably the reason Henry and Bobby had taken pity on him.
Despite being close to the crumbling, yellowing mill, the patch was quiet, because the sloping fields had broken up into woodland.
They stopped when they came across a small ditch which, during rainfall, would be waterlogged and potentially dangerous but was, today, dusty and dry.
Bobby laid out some rugs and sat down. He handed out three cans of Coke, which were still reasonably cold despite the hot weather.
“How long has the Waterford Mill been out of action anyway?” Henry asked, sitting down.
“How am I supposed to know?” Bobby laid back on the rug with his hands behind his head. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t bought the land though. Mason, have you ever been up here before?”
“No.”
“You can sit down,” Bobby said to Mason, patting the rug beside him.
“I’m okay. My legs are stiff,” he lied. “Last weekend ploughing with Dad has left them worse for wear.”
The truth was that he was uncomfortable.
Last night had been traumatic. Watching Bobby and Henry—the only two boys at school who had ever really shown him any kindness—kissing each other had been devastating. All because of a stupid game …
Yet, the noises? And the way their hands had moved over one another?
No, it hadn’t been a game. It had been real. Too real.
Thankfully, Bobby’s mother had been there to put a stop to it, but then, all night, Mason had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, sweating. What had that been? What had he witnessed? Was that who they were, really?
And now, he’d chosen to stand here, alone with them again. What did that mean? Was he just like them?
