by Wes Markin
He watched the neon sign of the Blue Falls Motel flickering over the rooftops of Main Street. Might as well begin with the closest option. Enjoying the reassuring weight of his toolkit in his backpack, he broke into a jog, as he always did when he went hunting.
Jake tried to lie still to allow Piper some sleep, but she must have sensed his anxiety, because she was restless. Occasionally, she reached to stroke his back and ask if he was okay, but he refused to divert his attention from his cellphone, which he stared at. Eventually, the pain of lying still got too much for Jake, so he grabbed his phone and stood. “Please get some rest, Piper.”
He went into the bathroom and, in the darkness, sat on the toilet seat. He pressed the button on his cell to light the screen to double check he hadn’t missed a call or a text.
Nothing.
He sat there, continually checking, only stopping when he realized he was draining the battery.
Liam slowed down before reaching the Blue Falls Motel, then steadied himself against a lamppost to catch his breath.
Many years earlier, before killing Henry and Bobby, Liam had been on a ten-mile run with the hammer, the pliers, and some rocks in his backpack. He recalled his desperation to be a soldier; fuck his pre-existing conditions. He’d kept himself as fit as he possibly could just in case the army ever became so desperate for recruits that they’d take on the sickly boy with no teeth.
On the day of the murders, he’d eaten a large breakfast. He always did this before heavy exertions; during wartime, one had to be prepared to do whatever, no matter how full a stomach. That memorable day, he’d vomited on route to meet Mason and his two faggot friends.
How fit he’d been! Even after a ten-mile run, with puke on his chin, he’d killed those two boys without needing to lean against a lamppost and catch his breath. Now look at him—a puffing and panting old man stalking into the Blue Falls Motel parking lot.
He straightened his back and puffed out his chest. He may not be as fit as he once was, but he’d give anyone else within ten, or even twenty years of his age a good run for their money.
He stopped by a solitary car in the lot.
And one thing was for certain. Despite his grand age, he’d not forgotten how to kill.
He ran his gloved hand down the deep scratch on the side of the Ford rental. How did you do that, Jake? He surveyed the motel room; both him and Mason had observed Jake entering a couple days back. He reached into his backpack for the hammer that had ended Bobby and Henry. He smiled at the camera mounted high on the motel walls.
Probably not in use, but if it was, no matter. He doubted anyone would be monitoring it at four in the morning, and even if Liam hadn’t been wearing a ski mask, he doubted anyone would recognize a man who had departed Blue Falls half a century ago.
He approached the door, readied the hammer in one hand, and, with the other, prepared to knock.
When the cellphone rang, Jake shook so hard he almost dropped it. “Mike?”
“Jake, it’s fine. Take a deep breath.”
Jake did. It was no help. He stood and paced in the darkness instead. “Talk to me, Mike. Please.”
“The car belongs to someone having a relationship with the young lady living opposite.”
“But Sheila told me she went door to door to try to find out who owned the BMW.”
“The man is married with kids. It took my badge to dislodge the truth from the young lady in question.”
“Thank god. Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be without going around to this fella’s house and ruining his marriage.”
“No. Jesus, I don’t know what to say.”
“You can tell me where you are.”
Jake placed his forehead against the bathroom mirror. “I just can’t, Mike. We’ve been through this. I will not put you in that position.”
“And how do you know I won’t just attempt to trace this number after this phone call?”
“I know you won’t, because if you do and they find me, you’ll blame yourself for what comes next.”
“It seems you know me a lot better than I know you.”
Jake rolled his head on the mirror. “You know me, Mike. You know me better than anyone. But I made a mistake, and I must pay for that—for the rest of my life if need be.”
“Nonsense. This must end, Jake. You know that as well as I do.”
“Maybe, but until it does, this is how it’s got to be.” He lifted his head from the mirror. “I have to go and phone Sheila.”
“First, promise me something.”
“If I can, yes.”
“If you get into any trouble, call me. Any trouble. Day or night. You call me.”
“I will,” Jake lied. “I will.” After hanging up, he dialled Sheila’s number.
Liam didn’t knock and dropped his fist to his side. Knowing Jake Pettman was a dangerous man would steady most hands in this situation, but it wasn’t the reason for steadying his. He steadied his hand because he understood the importance of reconnaissance. He shuffled to the side and placed his face against the glass. The blinds were down, but they trembled, and Liam reasoned a fan was set on full throttle in there. Sure enough, the blinds slightly lifted at the corner when the air stream drew near, and Liam saw inside.
A naked woman lay face down on the bed.
No sign of Jake. I wonder what you’re up to at this ungodly hour, Pettman? Staring at the naked woman, Liam licked his hollow gums. He spied the hammer in his hand, and several possibilities flickered in his mind. While the cat’s away, the mice will play.
He sidestepped backward to the front door. Yes, this was not to plan, but didn’t he deserve some fun? He’d spent his entire life worrying about his brother. How nice it would be just to consider number one for a short time? Especially with so fine a woman lying on the other side of the door …
Mason’s cellphone buzzed. He reached into his pocket. The message on the screen was from an unknown number: We left your dog suffering and that is your fault. Do everyone a favor, put one of your guns in your mouth and pull the fucking trigger or we will come and do it.
The Davis brothers, Liam thought. They always were so eloquent.
Liam smiled and stepped back from the door. This message may just be what he needed to rile Mason into some serious action. He sighed when he considered the beautiful creature behind the door. Unfortunately, now was not the time to play. There were too many fish to fry, and drawing heat upon himself this early was not the strategic action of a good soldier.
He replaced the cell in his pocket and put the hammer in the backpack. Temper your impulses, soldier.
He jogged back to Main street. When he reached the front of his brother’s general store, he saw that the text wasn’t the only message the Davis brothers had delivered this evening. The front window had been smashed. Liam wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed he’d missed it.
Mason felt the sofa move as Liam sat beside him, but he didn’t look. Instead, he stared at the brick in his hand.
“I saw the mess, brother,” Liam said. “We could take the brick back round to them if you want. I can think of more creative ways to put it to use.”
Mason felt a tear run down his face.
“They also sent you this,” Liam said.
Mason listened to him read the threatening text message. “One thing they never had was a way with words.” From the corner of his eye, Mason watched Liam lean over and place his cell on the coffee table.
The bastard pinched the sleeve of Mason’s striped pajama top. “Get out of these and let’s go put an end to this.”
Mason swung the brick. The crunch of his brother’s cheek was sickening but, at the same time, quite satisfying.
Liam slipped from the sofa, clutching his cheek. “Fuck … fuck.” He slumped onto the floor. “Fuck!”
“I told you not to go out,” Mason said, rising.
Liam bashed his feet on the floor. “I’m your fucking brother. Everything I do, I
do for you.”
“Bullshit. You’re in it for yourself, always have been.”
Liam removed his hand. Blood spewed from a rip in his cheek. “Good job I don’t have any teeth.”
Mason raised the brick above his head.
“Fine. Whatever makes you happy, brother.” He smiled, but then winced.
“You’ve never brought me anything but more pain.” Mason gritted his teeth, preparing to bring down the brick.
“That’s gratitude for you. You forget, little brother. Where would you be if it wasn’t for me? In jail. For the murder of a little girl.”
Mason squeezed the brick so hard he thought it may just turn to dust. “I didn’t kill her.”
“It matters not. I solved the problem. I always solve your problems. Henry and Bobby?”
“They were my friends. My only friends.”
“They were faggots. They just wanted to use you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know. You had happiness for a bit. You had Lorraine, and you had your son.”
“They’re both gone.”
“And was that my fault?”
The brick suddenly felt heavier in Mason’s hands. He lowered it to his chest. “I want you to leave.”
“If I leave, brother, you’ll be dead within the week.”
“I have my own plan.” He threw the brick on the sofa and turned his back on his brother. “I want you gone. Now.”
“Whatever you wish. I’ll leave you to your shit show. But, once I’m gone, I’m not coming back, no matter how hard you beg me.”
“Don’t worry, I’d rather die.”
Liam winced and sighed again. “Carry on like this, Mason, and it may just have to be that way.”
13
“COME IN, OFFICER Sanborn.”
Lillian opened the office door. “Good morning, ma’am. Could I have a quick word?”
Louise was sitting beneath a portrait of a serious-looking Earl Jewell and behind Gabriel’s desk. Gabriel was an immaculate man who demanded order around him. His desk rarely had more than a neat pile of files and a single cup of fresh coffee on it. If he could see the three empty coffee cups and paperwork strewn all over it right now, he’d have been a candidate for a heart attack. “Of course, take a seat.”
Lillian sat.
“You want to talk alone?” Louise looked from side to side at her two officers. Ewan, the tallest of the two, was leaning against the glass window that looked out on the department, thumbing through a file. The other one, Gordon, was grinning inanely at Lillian. She scowled in his direction, and he looked down at the file in his hand.
“No, it’s nothing personal,” Lillian said. “I just think I may’ve discovered something of interest.”
Louise leaned forward and put her hands on the table, accidently knocking over a framed picture, which Lillian couldn’t recall ever seeing on Gabriel’s desk before now.
Lillian reached to pick it up, but Louise was quicker. Lillian caught a glimpse of three young black girls, dressed in matching blue dresses, before Louise stood it back up, facing her.
“What have you found out?” Louise asked.
The male officers maneuvered to the sides of the desk, laid down their files and stared at Lillian, making her squirm as she recounted her discovery of the rivalry between the Rogers and Davis families, her visit to the Davis farm, and the revelation that Mason had an older brother named Liam.
She was careful to leave Jake out of the recount. The last thing she wanted was to be side-lined by these superior officers due to her involvement of a civilian in the investigation. The fact she had no reliable colleagues within her department and that Jake was one of the most capable detectives she’d ever met would surely fall on deaf ears.
Afterward, Louise smiled and reclined in her chair. “You’ve been busy, Officer Sanborn, but I’m not surprised.” She nodded at the window that looked out on the other officers in the department. “I suspected right away that you were the only person who could get anything done around here.”
Lillian felt her cheeks flush. “So, what do you think, ma’am?”
“I think that until we have some DNA results, we are floundering around for leads of any kind. However, you have just floundered onto a good one, and I think we should take a look. Well done, Officer.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Lillian said, but she wasn’t proud of herself, not at all. She remained interested in only one thing: finding the truth. “How did the interview with Mason Rogers go, ma’am?”
Louise smiled again. “Okay. But there’s one thing I need to make clear to you, Officer Sanborn.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“There’s us and”—she pointed to the window again—“and them. I will bring you into the loop, but you must remain loyal to us. I know you’re desperate for the truth and that a wise officer such as yourself knows the best chance lies with us, but I still want to hear you say it. Are you batting for the right side here, Officer Sanborn?”
“Yes, ma’am, of course.”
“Good. Listen, I think Mason Rogers is innocent. I don’t think he killed Collette Jewell or those boys in seventy-five.”
Lillian nodded, trying desperately to conceal the feelings of doubt that overwhelmed her.
Louise smiled. “You’re wondering how I could possibly know that, aren’t you? Well, extensive training in interviewing, experience, good old-fashioned women’s intuition—take your pick. Look, I know I could be wrong, and I’m keeping our options open, believe me, but these are my initial impressions.”
“And Lieutenant Price is never wrong,” Gordon said.
“Well,” Louise said, looking up at Gordon, “at least not as long as you’ve known me—which isn’t long, to be fair. Anyway, despite his innocence, I’m still certain he’s concealing something. He was close with the two boys who died in seventy-five, potentially sexually, and Collette Jewell was last seen heading to his store. Throw in the extracted teeth and you’ve got a lot of coincidences.” Louise stood. “But thanks to you, we’ve now got another piece of the jigsaw. A rivalry, a brother, Liam Rogers—the story grows.” She paused to think. “So, Officer Sanborn, I’m impressed by your resourcefulness, so I’m interested to hear what you think our next move should be.”
Before she could worry about making a ridiculous suggestion, Lillian followed her instincts. “I would ask Mason where his brother is.”
Lillian nodded. “Great call. Can you and officer Taylor head down there now?”
Fortunately, Louise was referring to Ewan and not Gordon, the slimeball who’d given Lillian the inane grin when she’d first entered the room.
“And good luck,” Louise said, straightening her picture on the table.
“They’re beautiful, ma’am,” Lillian said.
Louise looked confused. “Sorry?”
Lillian nodded at the frame. “Your children. They’re beautiful.”
She looked down at them, smiling. “Yes, indeed. Beautiful.”
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Priscilla said.
Gabriel surveyed the emaciated Charles Stone. An oxygen mask clung to his ashen-gray face while the machines beside him hummed. “How long has he got left?”
Priscilla shrugged. “Two weeks ago, they said a week.”
“He always was a stubborn bastard.”
She nodded and sighed. “You know, he liked you, Gabriel.”
Gabriel eyed Priscilla at the other side of the bed and smiled. “As opposed to yourself?”
“It’s not important. It’s not about liking or disliking. Nothing is that simple.”
“Everything can be made simple. You want your husband to die so you can be the chief selectwoman. And I want Mason to die because he killed my sister.”
“Without even knowing if he really did it?”
He refocused on Charles. “He did.”
“Even if that were the case, can you imagine the damage caused by the chief of pol
ice murdering a suspect in a crime?”
“The same damage caused by the chief selectman and his wife murdering their son’s killer?”
“But the MSP weren’t involved in that, Gabriel. If you hadn’t pulled that stunt and stopped me, no one would have been accountable. What do you think happens if you execute someone under the nose of these people?”
“Frankly, I really don’t care.”
“Well, I’m going to have to care for both of us then! I’m not about to let everything myself and my husband built here go up in flames. The bastards will investigate everything. It won’t just be you who burns, Gabriel.”
“So, why am I still standing? I saw the firepower coming into your house. Two armed bodyguards. Really? Who do you think you are? The Queen of England?”
“You’re still standing, Gabriel, for the same reason that Mason needs to stay standing.”
“Because sweet Louise and her two bagboys will be suspicious?”
Priscilla looked down at her husband. “You know, he was always the one with the people skills; he could also beat around the bush for god knows how long and still get his own way. I just don’t have the patience.”
“Don’t beat around the bush then, Priscilla. Call it.”
“If you wait until their investigation is concluded and they leave, I’ll serve Mason Rogers up to you, and you can do with him as you wish.”
“How can you serve him up to me if he’s in custody?”
“He won’t be. They won’t find any evidence on him this time, in the same way they didn’t find anything on him last time.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“If they had anything, don’t you think he’d be in custody by now?”
“There’s still forensics.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The body has rotted under water. There are no fingernails to dig out DNA from! So, when they give up and leave, I’ll afford you the luxury you never afforded me; you can kill the person who murdered someone you loved.”
