Annie Johnson’s apartment was a mess—crumpled fast-food wrappers everywhere, garbage piled haphazardly around the trash can, clothes in cardboard boxes and broken laundry baskets. The kitchen smelled like someone had taken a dump in it, and the bathroom mold looked like something out of a horror movie about creeping slime.
Hadley tugged on her evidence gloves. “Jesus. I am so looking forward to getting home tonight. My place is going to look like the Ritz-Carlton after this.”
Kevin was searching the kitchen cabinets for gasoline or kerosene when Hadley yelled, “Flynn. C’mere.” He followed her voice into one of the bedrooms. Hadley had snapped on the overhead light. “Take a look at this.”
The room looked like a pharmaceutical company’s loading dock. No furniture, no decorations, just box after box filled with decongestants. “Pseudoephedrine,” he said.
“All different kinds.” Hadley pointed out three different name brands and two generics in the box nearest them. “Annie Johnson’s been smurfing.”
“Yeah.” Since the Feds had starting restricting access to pseudoephedrine, meth cookers, who needed the drug to create methamphetamine, had gotten creative. The bigger operations switched to hijacking barrels of the stuff off Chinese cargo ships. The smaller manufacturers hired smurfers, who traveled from pharmacy to pharmacy buying the legal limit with fake IDs. Smurfers usually worked in teams, making their purchases over a half hour or so, then hitting the next store.
“This is a lot for one just one person to buy,” Hadley said.
“I was just thinking that.” Kevin gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Any sign there’s someone else living here?”
“One bedroom is set up for a little girl. I’m guessing it was Mikayla’s before her mom lost custody. I didn’t see any men’s things in the other bedroom.”
“She could have a female roommate.”
“Maybe. One way or the other, she’s got people helping her with this.” Hadley looked up at Kevin. “Which means one of them might be holding Mikayla for her.”
* * *
She let Flynn make the call to the deputy chief. It was cowardly, but after twelve hours on duty, she just wasn’t up to personally hearing what MacAuley thought of her brilliant police work. As it was, she winced every time Flynn said, “Yes, but—” and “I know, but—” Clearly, the dep was in rare form. When he hung up, Flynn looked a little green around the gills.
“He’s calling in the state CSI van to take pictures and secure the evidence.”
“We’re gonna need a bigger van,” she misquoted.
Flynn’s face creased into what would have been a grin if they weren’t both so tired. “He wants you to stay here and see they get it all loaded. Then you can clock out.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to write up the report and put in a records request to Children and Family Services and Johnson’s bail bondsman. Eric’s already heading over to the grandparents’ to get their initial statement. We can follow up tomorrow.” He gave her a sly look. “After you put in some track practice.”
She wound up staying another hour and a half. Sergeant Morin, their usual CSI tech, brought enough coffee for four. She drank hers and the one meant for Flynn as well, and left, after helping to load the van, with a great deal more energy and a warm glow of appreciation for the staties. She could make it home in time to put Genny to bed and check over Hudson’s homework.
Her heart sank when she saw the rental car in Granddad’s driveway. She adored her grandfather and was grateful he’d given her a home after her divorce, but at least once a month he had some old navy buddy up to visit. They would stay up until all hours drinking, which was bad for Granddad’s diabetes, and smoking, which was bad for his heart. She squared her shoulders as she mounted the kitchen steps, readying herself to play Health Cop.
The door opened before she could grasp the handle. “Honey!” She stared at the man in the doorway. He opened his arms wide. “Come on in, babe, let me give you a hug!”
It wasn’t a navy buddy. It was much, much worse. It was her ex-husband.
14.
“What the hell are you doing here, Dylan?” Hadley stomped past him into the kitchen. She unzipped her MKPD parka and hung it on one of the coat hooks. She kept her back to him, struggling not to explode into a screaming fit. She had left California and moved across the country to get away from Dylan and everything he stood for. Now here he was, in her granddad’s kitchen. She chafed at her nose. Maybe she was having a bad dream.
“That’s it? Not even a hello? I haven’t seen you for two years!”
Hadley took a breath and turned around. “Exactly. Two years. During which time, the kids have gotten four phone calls, three postcards, and one Christmas package from you.”
“I was broke! You’re going to bust my balls because I couldn’t afford to shower the kids with presents?”
“I’m busting your balls, as you so sweetly put it, because you only remember you have kids a couple times a year. And the thought of them has never, ever inspired you to get off your ass and do something with them. So I repeat: What are you doing here?”
Dylan shook his head. “Look at you. What has this cop job done to you? You used to be a beautiful woman. Now you look like an angry dyke in motorcycle boots. You don’t even have breasts anymore!”
“I’m wearing a tac vest under the uniform, you—” She cut herself off. God. Two minutes and he already had her justifying herself to him. Breathe. Breathe. “I’ll ask you one more time before I throw you out. What. Do. You. Want?”
He looked over his shoulder, his face breaking into that charming, lazy smile she knew all too well. “Why don’t we discuss it after we get these guys to bed?” She turned around. Granddad, Hudson, and Genny were standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the den. Hudson was grinning at his father like he was a week off from school and a trip to Disney World. Genny hung back, sheltering under Granddad’s arm.
“Can Dad tuck me in?” Hudson asked. “Please?”
Hadley glanced at the clock over the sink. It was barely his bedtime. Usually he was bargaining like an assistant DA for five or ten or fifteen more minutes. She closed her hands into fists to keep from snatching him up and carrying him away from his father. “If he’s willing to, sure.”
“Willing? I’d love it! How about you, princess?”
Genny shook her head. “I want Mommy to tuck me in.”
Dylan squatted down. “You sure?” Genny nodded her head. “Okay, then. C’mon, ninja boy!” He swooped down and tossed Hudson over his shoulder. Hudson shrieked with laughter. Hadley felt like she was looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Was this her son, so prickly about his new maturity as a sixth grader? He hadn’t let her pick him up in … at least two years. Of course. He had been nine when he last saw his father. Eight when they still all lived together. All Hudson’s memories were from that sweet spot of childhood.
She looked down at her daughter, still holding on to Granddad. She’d been five when Hadley had kicked Dylan out. Hadley took her free hand. “Do you remember Daddy, sweetheart?”
“Sorta.” Genny looked toward the stairs.
“You know, it’s okay if you feel a little shy around your dad. He’ll understand. You can take time to get to know him again.” Unless I get my way and he’s headed out of town before midnight. Hadley had a premonition she wasn’t going to be that lucky.
“Okay.”
“I want you to go upstairs and get on your nightie and brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”
Genny frowned up at her. “No one’s going to come into my room, are they?”
“No, sweetheart. Just shut your door. I’ll give you our special knock when I get up there.”
“Okay.” Genny kissed Granddad good night and headed upstairs. As soon as Hadley was sure her daughter was out of earshot, she turned on her grandfather. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry, Honey. That sumbitch s
howed up at the door smilin’ and carryin’ on like I was his long-lost granddaddy. I tried to get rid of him, but he started going on about he’s dying to see the kids, and how you and him are supposed to be sharing custody.”
Hadley rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Yeah, well, that’s true as far as it goes. We do have joint custody. He’s just never given a damn about exercising his rights.” That phrase from her custody agreement had never seemed so ominous. “He wants something. That’s the only reason I can think he’d come all the way out here.”
“Mebbe he’s moving?” Granddad, who had lived all his seventy-six years in Millers Kill, had never understood why someone would want to live anywhere else.
“No. The only reason Dylan leaves L.A. is to gamble in Vegas or to hang out with fourth-rate celebrities in Mexico.”
“Mebbe he’s on the lam.”
“I wish. Then I could arrest him and be done with him. Look, I have to get out of this uniform and tuck Genny in. Will you—”
“I’ll keep myself right here in the den,” Granddad said. “You’ll want some privacy, I reckon. You can talk to dipshit in the dining room.”
Hadley smiled a little. “Thanks, Granddad.” She glanced outside the window, where the lone streetlamp cast an orange glow over the snow drifted up to the top step of the porch. “Maybe I’ll make him stand in the yard and talk to me via cell phone.” She ran upstairs. From Hudson’s room, she could hear what sounded like a story being read. In her bedroom, she shut her door, locked it, then stuck a chair against it for good measure. Stupid, probably, but Dylan was never one to underestimate his so-called seductive charm. She secured her sidearm in her lock box, stripped out of her uniform, and was in Genny’s room, dressed in jeans and a sweater, in under four minutes.
Dylan was already downstairs when she finished tucking Genny in. Hadley stopped by the fridge, grabbed a beer for herself, put it back, took out a soda instead, and then, in a burst of creative genius, got the beer for Dylan. The only arguments she could ever remember winning were when he was drunk or stoned. Maybe her record would stand.
He was sitting in Granddad’s chair, tilted back on two legs. “Love what you’ve done to the old place, baby. Early twentieth-century poverty, right?”
She tossed a coaster in front of him and clunked his beer onto it. “Put the chair down. You’re not twelve.”
He rocked forward and twisted the beer open. “Now this is the way it should be.” He slugged down half the bottle. “You and me, sitting around the table in the ancestral manse, sharing a drink after a long day.” He cocked his head, an affectation that made his silky dark hair feather across one side of his face, highlighting his jaw and cheekbones. It had made her swoon when she was eighteen. Now, she noticed, it also highlighted a little sagging skin under his chin and an increasing number of lines along his throat.
“I’m ready to talk business,” she said. “Tell me what you came here for, and I’ll let you know what I can do about it.”
“You really don’t believe I came here to see my kids, do you?”
Hadley pushed away from the table. “Fine. Feel free to drop in tomorrow morning. We’ll have pancakes, and then the kids and you and Granddad can play board games. They’ll really like that. Good night. You can find your way out.” She stood up.
“Wait,” he said.
“I’m tired and I have to work tomorrow. If you’re just going to bullshit me, I’m going to bed.”
“Sit down,” he said. She sat. “Okay, it’s like this. I’ve been offered this really great producing opportunity. It’s a reality show about Vegas hookers.”
“Really.”
“It’s totally straight, for cable. It’ll have celebrities and makeovers and all the glamour of the Strip. We’re pitching to the Vegas tourism board to see if we can get some funding from them.”
“Let me know when it’s playing. I’ll make sure to miss it.” Of course, it never would make it that far. Dylan would cross the wrong guys, or try to sell it to Nickelodeon, or put all his partners’ money up his nose.
“I just need twenty grand.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Look around you, Dylan. I don’t have twenty grand. I don’t have two grand. I’m still paying off the Visa balance and the tax bill you stuck me with. I live from paycheck to paycheck, and if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll be able to put a little aside in the kids’ college fund now and then.”
“How much is in there?”
She was grateful she had locked away her Glock already, because she could have shot him on the spot. “Do you actually think I’d let you steal your own children’s future for one of your crappy pie-in-the-sky projects?”
“Hey! You and I did all right, and neither of us went to college.”
“I don’t even want to think what you mean by that. The answer is no, Dylan. No cash, no college money, no nothing. You should have called first. I could have told you all this over the phone while you were hanging out at whoever’s house you’re sponging off of right now, and we both would’ve been a lot happier.” She stood up.
“Then give me back DHK Productions.”
Their old filmmaking company. She should have known. “What do you mean? There aren’t any assets there.”
“There are the movies.”
She thudded into her chair again. “There’s no way I’m giving you those films.”
“Think about it, Honey—”
“Don’t call me that.” She had never liked the ridiculous name her parents had saddled her with. In the context of the movies she had made when she was eighteen and nineteen and twenty, it sounded obscene.
“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands. “Hadley. Think about it. Those films were never digitized. They sold like crazy back when we were in business, but they’ve been unavailable for ten years. You sign ’em back over to me. I’ll digitize them. I’ve got a distributor already lined up. We could take in forty thousand easy, maybe more! I’ll split the net with you. Think what that’d do for the kids’ college fund.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. As in no goddamn way I’m releasing those movies. I changed my name and moved three thousand miles so I could get away from that time in my life.” She snapped her mouth shut before she could spill any more. If Dylan knew how desperate she was to keep her past buried, he’d be at the station tomorrow morning, telling the chief all about her former life in porn.
“Goddammit, Honey—Hadley, I mean. It’s the answer to both our problems. I could seal my deal, and you wouldn’t have to live in this dump of a house with your grandfather. You could pay off the IRS.”
She wrapped her hand tightly around her bottle. “I’m in debt to the IRS because you”—she pointed at him—“signed over complete ownership of DHK to avoid going to jail for tax fraud. And you know what? I’m glad you did. Because even if I’m still paying off that debt when I’m in adult diapers, I can make sure those movies never go into circulation again.”
“They’re still out there!”
She leaned back and took a swallow of her soda. “Sixteen-year-old videotapes aren’t ‘out there.’ They’re sitting in the bottom of cardboard boxes in basements.”
“Yeah? I’ve still got my copies. Maybe I’ll just digitize ’em and sell them anyway, cut you out of the profits completely.”
“Okay, one? Digital copies of old VHS tapes are going to look like shit. Two, no distributor is going to take your shitty copies if you can’t prove you’ve got legal right to them. And three, stop treating me like I’m still a stupid twenty-year-old. I realize that you thought I was never going to get out from under your thumb when you signed the company over to me. But I did, and now you’re stuck with it.”
Dylan leaned back in his chair and looked at her through half-closed eyes while he drank his beer. He put the bottle down, leaned forward, and spread his hands on the table. “I need that money. You either sign the rights back to me and hand over the master
reels or come up with twenty thousand.”
Hadley opened her mouth.
“If you don’t, I’m taking the kids back to California with me.”
The air squeezed out of her lungs. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
“You’ve been in violation of our custody agreement for over two years now. You took my children three thousand miles away. I could get sole custody with one phone call after that.”
She found her breath again. “You told me it was okay.” Her voice came out in a squeak. She took another breath. “We discussed it. You said you had no problem with it.”
Dylan shrugged. “There’s nothing in writing. It’s going to be your word against mine. And how much weight do you think the judge at the Family Court is going to give to the word of an aging porn star?” He stood up. “I’m flying back on Thursday, either with my money or my movies or my kids. Your choice. Honey.”
SATURDAY, JANUARY 10
1.
Clare awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows and Oscar whining to go out.
“Quiet, dog.” Russ’s voice was low. Through the French doors separating the bedroom from the rest of the cabin, she heard the creak of the kitchen door opening and the tick-tick of Oscar’s nails as he trotted out to do his business.
“Do you think it’s okay to let him out without one of us with him?” She raised her voice to be heard.
Russ came around the counter and crossed the open space—Clare wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a very small den or a very large extended kitchen—to open the French doors. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
She took a moment to admire the sight of Russ bare-chested, his jeans riding low on his hips. “That’s okay. It looks like past time I was out of bed, anyway.” She glanced around the bedroom. Across from where Russ stood was another pair of French doors leading, Russ had assured her, to a little flagstone patio, now buried in snow. In front of her, where an old horsehair sofa held a haphazard pile of their luggage, another huge window gave a breathtaking view of the lake. “Wow,” she said. “It sure looks better by daylight.”
Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery Page 7
