Red Rover, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  “Brenda’s having flashbacks of the afternoon Graham died. They’re distorted and confused, but I might be able to help her back at the office. Can you come? I was hoping you could stay with Jennifer. Brenda’s afraid to leave her alone.”

  She could grab her car and drive out to the farm rather than returning to the library. But her mountain of schoolwork lurked like a predator. On the other hand, if she could end this case, she’d have time to focus on her studies. Jennifer could hold the key to unravelling aspects of the case, and Sam wanted to speak with her alone.

  She jumped off the streetcar at Sumach Street. “I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

  While she jogged toward her building, she tried to decide whether to text Reece. He’d want to meet her, which would ruin his outing with Lisa and Kira. But he’d be angry if she went alone. With a nod, she thought of a decent compromise.

  Instead of going to the back parking lot, she trotted into the building and up the three flights to the loft. She retrieved her gun, checked the clip, and strapped on the new ankle holster Reece had given her. Carrying the Glock was a reasonable precaution after what had happened in the barn. After a quick peek to confirm she had her possession licence, she took the stairs two at a time to the back parking lot.

  The drive was pleasant, but her thoughts kept drifting across the coalescing stresses of her PhD. She needed to nail down a new research question and redesign the premise statement for her thesis. The subject had to be unique, relatable, and something she’d embrace because of the arduous research the dissertation necessitated. She considered options. Nothing distinctive came to mind. Not a single idea.

  In the crystal blue sky, the sun was a shimmering yellow ball, and there was a warm breeze from the open car windows. Along the side of the highway, wildflowers bloomed, and, when she exited onto the country road, she spied chubby cows munching new grass in pretty pastures. There was a whiff of manure in the air, and tractors bumped along the fields that lined the road. Spring was in full swing. She wished she could enjoy it rather than fretting over life’s mundane problems like the cost of her PhD studies and her limited progress… And who killed Graham Harris and tried to poison Reece and set her on fire.

  Roger and Brenda were waiting on the front porch and stood when she exited the car. Brenda’s face was puffy and her nose was bright red. She had a moist tissue in one hand and was clenching Roger’s upper arm with her other.

  Much to Sam’s dismay, Brenda threw herself into her arms. Roger strolled over and pulled her off, tucking Brenda under the protection of his arm.

  “The story’s on the porch.” He led Brenda back up the porch stairs. “We didn’t want Jennifer to know about it. She’s inside.” He plucked a sheaf of paper from a decrepit table and handed it to Sam.

  She sat on one of the rickety wicker chairs and perused a few pages. She could feel Roger and Brenda’s eyes drilling into her as she read.

  The graphic violence and hideous images made reading the text difficult to stomach. This wasn’t creepy writing by a creepy teenager. Clinically speaking, it depicted a disturbed mind fixated on torture and murder. The paragraph that described shoving a stun gun up a woman’s vagina was so gruesome that Sam had to stop reading. Living under the same roof as the author explained Brenda’s hysteria.

  “It’s a sad attempt at horror or perhaps a dark, graphic novel,” Roger proclaimed with confidence, squeezing Brenda’s shoulder. “No reason to overreact. Cool heads need to prevail.”

  Sam’s irritation ratcheted up a notch. “When you review it in conjunction with Graham’s murder, the tortured cat, and the attempt on Reece’s life and mine, the logical hypothesis is mental illness. Antisocial personality disorder, if I took a stab in the dark.”

  “Well, now,” he sputtered, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “This isn’t gratuitous violence, Roger,” she snapped. “It’s a well-conceived, practical guide to torture and homicide. It’s terrifying to think an eighteen-year-old created this.” She tossed the papers onto the table.

  Brenda’s voice fluttered with panic when she shrieked, “It has to be Jordan.” Her eyes were wide with fear. “What the hell am I going to do? I can’t stay here! The girls can’t stay here! Did you read the piece about cutting off the woman’s nipples?” Brenda burst into tears.

  Roger held her close against his chest and made soothing noises in her ear.

  When she’d calmed down a bit, he said to Sam, “The day Graham died, Brenda remembers finding me in the house and asking me to leave. After I left, Jordan stormed into the basement and confronted his father. That’s all, she can’t see the rest.”

  Roger was now shamelessly admitting he’d entered the house and lied throughout the investigation. Sam closed her eyes and tried to focus on the matter at hand instead of giving in to her urge to throttle him.

  Brenda was wiping the soggy tissue across her nose. She made a strange growling noise deep in her throat. When she looked up at Sam, the frightened expression that she’d worn only a second earlier had changed. Brenda’s face was a hard mask of fury. “Jordan can’t stay here. I’ll kill him myself if he comes near me or the girls.”

  The suddenness of Brenda’s shift from fear to rage disturbed Sam, and she raised her eyebrow at Roger.

  He hurried to say, “Look, we need to figure out what happened the afternoon Graham died. I think hypnosis may open Brenda’s mind and uncover the repressed memories. Would her testimony against Jordan be sufficient for the police to charge him?”

  Sam shrugged. “It depends on what she remembers and if there’s any way of corroborating it with physical evidence.” Her cell rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Reece. She’d call him back. “I’ll speak with Jennifer first and then Jordanna.”

  “Jenny’s inside,” Brenda said. “I told her you were coming and she seemed relieved. My sense is she knows something and is afraid to tell. Jordanna’s at a girlfriend’s house. I can call and have her come home, she took Graham’s car.”

  Sam checked the time. “I’m concerned about where Jordan is and when he’s coming home.” The weight of the gun on her ankle was a small comfort. “I can handle him. So long as he doesn’t suspect you’re regaining your memories or that you have these papers.”

  “No one knows. The memories started coming in flashes after I read that.” She pointed at the sheaf of papers. “I found it this afternoon when I was in the shed looking for the pruning shears. He’d taped it under the potting bench. I wouldn’t have seen it except I dropped the shears and hit my head on the shelf. That loosened the tape and the plastic folder fell.” She shuddered. “I wish I hadn’t opened it.”

  Sam gazed at the house. “Do you keep any weapons? A hunting rifle or a shotgun?”

  Brenda shook her head.

  “What should we do with this?” Roger picked up the sheets of paper and bent to grab the plastic envelope.

  “Don’t touch it!” Sam hollered and he dropped his hand.

  They’d handled the stack of papers too much but there might be viable prints on the plastic folder.

  She turned to Brenda. “Can you get a large freezer bag?”

  When she returned with the sack, Sam picked the plastic cover up by the corner and tucked it into the bag. In the event Jordan arrived, she’d rather the evidence not be available for him to find and destroy.

  She handed the freezer bag to Roger. “Take it with you, I’ll talk with Jennifer, and we’ll meet you back at your house.”

  “What about Jordanna?” Brenda asked sharply.

  “Wait half an hour, call her, and tell her to come home,” Sam said. “Don’t mention I’m here. I’ll deal with it when she arrives.” She held Brenda’s eyes. “You need to act normal. Cheerful, even. It’s imperative she doesn’t call her brother and tell him something’s wrong.”

  Brenda was clutching Roger’s arm in a death grip and he was wincing.

  “Get in the car,” he told her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll
be right there.”

  After she was out of earshot, he took Sam’s hand. “We need to talk. Lisa told me she and Reece had an honest discussion. I’m hoping we can do the same.”

  She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Not now.”

  Sadness touched his eyes. “I wasn’t the father of Abigail’s baby. I sent Talia the DNA results. She arranged a video chat from her base overseas. We’re good, Sam, and I want us to work out our issues, too.” He sighed. “The things you said about me are true. Anger over the past has taken over my life. Veronica and I spoke last night. I want to fix the relationships I’ve destroyed and am going to see my sister. Please, give me one more chance.”

  Lisa had already told her Roger wasn’t the father, but she hadn’t believed it. The test confirmed it, and Sam was glad they could put that piece behind them.

  “We’ll talk,” she promised. “But I’m not sure we can repair the damage. You’ve lied to me throughout this investigation and I don’t understand why.”

  He lowered his eyes with another deep sigh. “Because I’m in love with Brenda. I referred her to another psychiatrist because of my feelings. I didn’t want you to judge me, so I lied.” He gazed at Brenda sitting in the car. “The day Graham died, I heard someone yelling at her in the basement,” he said. “I thought he hit her. I picked up a pipe from the yard and went into the house.” He swallowed hard. “I considered killing him.”

  “Why? Why didn’t you just take Brenda and leave?”

  “Because I overheard him threatening to lodge a complaint with the College of Physicians,” he said.

  A second complaint would cost him his medical licence and destroy his reputation as a self-help expert. A hard knot formed in Sam’s stomach.

  “Did you kill him?” she asked.

  He looked off into the distance, avoiding her eyes. “I went down the stairs and into the cellar but I didn’t touch Graham. He didn’t even know I was there. Brenda came around the alcove from the laundry room and caught me standing at the bottom of the stairs in the water. We went up to the kitchen before Graham saw me. She was crying but she said Graham struck Jordan, not her. Upstairs, we talked for a few minutes and she told me she was done. She loved me and she was leaving her husband. I offered to wait, but she told me to go, that she’d pack and follow me in her car.”

  Sam thought about it. “While you and Brenda were talking in the kitchen, did you hear anything from the basement?”

  He nodded and held her eyes. “Metal hitting metal. But Brenda and I only talked for a few minutes. I… I left her there.” His eyes drifted off hers and he picked at the pleat in his trousers. “Graham was alive when I left,” he said softly.

  “You thought Brenda killed him after you left.”

  He cleared his throat and looked up at her. “I told her that money wasn’t important. We’d be fine without her proceeds from the sale. I told her that I’d take care of her.” He paused and then hesitantly added, “I just don’t know. She was so upset.”

  “Did she kill him?”

  “We’ve talked about it. I don’t believe she is capable of such a heinous crime. She wouldn’t drown him in sewage.” He hung his head. “But then I began to have doubts because of the catatonia and episodic amnesia. If the violence of the argument had triggered a psychotic break… well, in that case, I can’t say with any medical certainty what she’d be capable of.”

  He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. “I had to protect her,” he said. “The trouble with Graham was because of me. I love her. I want to marry her, if she’ll have me. I’m so sorry. I should have trusted you and Reece and told you the truth.”

  Sam didn’t know what to think. He’d lied, and he and Brenda both had motive, opportunity, and means.

  “If she did kill him, will hypnosis expose that?” she asked.

  “Maybe. She’s agreed to have the session witnessed and recorded. If it incriminates her, she’s willing to face the consequences.”

  “Okay,” Sam said with an exhale. “We’ll talk later.” She turned for the house.

  His voice called her back. “Be careful,” he said. “Brenda’s fragile and I need her to remain calm for the hypnosis so I underplayed how concerned I am about that grisly story.” He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his body. “Sam, the author is a psychopath.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “If it’s Jordan, if he comes home and finds you with Jennifer, you’ll be at serious risk. Do you have your gun?”

  “Yup.”

  Relief flooded Roger’s face and he squeezed her shoulder. “Thank God. Whatever you do, don’t let Jennifer out of your sight.”

  She shrugged out of his grasp. “We’ll meet you in the city in a couple of hours.”

  After Roger and Brenda drove away, Sam knocked on the door and poked in her head. “Jennifer? It’s Sam McNamara.”

  “In here.”

  Sam followed her voice to the kitchen. The back door was open, and the screen door had fallen off the top hinge. It sagged against the wall and flies were enjoying free access to the house. Jennifer was sitting on a ladder back chair at a table, facing the open door. A half glass of milk was in front of her, and a plate with chocolate crumbs.

  Sam took the seat across from her. “I hear you want to talk to me.”

  “It’s about my brother.” She ran her fork through the crumbs on her plate. “He scares me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Sometimes,” her voice caught, “he comes into my room at night.”

  A cold shiver of disgust ran down Sam’s back. “Does he touch you?”

  She shook her head. “Not like that. He gets in bed with me. He asks for a little cuddle. That’s how he knew I started having accidents at night. He teases and bullies me.”

  Terror and emotional turmoil explained the loss of bladder control, but Sam left that discussion for another time. “Have you told your stepmother about your brother’s nightly visits?”

  “No, Brenda would confront Jordan and he’d be angry. He killed Midnight when I told him I didn’t like him in bed with me. Then—” She choked on tears and hung her head.

  Sam reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s okay. You’re safe now, I promise.”

  Long hair fell in a sheet across her face and her thin shoulders shook. “I think,” she paused and sucked on her upper lip, “I think he hurt my mom.”

  “Why? Did Caitlyn know about your troubles?”

  “She was angry.”

  A strange expression crossed her face, but Sam couldn’t put her finger on it. Trying to force kids to talk by hammering them with questions never worked well. She waited out the silence.

  After a few minutes, Jennifer said, “I told her last year, and Mom went to the school. Jordan went to see her the next day and beat her up. He told her he’d kill her if she interfered in his life again. She put lots of stuff in her house so he couldn’t hurt her. She said I was safe there, but Dad wouldn’t let me live with her.” Her lips clamped together and she ran her finger through a streak of icing on the plate.

  Caitlyn’s house construction began before the visit to the school, and the level of security was overkill if the only threat was her teenage son. Then again, she probably hadn’t told her daughter about her cybercrimes, and Jennifer had drawn her own conclusions.

  “If your mom was that scared, what makes you think she saw your brother recently?” Sam asked.

  “Because, two weeks ago, I told her he was still coming into my room.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Mom called him. Jordan went to her house and convinced her I was a liar. He told her I killed Grandma.”

  Her eyes focused on Sam’s face. “I didn’t. Honest. He told me Mom was mad because she wouldn’t have taken the blame if she’d known it had been me. Everything he said made sense. Like, the police wouldn’t have arrested me because I was too young. Mom was angry over all the time she spent in prison. I believed him. You know, that she didn’t want to see me.”r />
  “I don’t understand. If your mother didn’t kill your grandmother, who did?”

  “Jordan.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know. I was in the other room. They were arguing.”

  “Where was Jordanna?”

  “With me. We didn’t see what happened. When we heard screaming, we ran out but Grandma was already dead. My mom was out. When she got back, she told us to say Grandma attacked me. We had to rehearse the story. Mom picked up the knife and put blood on her hand and her clothes. She told my brother to change. She burned his clothes before she called the cops and took the blame.”

  Jordan had been twelve. The Youth Criminal Justice Act dictated that the court could sentence youths over the age of twelve but under the age of eighteen as adults under certain conditions.

  That was why Caitlyn had pled guilty to manslaughter rather than claiming self-defence. It was why she hadn’t appealed the harshness of the sentence or applied for early parole. To protect her twelve-year-old son, it was imperative there be no major investigation. A full confession eliminated the need for ironclad evidence. But the timeline didn’t add up.

  “Jenny, you told us the other day you warned Caitlyn that the police had her address. She must have been okay when you talked to her.”

  Jennifer hung her head. “But I didn’t talk to her. The day after Jordan told me my mother hated me, I went over. Mom wasn’t there. I had the access codes and a key. All her stuff was gone. When Roger said you had Mom’s address, I called but she didn’t pick up. I left a message that you were coming. She never called back. My mother wouldn’t leave without telling me. No matter what.”

  “How about your sister?” Sam asked. “Have you talked to her about any of this?”

  “Jordanna’s scared, too. She tried to talk to you in the city, but Jordan followed her to your office.” A sob caught in her throat. “We think he killed our dad.”

  “Why?”

  “He was in the cellar the morning Dad died. I asked him what he was doing and he got mad. Then the sump-pump stopped working and the septic system backed up through the basement drain.”