by Willow Rose
Now, he had three children to take care of.
“Are you running a day-care now?” the Snakecharmer’s father said from his wheelchair in the corner of the living room. Angela had just woken up and had started screaming so loudly he had to gag her. Now, she was squirming on the bed, trying to get out of the duct tape he had bound her hands and feet with.
“What are you going to do with all these kids?” his dad asked.
The Snakecharmer didn’t answer…for the simple reason that he had no idea. It had seemed like such a great idea when he had first thought about it, a perfect way to punish Shannon King for cheating on her husband, but the Snakecharmer hadn’t thought it through properly.
“I had to help her,” he said.
“She was in trouble?” the dad asked.
“Yes,” he said, thinking about how glad she should be that he had taken her away from all the trouble that was about to erupt in her life. She had no idea…of course she didn’t. Children never knew how much it was going to affect them that their parents messed around. This world was filled with parents, especially women, who thought they could just fool around and never think about how much it affected someone else’s life. How it destroyed everything for a family.
“It’s always the children that get hurt,” he said.
“True,” his father said.
Earlier in the day, he had been at the motel, dressed in a female fat-suit, a dress and wig, like he always was when going there, but the place had been crawling with police cars, and he had no chance of getting in. He knew then that they would soon be on to him. It was about time he got the hell out of here.
The Snakecharmer found the cloth with chloroform and wet it again, before he placed it over the mouth of the girl. He had packed a couple of suitcases that he placed in the back of the truck while Angela dozed off. He put Will in the back seat and asked the boy to sit next to him, in case he needed anything. He packed his dad’s car and put the sleeping Angela in the back seat with the other children. He had colored her hair while she was out and cut it short, so no one would be able to recognize her. These children were going with him, and he was going to take proper care of them. He wasn’t going to let them down like their parents had. There was only one thing wrong with this plan.
He couldn’t bring his father.
His dad was way too old and sick to travel this far by car. He would only be confused, since he couldn’t see anything, and when they moved around, it would be too much for him. The Snakecharmer hadn’t told him they were leaving; he simply didn’t have the heart to do so. So now, he knelt in front of him and put his father’s hand on his head.
“What’s wrong, Son?” his dad asked and felt his face.
He wanted to say he was sorry for everything. Sorry for what had happened to him, sorry for bringing him trouble, sorry for leaving him, sorry for stealing his car without asking, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he simply smiled and said, “I’m just going to Publix. I’ll take the kids. Give you some quiet time. Do you want me to bring you anything?”
His father smiled. Then he nodded. “Oh, you sweet kid. Yes. Bring me some…”
“Cake and beer,” the Snakecharmer said, when a tear escaped the corner of his eye. He sniffled and got up. “I’ll bring you cake and beer when I come back.”
“Thank you, Son. You’re a good boy.”
Chapter Seventy
February 2015
I couldn’t believe it. When we got back to the motel, it was blocked by police cars. Even the ME was there. Weasel was in the parking lot talking to my parents. My colleagues were questioning the guests.
“What the heck is going on?” Shannon asked.
“I have no idea.”
I stepped out of the car. Weasel approached me when she saw me. “Jack. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you like crazy.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. “The sound’s been shut off. I’m sorry. What’s going on here?”
“What’s going on? I’ll tell you what. Hell on earth…that’s what.” Weasel sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You called the plumber this morning, right? You called Eric, right?”
“Yes. The sewer was clogged,” I said.
“I bet it was,” Weasel said. “Eric went in, and you’ll never guess what he found.” She paused for effect. “That’s right. First, he found the drain to be packed with a flesh-like substance. Then he called his supervisor to assess the situation, thinking it looked like chicken meat, maybe from the restaurant. By the time they cleared the drain, they realized, on closer inspection, that it wasn’t chicken leftovers. It was small bones and flesh. The pipe leading off from the drain was completely clogged with it. Yamilla is looking at it as we speak, but her first suspicion was that it was of human origin.”
I felt sick to my stomach. I looked at Shannon, who was paler than Weasel’s white shirt.
“Someone tried to dispose of a body,” Weasel continued. “By chopping it up, then flushing it.”
“Oh, my God,” I said.
“I know,” Weasel said. “We are going to have to shut down the motel and your parents and their guests will have to find somewhere else to stay. I will also need your parents to stay in town.”
“They didn’t do it,” I said angrily.
“I know they’re probably innocent,” Weasel said. “But until I can determine that for certain, they are our main suspects. I’m sorry, Jack. That’s just the way it is. You know how these things work.”
I did, and that was what scared the crap out of me. My parents had nothing to do with this. I knew they didn’t, but I had to find evidence to prove it; otherwise, they would end up paying the price for this.
My mom looked terrified while she was speaking to Sheriff Ron. My dad had put his arm around her shoulder. I approached them.
“We have no idea. You must believe us,” my mom said. When she saw me, her face lit up. I hugged her. She was shivering. Ron saw me and nodded.
“I was done here, anyway,” he said and put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Ron.”
“Oh, Jack. This is terrible. What do we do?” my mother said. It was terrible to see her in this much distress. My dad looked pale and tired. This was too much commotion for him. For the both of them. I had to get them out of here.
I reached into my pocket and found the keys to my condo. I was so angry my hands were trembling.
“You stay at my place till this blows over. Now, tell me, where do I find a list of all your guests over the last three months?”
“The guestbook in the lobby,” my mother said, her voice trembling. “But surely…you can’t think that any of our guests could have…”
“Oh, I’m certain they did,” I said. “And I’m going to find out who it was and bring them to justice. You trust in that. It just got personal.”
Part Three
HIT THE ROAD
Chapter Seventy-One
February 2015
Two days later, we had a clearer picture of what had happened at my parents’ motel. I had worked the crime scene with Yamilla for hours and hours and had very little sleep. The kids stayed with their grandparents at my condo, and so did Shannon. It had become a little cramped, but it worked out. Shannon wanted to check into a hotel, but I told her it was a bad idea for her to be alone. I think she agreed. She didn’t protest.
So now, we were all living under the same roof. Luckily, my condo was big enough, even though it meant the three kids all had to sleep in the same room, not that they complained about that. On the contrary, they thought it was a party. Well, the twins did. Emily…not so much. But she didn’t complain. My parents made sure the children were taken care of and made it to school while I worked.
By the end of the second day, Weasel came down to the motel and we went through what we knew so far.
“There seem to be two bodies,” Yamilla said. “We’re running the DNA
samples to try to compare them with those of Melanie and Sebastian Schultz. They are the two missing persons we have around here, and therefore, the two most likely to be a match.”
I took over. “Meanwhile, we have located the room where the body parts were being flushed from. Room one-fifteen. It’s the room where Shannon King stayed with her daughter when the sewer clogged, but she hasn’t been in it for very long. We believe it was the guest before her, last month, when Melanie and her son disappeared who did this, then vanished afterwards.”
“Well, do we have a name?” Weasel asked.
“According to the books my parents kept, it was a Mrs. Hampton who stayed there for the whole month of January.”
“A woman?” Weasel said. “What do we know about her?”
“She’s been a regular for almost a year. Coming and going. Sometimes, she stays for several weeks at a time. She checked in on January 3rd this year and stayed till January 29th, then came back a week ago on February 23rd and stayed in another room. She hasn’t checked out, hasn’t paid for her stay this time, but her room is empty.”
“Any fingerprints?”
“The room hasn’t been cleaned yet, so I’m hoping. So far, they haven’t found anything. The techs just started working her room this morning. According to Jennifer, the cleaning lady at the motel, Mrs. Hampton never wanted her room cleaned while she was there, which is always respected. Jennifer remembers when Mrs. Hampton checked out in January from room one-fifteen. It was so clean, she hardly had to clean it. She believed Mrs. Hampton had cleaned it herself. Everything smelled like bleach, she said.”
“Bleach, you say?” Weasel said and looked at me.
“I know. It sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?” I said.
“What else do we know about this Mrs. Hampton?” Weasel asked.
“Not much,” I said. “I’ve seen her around here. I remember helping her with her suitcase last time she checked in. She told my parents she lives up north, outside of Boston, and she comes here as often as she can to get away from the cold. I’ve tried to locate her, but she hasn’t made it easy. Always paid cash. She left no trace. I don’t even know which town outside of Boston she is from.”
“So, she could basically vanish if she wanted to. I don’t like this, Ryder. I really don’t.” Weasel exhaled.
I looked at Yamilla. “It’s all we’ve got so far,” I said. She confirmed it with a nod.
“So, what we believe now is that this woman brought bodies to the motel and dismembered them. She then flushed the body parts into the toilet?” Weasel sighed. “I…Is it really possible?”
“It’s been done before,” Yamilla said. “Dennis Nilsen was a killer in London who lured men into his apartment, then killed them and dismembered their bodies before he flushed them into the toilet. A lot like what happened here.”
“Jeffrey Dahmer did something similar,” I said.
“Yes, but he dissolved the body parts in acid first. He was smarter,” Yamilla said. “He didn’t clog the sewer.”
“He also crushed the bones with a sledgehammer, but that’s not important for this case,” I said. “The point is, it has been done before. Our dear Mrs. Hampton might have gotten the idea from reading about Dennis Nilsen. Maybe that would be a trace worth following.”
I had barely finished the sentence before my phone rang. It was Shannon. “I gotta take this,” I said and stepped aside.
Weasel and Yamilla exchanged looks. They both smiled. “She’s got you on speed-dial now?” Weasel said.
I ignored them.
“Jack?”
Her voice sounded upset.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…I just got a call. Some guy told me he has Angela. He’s asking for money. What do I do, Jack?”
“What? How did he get your number? I thought no one knew it?”
“He called my manager first. Told him he had Angela and that he would kill her if he said anything. Then, he asked for my number. Bruce gave it to him. Said he didn’t dare do anything else. Oh, my God, Jack. This guy has my little girl. What do I do?”
Chapter Seventy-Two
February 2015
Shannon grabbed a bottle of Xanax from her purse. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Next to her was her phone. Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest. The guy had sounded so creepy. He had told her he had Angela. She had told him she didn’t believe him. Then he had texted her a photo. Angela sitting on a bed. She was still wearing the same dress she had been on the day she had disappeared. Shannon had started crying when she saw it. Angela looked good, though. That had been a comfort. She had a sad look on her face, but she seemed to have been well taken care of. That was a great relief. But after the relief over seeing her alive had settled, unease had rumbled inside of Shannon. The voice on the phone clearly wasn’t Joe’s. Neither was it one of his friends, none that Shannon knew of at least. It could be someone she had never met, but she was beginning to believe this had nothing to do with Joe anymore. Why would he be asking for money? In a divorce, he would get half of Shannon’s money. He would never want for anything.
Angela had been kidnapped by someone else. But, who was he? Was he simply someone who saw an opportunity to score some money? Shannon had been warned about those. When you became a celebrity…that was the price you paid. People would look at you and smell money. Your kids were in constant danger of being abducted for a ransom. Shannon had known about it; she had heard about it and been warned, but never believed it would actually happen to her. Back in Tennessee, they lived a very protected life. Angela went to private school and was never let out of sight. They lived in a gated community with strict security, and they even had security guards of their own patrolling the house to make sure crazy fans didn’t somehow come too close. It was the price of being a celebrity.
But, when Shannon had escaped from Joe without leaving a word to anyone else except Bruce, her manager, she had also left that security behind. She had believed she could stay hidden, that she could keep her presence in Cocoa Beach a secret, but now she knew it had been stupid to think so.
You’re stupid, Shannon. So incredibly stupid!
Shannon grabbed the bottle of pills and felt it in her hand. She knew it was a bad idea. It was a slippery slope for her to take the pills, but she craved them more than ever. She wanted to make the pain stop, to sedate the voices in her mind that told her she was to blame for this, that it was all her own fault what had happened to Angela. She was going to pay the money. But she needed to calm herself down first.
Shannon opened the top of the bottle and took out a pill. She looked at her face in the mirror, and just as she was about to put it on her tongue, someone knocked on the door.
“Shannon?”
It was Jack. The sound of his voice made her hesitate. She knew very well what would happen to her once she took the pill. She would change. Her personality would alter.
“Shannon? Are you all right?” he said again.
You don’t deserve him. He’s too good for you.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be right out.”
She put the pill on her tongue and reached for a glass of water. A strange sound came from behind the door. Someone was tampering with the lock. It clicked, and Jack stood in the doorway.
“Don’t do it,” he said when he saw the bottle of pills. “Please don’t. You know what will happen. You’re an addict. One pill will lead to another, and you won’t be able to stop. Please, don’t do it. I know it’s hard right now. But we’ll get your daughter home. At least we know she’s alive. At least we have a chance now. Don’t ruin it. Don’t get her back and then neglect her by being an addict again. It might give you comfort now and make the pain go away for a little while, but it’s not worth it, Shannon. Please, think of your daughter.”
Shannon stared at the glass of water. The pill was still on her tongue. She felt tears piling up. Jack was right. He was so right. But, could she handle this? Could she go thr
ough this without easing the pain? Without sedation?
Shannon looked at herself in the mirror again. The bruises were healing nicely, and soon she would be able to walk around without covering her face. The bruises were connected to that old life of hers. Did she really want to go back to that life? Back to the abuse? The life in a constant daze?
Shannon turned her head towards the toilet, then spat out the pill and flushed. Jack approached her, grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her. She cried and threw herself in his arms. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks, then looked into her eyes.
“Now, let’s go get her, shall we?”
“What about your case here? You have a lot on your plate?” Shannon asked. “Your parents…The motel?”
“It will have to wait,” Jack said. “Angela is what counts now.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
February 2015
The kidnapper had told Shannon to meet him at Ponce de Leon Landing, a park with a big parking lot close to Sebastian Inlet. He hadn’t told her to come alone, so I insisted on coming along. There was no way she should do this alone. Besides, I was armed and she was not. She needed the protection.
We hit the road together.
Shannon transferred the money to the account she had been told to. It was registered in the Cayman Islands, so there was no way we would be able to trace the money afterwards. Two million dollars gone into cyberspace. Just like that.
With the printed out bank-statement as documentation in our hands, we drove to the parking lot. It was right on the beach, and I could smell the ocean as we got out of Shannon’s rented SUV. There was a trail between the trees that led to the beach and the crashing waves. She gave me a terrified look, and I took her by the hand, as we walked to the meeting point, by some statue of Ponce de Leon.
