Still Waters

by David Banner

  “Mr. Jones,” the detective took a seat. “We meet again.”

  “I don’t have nothing to do with that missing girl.”

  “Why alter the footage?” Ryan asked. “You understand tampering with evidence is a punishable act, correct?”

  “I just-” he began rapidly scratching his head. “I went in there but I didn’t do anything to the girl. I just like to watch.”

  Jake’s fingers drummed the small metal table as his knee bounced rapidly. He was worried and Ryan knew that soon enough he would come apart at the seams. All he needed to do was keep him talking.

  “You understand placing hidden cameras in someone’s home is highly illegal, right?” Ryan sighed. “A large portion of that footage contains images of underage girls. Do you have any idea what happens to child pornographers in prison, Jake?”

  “N-n-n-no,” he shuddered. “I only watched them if they- I swear, no kids. Some of the girls were young, but they were old enough to- they were developed and-”

  “Doesn’t matter, Mr. Jones.” Ryan answered. “Underage is still underage. What you’ve done here is highly illegal and I can assure you the best move for you now is full cooperation.”

  “Yes. Anything. I.. I’ve told you everything.”

  “Tell me where I can find Holly.”

  “I don’t know,” he pleaded. “She left with the guy. That was the last time I saw her, I promise.”

  “And what were you doing in her apartment?”

  “The batteries,” he answered. “The ones on my camera. They needed replacing.”

  “And the red panties?”

  Jake’s eyes widened as he realized they’d found additional footage. What little composure he’d been holding onto quickly faded away. He leaned forward and cupped his face against his hands. Seeing a man break down and cry was one thing that never got any easier for Ryan. Since his earliest days on the force he’d always hated watching someone fall apart. This was no exception.

  For all intents and purposes Jake Jones seemed to be a regular guy, save of course for his secondary law-breaking hobby. If not for this one thing, Ryan thought, if not for an addiction he either couldn’t or wouldn’t overcome this may have never happened.

  “I just take things sometimes…” he said. “I.. like to hold them in my hand when I watch, when-”

  “That’s enough,” the detective stopped him before hearing anything else. “We know you had something to do with her disappearance. Chunks of footage are missing from every file you have, a lot of it from Holly’s apartment. You’re hiding something.”

  “I told you,” he shook his head. “The batteries. They’d been failing for a while.”

  “Were you jealous?” Ryan asked. “Of her relationship with Gus Greenfield? The footage from that night is gone. What did you do when Gus and Holly returned later that night?”

  “Nothing!” He cried. “They never returned.”

  “Then where is the footage from the parking lot?”

  “I don’t know,” he continued pleading. “Sometimes… the camera’s… they don’t always work right. Sometimes I delete the files to make room for new ones. Maybe it was overwritten.”

  “And how long have you been spying on Ms. Waters this way?”

  “A while. I- I don’t know. A few weeks after she moved in.”

  Ryan leaned back in his chair and looked to the large double-sided mirror. Kit was almost certainly standing on the other side watching and listening in on everything the two men said. Ryan wondered what she must have been thinking and if she distrusted Jake Jones as much as he did.

  “The boyfriend,” the handcuffed man spoke up. “About a week ago I saw him standing above her bed holding a knife while she slept.”

  “Convenient you’re remembering it now.”

  “I promise you, I’m telling the truth.” He insisted. “They’d been fighting earlier that night. She said he was engaged or married or something. She wanted him to break it off and be with her. He was upset about something. Then later when she fell asleep he stood there watching her… holding a knife. I swear I’m not lying. They fight all time. Like damn cats and dogs I’m telling you. Of something happened to that girl it was him, not me.”

  Tears rolled heavy down Jakes face. Every minute that passed was another crack in shell yet still he wouldn’t admit to anything. Was it possible he had nothing to do with her vanishing? Was it possible he was just a creep that happened upon the bad luck of getting caught? Ryan’s mind fought to assemble the pieces of each scenario.

  “The knife incident,” Ryan said. “Do you have proof?”

  “No,” Jake answered. “I- I don’t k-keep the files if a guy is there. I like seeing them alone.”

  What a bastard.

  “Then why should I believe you?”

  “Because,” he insisted. “It’s the truth.”

  “In all of this time,” asked Detective Devereux. “Did you hear anything else? Anything at all that you might classify as suspicious or unusual?”

  “I don’t-“ he stammered. “They fight all the time, but then they make up. It’s crazy-love. But… the guy… he’s dark. I- I feel something coming off of him every time I see him, something bad.”

  Something dark.

  Ryan repeated the words in his head over again. Detectives learn early on to trust their gut and intuition. Was this a case of something similar or was this a creep just trying to save his own skin? It was a question he would soon have the answer for, he just didn’t know it yet.

  “Ryan,” Kit stepped through the door, motioning for her partner to follow.

  Quickly excusing himself Ryan left the room and followed her into the hallway. She turned to him and extending her arm handed him a small tablet.

  “Take a look,” she said.

  Playing out on the small device was footage of a visibly upset Gus Greenfield pacing in tight circles around his girlfriends couch. The sound of a running shower carried across the background, the mans voice barely audible above it.

  “I’m bringing her up there,” Gus whispered. “I can’t keep going like this. It needs to be done right. I can’t keep this up... I can’t.” He quickly ended the call and stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

  Seconds later a shimmering-wet and visibly upset Holly Waters stepped into the frame. Without a word she dropped her towel, wrapped her arms around him and began swaying in the dimly lit apartment.

  Maybe, Ryan thought, Jake hadn’t been lying about everything.

  “What now?” Kit asked.

  “I guess we visit Gus Senior.”

  Chapter 21

  Ryan didn’t know much about Gus Greenfield senior as he and his partner made their way up the small coastal highway leading to his home. As far as Ryan could tell the man was a law abiding citizen. Aside from a few traffic tickets there wasn’t much literature on him. Save for a few local newspaper articles from his time as a high school quarterback.

  Based on the video he’d just seen Ryan knew Gus Jr. visited his father, or at least planned to visit him just before Holly’s disappearance and that he intended to bring the girl with him. As much as he hated the idea of what Jake Jones had done he couldn’t help but be a little thankful for the information.

  Seaside Heights was a small town, a simple dot on the map in a lowcountry full of small one-stoplight towns often made up of nothing more than a handful of residents, a country store and a few railroad tracks.

  Coastal palms lined the small downtown streets. Things here were a little nicer than Ryan expected. Downtown, though it wasn’t much more than a few three story buildings centered around a cival war monument, seemed well kept and still in use. It was an oddity to say the least.

  Folks usually found themselves headed for places like Charleston or Mt. Pleasant when they needed things. Gus lived just two streets over from the still-active tracks. His house, a tall white thing with a green roof and green shutters sat at the end of a long pine-tree lined drive.

  I
t was beautiful, there was no denying that, Ryan thought to himself.

  “Wow,” Kit muttered. “This looks like a movie-set. What does this guy do?”

  “Actually he inherited this place from his mothers side of the family. They’ve lived here for as long as I know.” Ryan pointed to a small building in the back. “See that?”

  The building was a tall narrow thing composed of the same materials as the main house. It feature the same red shutters and the same red roof. Two stories high but no more than twenty-five feet in either direction it looked almost out of place in todays world.

  “Slave quarters?” She asked.

  “That’s what most people would guess,” her partner grinned. “But it’s much too small to be a slave house. That’s actually a garçonnière, also known as a bachelors quarters.”

  “A what?”

  “So lets say you had a seventeen year old son. Unmarried, still sowing his wild oats or whatever. That’s where he would live. A lot of families, especially the ones influenced by French or Creole culture built them.”

  “Yesterday’s bachelor pad…” Kit wrinkled her nose. “God, I wouldn’t want to touch a damn thing in that place.”

  Ryan smiled.

  The detectives cruiser came to a stop near large fountain set to mark the end of the driveway. It was an old thing, weathered and a little chipped though obviously still cared for by the homes owners. Gus Greenfield Sr. had spent the last nine or so years living alone, ever since the dissolution of his marriage to Gus Jr’s mother.

  A single grey truck sat parked in the driveway. Ryan quickly jotted down the license plate number. He cut his head and peered inside. Nothing seemed out of place, he thought. The vehicle likely belonged to Gus Sr.

  His feet were silent as they pressed against the thick lush grass. So green it was almost blue the entire place reminded the man of the kind of south he’d always dreamt of, the one he wasn’t sure existed anywhere other than the comfort of his imagination.

  He lifted his arm, reaching for a large golden knocker. The sound of clanging metal echoed down the driveway with each hit of the handle. Kit slowly strolled the large front porch, her hands wrapped behind her back and her legs swinging outward the way a childs often do when they’re forced to wait.

  “Hello?” Gus Sr. opened the door.

  He was a tall man with a muscular build and the kind of perfectly manicured facial hair Ryan thought about but never attempted. With dark hair, blue eyes and a well-fitted shirt even the detective took note of how attractive the man was.

  “My name is Ryan Devereux,” he began. “This is my partner Kit Walker. I was wondering if you had a moment to speak with us about your son?”

  “Sure,” he stepped aside, ushering the detectives into his home.

  A grand double staircase, marble floors and a crystal chandelier made up the beautiful foyer. Ryan couldn’t help thinking it looked more like a swanky hotel than a house, especially given the modern affinity for minimalism that seemed to be popping up around every corner.

  “Your home is lovely.” Kit noted.

  “Thank you,” he answered. “It’s been in the family for years.”

  “How many rooms?”

  “Nine,” he answered. “Including the kitchen.”

  “And you live here alone?” She asked.

  “I’ve thought about moving,” he answered. “About selling. I’ve had plenty of offers but this is my home and one day I guess it will be my sons. If he wants it that is.”

  There was something almost troubled about his tone, a worried sense if weightiness that seemed to hang over each word. The detectives followed him into what was once likely known as a parlor, but today would just be considered a small living room.

  A black and white stripped couch sat in the rooms center, two small tables, each holding what were likely Tiffany lamps adorned either side. Across from the couch were two chairs, each one the same paisley print, each one complimenting the large couch perfectly.

  “Have a seat,” he pointed to the chairs.

  “Thank you,” Ryan answered.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “Are you familiar with the name Holly Waters?” Kit asked, her tone stiff but concerning. In the time he’d known her Kit Walker had come a long way in terms of personal interaction. Not to say she was bad to begin with but in the deep south conversation requires a different sort of approach, a slower, more caring one she lacked growing up in New Jersey.

  “Yes,” he answered. “I’ve never met the girl but I know the name. She and my son have a thing, right?”

  “It would seem so, yes.” Kit answered. “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Holly is missing.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I heard something about that. Shame.”

  “She was last seen with your son, Gus.” Ryan clarified. “We’ve been trying to speak with him for the last couple of days now but haven’t been able to locate him. Might you have any idea where he is?”

  “No,” he slowly shook his head. “I’m Sorry, I don’t.”

  The detectives mind immediately began working out two different scenarios. It was possible Ryan changed his mind and that he never made it to his fathers home. Or, and far more likely, Gus Sr, was lying to the detectives.

  “I’m sorry if we seem a little rushed,” Kit said softly. “Missing persons cases are time sensitive as I’m sure you understand. Still, we thought it was only right to give you time to mourn the passing of your brother before subjecting you to questioning.”

  “My brother…” He raised his eyebrows. “My brother didn’t…”

  “My mistake,” Kit quickly corrected herself.

  Tension hung thick in the air, its almost-aroma nearly choking the detective. According to Maryann Waters her daughter had gone with Gus Jr. to his uncles funeral. And now, thanks to Kit’s quick thinking and easy attitude they’d found the truth. Gus Greenfield was lying.

  This begged the question, what about Gus Senior?

  “What can you tell me about your sons fiancé?” Ryan asked. “She refuses to speak with us.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Gus let out a long slow breath. “From what I know of the woman she can be difficult sometimes. I’ve never met her personally. Gus tends not to bring his girlfriends around.”

  “Any reason for that?” Kit asked.

  “Competition,” he grinned. “I try and take pretty good care of myself. Younger women have always find that attractive. The last girl he brought here ended up going after me.”

  A sudden cockiness washed over the man. His posture changed, straightening his back and baring his chest. He was confident when talking about himself, almost too confident in a way, Ryan thought.

  Both Kit and Ryan’s heads quickly jetted upward as a low thud rang out from the second floor. Someone else was in the house, Ryan thought. Someone had been listening to them. His gut told him it was Gus Jr. and in that moment he trusted his intuition to be correct.

  “I’ll cut right to the point.” Ryan leaned in. “A woman is missing and your son was the last person known to have seen her. It’s looking very likely that he may be involved. The quickest way to clear himself of any charges would be to speak with us. So, I’ll ask again. Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “I’m sorry,” he stood, dusted the front of his jeans and headed for the door. “I don’t. But I’m sure you won’t mind if we bring this to an end. I’m expecting company later and I still have a ton of things to do around the grounds.

  “Of course,” Kit smiled. “You’ll reach out to us if you hear from him though?”

  “Absolutely.” He nodded.

  Opening the door of his cruiser and turning back to the house Ryan waved to the still-watching man as he stood in the doorway trying his best to force a smile. He was unnerved and a little apprehensive, hopefully those emotions would lead him to make a mistake.

  “What’s your take?” Ryan asked.

  “He’s lying.” Kit a
nswered. “Gus Jr is in that house.”

  “I know,” Ryan answered. “But something tells me he won’t be for long.”

  Chapter 22

  Ryan and his partner sat parked behind a small gas station sure they would see the little grey pickup truck pass by at any moment. But this time he was wrong, it took nearly four hours for the vehicle to leave the driveway.

  Though the trucks windows were tinted the detectives gut told him Gus Jr was behind the wheel. Still he wondered what he and his father had been talking about this whole time, what did Gus Sr. know that he wasn’t sharing with detectives.

  “There he goes,” Kit said. “Let’s find out where he’s headed.”

  Given the right circumstances driving through the sleepy costal roads of South Carolina’s Lowcountry can be a relaxing and easy way to spend an evening. But this just wasn’t one of those days. The detectives cruiser pulled to a stop at the small traffic light, his bumper only a few feet from the grey trucks tailgate.

  The small grey truck began edging forward letting the detective know whoever was under the wheel had seen him. Good, he thought. He needed to be seen. Gus Greenfield wouldn’t be able to hide any longer.

  “What are you doing?” Kit asked.

  “I’m calling his fiancé,” he dialed the number. “Maybe she can convince him to stop before this thing turns bad.”

  The grey truck slowly pulled forward as the traffic light turned green. Ryan quickly followed behind, keeping his eyes pinned to the vehicle. Daphne Kyser didn’t answer the first time but something told Ryan she was likely already speaking to Gus. At the sound of her voicemail he ended the call and dialed again.

  “Hello,” she said finally. Her voice seeped with a nervous energy, the kind usually found in the words of the guilty or grief ridden.

  “I need you to talk to Gus,” he began. “I know its him driving the truck and we need to speak with him and something tells me you’re the only one who can convince him to stop.”