All His Pretty Girls

by All His Pretty Girls (retail) (epub)

  Near the bed, he stared at yet another framed photo of Alyssa and her husband. That familiar tug was back, tickling his memory, and tying his stomach in knots. She’s the one. This time the voice wasn’t his father’s but his own. Squatting down, he opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand, rattling the knocker-type knobs. Inside was an old leather photo album, and he had just pulled it out to look when a rustling sound came from down the hall. He stood so quickly, the resulting head rush made him dizzy, and he stumbled back, kicking the open drawer.

  ‘Dad?’

  A deer caught in the headlights, he fought against a rising panic, using one hand to pinch his lips between his thumb and forefinger. What was the kid doing home? When cushioned footsteps made their way down the carpeted hall, his heart beat erratically inside his chest.

  ‘Dad? Can you help me with something?’ the boy asked, his voice growing louder with every step closer.

  I told you curiosity killed the cat, his father’s voice cackled in his ear. Evan squeezed his eyes shut to tune him out and then turned in a circle. He couldn’t go in the bathroom or closet – what if the boy came in there looking for his dad? He looked down at the album in his hand and then at the floor. Mere seconds before the kid walked in, he closed the drawer and slid under the bed. In the back of his mind, he was able to appreciate – and be amazed – at how dust-free it was under there. Who cleaned under the bed?

  ‘And don’t forget to clean under your bed. Don’t just shove all your toys under it!’ This was a different voice, an unfamiliar one, nice, and Evan wanted to cling to it, but then the boy was in the room.

  ‘Dad? Dad? Hmm. Guess you’re not home.’ The kid chuckled to himself. ‘I’ve got to stop watching scary movies. Keep hearing things go bump.’ Then: ‘If I’m talking to myself, does that make me crazy? Nah – only if I answer. Wait! I just answered myself. So, I guess Holly’s been right all along; I am certifiable.’ Another snicker, then, ‘Wait, crazy people think they’re sane, so if I think I’m crazy, I must be alright. So there. How’s that for logic?’

  You wouldn’t think you were crazy if you looked under your mom’s bed, little boy, Evan thought. He almost laughed out loud, blowing his cover.

  From beneath the bed, he could just make out the bottom of a pair of ratty gray sweats. To his annoyance, the kid stopped moving toward the door. What now? The kid barked out a sharp laugh. ‘Man, I love that commercial,’ he said.

  Evan watched the boy shuffle backwards, and then he felt the mattress depress as he sat at the foot of the bed. He knew when the kid moved into the middle, not just because of the noise, but because the box springs lowered so much, they briefly brushed his back. The volume on the television went up, drowning out any other noise.

  His breathing shallowed as claustrophobia threatened to choke off his air, and he forced himself to take several deep but quiet breaths to calm his galloping heart. He wiped his forehead against his sleeve to remove the sweat dripping into his eyes, listening to the squeak of the headboard as the boy shifted against it. A tickle on his leg distracted him, and he rubbed against the carpet in an effort to alleviate some of the discomfort.

  Two distinct thumps and the closing of the bedroom door startled him, and he almost cried out when he hit his head on the bottom of the bed. At first, he thought the boy had finally gone, but then a deep sigh sounded above him, and he realized he was just settling in, getting more comfortable.

  Cautiously, he wormed his way to the other side and peeked out. The boy had thrown his shoes across the room, where one of them had hit the bedroom door, causing it to close the rest of the way. The other had left a faint dirt mark on the wall.

  Evan’s pulse hammered in his brain, and he lowered his hand to the Taser in his pocket. He lay quietly as the boy watched some movie. What to do?

  Time ticked by slowly, and he fought back the insane urge to kill the kid and be gone already. He brought his wrist close to his face to check the time on his watch. Close to three hours had elapsed since he entered the house.

  He was considering his options when he became aware that something had changed. He closed his eyes and concentrated. It finally came to him – the boy had fallen asleep. What he was hearing were the soft snores of the teenager above him.

  A solution opened up. If he moved slowly, he could crawl from beneath the bed, tiptoe to the door, and get the hell out of this house. Worst case scenario, the kid woke up, and he had to Tase him. Or kill him. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  He listened for the boy’s deep, even breathing indicating he was still fast asleep. Just as he was about to make his move toward the door, another sound filtered up to his ears – the garage door. Someone else was home.

  Once again, sweat trickled into his eyes as his heart hammered. Think, he ordered himself. If it was the daughter, he’d take the boy out first, then surprise the girl.

  Cautiously, he crawled out from underneath the bed, slowly coming to his feet, hoping none of his bones would creak and pop as they were wont to do at times. He paused to look down at the boy, noticing he had one earbud in while the other had fallen to the pillow. He backed away and inched slowly across the room, checking occasionally to make sure the kid still slept.

  ‘Isaac? Are you home?’ It was her, the detective! Wild-eyed, he turned to look at the boy, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Evan’s neck jerked from the closed door to the bed and back again as he considered what to do now. He still hadn’t decided when the boy rolled over, forcing Evan to dive for cover beneath the bed once more just as the boy’s socked feet hit the floor. Her son yawned loudly and moved to pick up his shoes, sitting on the floor to put them on, then standing as the detective yelled again.

  The boy reached for the door just as his mom turned the handle and pushed it open. Both of them screamed. But it was her scream that he realized he wanted to hear again. His pulse picked up speed, and he found it hard to concentrate. The sound of her voice, different from when he’d heard it on the television, triggered something inside him, and he knew that she was the one he’d been searching for all along. All the others were no more than practice for the real deal.

  He exhaled slowly and unclenched his fists when the detective and her son left the room, neither of them ever suspecting the danger they were in.

  Remaining where he was, he dug his fingers into the carpet as he ran his palms over the soft texture, allowing the rhythmic movement to calm him as he contemplated his choices. Though he wasn’t prepared yet, he could take the detective now. He’d have to kill the boy, though, because he’d be a witness. He didn’t relish the idea, not wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he’d do it. On the other hand, as an officer of the law, she would have a gun, and he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him, especially in the act of protecting her son. Despite his father’s voice constantly reminding him differently, he wasn’t stupid, and knew the chances were slim that he’d come out the winner in a battle between his weapon and hers.

  Then her phone rang, jolting him into action. He crawled from beneath the bed and over to the vent where her voice was so clear it was almost as if he were standing next to her. His spine stiffened when she mentioned the shoplifting arrest. It had been so long ago, he’d forgotten all about it. Out one evening when Carl was preoccupied in the basement, he’d run across a group of boys in an abandoned field sitting on all-terrain vehicles smoking pot and drinking beer. When he approached them, the apparent leader of the bunch had glanced up with a ‘What’s up, man?’

  ‘Not much,’ he’d said. When the guy offered him the joint they were sharing, he thought why not even though he’d never done drugs before, and took a drag, choking so hard he was afraid he would pass out. Everyone had laughed, but they kept handing the joint to him, and with each hit, he coughed less. The more stoned the guys got, the chattier they were, and that’s how he’d learned their names. No one had asked his, and he never offered.

  Then a month or so later, Carl was busy yet
again, and Evan had snuck out, stealing the truck. He’d been driving aimlessly about an hour when the munchies overtook him, and knowing there was nothing back at the house, he headed into town where he stopped at a gas station. When he thought the owner wasn’t looking, he swiped a candy bar, a bag of chips, and a Pepsi – and was promptly busted. No matter how much he begged, the old man wouldn’t cut him any slack and held him there until the police came.

  When two officers showed up and asked for his identification, he invented a story about how he’d lost it, and then lied about his age, saying he was eighteen and then offered up the first name that popped into his head – Hunter Jenkins. How was he supposed to know the kid had died from an ATV accident after he’d met him? After his release the next morning, he was afraid to go home, fearing Carl’s rage. But he’d lucked out because Carl had been so preoccupied that he’d never even realized Evan – or his truck – was gone.

  He was dragged away from his memory as he listened to Alyssa tell the caller she was heading back to the precinct, and then the boy asked for a ride to a friend’s house before rushing upstairs and thundering back down.

  He waited until he heard the garage door close before he went downstairs, sneaking out the same way he’d come in. After peeking around the corner to ensure no one was lurking about, he jogged to the park where he’d left his vehicle, thinking about how close he’d been to the detective. When he reached for his keys to unlock the car door, he realized he was still gripping the album he’d taken from her nightstand drawer.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Tuesday, April 2

  Two stoplights before she was back at the precinct, Cord’s name popped up on her Bluetooth screen. ‘I’ll be there in less than two minutes,’ she said. ‘I’m stopped at 6th Street.’

  ‘Might as well hang a right and head to the McCormick’s neighborhood. Ruby just took a call from a neighbor who’s been out of the country since March twenty-fifth,’ Cord told her.

  ‘The twenty-fifth is the day Callie went missing. What did the caller say?’

  ‘Vance Normandie says he remembers seeing an unfamiliar car when he left for the airport that day but didn’t think much of it until he returned and was going through his stack of mail and collection of newspapers his son had set on his counter. When he read the news that his neighbor’s wife had been murdered, he remembered and called as soon as he could.’

  Alyssa put on her blinker and changed lanes. ‘Okay, I’m headed that way now.’

  ‘Do you want me to meet you there?’

  She thought about it for just a second. ‘No, I’ll take this witness’s statement, and then I’ll stop in and check on Mr. McCormick. Why don’t you and the others see what else you can find out about the man claiming to be Hunter Jenkins? Also, maybe see if his description fits any of the other suspects in the other cases. If this is an alias, he could have others.’

  ‘I’d caution against telling Rafe about the possible DNA until we have something concrete,’ her partner said.

  She rolled her eyes though he couldn’t see it. ‘Good bit of advice. Since it’s my first week on the job, I probably wouldn’t have thought of it myself.’

  Cord ignored her sarcasm. ‘Glad to be of assistance. I’ll see you when you get here.’

  They ended the call, and Alyssa maneuvered through traffic until she could get on the freeway. Nearly twenty long minutes later – did Albuquerque have to have construction on every major roadway at the same time? – she pulled up to Mr. Normandie’s house, three doors down on the opposite side of the McCormick residence. As she got out of the car, her eyes were drawn to Rafe’s yard. Her heart felt like a five-pound weight had been added to it as she noticed the yard which was still overgrown with weeds.

  Before she could ring the bell, the front door opened, and a tall, sixty-something man wearing a plaid shirt and well-worn blue jeans stepped out. ‘Detective Wyatt?’ he asked.

  Alyssa stretched her hand out to shake his. ‘Yes, sir. Mr. Normandie, I presume?’

  ‘Vance is good. Thanks for coming so quickly. Come in, come in.’

  Alyssa followed the man inside. Green, leafy potted plants lined every wall, and several ferns hung from hooks on the ceiling, their vine-like leaves draping low and making her feel like she was walking through a tropical jungle in the Amazon. She half expected to see a few snakes slithering around on the floor.

  ‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Hot tea?’ Vance asked as they passed the kitchen on their way to a large open great room complete with a massive gas fireplace surrounded by one of the most beautiful oak mantles she’d ever seen.

  She declined, anxious to hear about this mysterious vehicle. ‘No, thank you. Mr. Normandie – Vance – I was told you saw an unfamiliar vehicle the day Callie McCormick went missing, is that correct?’

  The man launched into his story, and Alyssa mentally groaned. He was the kind of person who, when asked if it was snowing, would talk about the clouds, the barometric pressure, and the temperature all before saying no. As he launched into an account of his trip to England, she cut him off. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Normandie, but as lovely as that trip sounds, I need to know what you saw.’ She pulled out her notebook and a pen, purposely portraying every clichéd television detective she’d ever seen.

  ‘Right, right. Of course. Well, like I told the lady on the phone, I was heading to the airport, and there was a blue Toyota Camry parked almost in front of my drive. I almost hit it backing out, and it bugged me, so out of habit, I checked the license plate.’

  ‘You don’t happen to recall what that was, do you?’ She expected not, since more than a week had passed.

  ‘I sure do. It was a vanity plate from the state of Minnesota. LETITSNW.’

  ‘LETITSNW? Oh, Let it Snow,’ Alyssa said, writing it down. ‘Did you see anyone around the car?’

  ‘No, no. I was running a little late.’

  ‘Do you remember what time it was then?’

  Vance stared at the ceiling as he tried to remember. ‘I don’t recall the exact time anymore, but it had to have been between eleven and eleven twenty, as I needed to be at the airport by eleven thirty, and I recall thinking I was going to be fifteen to twenty minutes late, depending on the traffic.’ He glanced back at Alyssa and asked, ‘Does that help?’

  ‘It does, thank you,’ she answered.

  He twisted his neck from side to side cracking it loudly, causing goosebumps to pop out on her skin. ‘Too bad about Mrs. McCormick. She was a friendly sort. I’d talk to her every now and again when she was out walking her two dogs or working in the rose garden out front.’

  He stopped just shy of asking if they had any leads, but Alyssa saw the curiosity in his eyes. She closed her notebook and put her pen away. ‘Thank you for calling, Mr. Normandie. I’ll be in contact if we need any more information. Likewise, if you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.’

  He escorted her back through the jungle to the front door, watching as she crossed the street to the McCormick residence. At the front door, her hand hovered. Was she making a mistake coming here? She remembered one of the officers who’d shown up several days in a row after Timmy’s body was found, to check in on her family, and later, to check in on her. She ignored the knocker and opted for the doorbell.

  Just as she was about to give up, the door opened. Rafe McCormick’s eyes were red and swollen, his hair hung in clumps, and his red sweats hung off his frame. He resembled a prisoner on death row, and she supposed, in a way, that’s exactly what he was, at least until he found a way through his grief, which he wouldn’t be able to even begin to navigate until his wife’s body was returned to him. Dangling from his left hand was a half-empty bottle of vodka.

  ‘Mr. McCormick? I was in the area and wanted to check in on you. Can I come in?’

  Vacant eyes stared straight ahead. His voice hollow and gravelly, he said, ‘Is Callie ready?’ His words slurred, and he had to try twice before he got the question out.
<
br />   ‘No, I’m sorry, not yet. But soon,’ she promised, wondering why she felt so compelled to offer hope when she shouldn’t. As he stood swaying in the door, a strange mixture of scents wafted out the front door, and she recoiled. It smelled like… sweat, dirty socks, lavender, citrus, and pine all rolled into one. She peeked around his shoulder and saw flickering shadows on the wall, and she realized all the ‘damn candles’ Callie had so loved and he’d so hated were lit. Combined with his body odor and the alcohol seeping through his pores, it created a ghastly aroma.

  ‘Have you found out who did it yet?’ he asked then.

  ‘We’ve got some promising leads,’ she said, being honest, yet somehow misleading. They didn’t know what kind of information the DNA profile would return, and they needed to chase down whatever details they could about Hunter Jenkins before talking to Rafe about him. ‘Every investigation is like a tree branch. Every lead branches off into another which branches off into more.’

  Rafe nodded, though she wasn’t sure he really heard, especially when he said, ‘I’ve got to get back now,’ before stepping back and closing the door in her face.

  Slowly, her footsteps leaden, Alyssa returned to her car and called Hal with the license plate, asking him to run it and tell Cord she was headed back to the precinct.

  An hour later, she walked into the conference room where Hal and Cord watched the wall where they’d projected the MCM security footage so they could re-watch it without being crammed around one small computer. Specifically, they wanted to study Hunter Jenkins’ movements again, hoping they’d reveal some sort of clue. As soon as she entered the room, her partner hit pause and swiveled in his chair at the same time Hal rolled his chair around to face her. The identical scowls on their faces made her want to turn right back around. Immediately, her gaze went to the frozen image on the wall. Obviously, she wasn’t going to like whatever they were about to tell her.