by Blake Pierce
“That looks like one of mine,” JT said, nodding in agreement. “One of the newer lines that we've been working on. It's a shame. I wouldn't make them if I didn't have to, but here we are.”
“What do you mean by that?” Nate asked.
JT looked up at him, almost jumping at Nate's deep voice. He looked even more scared of Nate than he was of the other two. “W-well,” JT said, stammering a little. “I've always worked with my hands. It's a craft, you know? A trade. I learned it from my father. He learned it from his grandfather. Three generations of us, working on clock mechanisms in the traditional way. Now here we are, and people don't seem to want mechanical clocks as much as they used to. They want these new, modern things. Horrible, really. I've been trying to save the store, and my daughter suggested we try these new techniques. It makes me sick, honestly it does, but I was able to compromise by at least reusing one of the old, more traditional settings for a modern replacement. It's called… what did she call it? Upcycling, I think. Apparently, it's all the rage these days.”
“Where do you sell these?” Laura asked. “Just here in the shop?”
“No, well,” JT said, scratching the back of his head. His skin made a kind of papery sound underneath his fingernails. “They do this online thing now. I don't really understand it myself, of course. But my daughter, she was helpful in setting it up. So, I suppose, we sell them... On the web, is it? You have to excuse me, I'm not really up to date with all the right terminology.”
“Online,” Laura muttered under her breath. That wasn’t helpful at all. It was looking more and more like this was going to be difficult, more difficult than anticipated. “I don’t suppose you remember selling at least three of these, or more, to the same customer?”
“The same customer?” JT blinked, looking surprised. “Why would someone want three of the same clock? They’re not selling them at a higher markup, are they?”
“No, JT,” Blackford said, his voice a more reassuring one for the old man. “No one’s ripping you off, don’t worry. We happened to find these clocks at a few crime scenes.”
“Crime scenes?” the old man frowned, then his expression cleared. Along with it, his skin paled even more than Laura had thought possible. “I read about some young ladies who were hung after a timer went off. It’s not…?”
“’Fraid so, JT,” Blackford said. He was leaning against one of the counters, his elbow down on it to support his weight, his legs crossed at the ankles in a casual pose. “It’s a real bad business.”
“Oh, goodness,” JT said. He blinked a few times, looking down at the counter in front of him – though Laura didn’t expect he was actually seeing it. “My clocks were there?”
“Not just there,” Laura said, feeling the need to speak up and drive home the point. It was all well and good Blackford giving JT some comfort, but there was still a chance that he knew somehow what was going on. She very much doubted that a man as old and feeble looking as he could do any of the work that was required to set up the platforms and take the victims to them, but that didn't mean he wasn't involved. He might have been protecting the person that he had sold the clocks to, or otherwise had some inkling that a son or a grandson or a nephew had taken a little too unhealthy of an interest in the clocks.
She remembered what she and Nate had discussed earlier. Time. This whole case was about time. And here they were, in a place owned by a man who called himself JT, and his shop JT Time. That was a big coincidence. Well, perhaps not exactly a coincidence, since a clock had to come from somewhere. But still, it was something, and she wasn't going to go easy on him just because he was elderly. At least, not easy enough to potentially miss a lead.
“The clocks were instrumental in the crime,” Laura continued. “The timer was used to tell the victims how long they had left of their lives.”
“Gracious Jesus,” JT whispered, his hands clutching onto the side of the counter for support.
Simple shock from a man who had never heard of something so terrible involving his own handicraft in his life? Or a realization that someone close to him could be involved?
“Do you have anyone working with you here?” Laura asked. “Someone who helps out, perhaps?”
“Just my daughter,” JT said. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his leathery throat. “All she does is help with the online sales. I don't know any of that stuff, so she packs everything up and takes care of it. I just make the clocks. Truth is, I wouldn't have enough money to hire anyone else even if I wanted to.”
“What about in the past?” Laura asked. “Did you ever take on an apprentice? Maybe try to teach the craft to one of your children, or another relative?”
JT shook his head. “I only have my daughter,” he said. “And she's got her boys, but they're too young for this kind of thing.”
“We might need to speak to her,” Laura said directing this comment at Blackford. He nodded swiftly.
“We can arrange that, can’t we, JT?” he said. “When is she next in to do a stock take?”
“I'm not sure,” JT said. “I can call you the second she arrives.”
“That would be most appreciated,” Blackford said, his voice still a lot more gentle than Laura would have liked. She had been thinking it was a man who committed these crimes, due to the strength involved, not to mention the whole DIY aspect. But the truth of the matter was, that was only an assumption. There was no reason a woman couldn't be strong enough, couldn't be handy enough with a hammer. Assumptions, she had to remember, could break cases. Could let people go uncaught for decades and more. Assumptions were like poison to a murder investigation.
“I think it might be better if we get a chance to speak with her as soon as possible,” Laura said. “We need to see a list of those online sales urgently. I’m guessing she’s the only person who can provide us with that.”
JT nodded, starting to shuffle over to a landline phone hung on the wall of the store right next to that beaded curtain. “I’ll call Susanna now,” he said, and Laura leaned back against one of the counters to settle in and wait.
***
The moment that Susanna walked into the store, Laura's heart sank. The woman was petite, probably only around five foot tall, and carrying a lot of extra weight. When they shook hands to greet one another, Laura found her grip soft and her arm strength weak. There was little chance that Susanna could have been responsible for putting anyone on a platform, let alone carrying the lumber to set up the platforms in the first place. Unless she had an accomplice, Susanna was a dead end. Just like the store was seeming to shape up to be.
But there was still hope.
“We need to see as many of the online orders as you have records for,” Laura said, once the initial introductions were over. “Specifically for this type of clock here.”
Susanna looked at the picture with a kind of businesslike nod, taking it in. “That's one of our more popular models”, she said. “Really does well with the aging demographic. They like to have those modern luxuries, but they also appreciate something familiar.”
Laura bit back the response that she wanted to give, which was that she didn't care at all about the ins and outs of the business. She just wanted to know who had bought them, and that was all. While she was busy trying to retract her words from her head and turn them into something more polite before they ended up on her tongue, Nate interrupted.
“Do you have full data on customers from the retailers you stock with, or do you ship them out wholesale?”
“A bit of both,” Susanna said tilting her head. “We sell on a few online marketplaces directly, and the rest go out to big warehouses where they can handle larger orders. I can get you the customer data for anything we've sold directly, but the rest might take a while.”
Laura was already sighing to herself in her head. This was turning out to be far more complicated than it needed to be. All they needed to get was this information about who had bought at least three of the same cl
ock, and they could go arrest the guy. It didn't have to be this hard. They were so close, and yet here were all these roadblocks coming up to delay them and make things take much longer. It was frustrating, to say the least.
Her phone rang in her pocket and Laura pulled it out to take a look at the screen. She frowned, seeing a name she hadn't expected.
Christopher Fallow.
“You take that,” Nate said, no doubt seeing the consternation on her face. “I'll go through the sales records with Susanna.”
Laura nodded gratefully, stepping outside of the store. Nate had no need to let her take the call, given that he didn't even know who it was. But it was a one-man job, so she wasn't going to turn him down. Not out of a sense of duty, anyway. And if this was something about Amy, she needed to know.
“Hello,” she said, stepping back out into the cold air and wrapping her jacket around herself a little tighter.
“Hi!” Chris said, his voice sounding relieved. “Hi, Laura? It's Chris Fallow.”
“I know,” Laura said. “Is something wrong with Amy?”
The pause that Chris allowed left her heart missing a beat in her chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Laura was about to repeat herself, in case there was any slim chance he hadn’t actually heard her, when she heard a deep sigh down the line.
“I don't know,” Chris said. “I just… I needed your advice. I know you said I could call anytime, but if it's a bad time for you right now...”
Laura glanced back inside the store. She could see Blackford, still leaning on the counter, talking lazily with JT. Nate and Susanna had disappeared into the back of the store, no doubt to find where the records were kept. “No,” she said. “Go ahead. I have a short while. What's going on?”
“It’s…” Chris sighed. “Man, this is awkward. Well, it’s about the nights. Amy’s been wetting the bed, and everything I read online told me she would settle down after the first few nights in an unfamiliar place. But… she still hasn’t stopped.”
“Have you talked with her about it?” Laura asked.
“With her?” Chris sounded puzzled. “No, well, she’s just a child. I figure she probably doesn’t even understand why it’s happening.”
Laura sighed, pressing the heel of her hand against her head. She had a headache, and for once it wasn’t even from a vision. She didn’t need the added stress of dealing with this, but that didn’t matter. It was important. Amy was important. She wasn’t going to allow her to slip through the cracks, not in any way, shape, or form.
And it was good that Chris had reached out to her. A good sign. A sign that maybe he was taking this new guardian thing just as seriously as she expected him to.
“Maybe she doesn’t, on every level,” Laura said. “But you still have to talk to her. If you just ignore the problem, it won’t go away on its own. Or, maybe it will, but a long time from now. If you talk with her about how she’s feeling, what she’s been going through, she might open up and start to realize that she’s safe now.”
“That’s what it is?” Chris asked. “She doesn’t feel safe?” He sounded sad, almost sulky. Like a child himself, being told that his favorite toy wasn’t working anymore because he hadn’t looked after it properly.
“She won’t, at first,” Laura said. “Think of what she’s been through. Kids are resilient, and yes, they do bounce back. But they’re not rubber bands. It takes a while.”
“How am I supposed to talk about that with her?” Chris asked. Laura had a mental image of the handsome doctor running his hands through his thick, brown hair and pulling it out. It didn’t exactly gel with what she’d seen of him, but it was what he sounded like right now. “Isn’t it… too much? To talk through the gory details?”
“You don’t have to go into the gory details,” Laura said. “And, Chris? Remember something. If you think it’s too much of a topic for a child to talk about, think about the fact that she actually experienced it. She was there, in that house, while it was happening to her and around her. No matter how heavy you think it might be, it’s already in her head. And she needs to know a lot of things.”
“Like what?” Chris asked.
Laura took a breath. She was thinking about the survivors of abuse she’d seen in the past. Some who were just starting to cope with it after being saved, usually when she saw them again at the trial. Some who didn’t cope with it at all and went on to become abusers or even killers themselves. “That she’s safe,” she said, starting with the most important thing. “That it wasn’t her fault. That you’re going to look after her and make sure that it never happens again.”
Chris sighed. “I just… I’m…”
“What?” Laura asked, immediately on edge.
“I’m scared,” Chris admitted. “Scared that I’m not going to be enough for her. That what’s happened to her was too awful, and she’s not going to get better.”
“Well, not with that attitude,” Laura said. Only half of it was meant flippantly. “She’ll pick up on that, you know. It’s your job now to believe in her. To show her that there is a way forward.”
“Alright.” Chris said. His voice sounded steadier, more determined. Like he had taken her words on board and decided to follow them. “Thank you, Laura. Can you… I mean, would you mind meeting us again, sometime soon? I know it’s really comforting for her to see you. She thinks you’re her guardian angel, you know.”
Laura chuckled lightly, the sadness and direness of the situation offset by the knowledge that she had at least made some small difference. “I know. And yes, I can. But not right away. I’m on a case right now, and I have custody of my daughter this weekend.”
“Right,” Chris said hastily. “Right, of course. At your own pace, obviously. We can fit to your schedule. I took some time away from the hospital to make sure she settles in fine, so I’m pretty open.”
“Alright,” Laura said, glancing up to see Nate emerging from the store. “Well, I’d better go. But… you can call me again, if you need any more help.”
“I will. Thanks again,” Chris said. “Uh, good luck with your case.”
“Thanks,” Laura said, before hanging up.
“Anything?” she asked Nate, even though she didn’t need to. His face was like thunder.
“Nothing in the records,” he said. “I’ve left Blackford in there, still talking to them. He’s going to get one of his guys to call through all the online suppliers we don’t have records for, one by one. But it’s pointless. There’s no bulk orders from anyone, literally ever, in the system. People buy one clock at a time, and that’s it.”
“He has three of them, though,” Laura pointed out. “So, someone out there bought three of them at some point. He must be somewhere in the data.”
Nate sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and then flexing his shoulders back like his back was aching and he needed relief. “I’m sure he is. It’s just a question of whether we find him or not. He must have spread the purchases out over time, and that means there could have been months between them. If he used fake identities every time as well or got someone else to place the orders for him, then we’ve got no hope of tracking him down.”
Laura chewed her lip. “He’s been very cautious,” she said. “Every step of the way, we can see that. Buying the clocks separately in advance, setting up his kill sites ahead of time, wearing gloves, leaving no forensic evidence. He doesn’t even hang around to make sure the death happens. He just gets out of there.”
“It’s going to make it very hard for us to get any kind of resolution here,” Nate said. “How are we going to track him down if he’s this careful at every turn?”
Laura felt a momentary despair, but behind it was a determination rising fiercely. The same kind of determination she’d just heard Chris bounce back with.
She couldn’t get this case wrong. She just couldn’t. Every wrong step they took, every dead end, was a waste of time. And every day they wasted brought them one step closer
to her own personal deadline: Lacey’s visit.
Laura couldn’t let this case drag on. If it did, she would have to stay here, continue working it. She would have to get the job done. That was what was expected of her. And if she did that, she’d end up having to postpone Lacey’s visit. Not only would it break her own daughter’s heart, but it would give Marcus plenty of ammunition against her.
Her ex-husband could go to the courts. Tell them that Laura had missed her very first mandated weekend with Lacey. Forfeited it. And then where would she stand?
No, it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. It just wouldn’t be acceptable.
Not to mention that she couldn’t let any more people die.
“He’s going to mess up sooner or later,” Laura said, meeting Nate’s eyes. “Maybe he already has. And we’re going to be there. We’re going to see it. And we’ll take him down.”
Nate nodded after a moment, seemingly awed by her fierce response. He reached out, holding something towards her. “Here’s the photo of the clock, by the way,” he said. “You left it inside. Figured we might end up needing it again.”
“Thanks,” Laura said, taking it from his outstretched hand – and feeling a headache hit her square in the temples.
She pulled the photograph back towards herself, trying not to let anything show on her face –
Laura was looking down at her from close above, at her face. She was lying there, still as stone, the life draining from her. Veronica. Veronica Rowse.
Where?
The mortuary?
The funeral home?
Laura could make out nothing past the edges of the vision, past the edges of Veronica’s face. There was only her skin, pale white, and her closed eyes. Her lips with that faint tinge of blue.
Laura hovered there, staring. Something was happening. Something to the body. She couldn’t see, but it was moving slightly in her vision, the face pulled in subtle directions in reaction to whatever it was. Was she being dressed for her funeral? Prepared by the mortician? What was happening?
