by Carrie Marsh
Mary looked shyly at her son, who stood and shifted from one foot to the other, his eyebrow arching at his mom’s innocent glance.
“Yes, sir.”
“I hate to interrupt but Andy can I just bend your ear on this issue with the courthouse?” The chief nodded his head slightly.
“Of course.” Andrew stepped around his desk.
“I’ll bring him right back, Mrs. Tuttle.”
“Take your time, Chief.”
As the two men left the room, Mary quickly pushed Andrew’s sandwich aside and took Bruce McGovern’s file. Swiping a pen from his desk, she scribbled down Bruce’s address on the outside of the carry-out bag, tore the paper off, and stuffed it deep into her pocket. Putting everything back the way she found it, she took her seat and a huge bite from her sandwich.
Andrew came back in the room, unaware that Mary had just copied information from one of his files.
“Anything wrong at the courthouse?”
“No.” Andrew shook his head. “They’ve got some new protocol they want to run past us. Someone got in with a knife the other day and—”
“You didn’t tell me someone got in with a knife.” Mary’s detective instincts quickly slipped away and she was back to her primary job of being Andrew’s mom. He wasn’t the captain anymore but her one and only child.
“It was no big deal, Mom. I wasn’t even there.”
“But if you were there, you could have been in danger.” She blinked at him. “It’s bad enough there are crazies on the street but when you’ve already caught the bad guy, they shouldn’t be able to do any more damage.”
“That’s what the chief and I were just talking about.” Andrew tried to soothe his mother’s worries. “A few tweaks to the procedure, and I can promise you nothing bad is going to happen.”
Mary looked at her son. He had grown up to be so handsome and strong. So much of what Ward was as a young, healthy man was there in Andrew. Children were supposed to outlive their parents. That was the way the universe worked. No magic spells or incantations could change that fact. Nor should they.
Letting out a deep breath and wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Mary grabbed her tea and took a sip.
“Mom.” Andrew was sorry he had told her about the incident at the courthouse. Mothers had enough to worry about when their children wore a uniform or a badge.
Mary cleared her throat and managed a smile.
“Thanks for lunch.” He gave her a wink like her husband used to do when he had made her angry or upset. Unable to help herself, she let out a chuckle. “But don’t think that you are off the hook for going to the Little Dog Lounge.”
“Andrew, I am a grown woman and can go anywhere I want.” Mary tapped the desk with her index finger.
“Not when it’s in that part of town. What if someone stole your purse?”
“Ha!” Mary snapped defiantly. “Shows how much you know. I forgot my purse and wallet and cell phone at home.”
“Great.” Andrew took another bite. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
They continued bickering until they had finished their lunches. As Andrew escorted his mother to the exit, the other officers yelled goodbye to her, begging her to bring some pastries on her next visit and spend a little more time with them in the bullpen.
Mary agreed to do just that before turning and looking up into her son’s face. He shook his head, knowing the Mary Tuttle the other officers knew wasn’t the Mary Tuttle he grew up with who was strict, sometimes unfair, and who rarely listened to reason. Still, he leaned down and kissed her on top of the head.
Reaching up, Mary patted his cheek and smiled at him. Without another word, she left the Morhollow Police Station, pulled out the address she had scribbled down, and decided to stop at a gas station. There were a few things she needed.
CHAPTER TEN
A LATE NIGHT VISIT
A LATE NIGHT VISIT
The address was 20045 Luna Lane. Unlike many of the small, ranch-style homes on the block, 20045 did not have security bars on the windows. It could have been a cute little house had someone cared enough to keep it up. As it was, the porch steps sagged in the middle and shutters adorned only one of four windows across the front of the house. Bushes had mingled with weeds and were viciously creeping up the sides of the house. Either the porch lights had been removed or shot out as the domicile sat in utter darkness compared to the neighbors.
Mary parked her car around the block. After stopping at a gas station to pick up a map in order to find Bruce’s house, she’d purchased a few other impulse buys that included a pair of rubber gloves, a pocket LED flashlight, and a disposable camera that were all shoved into various pockets on her person. A few televisions blaring from a couple of the houses could be heard as she climbed out of her car and quickly snapped on her gloves. Looking at her watch, she gave herself fifteen minutes to get in to Bruce McGovern’s house, take a quick look around, and then leave. No one would notice her car in that little amount of time.
Having seen dozens of film noirs, she’d dressed the part. Wearing black pants and a dark purple top, Mary walked casually toward the house and up the creaky front porch steps. She didn’t see a doorbell, and there wasn’t a single light on inside that she could see from the porch. Gently, she rapped on the door. There was no answer.
Suddenly, she heard noise from next door. A window opening. Maybe it was a door. Was she hearing footsteps? If anyone asked, she’d tell them she was his aunt. She hadn’t heard from him and it wasn’t like Bruce to not call. Who would doubt that, right? She was just a harmless older lady and certainly no threat to the likes of Bruce McGovern. As she waited for someone to ask her what she was doing, she saw the person making the noise. It was just some slouchy fellow with a bag of trash in his hands. Without paying her any attention, he dropped the bag in the can and didn’t bother to replace the lid. His shuffling feet could be heard heading back the way he came and stopped just before a door slammed closed.
Mary let out her breath and continued her inspection of the perimeter. She tried the front door but noticed an extra two deadbolts had been sloppily installed on it. The chances of getting in through the front door were slim and none. The windows on the side of the house also proved to be impenetrable unless Mary was willing to throw a rock through them. She hadn’t yet reached that point of desperation.
Slowly, she made her way to the back of the house. It was even darker back there, for which Mary was thankful. The back door was locked, too. So were the windows. But just as Mary was about to abort the mission, she saw a chink in the armor. Looking around, it was apparent that there was no one else around. No one would see her slipping into the damaged window that obviously led to the basement.
Getting down on her stomach, she pulled out the LED flashlight, snapped it on, and shined it into the gloom. It was a regular basement with boxes and rags and a whole lot of nothing important in view. With her rubber-covered hands, she pulled the window up like the hood of a car and poked her head inside.
There was the smell of mold and water that was leaking and pooling somewhere in the darkness. There was a box beneath the window that cut what would have been a six-foot drop to the floor in half to about a three-foot drop onto the box. Mary took one last look behind her, almost certain she’d see some black figure racing up on her to grab her by the legs and drag her into the yard but there was nothing. Turning back to the basement, she pushed herself in and strained to get her hands placed solidly on the box under the window. Thankfully, whatever was in it was strong enough to support Mary’s weight as she let gravity do most of the work.
When her feet slid in, the window closed with a bang, making Mary freeze and listen. She strained her ears to hear any kind of movement from any part of the house. There was nothing but dead silence.
Letting out her breath, she shined the flashlight in front of her and was thankful she had done so. Several mousetraps ready to be tripped were scattered across the floor.
A few had gone off months ago, the dried up remains of their unfortunate victims still trapped under the metal bars.
As she wrinkled her nose in disgust, Mary tip-toed across the basement floor and to the stairs that led up. The small flashlight gave off an incredibly bright circle of light, enabling Mary to climb the stairs with ease. Taking hold of the doorknob, she waited another moment. Pressing her ear against the door, she listened for the sound of furniture scraping against the floor, footsteps, breathing. Nothing. Nothing was alive in this house except for Mary and still for some reason that thought did not bring her any comfort.
Turning the knob, Mary could hear the gears click and grind as the door was opened. The hinges squeaked loudly. Had anyone been home, they would have surely heard that. Starting to get used to the quiet, Mary didn’t think anyone would show themselves. Not this late in the game. Not an ambush.
Flashing the light across the room, Mary saw the kitchen was a mess of dirty dishes across the counter and in the sink. There were a couple of beer bottles scattered around and empty pizza boxes. This was a snapshot of a typical bachelor kitchen. She closed the basement door and shined the light over the kitchen table, looking for anything unusual. The only unusual thing was a clean glass in the midst of the chaos. The heavy smell of cigarettes weighed the house down. Aside from the mess, the smell gave everything a sad, cruel feeling, as if fresh air had not been invited through the house in months, maybe years.
Making her way into the living room, Mary saw a small desk. There was a recliner positioned next to a tan-colored sectional couch that featured a variety of stains on each cushion. A coffee table covered with beer bottles and full ashtrays kept a marijuana bong company on the coffee table. And like a view of the gladiator fights at the coliseum, a huge flat screen television was positioned right in the middle of everything and mounted to the wall. It had to be at least seventy-two inches across if it was a foot.
Mary shook her head but couldn’t say she was all that surprised. It was the desk that caught her eye. It was small, like it may have traveled with Bruce since his junior high days. It was made of thick wood, not plywood, and it had a roll-top that looked to be off its gate and hung crookedly from the top of the desk.
There were bills on the desk plus stacks of rolling papers. About half a dozen pictures of Summer with a group of bikers, as well as one picture of her and Bruce. He was looking at Summer adoringly as she smiled for the camera.
Mary set the pictures down the way she had found them. As she was about to go down the hallway to check the bedrooms, she saw something behind the small trashcan next to the desk. Pulling the torn piece of paper out, she saw it was on letterhead from the University of Indiana, Bloomington.
“What is this?” Mary shattered the silence with her own voice.
Dear Mr. McGovern. Congratulations! I am pleased to inform you of your admission to the Bachelor of Arts Program at Indiana University, Bloomington, for the fall semester…
“Why in the world would Bruce risk losing everything when he was scheduled to go back to college this fall?” Mary considered the letter. Bruce would have had to have been studying on the side, then taking entrance exams and he didn’t work, at least not steadily, so financial aid would have been in his future. All of this wasn’t done on a whim. Plus, the Indiana University was a good school. This was the real deal.
In order to do all that he would have had to have tremendous self-control. Restraint. Dedication. Not the normal qualities of someone who can kill in the heat of the moment.
But there were drugs in his house. Mary looked at the marijuana bag. With the torn letter still in her hand, she looked closer at the coffee table. No needles. No spoons with heroin residue on them. No crack pipes. But there was pot. Mary shook her head. She had seen enough true crime shows to know that marijuana was not a rage-inducing drug. None of this was making any sense.
Slipping the torn acceptance letter back behind the trashcan where she had found it, Mary looked toward the dark hallway. Her flashlight gave her a bright circle of light to follow. Inside the rubber gloves, her hands were beginning to sweat.
The first door on the left was the bathroom.
Mary wrinkled her nose and shook her head. What was so hard about keeping a clean bathroom? A messy kitchen was completely understandable but the bathroom should be viewed as a sanctuary. It was the place in the home where a person was truly themselves, warts and all. Why wouldn’t you want it clean and respectable?
She didn’t care what clues could be in there. She wasn’t going in.
Directly across the hallway was the bedroom. The dresser drawers were hanging open and empty. The closet was also a graveyard of skeletal hangers dangling from the rod across the closet.
Shining her flashlight around, she didn’t see any suspicious scraps of paper, notes, scribblings on the walls. There wasn’t anything to indicate she was in the home of a truly crazy person. It was that scrap of letter from the Indiana University that was sticking with her, like a piece of steak in between her teeth. It was going to irritate her until something was done with it. Why did he tear it in half? Over a woman? Was he going to throw all the possibilities away?
With a deep breath, Mary turned and made her way to the second room at the end of the hallway. Perhaps people had crashed there at times, since there was a cluster of beer bottles in the corner and an ashtray with a couple butts still there. Other than that, the room was empty.
Feeling she had spent enough time in the home, breaking the law and snooping around, Mary decided it would be okay to leave through the front door. No one would notice and if they did, what would they say?
“We saw a suspicious older lady in black pants and rubber gloves walking out the front door.” If nothing else, it might make the responding officer laugh.
As she reached the front door, her blood ran cold. From the kitchen came the smashing of glass. Someone else had decided to check Bruce’s house, too.
Quickly, she pressed the flashlight into her stomach to douse the light and dashed back the way she had come, ducking into the first bedroom. With a little effort, she dropped to the floor and scooted underneath the bed.
Just the most obvious hiding place, Mary. Bravo. She flipped off the tiny switch on her flashlight and held her breath.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MONSTER UNDER THE BED?
MONSTER UNDER THE BED?
From the kitchen, Mary could hear someone fumbling with the back door locks. He or they had obviously broken the little window on the door and were now reaching inside. It was only a matter of seconds of flipping locks and pulling chains and the kitchen door was slowly swinging, opening up. Whoever this was had done this before.
Heavy boots clomped across the linoleum tile, stopping periodically. Mary assumed they were currently taking in the same sights she had of dirty dishes and a collection of beer bottles and pizza boxes. Did they see that one clean glass that was so out of place, too? With deliberate steps, the boots made their way to the hardwood floor of the front room. It was like they had a searchlight, the flashlight was so bright, and Mary watched as it got brighter and brighter with each step.
From her hiding place, she saw the huge biker boots finally appear in the doorway. They looked like they could squash someone’s head with one galumph. Mary began to feel very hot as the sweat started to coat her forehead. She tried to swallow but there was no spit in her mouth.
In an instant, the whole room became bright as the overhead light was snapped on. Mary jumped then froze. Did he notice? Did he hear her scream inside her head? She waited but still the boots were the only thing staring at her underneath the bed.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the boots moved and stepped into the room. Careful, quiet steps took the man around the bed toward the dresser. Finally, the heel was facing her and she dared lean her head down closer to the floor and stretch her neck slightly. It was enough. It was just enough to see the spider web tattoo on the man’s bare elbow along w
ith an elaborate skull with ribbons and a devil-horned vixen writhing around it.
Tacky. Mary was reminded of Summer’s alligator tattoo. Where did they come up with these ideas?
But worse than that was what was on the back of his leather vest. The telltale white semi-circle of The Outlaws biker gang symbol stared right at her.
Mary had heard stories about this gang. Everyone in Morhollow had. But they insisted they were not a gang. They were a motorcycle club. Just a bunch of guys and gals who enjoyed riding motorcycles and wearing leather. Simple as that and completely harmless, right?
Some of the stories stretched back to when her and Ward were newlyweds. There were drugs and alcohol and some people even said there were kidnappings, blackmail, and well, murder.
Since the gang boasted over fifteen thousand members just on the East Coast, it was nearly impossible to pin anything on any one person. Even if there were members who hated each other, they would unite if it were necessary to obstruct the efforts of the police. So, good luck getting anything to stick.
Mary realized if this man found her, she might not be found for days, weeks, maybe even months, depending on how long it would take someone to come to this house to empty it out. What would happen to Alabaster? What would Andrew think?
Panic was slowly starting to set in. She knew she had to remain still but wished this man would do whatever it was he was there to do and then get going.
There were no clear signs that Bruce was a member or even affiliated with The Outlaws. Mary had heard rumors around town that he would be at some of their parties and maybe they were the people he bought marijuana from. But she didn’t think he was a member. She couldn’t be sure he had a motorcycle.
So, what was this guy snooping around for? Just as Mary was about to shift her weight, she saw the boots turn and face her. With a slight grunt, the man got down on one knee. Clutching a handful of bed sheets, he whipped it on top of the bed, placed his hand just inches from her face, and was about to peer underneath the mattress and directly into Mary’s eyes when his cell phone went off.
