by Blake Pierce
He nodded, his face barely illuminated from a single overhead bulb behind him. He looked to be about fifty or so. He had black hair, a black beard, and hollow eyes. “You’ve got some spunk,” he said. “I like that. You’re going to be fun. Now…come on. Let’s get you some food and water.”
He turned and started walking. She thought about trying to knock him down and run away. But he was holding that rifle in his left hand. It looked familiar. It looked…
It was my dad’s, she thought. He killed them with the rifle and then stole it.
Again, she recalled hearing the gunshots. Right after her father told her to run…
Her thoughts were interrupted by several rampaging thoughts. You’ve been through a pretty severe trauma. Can you remember anything else about the night he took you? Anything that will help you get free? You were barely aware enough to take off your jacket in the field… You’ve been through the wringer, kid.
She looked at the rifle and figured for now it might just be better to do what he said. Besides…she had dropped her jacket in the field as she had come in and out of her haze. Maybe someone had found it. Maybe the cops were looking for her. Maybe…
She stepped forward, looking around and trying to make sense of where she was. It was an old barn or shed of some kind—a floor made of wooden boards under her feet. Her steps made hollow sounds, making her think there was another floor under her, a cellar perhaps. Other than the trailer (which, she saw, was indeed some sort of old moving trailer that went on the back of a truck), the barn seemed to be mostly empty. There were rotted hay bales pressed against the far wall and what looked to be an old workbench of some kind, but other than that the place was empty.
He was waiting for her at the door, standing patiently. As she neared him, she started to tremble. She tried passing by him quickly, just to be out of his presence. When she did, he reached out and took her arm. His touch was gentle but made her cringe.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked. She feared the answer but figured it would be better to know rather than to have that fear of the unknown in her head.
“I don’t know just yet,” he said.
It was not the answer Mercy had been hoping for. In fact, it somehow felt like the worst possible answer he could have given.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
By the time the state police had come down from Deton and taken Nick Sanders into custody, Kate could feel the toll of the day wearing on her. Nick had refused to give any information as to his whereabouts over the last few nights and he would not come off of the information regarding how he’d gotten Mercy Fuller’s phone number. It felt almost too easy, but Kate was starting to think that maybe he was the killer and potential abductor.
But her instincts did not seem pleased with this. Even as she and DeMarco watched the trooper pull the patrol car out of the Carroll County police station parking lot, Kate felt that they were missing something.
“Something’s bothering you,” DeMarco pointed out.
“You’re getting too good at reading me. Stop it.”
DeMarco smiled. “It feels right, I think. You know, he’s under arrest of suspicion of murder and child endangerment, possible kidnapping. We have every right to check out his house.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Kate said. “Because honestly, you’re right. It feels right. All the pieces fit and Nick Sanders is definitely the sort of guy that might be capable of something like this. But his unanswered questions are big ones. And it makes me feel like we’re missing something.”
“You look tired,” DeMarco said. “Pull up his address, and I’ll do the driving.”
They piled into their car as Kate plugged Nick Sanders’ address into the map app on her phone. As she did so, she saw that it was 10:09; the night seemed as if it had settled on the little town ages ago, making the day seem even longer.
Fortunately, Duck Branch, much like Deton, was incredibly small. They made the trip down a series of back roads from the Carroll County police station to Nick’s residence in under twenty minutes. He lived in a trailer park that housed eight mobile homes, all of which looked like they were just one wind storm away from being relocated. DeMarco located Nick’s trailer and parked in the small square of dirt that served as his driveway.
As they got out of the car, Kate could hear the thumping bass of rap music coming from elsewhere in the park. Somewhere else, an infant was screaming. And it all seemed to bounce from the trees and countryside, as if there were no escape from any of it.
There was no porch on Nick’s house…just a set of wide concrete stairs that led up to the front door. It was made to look like woods but Kate was pretty sure it was about as thin and hollow as an ice cream cone. She tried the door and found it locked. Undaunted, she reached into the inner pocket of her jacket, where she had been keeping a small lock-pick set for the last thirty years of her life. As she set to work on Nick Sanders’ front door, Kate estimated that she had used this kit at least fifty times over the span of her career. She enjoyed the feel of DeMarco watching with a reserved kind of respect and awe.
The lock popped easily, and Kate opened the door right away. They were met at once by the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke and what smelled like old frying grease. Kate found a light switch along the edge of the doorframe and flipped it on. The light revealed a cluttered mess of a trailer. The living room and kitchen were all connected, separated by only a thin bar area that was littered with old paper plates, empty beer cans, and strewn mail.
The living room contained an old recliner, a scarred coffee table, and a flat-screen TV that was propped up on an old bookcase against the far wall. A few sets of dirty clothes were scattered on the floor.
Kate and DeMarco gave one another of nod of acknowledgment, an unspoken sign that they would split up and search the house. Given the size and the lack of any sort of cleanliness or organization, it was not a task that Kate expected to take very long. DeMarco headed left, into the kitchen and the thin hallway beyond it. Kate turned to the living room and the single room that sat to the far side of it. The doorway opened to reveal the edge of a bed and more dirty clothes.
Kate had investigated places much worse than this one—places rife with cockroaches, mold, mildew, blood, and unnamable sticky substances on the floor. Still, the idea that this could potentially be the home of a man who had not only willingly abandoned a child fifteen years ago but was not capable of murder to get her back…well, it was a little unnerving.
But the more she searched, the less certain she became that Nick Sanders was the killer. She had no idea why he was refusing to tell them where he had been the last few nights. Much of the garage and debris around the house told some of the story: he had been here most of the time, eating frozen dinners and, according to the empty pizza box stashed beneath the coffee table and the hardened crust inside, ordering a pizza within the last three days or so.
When she got to the bedroom, she thought she understood why he was being so secretive, though. While the bedroom was slightly cleaner than the living room, there was still lots of evidence as to how he spent his time. The room smelled of body odor and burnt matches. An ashtray sat on the bedside table, badly needing to be dumped. The table was the sort that had a single drawer built into it. It was partially open, having been closed in haste the last time it had been used. Kate opened it up and saw more than enough reason for a man like Nick Sanders to remain quiet about what he had been up to the last few nights.
There were two baggies and three pill bottles in the drawer. The baggies contained about an ounce of crystal meth each. Two of the pill bottles held cocaine, and the third contained some sort of pills. It wasn’t ecstasy from what she could tell. Probably some kind of speed or other methamphetamine if she had to guess.
As she closed the drawer, she saw a little lock box stashed under the bed, one of the corners sticking
out. She did not like the idea of sitting on Sanders’ nasty floor, so she picked the lock box up and placed it on the bedside table. She used her lock-pick set once more to pop the lid of the box open.
There were two rolls of cash inside, held together by rubber bands. She flipped through them and found about twelve thousand dollars…probably from selling drugs. There was also a St. Christopher medallion in the box, along with another baggie of a powder-like substance that looked to have once been in crystalized form—not meth, but something else.
DeMarco poked her head in the room, looked around, and wrinkled her nose. “Find anything?” she asked.
“A nice little assortment of drugs,” she answered. “Probably enough for him to not want to let us know what he’d been up to the last few nights. You?”
“Just an old storage room, a bathroom, and the laundry room. Nothing out of the ordinary except an enormous stack of pornography.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s selling, too,” Kate said. “There’s twelve grand here, with meth, coke, and what I think might be DMT.”
“But no evidence to support a trip to Deton or where he might have gotten Mercy’s phone number?”
“No. Nothing like that. We could get forensics to check all of these dirty clothes but other than that, I don’t see much of anything here for us.”
“Same here,” DeMarco said. “I think we find some place to sleep for the night and maybe try his boss over at Bill’s Tire and Auto in the morning.”
The idea of sleep was enticing. Kate wasn’t sure when she’d last had a day feel as if it had dragged on this long. She looked to her phone and saw that it was 11:02—probably too late to call to check up on Melissa.
“Now we just need to figure out this one last mystery before ending the night,” Kate said.
“What mystery?”
“Where the hell is the closest motel in a place like this?”
***
As it turned out, they had to drive nearly half an hour to find the nearest motel. It was a privately owned place, run by a married couple, two towns over. It was actually closer to the Carroll County police station than it was to Nick Sanders’ trailer.
When Kate woke up the following morning, she felt refreshed and invigorated despite only getting six hours of sleep the night before. When she woke up by her own internal alarm at 5:55, she felt rather proud of herself. But then she saw the little note sitting on DeMarco’s bed. It read: Left at 5:30. There’s a McDonald’s down the road. Need coffee. I’ll bring back breakfast.
Kate had grabbed a shower last night, so it didn’t take her very long to get ready for the day. She had the urge to go for a quick run, feeling restless and anxious to get the day started. She assumed they’d head back to Deton after speaking with Bill of Bill’s Tire and Auto. With Nick Sanders in custody in Richmond and no real leads sitting elsewhere, she actually thought they might end up in Richmond before the day was over with. And that suited her just fine; maybe she’d be able to sneak in a quick trip to visit Melissa to see how they were doing.
DeMarco arrived ten minutes later with breakfast and coffee. Kate found herself ravenous, realizing that she had somehow skipped dinner yesterday. It wasn’t much of a breakfast but with a sausage biscuit and hash browns in her stomach, she and DeMarco headed back out toward Duck Branch with coffees in hand.
When they arrived at Bill’s Tire and Auto at 8:01, there was only one customer. A lone man—presumably Bill—was taking a tire off of a newer model van. The owner stood to the side, kicking absently at a stray bit of trash in the parking lot.
Kate was all about safety first so she waited for Bill to completely remove the tire before she approached him. He was in a small garage, and there was a small shop of sorts attached to the small office and shop building. He looked up to them and sighed.
“You the agents?” he asked.
“We are,” Kate said. “Agents Wise and DeMarco.”
“You the reason I don’t have anyone to help today, then?” Apparently, he was not impressed with their professional approach or their accolades.
Kate looked over to the owner of the van, his eyes locked on the two strange women. “Could you please excuse us?” she asked him. “We’d like to speak in private.”
The owner of the van frowned but gave a nod. He then walked into the little office that was attached to the garage. Kate watched him through the large window as he started to look at the small rack of snack crackers on the counter.
“I take it you’re Bill?” Kate asked.
“I am. Can I ask why you’re here?”
“We were hoping you could give us some more information about Nick Sanders. He’s not exactly being very forthcoming with certain details of his life.”
“He in bad trouble? Is it drugs?”
“He’s in trouble one way or the other,” Kate said. “We are still trying to get a clear picture of what sort of trouble, though.”
“Well, he’s always been in some kind of trouble,” Bill said. He was rolling a new tire out and positioning it on the now-vacant wheel well on the van. “What do you need to know?”
“Did you ever hear him talk about his family?” DeMarco asked.
“A few times. But just passing stuff. I know his wife died. He never said as much but I figured if she was like him, it was probably drugs. Said he had a daughter that he hadn’t seen in several years.”
“Just one daughter?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You ever get any trouble out of him?” Kate asked.
“Nothing bad. He’ come in late a lot of the time but I’d just take it from his pay. When he put his mind to it, he was a hard worker. Sometimes when I have to work Saturdays I’d call him in and he was always happy to make the extra money, you know? He’d come in drunk or high sometimes and I’d chew his ass about it but that was about it.”
“Any cross words between you other than that?”
“None that I can think of. I knew he was all messed up. I knew it when he came into Duck Branch four or five years ago. But I’m all about helping folks that want to help themselves, you know? I had an open spot, he was fully capable of the work, so I hired him. Some of the other guys I had working for me at the time didn’t like him, though.”
“Why was that?” Kate asked.
“Nick was a smart ass. You could never correct him on anything. Always wanted to argue. Hell, just two months ago he and my other worker got into a fight. Like an actual fist fight. I sent them both home and would have fired them on the spot if I didn’t need the help.”
“Do you know what the fight was about?”
“No,” Bill said. But I figured it was a woman. I kept hearing them mention she and her.”
“Is this other worker coming in today?”
“No. He quit last month. Got a job at that custom body paint place in Wells.”
“Wells?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, one of the only towns in Carroll County that are managing to hang on. He left me so that left just Nick. And now I guess he’s gone, too. I got to get that friggin’ help wanted sign back out, I suppose.”
“Could we have a name and address for this man?” DeMarco asked.
“His name is Jack Kramer. I don’t have an exact address for you, but he lives on Old Acre Road. Turn off of Highway 51 and his is the fifth house you’ll come to…the last one on that road before the dirt road takes over.”
“Thank you,” Kate said. She and DeMarco turned away, headed back for their car. Before they made it, though, Bill’s voice stopped them.
“You asked about another kid…if Nick had one,” he said. “He only ever mentioned one kid—a daughter. And he rarely mentioned his wife. But…well, whenever he did mention either of them, I always thought he looked sad as hell. Like he regretted what had happened. More than just losing a wife, but something else. Something he never talked about. I don’t know if that helps you or not.”
Kate considered it for a moment. She nodded her thanks
as they got into the car, wondering if maybe Nick Sanders had lived the last fifteen years with a knot of regret in his stomach…if beyond all of the drugs and bad life decisions there had been a little seed of paternal love buried down beneath it all.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, DeMarco’s phone rang. Kate listened to the one side of the conversation as she did her best to remember where, exactly, Highway 57 came in on the stretch of road they were currently on. Again, all of these damned country roads were starting to look the same.
DeMarco’s side of the conversation was rather uneventful. Kate got the impression that she was speaking to someone in authority. There were a string of Yes sir and I understand. There was also a very brief rundown on the morning’s plan of attack, including their current outing to find the home of Jack Kramer. The conversation lasted less than three minutes. When she ended the call, DeMarco sighed and looked over at Kate.
“I need you to head back to the motel. Director Duran wants one of us on a conference call with the state PD and Barnes. It seems Nick Sanders is still not talking. Until we can make it to Richmond, Skyping in is going to be the best we can do. He also wants us up in Richmond by the end of the day to take over the interrogation.”
“What about Jack Kramer?”
“Duran says one of us can stay on the case. Only one of us needs to call in.”
“Not it,” Kate quipped with a sarcastic smile.
“Hey, I’m good with that. I’ve had my fill of the local flavor. I’ll take stuffy Skype calls over trailers like Nick Sanders’s any day.”
Kate felt that she might be wasting her time going to speak with Jack Kramer. Just based on what she had seen of Nick Sanders (and the many details in his police record), Kate didn’t find it hard at all to believe that someone might want to smash his face in. Still, there was the small chance that perhaps Jack Kramer had some insights into Nick’s personal life. And if there were even juts a scant few, it might be worth the trip. It would perhaps even give them some ammunition for the next time they spoke with Nick Sanders—ammunition he might not expect them to have.
