The River Girls

by Melinda Woodhall

  “Is that the man who had come by Clear Horizons?” Eden asked. “Does he look like the man Trevor called Sig?”

  Sage studied the video for a second then nodded again. “Yeah, that’s him. Or it looks exactly like him.”

  Eden put her hand to her throat, as if she was struggling to breath. “That’s the man who broke into my office last night. And he’s likely the same man Star mentioned to me when she came to Shutter Street. She was scared someone named Sig would come after her. He’s one of the men she was running from, and now he might have Hope.”

  Leo stared at Sage, trying to decide if he believed her story. Was she one of Trevor’s victims, or his accomplice? Was the man called Sig in on it, too?

  “So, was Sig with Trevor when he took Hope?” Leo asked, watching Sage carefully for her reaction.

  “No, Trevor came here with Vinny,” Sage said. “Vinny used to hang around Clear Horizons all the time. He told me once that he was like a brother to Trevor, but I don’t think they were related. He doesn’t look anything like Trevor. And he always seemed pretty quiet. A decent guy. Not a hustler like Trevor.”

  “You can give the police a full description of this Vinny when we get there,” Leo said, wondering how soon the police officer would arrive to watch the house.

  He wanted to get Sage to the station, and then start looking for Hope himself. He couldn’t just sit around while Jessica’s killer took the life of another innocent girl.

  Eden spoke up, her voice shaky. “Leo, do you think Trisha Moore’s ex, Buddy Jones, could have anything to do with all this? Could he possibly be calling himself Sig to hide his identity? Could he be Star’s connection to Clear Horizons?”

  Leo considered the question.

  Was Buddy Jones a serial killer and drug dealer as well as an abusive creep?

  From what Eden had found out in Mercy Harbor’s database, Buddy Jones had likely been released from prison within the last year, so the timing made it possible, if unlikely. But it was impossible to know for sure based on the limited information they had.

  The police had jumped to the wrong conclusion about his father, and Leo knew the tragic consequences all too well. He refused to make the same foolish mistake himself. They would need more information before they could determine if Buddy Jones was a viable suspect.

  “I just don’t know,” Leo admitted, his mood darkening with his growing frustration. He turned to Sage.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about Trevor and Vinny before? Why didn’t you tell the police when they showed up?”

  “I know it was wrong, but I was scared,” Sage said, recoiling at the hostility in his voice.

  “Trevor threatened me with a gun. He told me to say that Hope had run away. He said if I didn’t, he would kill my mother, then come back and kill Eden and Devon. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Leo prepared to fire back a response, but then he heard a panicked wheezing behind him. He turned to see struggling to catch her breath.

  “They threatened to kill Devon?” she gasped, her eyes wide. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead, and she swayed on her feet. Leo rushed to her side, putting strong arms around her and leading her to the nearest chair.

  “Sit down, Eden, you’ll be okay,” he told her, trying to decide if he should call out to Reggie for help.

  Can someone die of a panic attack? Can this level of anxiety be dangerous?

  “Her pills,” Sage said, eyes huge with fear. “She told me she has the pills in case the anxiety gets too bad. They’re in her purse.”

  She charged into the kitchen and returned seconds later carrying a small prescription bottle. Leo took the bottle and read the label. He opened the child-proof cap and shook out two pills.

  “Take these, Eden,” he said, taking her hand and pressing the pills into her palm.

  Sage appeared beside him with a glass of water and set it on the table in front of Eden.

  “Please, Eden, please take the pills,” Sage urged. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

  Eden’s hand clenched around the pills and then opened, spilling them onto the floor. She inhaled and wheezed, over and over, clutching out at Leo and Sage as she fought for air.

  “It’s all…my…fault…” Eden gasped out, just loud enough for Leo to make out. “Hope’s been…taken, and…it’s all my fault.”

  Leo’s jaw clenched in frustration. He knew she must be blaming herself for bringing a recovering drug addict into her home, and for not vetting Star before letting her into the shelter. The knowledge that she’d put her niece’s life in danger, and may have failed her sister after all, must be killing her.

  “Eden, this isn’t your fault,” Leo said, bringing his face close to hers. “You’ve got to be strong. You can fix this. We can fix this. But only if you stay calm. Now breathe…”

  Leo inhaled deeply, placing Eden’s hand on his warm chest. He held her hand against him as he breathed in and out slowly and smoothly, murmuring instructions.

  “Breathe in and breathe out. That’s it, you’ve got this. You’re going to be just fine.”

  After a few minutes, Eden’s breathing slowed. She leaned her head forward, resting it on Leo’s chest, and he placed a strong hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m here for you, Eden. I’m here and I’m going to help you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Now open your eyes. The police are here to watch Devon, and we need to go find Hope.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Jankowski checked the black tactical watch strapped to his wrist again, even though only minutes had passed since he’d left the last voice mail on Detective Reinhardt’s phone.

  Where could the old guy be? Jankowski wondered. And why isn’t he calling me back?

  The likelihood that they would find Hope Lancaster alive and well diminished with each minute that passed since she’d been taken. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand around the station and wait for Reinhardt to show his craggy face, could he?

  Jankowski hadn’t been happy when Nessa had asked him to take Reinhardt with him to Trisha Moore’s house, but he hadn’t been able to refuse without raising suspicions as to why he didn’t want to partner with the old detective. For now, he had to play it cool and stay focused on the case at hand.

  Unable to control his impatience, he pressed the last number in the recently called list on his phone. Voice mail again. He decided he couldn’t wait any longer as he listened to the recording.

  “Reinhardt, I’m not sure where the hell you are,” Jankowski said, digging in his pocket to pull out the piece of paper with Trisha Moore’s address, “but I’m heading over to question Trisha Moore, the mother of the girl that Eden Winthrop reported missing. We think there’s a connection between the girl and Jessica Carmichael. Nessa requested that you back me up, so meet me over there when you get this. I’ll text you the address.”

  He disconnected the call and typed Trisha Moore’s address into a text message to Reinhardt before pressing send. He felt a twinge of guilt but then quashed it. He’d tried to follow Nessa’s request. It wasn’t his fault Reinhardt hadn’t responded, but he had to admit he was relieved he wouldn’t have to take Reinhardt with him.

  He downed the last gulp of cold coffee in his mug and reached for the keys to his Charger. Just then a text alert beeped on his phone. It was a text from Reinhardt: Just got your message. On my way now.

  Jankowski sighed and sat back down at his desk, wishing he’d just gone without sending the text. Now he was obliged to wait. He clenched his fist and allowed himself to pound on the desk just once. Enough wasted energy.

  He pulled out the file on Trisha Moore’s case against Buddy Jones and began to read. Best be prepared before he showed up to question the poor woman. He looked at the mugshot stapled to the file. An angry man with dark, shaggy hair and a bushy mustache looked back at him. Jankowski wondered why the man had felt the need to beat up Trisha Moore.

  He’s got those small, mean eyes you s
ee on some men, Jankowski thought. Maybe he was just born mean.

  After he’d gone through the entire file, Jankowski looked at his watch again. Shaking his head in frustration, he grabbed his backpack and headed out of his cubicle. Officer Dave Eddings was standing in the lobby by the vending machine as Jankowski passed by.

  “Detective Jankowski?” Eddings asked, his voice tentative. “Any progress on finding the girl?”

  Jankowski noted the distress on the face of the young officer. Eddings had joined the force almost two years ago, but Jankowski still considered him a rookie, and he knew the events of the last few days must be upsetting to the whole department. Homicides and kidnappings weren’t everyday occurrences in Willow Bay. Or at least they hadn’t been until recently.

  “Nothing solid yet, but I’m following up on a promising lead now. I’d hoped Detective Reinhardt would be able to join me, but I can’t reach him,” Jankowski said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw that was starting to look more like a full beard than his usual five o’clock shadow.

  “If you see him, let him know I’m looking for him, will you?”

  “Well, sure, but I can come along and back you up if you can’t find Detective Reinhardt,” Eddings said, sounding hopeful. “The Chief asked all available personnel to work overtime tonight since that Amber Alert has gone out. In case we get lots of calls. But I’m just waiting around now.”

  Jankowski paused. Maybe taking Eddings along would save him from Nessa’s wrath. After all, she had specifically warned him to take along back up. It would also give the baby-faced officer some much needed experience.

  Jankowski knew he should spend more time mentoring the younger officers trying to work their way up. He’d had a few good mentors when he’d been in uniform. Maybe it was his turn to be the mentor now. He’d on the force since he’d been a hot-headed twenty-two-year-old. Now he was a hot-headed thirty-six-year-old. Had it really been almost fifteen years?

  “Okay, sounds good, thanks,” Jankowski said. “Let’s get going.”

  “You mean, like, right now?” Eddings asked, a deer-in-headlights look appearing on his smooth, round face.

  Jankowski raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah, we gotta go now. Go tell the duty officer that you’re going with me to question a lead, and then meet me out front.”

  “Okay, I guess you’ll brief me in the car?” Eddings asked, a look of apprehension overriding the earlier eagerness.

  “Sure,” Jankowski said. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The Paradise Palms Residential Community was nestled into a wooded area on the corner of Channel Drive and Surrey Way. A collection of modest two-story duplexes lined the narrow streets of the neighborhood. True to its name, large palm trees swayed overhead as the Charger pulled onto Palm Drive. Night had fallen, and the rain had picked up again, making it difficult for Jankowski to make out the house numbers.

  Eddings peered out the window, squinting into the dark, before pointing to a duplex ahead.

  “Over there, at the end of the street, Detective. That should be 1066 Palm Drive.”

  The unit on the right appeared to be unoccupied. The driveway was empty, and all the windows were dark. But the unit on the left had a little Honda parked in the driveway, and a light could be seen in an upstairs window.

  Jankowski parked against the curb and stepped out of the car, feeling for the gun on his hip to make sure it was holstered securely. He hurried through the drizzle without an umbrella, and waited for Eddings, who had worn a yellow rain jacket, to join him on the front porch.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Jankowski said.

  “Of course,” Eddings responded, just as a scream sounded from inside, followed by a gunshot, then an angry shout. Jankowski tried the door knob, but it was locked. He hesitated, tempted to try to force the door open, but reluctant to announce their presence before he knew what was going on.

  He motioned to Eddings to stay quiet and follow him around the side of the house. The young officer fell in behind Jankowski without hesitation, although the expression on his face was strained.

  You never knew how someone would react to gunfire and the threat of imminent death until they were faced with it in real life. Jankowski cursed his decision to bring along the inexperienced officer.

  If baby-faced Eddings panics or decides to cut and run, this could end up being the worst decision of my life. Other than marrying Gabby, of course.

  As Jankowski circled around to the back, he saw that the sliding glass door was open, and a light in the living room beyond was on. He crept closer, his pulse beating fast and hard.

  He strained to see into the room. As he moved closer he saw the body of a man sprawled on the floor. A bullet had blown the back of the man’s head off. Blood splatter covered part of the wall. Eddings crept up behind him, and Jankowski could feel Eddings first recoil and then begin to shake.

  This could be bad, Jankowski thought, as he calculated his options. He turned to face Eddings, putting a finger to his lips and looking directly in the young man’s wide eyes.

  “Go to the car and call for back-up,” Jankowski whispered, his lips almost touching Eddings’ ear. “Tell them we have an active shooter. Stay in the car with the doors locked until I come out.”

  Eddings frowned and shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not gonna do that,” he hissed back. “I’m not going to leave you to deal with this on your own.”

  Jankowski started to protest, but this time it was Eddings that raised his finger to his lips.

  “I’ll go back and call for backup,” the young officer whispered, “and then I’ll circle around the other way and cover you while you get closer to see what’s going on. You wait for me to give you a signal from behind that tree over there.”

  Jankowski saw the large Elm tree that stood at the corner of the building and nodded his agreement at Eddings. He watched as Eddings’ yellow raincoat disappeared back into the rainy night.

  Jankowski inched forward, his suit and shoes soaked through from the rain, and peered into the room. A large mirror hung on the far wall. It reflected a clear image of a large man in a gray suit holding a gun to the head of a slim, blonde girl.

  Even at a distance, Jankowski recognized Stacey Moore from the picture in Eden’s file. But who was the man holding the gun?

  Could that be Buddy Jones?

  Jankowski pictured the mugshot he’d looked at only thirty minutes before, and knew the man holding Stacey was not Buddy Jones. His eyes flicked to the man lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

  While the bullet had done considerable damage, Jankowski could see the dead man had dark shaggy hair and sported a bushy mustache. Somehow, he knew that the man on the floor, and not the shooter in the gray suit, was Trisha Moore’s abusive ex. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but his mind reeled.

  Just what the hell is going on here?

  Creeping even closer, stopping only a few feet back from the door, Jankowski watched from the cover of night as a small woman emerged from the hallway and stepped into the room. She held out a big handgun in front of her, aiming it directly at the shooter. Jankowski thought the pistol looked like a Ruger, but he wasn’t sure.

  Sweat dripped from the woman’s face, and her thin brown hair lay slick against her head. She was shaking so hard that the gun she held appeared to be jumping up and down, but she kept her eyes trained on the gun pointing back at her.

  “Put the gun down or I'll put a bullet through both your heads," the big man called out in a deep voice. “If you put the gun down we can talk, and no one else has to get hurt.”

  "Mom, don’t listen to him,” Stacey cried out. “He already killed Buddy. He’ll kill both of us no matter what he says. Just shoot him, Mom! Shoot him now!”

  The shooter ducked behind Stacey and pushed her toward the sliding glass door. Jankowski realized the man was going to try to escape using the girl as a shield. He had to make a move before he was s
een and lost the advantage of surprise.

  As the man stepped backward, putting one foot out of the sliding glass door, Jankowski lunged forward and delivered a quick, sharp kick. The gun flew from the shooter’s hand, falling onto the carpet just inside the door.

  Jankowski jumped onto the big man’s back, pulling him outside onto the grass and wrapping a rock-hard arm around his thick throat. He squeezed until he felt the man’s struggles start to fade. Only then did he look up to see Officer Eddings standing behind the Elm tree, a dazed look on his face.

  “Stay there, Eddings” Jankowski called out. “We’ve still got a loose firearm in the house.”

  Stacey ran to her mother and hugged her, then gently took the gun from her hand.

  “Drop the gun,” Jankowski shouted, tensing his muscles, ready to dive for cover if the girl pointed the gun in his direction. But Stacey placed the gun on the floor, then used her foot to slide it under the sofa.

  “Okay, Eddings, come help me cuff this bastard,” Jankowski called. He pulled back the man’s meaty arms as Eddings hurried over and snapped on metal handcuffs. “You watch him. If he makes a move, shoot him. I’m going to check inside to see if it’s all clear.”

  Jankowski peered into the room and saw that Trisha Moore was still standing in the same spot, but Stacey was nowhere to be seen.

  “Ms. Moore? Where’s your daughter? Where’d Stacey go?” Jankowski demanded, his nerves on edge as he glanced around the room.

  He hadn’t pulled his gun yet, but he reached down and put his hand on his holster, knowing he may still need it after all.

  Trisha Moore stared at him with a blank expression, before saying, “He killed Buddy. That man killed Buddy.”

  “Yes, I know that, ma’am,” Jankowski said, “but Officer Eddings will make sure he can’t hurt anyone else. Now, I need to know where Stacey is. Did she leave the house, or is she hiding somewhere?”