“Let’s not forget the evidence, Mr. Grant. They’re not just thoughts. How do you explain the fact that all of the evidence points to you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
She stands up. “You should get some rest.” She turns away from me, heading toward the door.
“Wait,” I call out, and she turns around. “What do we know about the two kidnappers that were killed?”
“Oh, right. Well, another reason Mason Latham called the state police instead of your precinct is because he’s an informant for them—I suppose that’s part of the deal that kept Mason out of prison and not officially in the books—and the two murdered men were on their interest list. I guess they were suspected of cooking methamphetamine. We’re searching through their houses and anywhere else they frequented to see if Sarah is there or if there’s any evidence of where she could be.”
I gaze down at the handcuffs. “Do you think I’m innocent?”
I hear her exhale.
“Like you said to me when we first met, Mr. Grant—I don’t know you.”
I hear her heels click as she walks away. In my mind, it’s Morse code sending a distress signal, but the battle in my mind has already been lost. Everyone has died, and I’ve never been able to prevent it.
20
Teresa, 2015 (Sunday night)
“SO, THE ASSASSINS RECRUITED this twelve-year-old to do their dirty work, and we’re trying to get him to give up the names of who sends him to do these murders, but he won’t budge. He’s better than our military soldiers at not surrendering information. I keep switching between wanting to hug this kid and wanting to strangle him,” Stephen says.
I lean my laptop screen forward, so Stephen’s face no longer has a glare as we talk to each other through video calling. “What are you going to do next?” I ask, taking a bite out of my pasta salad.
“I don’t know. My new partner, Ferris, wants to throw the kid in prison for a few days,” he says. “I think that’s a bit too much though. What about you? How’s your case? Have they given you a new partner yet? Is he as handsome as me?”
“No, no new partner. It's not like they have lone FBI agents just hanging out in the Anchorage office. After you were transferred to the Seattle office, I was assigned here in Wyatt the next day, so they haven’t had time to give me someone new. They told me it would be at least a week before they could find someone. I told them that after working with you, I would be happy to work alone.”
“Very funny,” he says, resting his chin on his hand. “At least you don’t have to work with Ferris. I’m pretty sure he’s going to escalate into waterboarding this kid next.”
“At least you have a lead. I have a missing kidnapped girl, two murdered kidnappers, and a policeman who insists he wasn’t the one who shot them, even though his fingerprints are all over the gun, his bullets are in their bodies, and he had gun residue on his hands.”
“Wow,” Stephen says. “Do you believe him? The policeman?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Ter, you have an opinion on everything. My wife once bought me a purple tie and you told me that it looked like Barney puked on my shirt.”
“It really did though.” I laugh and set down my fork. “Honestly, he seems innocent. He’s a very straightforward guy. If he had murdered those two, he would be the type to come right out and say it. He wouldn’t be proud of it, he would just be honest. Or at least that’s what I think he would be like. I can’t be sure. I don’t know him. That’s my first impression though.”
“Well, your instincts were always good,” he says. “But that would mean someone else killed them then, right? Who else would want the kidnappers dead?”
“A third guy? I can’t imagine a kidnapping scheme needing three guys though. You split twelve hundred dollars between three guys…that’s four hundred dollars each. That’s not much for all of this effort. There must be some kind of other threat involved. I suppose it could be gang related, but I can’t imagine a gang in Wyatt.”
“It could be related to gangs in Anchorage. The last I heard, there was more than one hundred fifteen gangs there.”
“Great. So, now I’m dealing with a missing kidnapped girl, two murdered kidnappers, a suspicious cop, and a possible gang affiliation.”
“At least you’re not dealing with a mentally unstable partner.”
“Technically, I was supposed to be working with that cop who could have committed double homicide.”
“You’re really striking out there, aren’t you?”
I hear something vibrating on his side of the screen.
He glances down. “I have to go. Ferris is calling me. He probably wants to throw some old people into traffic or drown some kittens. We’ll talk later, all right? Hang in there. I’m sure you’ll figure it all out.”
“Bye, Stephen.”
He smiles and the screen flashes to black.
I close my eyes. There must be something that I’m missing.
The ransom money.
The ransom money was missing.
21
Aaron, 2015 (Early Monday morning)
HOW MANY PEOPLE CAN die that you’re supposed to be responsible for before you become a murderer by association? I mean, technically, Becky and Lisa weren’t murdered, but the Bradwell boys set a fire, my family died in it…and I wasn’t there to save them. Because I was working. And now I failed to save Sarah. Because I was drinking.
At least the last time I wasn’t suspected of being part of the crime.
But, it is my fault. I lied to the FBI agent. I had a few whiskies before I went to the cascades. If I hadn’t been drunk and hungover, I would have noticed whoever snuck up behind me and dealt with him, instead of getting myself bashed in the head, the kidnappers killed, no information about Sarah's location, and made myself a suspect in the kidnapping. Where was she? Was she dead? Dying? Worse? If my head didn't hurt so damned much, I could think.
This is a crossroads. I can either end my life or choose to be sober.
It’s a hard decision. I want to be able to think clearly again, but I don’t want to feel anything and being sober will make all of those feelings flood back into me. I’ll be able to feel all of the sharp edges of loss and the slow poison of grief.
I hear heels rushing down the hallway. I crane my neck forward and the FBI agent appears.
“Where’s the money?” she blurts. She tries to catch her breath, but her gaze stays on me.
“What money?” I ask.
“The ransom money. Judge Latham gave it to you to give to the kidnappers. But it wasn’t at the scene of the crime. Where is it?”
“It wasn’t there? But…”
She walks up to my gurney and rests her hand on the side rail. “Somebody took it. There’s no way you could have hidden it somewhere else by the time Mason came around, and the forensic team would have found it if you hid it in the woods by now.”
“I don’t know if I should be insulted or not that you were thinking about how I could have hidden the ransom money and decided that I didn’t.”
“Who knew about the ransom money?” She ignores my statement, her hand clasped around the rail now and her eyes wide. Her excitement resonates in me, reminding me of how excited I would get as I solved a crime before Becky and Lisa had died.
“Just my father and me. And no, my father definitely didn’t take the money.”
She frowns, her eyes scanning my face.
“He didn’t,” I insist. “Have you seen him? He’s old.”
“He said he didn’t hear the gunshots. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“That’s because it was far away and he’s old.”
“Okay, well, there are two suspects. You and your father,” she says.
I rub my temple. Wait. “No. Two other people knew. Judge Latham and Vanessa.”
“Why would they kidnap their own daughter?”
“I’m not saying they did. Maybe the judge want
ed to kill the kidnappers in revenge for kidnapping his daughter. I don’t know how long I was knocked out. Maybe he questioned them, they wouldn’t give up where she was hidden, and he shot them in anger. Or maybe…they say he was an abusive husband and father. Maybe he went too far hurting Sarah. Maybe she was going to go to the police or something, so he got rid of her and needed something to explain her absence.”
“So, he pretended that it was a kidnapping?”
“The first suspect is always family. A kidnapping would distract the police—me—from that.”
“But the two kidnappers…” she says.
“Maybe the judge hired them. He could have met them in court and offered them some kind of deal to do it.”
“Are we seriously considering this?” she asks.
“If it wasn’t my father or me…those are the only other two it could be,” I say. “At least his motive seems more palatable than me kidnapping her to replace my daughter, right?”
“Not really.” She stands up and takes a key out of her pocket.
As she unlocks my handcuffs, her fingers brush against my hand. I jerk away as soon as my hand is free. Her touch feels too intimate for me to handle right now.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt your wrist?”
“No,” I say. “They didn’t hurt me. So, I’m not a suspect anymore?”
“No, you’re still a suspect,” she says. “But you know everyone around here better than I do. If you question him, you might be able to get him to slip up because he trusts you.”
“That makes sense.” I push the side rail of the gurney down and swing my legs over the bed.
She turns around, gathering her brown messenger bag and her notebook.
“You know…I don’t know your name. Though, I’m sure by now, since I’m a suspect, you know everything about me.”
She laughs. It’s cute—an unexpected kind of laugh, considering her usual demeanor. “It’s Teresa. Agent Teresa Daniels.”
“Well, thank you, Teresa.”
“For what?” She turns around to face me.
“Trusting me enough to let me go,” I say.
“Well, don’t make me regret it.” She pulls the bag over her shoulder.
“I’ll try not to.” I ignore the fact that the trail of deceased bodies behind me had trusted me and I’m fairly sure they all regret it.
22
Teresa, 2015 (Monday morning)
JUDGE LATHAM HAS THE face of a man who could be a politician, but not the smiling-shaking-hands-kissing-the-foreheads-of-babies kind of politician. He’s the kind that possibly did some unethical things, possibly hurt a few people, possibly lied to get to where he is, but it was for the good of the country…possibly.
“What can I do for you Detective Grant? Miss…?” Judge Latham says after opening his house door.
“Agent Daniels,” I tell him, flashing my badge.
He gestures for us to step in, but I notice Judge Latham’s fists clench as Aaron steps by. Is he angry because his plan—whatever it may have been—failed or is it because he suspects Aaron of being involved in the kidnapping?
“Detective Grant, I thought you were…injured for a couple of days?” Latham says.
“I was, but I’m feeling better now. Thanks for asking.”
Aaron’s voice is bordering on hostile. We need to get away from Latham before he begins to suspect our visit isn’t solely an attempt to get more information about his daughter.
“Judge Latham, I was wondering if we could talk to your son, Mason,” I say. “We haven’t talked to him yet, and I thought he might be able to provide insight about your daughter that you might not know.”
Latham frowns. “Of course it’s possible that Mason might know something, but Mason and Sarah aren’t close to each other. Mason didn’t take kindly to me marrying Vanessa, so…he mostly avoids both Sarah and Vanessa.”
“Still,” I press, “even the smallest detail can help. I was once on a case that was solved because a man mentioned his best friend loved lemon meringue pie.”
Latham nods. “Certainly. He’s in the backyard. He’s digging a hole for a new crab-apple tree. They may only blossom for a few months, but it’s worth it to see color amongst all of the whites and grays of this landscape.”
“I actually find Alaska quite beautiful,” I say as Aaron and I follow Judge Latham through the house. I don’t see many family photos around, but there is quite a few of Sarah, ranging from birth to her late teen years. “Nature makes it quite vibrant as well. The blues of the water and mountains, the greens of the pine trees…”
“Well, I suppose you’re an optimist.”
“I’m really not.”
Latham opens a sliding glass door and points into the yard. Mason is thrusting a shovel into the dirt while only wearing a pair of jeans. I glance away as the muscles in his back flex.
“Thank you, Judge Latham,” I say.
He nods. “Do you need me here or…?”
“I think it’s better if you’re not. If Sarah had any secrets, Mason would be the one who knows and he might be more open about them if you’re not around.”
“That’s fine,” he says.
Not that I asked for your permission or that your son needs your permission.
“I need to work on some cases anyway…it helps to distract me.”
Or you just don’t care that your daughter is missing. He walks away after he gives a tight smile to Aaron.
“He doesn’t like you,” I mutter to Aaron.
“Well, he shows more restraint than I would have if I thought someone kidnapped my daughter.”
“Do you regret the fact that the people who set your house on fire died?” I ask. “Do you wish that they could have faced actual justice instead of accidentally killing themselves?
His face turns bright red. “Let’s go talk to Mason.”
We had changed our plan while driving here. We figured that Latham was a man used to keeping secrets and keeping his face inscrutable, but Mason might be able to tell us exactly what we need to know. Maybe Mason wasn’t just following his father’s orders to watch Aaron. Maybe he was with his father when his father killed the two kidnappers.
Mason stops after we are a few feet away from him. He glances at us before returning to dig. The hole seems to be large enough to bury a large dog in it by now. Or maybe a petite girl?
“Hey,” he says. “Did you find out anything new about my sister?”
“No,” I say.
He nods toward Aaron. “What is he doing here? I thought he was being investigated for those two murders.”
“He was, and now he’s not,” I say.
He smirks. “Cops protecting cops, right?”
“He was cleared. The bullets didn’t match his gun,” I say.
Aaron raises an eyebrow, but remains silent. Mason turns to face us, his eyes narrowing the slightest bit before widening. It’s as if he’s trying to hide his suspicion with surprise. Did he see his father use Aaron’s gun? Maybe he even killed the kidnappers on his father’s orders.
“So, why are you here?”
“Well,” I say as I tuck one of my braids behind my ears, “we wanted to ask you about Sarah. And about your father.”
“I didn’t know Sarah that well. She was always busy with school and her cheerleading, and I’ve been busy working for my father and trying to make a better life for myself. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.” He thrusts the shovel in the dirt. It stays, sticking straight up. “And I’m not sure what my father has to do with anything.”
“Can you tell us what their relationship was like?” I ask.
“I don’t know. He adores her, she adores him. I guess it’s probably a normal father-daughter relationship,” he says.
I scrutinize his face. I can’t tell if he’s lying, but I know from experience that abused kids tend to become experts at concealment and deception.
“So…he never got angry at her?” I ask. “Maybe, got a little too
physical to express his anger?”
He stares at me, his face still impassive. That slowly changes as he looks away from me. His eyes crinkle and his lower lip trembles, almost imperceptibly.
This is where I have trouble—comforting victims, treating people with kid gloves, being compassionate.
Aaron steps forward, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes downcast. “Mason, it’s all right,” he says. “I know that we…the police…failed you. We should have protected you, your mother, and your sisters from your father. But we didn’t. And I’m sorry. I am truly sorry.”
Mason nods. “I understand. I just…I don’t want to get my father in trouble.”
“If you know anything, you should tell us,” I say.
“He was really angry at her the day that she disappeared. She wanted to go to some party…where there would be alcohol and who knows what else. Ever since my…problem…my father has been very antidrug to a fanatical point. He was screaming at her, telling her she couldn’t go, and she was screaming back at him. I left after he hit her once, so I don’t know what happened after…but I don’t know where he was that night. He wasn’t home though. I heard him telling Vanessa to lie for him.”
“Lie about being home?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I just heard him telling her to lie.”
“Okay, can you think of anything else?” I ask. “I know that you’ve already told us a lot, but…did you go to the cascades of Silver Creek because your dad wanted you to make sure the kidnapper’s deal went right? Or did he want you to do something else?”
His eyes widen. “I was only supposed to watch the deal. But I was late because nobody was at the nursery when I went there to get compost, so I had to wait for someone to arrive. By the time I showed up, the two kidnappers were dead and Detective Grant was passed out.”
“Unconscious,” Aaron corrects. “I was unconscious. Saying I was passed out makes it sound like I was drunk.”
Aaron shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I just found you there.”
Midnight Sun: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Trilogy Book 1) Page 7
