And now, I’m using my body to block pedestrians from seeing that Teresa is picking the Lathams’ house lock with a bump key.
“I’m a bit disappointed that the FBI doesn’t have a special laser to break into buildings,” I mutter.
“Budget cuts.” She turns the handle and the door swings open. She gestures into the entry hall.
“Ladies first,” I insist.
“Police officers first,” she counters.
I sigh and step into the room.
She follows me, closing the door behind her. “If somebody is here, I am going to tell the Bureau that you dragged me here.”
“Nobody is here,” I say. “I'm certain of it. The Lathams have to tell the police where they are now, so we know if something happens to them the moment it happens.”
“Well, that’s helpful,” she says. “Where do you want to—?”
A bald man in a black suit suddenly steps out from the living room, a gun pointed at me. “What are you two doing here?” he demands.
“What are we doing here?” I ask. “What are you doing here? I’m a detective. She’s an FBI agent. Who the hell are you?”
“You’re Agent Daniels?” he asks, nodding at Teresa.
The gun stays aimed at me, which, honestly, just annoys me. I have to refrain from every instinct pushing me to disarm him or pull out my own Glock.
"Yeah, I am," she says, flashing her ID. "And this is Detective Grant. How do you know my name?"
Her demeanor seems calm, but I can see the tension of her muscles in her forearms.
The man lowers his gun, holsters it, and shows her his own badge. “I’m Agent Donovan. The FBI sent me down to work with you. I figured I’d call you tonight, but first I wanted to get all of the information on the case, and the Bureau wanted me to stay in the house in case a third kidnapper called. The Bureau should have sent you an e-mail or called you. Didn't you get anything?”
“I've been a bit busy,” she says. “I haven't had the time to look through my messages and I'm kind of avoiding some relatives, so…” She glances down at her phone. “…I have seven voicemails.”
Agent Donovan stares at her, his brow furrowed. I have a feeling he's wondering if he should ask the Bureau for a new partner. I feel a twinge of annoyance, but I figure this is something for the two of them to figure out.
“What are you two doing here? Wasn’t the door locked?” he asks.
“We had a key,” Teresa says. “And we wanted to look around Sarah’s room.”
“The police already did that and I’ve glanced around there, too. No diaries or suspicious sites visited on her laptop. She looks like your average, A+ student,” Agent Donovan says. “Her room looks like it belongs in a family sitcom. Clean, posters with positive affirmations on it, and way too much pink.”
“Oh, well…” She glances over at me. She wants me to help her create a better lie.
“I guess you should get to know your new partner,” I say. “I’ll go check out Sarah’s room. I knew her as a child. I may see something that the officers missed.”
Sarah’s room is upstairs, just as it always has been. Judge Latham’s room is downstairs, but I can’t risk this FBI agent catching me snooping around there. The only reason they are here is because of the judge, so if I turn against him, they could turn against me.
When I enter Sarah’s room, I’m overtaken by a floral scent and, undeniably, an overload of pink. There’s a window near the foot of her bed. I walk over to it and glance out. The crab-apple tree is visible from here, but it already seems to be wilting. I imagine that if a body were buried there, the tree would be thriving.
I look around her room, imagining something will pop up that only I could decipher. Maybe something Sarah once told me when she was a child will reflect where someone else would stash her now. Maybe I can save her when I couldn’t save Becky and…
There she is. Lisa.
The photograph taped to Sarah’s wall is almost hidden by the dozens of other photographs surrounding it, but I could pick out Lisa’s face anywhere. They’re ten years old—I can tell because it’s the one year that Lisa had bangs—and they’re embracing each other in front of the school. Their innocence is almost painful, seeing how everything ended up. Lisa is dead and Sarah is…gone.
In the picture next to it, Sarah is in her Charcoal Grill uniform with her arm wrapped around the founder, Patrick Duff. It reminds me of the last time I was there and that some other waitress thought my reminiscing was psychotic behavior.
I tear the photograph of Lisa and Sarah down and slide it into my pocket. Maybe I am psychotic, but sometimes you have to dig your own grave in order to plant a crab-apple tree in it later.
I rush down the stairs, where I find Teresa and Agent Donovan awkwardly staring at the phone, waiting for a kidnapper to call.
A smile bursts onto Teresa’s face as soon as she sees me. “Did you find anything?”
“Do you remember the waitress who thought I was crazy? Were you the one who questioned her?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “That was a police officer, but I had her name in my file. Brianna Cull.”
“Let’s go talk to her.”
“Why? So, she can accuse you of being crazier?”
“No, because they must have been relatively close to each other if Brianna knows what Sarah and I were talking about, and The Charcoal Grill was the last place Sarah was at.”
Teresa nods. “All right. Let’s go.”
“Do you want me to come?” Agent Donovan asks. “We could call in another officer—”
“No,” Teresa says. “You stay here. It’s probably just a wild-goose chase. I’ll update you if we find anything though.”
I lead her out the door and we walk over to her SUV. “Wasn’t that a bit brisk toward your new partner?” I ask.
“I don’t need a new partner,” she says. “I already have a detective that everyone thinks is mentally unstable. What more could I want?”
“A murderer and kidnapper?”
She smirks. “We’re getting there. I can feel it.”
34
Teresa, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
BRIANNA CULL HAS CURLY blond hair and a name tag that has a smiley face sticker on it. She chews on her thumbnail while Aaron and I sit across from her. Her eyelashes flutter and she doesn’t seem to be able to look at Aaron at all.
“Do you remember anything at all that was unusual that day?” I ask. “It didn’t even have to happen directly to Sarah. It could have been a strange car just hanging around in the parking lot or somebody who hid their face from everyone.”
“No, the day was completely normal…except what I already mentioned.”
I glance over at Aaron.
I’m not crazy, he mouths.
“Did you see her father at all that day?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “But Mason was here with some weird guys. They made some, err, inappropriate remarks to Sarah.”
“The weird guys? Why wouldn’t you mention this before?” I ask.
Brianna shrugs. “It’s nothing new. When you have a bunch of high school kids coming around, sometimes they like to talk like idiots. Though, they did come back…I mean, they were here for the lunch rush and then they came by later at night.”
“Late enough that they could have waited around for Sarah to finish working?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” she says. “I only worked until nine and she closed everything up.”
“Can you describe these two guys?”
“Um, one was fat and the other was skinny,” she says. “One had curly brown hair and the other had black hair…they weren’t attractive. They were all fidgety, too. I’m pretty sure they’re junkies.”
I turn to Aaron. “That sounds a lot like our kidnappers. Pete and Kenneth. Why would Mason be hanging out with them?”
“Didn’t you say he was an informant for the state police? Wouldn’t it make sense for him to hang out with them to get i
nformation?” Aaron asks.
“I don’t know, Aaron. There’s something about that kid…I don’t trust him.”
“I’ve known him for a while. He may have messed up with the whole DUI and possession with the intent to distribute but…kidnapping his own sister? Why?”
My phone rings, and I glance at the screen. I don’t recognize the number. Well, when you have a mysterious killer and kidnapper on the loose, I guess it’s best to answer my phone. “Hello?”
“Agent Daniels?” a male voice asks.
“Um, Agent Donovan?” I ask.
“You remembered!”
“We met half an hour ago.”
“I know, but…well, it doesn’t matter. I have two pieces of news for you. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“I can tell you that I don’t want to play games. Just tell me.”
“Judge Latham sent in a complaint to the FBI. He wants your police buddy off the case. He says that Aaron is a suspect and should not be allowed to investigate. He also states that Aaron has a conflict of interest since Sarah was his daughter’s best friend, and Aaron has some kind of obsession with her.”
“Well, if caring about Judge Latham’s opinion helped me find Sarah, I would care. What’s the good news?”
“We found the phone that the kidnappers used. It’s a truck stop pay phone. It’s on Interstate A-1. I can text you the exact coordinates.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Agent Donovan. Good work.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up. His text shows up a second later. At least he’s efficient. I glance up at Brianna. “Thank you for your time, Brianna. I think that’s all of our questions for now.”
“Do you think she’s okay?” Brianna asks.
“We can only hope,” I say.
She nods and scurries away from the table.
I put the coordinates into a map app on my phone and it shows me exactly where it is. I show Aaron. “That’s where our original kidnappers used a pay phone to call Judge Latham.”
“We should trace the route from the kidnap scene to the truck stop.”
“I’m already ahead of you,” I say, clicking on a few options. “There are multiple ones."
“Let's pull them up.”
They're either all back roads or all highway, with nothing in between.
“What if they kept going on the highway after the phone call and returned later to collect the ransom?” he asks. “The girl could be hidden in Anchorage. We would never find her.”
“They wouldn’t have kept the girl while they were on the highway. There’s always the risk of running into highway patrol,” I say. “If I were a junkie, this whole thing wouldn’t have been planned…or at least planned poorly. So, they kidnap Sarah, they shove her in their vehicle, and then they drive…where would they keep her? There’s all these small houses on this map…”
“Those are hunting cabins and it's not yet prime hunting season, but it is fishing season, so I doubt Pete and Kenneth would have dumped Sarah in one of those if they didn't want her to be found right away,” he says. “What else does that leave? Right here is an active quarry. I guess it could be smart to hide someone there. It’s a large area. What’s this spot, right here?”
I click on it. The picture zooms in to show an area that has been dug out and resembles a child’s sandbox.
Aaron snaps his fingers. “It’s an old mine. Old Timothy Reever’s big folly. I guess there would be some kind of irony that two murdered kidnappers would hide a girl they kidnapped for ransom in a mine that didn’t bear any gold.”
“Well, let’s check them both out. How long could it take?”
“You underestimate quarries and gold mines.”
I shake my head. “I should have taken Agent Donovan.”
“And leave me as a suspect to a double homicide?”
I stand up. “You’re lucky if I don’t leave you here.”
He grabs my hand, his pressure firm, but not constricting. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” I promise, though I know it’s one of the loftiest promises anyone can make. It simply cannot be kept.
35
Mason, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
I WOULDN’T SAY I’M a pyromaniac. Pyromaniacs have zero impulse control and I am absolutely in control. I am never more in control than when I have some gasoline and a lighter, or a gun in my hand. The world is my slave and I am its master.
The only reason I prefer fire is that it’s so damn beautiful and powerful. It starts with a flicker of red and then it consumes everything around it. It can turn something enormous—a house, a factory, a whole family—into tiny particles of ash. What else can do that?
Pete and Kenny’s cabin has crime scene tape on the front door. I yank it off and use my key to open the door. Some of their meth equipment is still inside—maybe the FBI is too busy with the kidnapping and double homicide to care about a meth operation. I find a couple of baggies of meth and stuff them in my backpack. I take the two Bunsen burners, which Pete and Kenny stole from the science department of the high school, and light them. I lean it against the wall and watch as the flames begin to crawl up. I have to leave because there’s propane gas in here and it’s only a matter of time before it explodes, but I’ll regret not seeing the whole thing go up in flames.
I put on my backpack and leave the cabin. The cabin would have been a nice hideout to keep, but I need to make sure there’s no evidence linking them to me. I hike through the woods, avoiding any trails in case someone sees me. That’s all I need is for hikers to tell everyone they meet that they saw the judge’s son walking away from a burning cabin.
I had expected Sarah to be hidden there. It’s a shame I couldn’t have burned her alive, too. Maybe she would have been tied to a chair and I could have set the Bunsen burners under the seat. She would squirm like a little bitch, begging me to let her go.
They say the Bradwell boys could only be identified by their dental records. Would it have been the same for her? If they never found her, would she eventually disintegrate into the dirt?
I jump into my car. I could sell this meth in a few days, maybe a week. I think I could make enough money to leave Alaska. But I probably shouldn’t leave, yet. Either Detective Grant or my father would be going down for Sarah’s kidnapping—and we could assume at this point, murder—and I would likely have to testify either way. I’ll stick around until a month after the case. Maybe that would be long enough to find her body, and I’d know how badly she suffered.
Still, that could be a long time away and I’m tired of pretending to be the worried, grieving brother. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to navigate through the police and FBI questions. Maybe I should go visit my mother. She’s good at grieving, losing a daughter and all that, so her hysterical grief will be enough to hide the fact that I barely have any.
I start the car. At least my mother will be better company than my father.
In my rearview mirror, I think I see a flash of fire above the treetops, but there’s no way the fire could spread that fast.
Maybe I am obsessed with fire.
36
Sarah, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
MY FOOT FELT SWOLLEN and my breathing was labored by the time I reached the sunlight rippling on the water, but when I looked up, all I could see was a narrow opening between enormous boulders, which were piled on top of more boulders, and essentially, I was screwed.
Correction: I am screwed. I was screwed, and I am screwed.
Since there is no way I would be able to move the boulder, I’ve been sleeping against them. But even sleep eludes me. My foot or my ribs always bother me and my body temperature oscillates so much that my dreams switch between being trapped in a volcano and being trapped under an avalanche of snow. No matter what, I’m always trapped underground.
I keep drinking the stream water, no longer caring if it makes me sick. Sometimes I see little snakes moving around me. Before this who
le ordeal, they would have frightened me, but now I smile whenever I see them. They’re the first living things I’ve seen since the bear and they have to be coming from somewhere. I just need to find the energy to get onto my feet and maybe I can follow them…
I focus on one snake by my foot, but when I blink, it disappears. I move my foot, to see if it slithered underneath me, but there’s nothing.
I see another one a few minutes later. It’s curled up on one of the boulders. I reach toward it, but before I can touch it, it vanishes.
Oh. Maybe they’re a hallucination.
Maybe I’m a hallucination.
Maybe this whole mine is a hallucination, and I’ll wake up in my bed soon. That buzzing sound I hear is my alarm clock and the rumble I feel against my stomach and thighs is Mom doing jumping jacks in the living room, making the whole house vibrate from her energy.
Actually, the sound is more like a lawn mower. A very, very big lawn mower. I lift my head. Is that a bulldozer? Or am I imagining that, too? I focus in on it, but as soon as I concentrate, the sound is gone. Just like the snakes.
Yeah, I’m dying.
Definitely dying.
I grip a loose rock by my knee and thrust it as hard as I can at the bigger boulders.
“Fuck you!” I shout, though my voice is hoarse. “What did I do to deserve this?”
I stumble onto my feet and grab a bigger rock.
“This is for every time I was nice to those two junkies! For every time I was nice to every jerk I ever met!”
I thrust the rock at the pile of boulders.
A handful of rocks that had cemented the boulders together fall off the pile into the water.
I grab one of the fallen ones and throw it.
More rocks fall. Others wobble. No way. This has to be a hallucination, too. I blink, but the rocks seem to be looser than they were before. I smack the lower boulders with my hands. There’s a slight movement, but not enough to make a difference. I claw up the boulders, tearing away at the dirt around them, ruining what remains of my green-and-white-and-black glitter manicure. I reach a spot that has a head-sized boulder and I dig around it, until it falls away. My whole body is screaming in pain, but that crack of light I saw is growing bigger as I shift the rocks around.
Midnight Sun: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
