The Death of Life (The Little Things That Kill Series, #2)

by Pamela Crane

  Besides, it would be a school night for little Mikey, so there was a good chance Candace would be home.

  Thirty minutes later I pulled up to a cute little yellow brick home up on a hill. I climbed the stairs to the front door and knocked. A little boy answered, sporting a head of black curly hair that was the spitting image of his mother’s, I realized, when she followed him to the door.

  “Can I help you?”

  The telltale ravages of heroin addiction showed on her face. She had a starved, emaciated look, like a ghoul deprived of dead bodies to feast upon. The pupils were pinpoints in lifeless, staring eyes. Her skin was ashen; there were fresh sores from incessant picking at the itchy skin, and scars and scabs from old wounds. The thin lips had an unsettling bluish tint. As I regarded her with mingled pity and curiosity, she crossed her arms across Mikey’s chest and pushed the door halfway shut with the toe of her shoe, warily holding it in place. I knew I’d have to up my game as a budding PI to get anywhere with someone this damaged and guarded.

  “My name is Ari Wilburn, and I’m with the Durham Police Department. I’d like to speak with Candace Rhoades. I’m assuming that’s you?”

  Shifting her weight, she looked at me with obvious annoyance. “Yeah, that’s me. What’s this about?”

  I glanced down at Mikey. “I’m not sure you’ll want him hearing this.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, ma’am, nothing at all. It’s about Scott Guffrey. We might have a lead and I wanted to speak with you about it. See if you had any input on it.”

  She nudged Mikey aside. “Go watch television, bud.”

  “May I come in for a moment?”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  I leaned in to whisper. “I, uh, I’m on my period right now and really need to change my pad. I’m so sorry to ask, but I’m petrified I’m leaking. I just want to use your bathroom, if that’s okay.”

  “Oh, honey, sure.” She stepped into the narrow entryway and pointed to a hallway that led past one door on each side. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hallway. I have extra pads if you need one.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I said, giving her forearm an appreciative squeeze.

  Women stuff I would have told Tristan if he was here. Sometimes it took a woman to get through to another woman.

  I headed to the bathroom, slowing my pace as I passed the open doorways—both leading to bedrooms. The sparse one had a few toys and a mattress on the floor with a Batman comforter. Mikey’s room. The other room across the hall was trashed with clothes, makeup, and God knows what else. Must be Candace’s. Glancing back, Candace had disappeared into the belly of the house, so I slipped into her bedroom for a quick look-see. On top of her only piece of furniture, a large dresser, was a picture of Scott, whom I recognized from the autopsy photos, clad in camouflage and holding up a dead deer by its antlers. An older man with a mustache stood next to him. Behind them was a log cabin surrounded by woods. Its rustic appeal was lost on me, a city girl at heart.

  The musty fragrance of wet earth, the pungent ripeness of rustling leaves, certainly all of it was invigorating in a Thoreau-esque “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately” sort of way. But I’d take the wafting smell of street vendor cheesesteak or the lemon polish scent of the inside of a mall any day. I wondered why a picture of the man she didn’t want to marry, the man who threatened to take her children from her, was propped in full display in her bedroom.

  With a final glance around the room, nothing else struck me as noteworthy, so I slipped into the bathroom before making my way back down the hall toward the living room where Candace tidied up food wrappers and colorful kindergartener drawings.

  “Your son is a good artist,” I said, picking up a child’s depiction of a cabin surrounded by trees and handing it to her while she gathered a stack full.

  “Thanks. Takes after his dad. Scott was always good at the artsy stuff.”

  She deposited the trash in a dented metal Durham Bulls garbage can and plunked the drawings down on a badly cracked vinyl ottoman. She raked crumbs and wads of lint off the baby-shit green sofa with her forearm—she wore long sleeves, I noticed, no doubt to hide her track marks—and beckoned me to sit. I did; she chose a decrepit wingback chair opposite me.

  “Was he pretty hands-on with the kids?” She didn’t know I knew about their custody battle and family drama. How honest would she be?

  “Yeah, he was great with them. We worked hard to make sure we raised them together. Family has always been most important to us both.”

  Lie number one. I knew Lillian would have disagreed with Candace’s outlook on family togetherness.

  “Would you say you and Scott had a friendly relationship?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve always gotten along.”

  Lie number two. I needed to start poking some holes.

  “I heard that he could be somewhat unfair. That he had threatened to take the kids from you. How did that make you feel?”

  “What? Who said that?” she demanded, her tone flustered. “Was it Lillian? That woman hates me and will say anything to make me look bad. No, you’ve got it all wrong. Scott and I mighta had a disagreement here and there—tell me what couple don’t—but we both agreed that it was best the kids be in both of our lives. It’s always healthiest to have a mom and dad, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely, Candace. I didn’t have either of my parents when I was growing up since I was in foster care.” Maybe a little empathy could go a long way with Candace. Perhaps my openness would help prompt her own. “In fact, I often thought about punishing my parents for sending me away. So you’re telling me Scott never tried to file for full custody? Because I saw some legal documents that suggested he had.”

  “Okay, that—” Candace paused, avoiding eye contact as she searched the room for some explanation I would buy, then sighed defeat. “That was during a particularly hard point in my life.” She tiptoed around the words like she was avoiding landmines. “But we both ended up agreeing that it wasn’t best for anyone. As long as I got better, we’d keep the same shared custody arrangement we’d had for years. You can look it up—it’s all in that legal file.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry to hear he did that to you. So you’ve never thought about punishing Scott for trying to take your kids from you?”

  Her eyes narrowed on me. I felt her assessment as she weighed her reply. “No, I’ve never thought of hurting Scott. Was I pissed? Yeah. But enough to hurt him? No.”

  “How about your family—did they like him?”

  “Oh yeah. Everyone liked Scott. He had that charming personality that sucks you in. My mama always wanted him as the son she never had. Hell, even my uncle liked him. The two went hunting together for years, even when we broke up. Best friends, practically.”

  The mustached man in the picture.

  “Why didn’t you two ever marry? It seems you liked him enough, and clearly he liked you enough to have two kids with you.”

  She coughed lightly, then glanced away, her wringing hands making me anxious. “Eh, I’ve never been the marrying type. I loved him, for sure, but we were different people. He wanted more kids, I didn’t. He was dyin’ to have a little girl. Our first, Kev, he was an accident ’cause we were young and reckless. Neither of us was ready. But with Mikey, Scott was over the moon when he found out we were having another baby. After that I was done. But no, Scott wanted us to keep popping out babies until we had a girl. That’s when I realized nope, we weren’t meant to be. Two boys were enough for me. Have you ever raised a boy?”

  I shook my head. “No kids.”

  “Good for you. Enjoy the freedom while it lasts. Boys are a handful and suck up every ounce of energy you have. Anyway, we split and luckily he found Helen and it worked out.”

  It felt like a fishing expedition in a dry pond, but I had to ask. “Have you ever heard of anyone by the name of Jackson Jones?”

  I watched her expression carefull
y, hoping she’d give some sign of recognition. Instead I saw nothing but genuine curiosity.

  “No, sorry. That name don’t ring a bell. Why? Who is he?”

  “He was murdered last month. We think it may be tied to Scott’s murder.”

  “Oh. He’d never mentioned anyone named Jackson, but it wasn’t like I kept close tabs on who he hung out with after we split up.”

  “Were you aware that Scott and Helen had broken up before he was killed?”

  “Yeah, he told me about it after that poor li’l girl Kat went missing. I can’t even imagine going through something like that—losing a child. Scott was pretty messed up afterward.”

  “Do you think Scott had anything to do with Kat’s disappearance?”

  “You shittin’ me? Scott loved kids, never even spanked ours. I can’t see him hurting a child, especially a little girl. I mean, he really adored Kat, the daughter he always wanted. Made Mikey a bit jealous, actually, just how much attention Kat got.”

  I was amazed at how cooperative Candace was being. Just as I was wondering how long it would last, it ended. She’d been a little fidgety during the interview, her gnawed fingernails—freakishly blue, like her lips—picking casually at her facial sores, but otherwise remarkably composed. Suddenly her eyes roved suspiciously around the room, as if searching for hidden microphones and cameras. Then they lighted on me. She seemed to see me for the first time and regarded me with cold malice, like someone about to hit a cockroach with a rolled-up newspaper.

  “I think I’ve said all I care to say to you, young lady,” she said, springing up from her chair. She tugged viciously at her bird’s nest hair, pulling out a handful that she let float to the floor. “Scott didn’t kill nobody, I didn’t kill nobody. How dare you come strutting in here all high and mighty making your accusations!”

  “Candace, I—”

  “Out, just get the hell out of my house, and don’t come back!”

  She pushed the front door open and I breezed past her through it. A stream of paranoid invective followed me to the car. She was still in the doorway, gesticulating wildly and screeching as I peeled off.

  Can you say “scary as shit sudden withdrawal episode”?

  Heading home, I reflected on what I’d learned. Candace believed Scott’s innocence, but I wasn’t sure I did. More concerning was how she sugarcoated their relationship, slipping half-truths in every chance she got. Was this liar capable of killing Scott? Perhaps. But Jackson too? Doubtful. The precision, timing, planning, organization ... it was too complex for a junkie. Something felt wrong, so very wrong about all of this. While I didn’t have answers yet, I sensed I was close. I knew Scott had to be connected to Kat’s abduction, and that put him on a killer’s radar. It was the only thing that made sense, especially if the serial killer was targeting child predators.

  My father was connected to Marla’s murder.

  Scott was connected to Kat’s disappearance.

  That left Jackson’s hidden sins.

  Maybe once I uncovered Jackson’s indiscretion it would lead me to the person tied to all three. The person who would keep killing until I stopped him—or her.

  Chapter 27

  Two years ago ...

  Kat’s question was muffled by the palm across her mouth, first to silence her and second to keep her still for the first several minutes of their bouncy drive over potholes and ruts, along empty black pastures and through the dense tree-lined forest. Looking up at her captor, she begged him with her eyes to let go.

  “Will you behave if I remove my hand?” the driver asked.

  She nodded.

  “Good girl.”

  He released her.

  “Where are we going?”

  Her eyes were wide and curious with a naiveté that melted him into a pool of guilt.

  “We’re taking a short trip to go camping. How’s that sound?”

  “I wanna go home. I’m tired.”

  “We’ll be there shortly, I promise.”

  After dumping a bag of snacks in Kat’s lap, they bumped along the road in a rusted blue pickup truck for what felt like hours, until Kat finally dozed off. When the man nudged her awake, they were parked in front of a scary-looking cabin hidden in shadows and tucked between Wizard of Oz-ian trees full of gnarly cankers and knotholes. To Kat they had faces that looked like they wanted to eat her alive.

  “I’m scared,” Kat said to the man.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of. The forest if full of deer and bunnies and owls ... all kinds of cute, furry critters.”

  “I like deer. Tastes good too. Especially deer jerky.”

  “Me too. I love deer jerky.”

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re where you’re gonna be living for a little while. It’s somewhere magical, enchanted. You’ll be like Snow White here.”

  “What about my mommy?”

  “You’ll see your mommy again soon. This is just for a short while. But I have a surprise for you. You’ll love it, I promise. Let’s go inside.”

  The man held her small warm hand as he led her inside the cabin, the door screeching in eerie protest as it opened. The smell of mildew hit them like a blow. Standing against a stone fireplace was a strange man, someone Kat had never seen before. He had two upper teeth with a big space between them, and two lower teeth flush together, so that when he smiled he displayed a neat row of rotten pickets. Kat gazed upon him in fascinated terror. He worked a wad of tobacco in his mouth. An oily black stream of viscous liquid oozed out of the corner of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. His voice sounded wet and gravelly.

  “Hi, little girl. We’re gonna have a fun time together.”

  “This nice man is going to watch over you for a short while, okay?”

  “What? No, please, no! I wanna go home!” She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know why. All she knew was that she did not want to spend a moment alone with that toothless stranger. Her cries became frantic, her screams louder as she clung to his legs. “Please take me back!”

  As the man knelt down to calm her, Kat’s hysteria unraveled into sobs. His eyes dampened with compassion. Pulling her into a hug, he held her head against his shoulder, running his hand down her bed-matted hair.

  “You know what, let’s just forget it and take you home.” He leaned back from her, cupping her chubby cheeks in his hands. “This was a really bad idea and I’m not feeling good about it. You ready to go home?”

  Kat nodded, a grateful smile showing through the whimpers.

  “Hey, Norm,” the man directed at Toothless, “I’m calling this off. You can keep the money, but I’m taking her home now.”

  Toothless shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  Standing back up, the man turned to Toothless, his chest thrust out confrontationally.

  “And what exactly are you going to do about it? This is emotional abuse, man, and it’s also criminal. You’ll still get your money, but I’m leaving with the girl.”

  Toothless clicked his tongue several times.

  “See, I can’t let that happen ’cause I already made plans. This little miss ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Toothless eyed Kat with black soulless orbs that she was certain belonged to the monster in her nightmares. His hand rested on his back for the briefest of seconds, before he pulled out a gun and pointed it at Kat’s temple. “Way I see it, she’s worth a lot more than you’re paying me if I sell her off.”

  The man stumbled backward at the sight of the gun, palms raised. “Let’s keep a cool head, man. I said you could keep the money. You’d be getting paid to do nothing. Just let us go. Please, man.”

  Toothless cackled, syrupy spit spraying from his gapped mouth. “You don’t get it. I already got a taker, everything already planned. Was gonna sell her right after you left. Git paid twice!” He let out a shrill whoop. “George’ll love this one—she’s purdy. And spunky. Little girls are valuable on the market these days. So how ’bout you hand her over so’s I do
n’t have to shoot ya dead?”

  “Norm, please. Think about what you’re doing,” the man begged.

  Two arms pulled Kat backward, behind the safety of legs. Just as Toothless cocked his gun, the door swung open again. Kat turned to look.

  “Daddy!”

  Chapter 28 Ari

  I’ve tolerated your pathetic crusade for justice. I’ve even had a grudging admiration for your persistence. Now you’re just starting to annoy the shit out of me. Back off! Or your friend Tina and the Baxter family will be next.

  The letter was sitting on my bed when I got home at dusk, my neatly tucked and smoothed bed. The only problem was that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made my bed.

  The killer had broken into my apartment, which wasn’t that impressive considering the complete lack of security and the broken lock on my first-story sliding glass door. The break-in wasn’t what scared me the most. What sent a chill down my spine was that he placed the threat in my bedroom, where I slept, oblivious to the world, then took the time to meticulously make my bed. It was as if he was passing along the message I am always watching, always waiting in the corners. Nowhere was safe.

  Worse yet, it wasn’t just me he was after. When you grow up without parents sheltering you from the world’s darkness, you learn methods of self-preservation. I’d gotten used to protecting myself. I’d done it all of my adolescence, defending myself against the system, against bullies, against the streets. But this threat was against Tina and Giana—an innocent child. Tina was already mentally fragile after all she’d gone through—losing both parents within the past few weeks, albeit sucky horrible parents, and struggling with depression and anger after years of abuse. Anything more could break her soul beyond repair. The poor girl was barely an adult and had already endured a lifetime of the shittiest shit life had to offer.