by Pamela Crane
“Dead serious. And he’ll be a dead man if he ever goes near Tempest. I wanted to warn you in person so that you don’t let that perv anywhere near our daughter.”
“Does Melanie know?”
“No, no one does ... yet. But in case Melanie wants to hang out and see you and Tempest, it can’t be at their house if he’s there. Okay?”
“Of course. You know I have to tell Melanie, right? Though how I’m going to break this to her ... I don’t even know what to say. How do you tell a friend she has no idea who her husband is ... that she’s married to a monster?”
He often wondered this exact question. How could he ever confess to Helen what he’d done? She had no idea who she had been married to, what he was capable of. And yet did any married couple really ever know the ones they committed their souls to? They vowed “for better or worse,” but no one wanted to know the “worse” part. Didn’t everyone have secrets, some more sinister than others?
“I don’t care if or how you say it to Melanie, as long as he doesn’t go near our daughter.”
Helen rolled her neck, rubbing the taut tendon along her shoulder. “This is seriously too much. First Scott getting murdered. Now having to tell my best friend that her husband is a pedophile. I can’t take much more, Cody. Ever since Kat ...” her voice trailed off. She’d never been able to state the obvious, that Kat had been killed. Instead she used hopeful terms like disappeared or left, as if Kat had made the choice to pack her bags and hit the road. “I’m fragile now. I’ve seen too much ugliness.”
Sliding up behind the only woman he had ever truly loved, he rested his hands on her shoulders, massaging them like he’d done a million times before, back when they were together. He missed her so much sometimes.
“Honey”—the endearment slipped out from habit—“it’s not your problem to deal with. You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“I know, but this is Melanie we’re talking about, my friend since forever, not some acquaintance. And Jackson hasn’t been well. Apparently he’s already on anti-depressants. It’s gonna kill him if she leaves him.”
“Then the sicko will get what he deserves.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
Cody laughed contemptuously. “No one who looks at child porn is my friend. Would you stay friends with a child molester?” Helen shook her head slowly and emphatically. “But hey, I gotta run. I just wanted to tell you so you knew to keep a safe distance.”
As Cody left, Helen wondered if any distance was safe enough.
Chapter 33 Ari
It’d been eight long hours and I was already burning out. I listened from behind the one-way conference room glass as Tristan grilled Cody Brannigan about why forensics had found his fingerprints at the cabin, why his blood DNA was discovered on the Hello Kitty shirt Kat was wearing when she was killed, what he knew about what happened to his daughter that night.
Eight hours. A whole shift for the average working stiff. A cop’s day was almost always longer. This day looked to be endless.
All at once Cody stopped idly picking at the scab on his elbow. His face went slack.
The bastard was about to crack.
Dropping his head into his hands, he began to cry, a howl that shook his body and penetrated the walls. Finally the breakdown that Tristan searched for. Finally the confession that would explain what exactly happened to Kat in her last moments.
“What happened that night?” Tristan’s demand caused the glass to tremble. “Based on what we’ve found, you’re looking at murder charges.”
“Murder charges?”
Cody jolted upright, panic blazing in eyes red from crying.
“For Scott Guffrey.”
“Hey, I had nothing to do with Scott’s death.”
“And Jackson Jones.”
“What? No, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Then set me straight, Cody. Now’s the time to come clean with everything, and I mean everything, and maybe we can help you stay out of jail.”
Cody slumped forward, resting his hand on his forehead while his eyes blankly examined a metal folding table that held no answers. His face matched the gray of the walls. I imagined his thoughts trickling through this head like a babbling brook, rushing over rocks along a rough-hewn course. There was no damming the path now. Cody was floundering in the riptide and the only way out was the truth.
Lifting his head slowly to meet Tristan’s eyes, anguished tears coursed down his cheeks. I felt sorry for the guy. Sort of.
“It was an accident, I swear. It all started when Helen threatened to take full custody ...” Cody began. His words weighed heavy like a falling ax. “She was marrying Scott and wanted to have the girls full-time. Said it was a more stable environment. Then she tells me they’ll be moving. I’d only see Kat maybe once a month. Once a month!” He glared challengingly at Tristan. “Detective, do you have a daughter?”
“No, I don’t,” Tristan answered.
“So you wouldn’t understand. But when the only person you care about in the world—your daughter—is being taken away from you, you have to fight back. Fight dirty. Do whatever it takes to save what you have.”
“You keep mentioning Kat, but what about Tempest?”
Cody made an ugly guttural sound. “I doubt Tempest is biologically mine. I don’t have a DNA test or anything to prove one way or another, but Helen cheated on me right before she got pregnant with Tempest. And the kid looks nothing like me and we have nothing in common ... so, you do the math.”
“Then why do you stick around?”
“I love Tempest, don’t get me wrong, but it was harder with her because she’s a reminder of what Helen did. I mean, sure, I play the role of dad because I’m all Tempest knows, but Kat was my flesh and blood. My firstborn. It’s just ... special when it’s your blood. A unique connection.”
“You said you fought back. How?” I watched admiringly as my boyfriend worked, masterfully massaging the facts out of Cody. Tristan was picking at his words, little pinpricks that would let the truth shine through. I had so much to learn.
“When I found out they were moving, I approached Scott. I knew a guy who knew a guy willing to help for the right price, and I was able to convince Scott it was the right thing to do ... He’s a father, so he understood.”
“What was the right thing to do?”
“Fake Kat’s abduction, then I’d run off with her.”
**
Two years ago ...
The plan sounded simple enough. But nothing was ever as simple as saying the words. Words were easy. Action was a whole ’nother ballgame. Predictable results even harder yet.
The clock on Cody’s truck dashboard said he was early, but Scott Guffrey’s rusted-out blue Ford and Norman Bledsoe’s white Chevy were already parked in the muddy open area beside the porch. Stepping out of his truck, he heard the screams of a little girl—his little girl—and sprinted to the cabin’s front porch, flinging the door open to see Scott and Norman in a deadly standoff.
Norman waving a gun, Scott attempting to talk him down from whatever stupidity his high had him rambling about—a seething chaos that could only end badly. Deadly. Cody hadn’t thought this part through when he agreed to do business with a drug addict.
“Daddy!” Kat screamed from one side of the small, musty room. She pushed past Scott’s legs, until his grip on her shoulder stopped her.
“Don’t you move,” Norman demanded from the other side of the room, his arm pivoting back and forth between Scott and Cody. A crumbling stone fireplace rose up into the ceiling behind him, the kitchen on the other side of that. The space was so cramped that Cody felt the air stir as they all breathed harder. A gun quivered in one hand while the other habitually rubbed at his left eye. He was flying high, strung out like the rainbow tail of Kat’s princess kite. His bony limbs jumped and jolted as if electric surges pulsed through him.
“Norm, what the hell, man? Put the gun down.”
“Change
of plans.” Norman began to pace, one spindly arm rotating the gun from Kat to Cody, Cody to Kat, Kat to Scott. “Your friend here thinks he can just walk away. But she’s worth a lot more if I sell her. Already got an interested buyer, George Battan. Pays real good, too. So unfortunately for you, I’m taking her with me.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want if you just put the gun down,” Cody said, forcing a calm he didn’t feel.
“You can’t afford my price.”
While Kat wailed against Scott’s side, Cody plotted his next step. He should have known not to trust Norman to follow through. A few days—that was all he had needed, just to establish an alibi and appear blameless. Then he’d pretend to go in search of Kat, meanwhile taking her to start a new life far away from this dump they’d called home for too long.
So the plan wasn’t foolproof. No one had ever accused him of having common sense, but it had sounded like it could work. With enough monetary incentive, anything could work. Scott would pretend to abduct her. Norman would keep her entertained for a few days while the police searched for her, then when the hunt died down, he’d come up with some reason to head for the hills. His only problem was trusting a drug addict to do his part. Stupidly, he hadn’t anticipated greed coming into play.
“Look, I’ll find a way to come up with whatever your price is. Don’t do this to an innocent kid, Norm. Be a man of your word.”
Norman laughed, revealing the toll years of meth use had exacted on his teeth. “You think my word’s worth shit? Money talks, Cody, and Battan’s talking loud.”
“Oh come on!” Scott was clearly done with negotiations as he pushed Kat behind him and lunged at Norman. “Think about what you’re doing, dude. Cody just wants to be with his daughter. That’s all. We all agreed. This ain’t right, man.”
Norman threw up his palm. “Stop right there!”
All Cody could think about was disarming him before he ended up killing someone. Glancing at Scott, their eyes met in an unspoken agreement to throw together a Plan B. One that involved taking Norm out by any means necessary.
“Let’s sit down and talk this through. I’m sure we can come up with something that’ll work for everyone,” Cody said in a soothing voice he reserved for the kids.
While he distracted Norman with careful steps toward him, Scott lunged at him from the other side, throwing his arms around Norman, both of them grappling over the gun. While Scott managed a jab to Norm’s chin, Norm smacked the barrel of the gun against Scott’s temple. The searing pain nearly blinded him, hiding his target in the shadows of his vision, so he threw blind punches until he connected with flesh. Pulling Scott into a fierce hug, Norm immobilized them both, so Scott kicked what felt like Norm’s shin again and again. Together they fell to the floor, yelping, arms whaling, bones crunching, fingers grabbing, legs searching for purchase on the filthy floor. All while Kat stood stock-still, crying in the middle of the room.
Cody jumped in to pull them apart and find the gun, receiving a blow that broke his nose. Blood trickled down his lip, but adrenaline fueled him past the pain and the metallic taste oozing down his throat. Again he leapt into the fray. He got the breath knocked out of him, but only for a second. Then he was back in it. Amid the grunting and cussing and flailing limbs, a shot rang out.
Everyone stopped. A momentary lull. Hands searched their own bodies for injuries.
Then Kat crumpled to the floor.
Cody ran to her, pulling her against his chest. Blood blossomed on her shirt, whether from the droplets dripping from his nose or the wound he couldn’t find, he wasn’t sure. Scanning her body for the hole, he cried out for help.
But no help would ever be enough.
**
As Cody’s guilt gushed out in tears and contrition, I realized no jail sentence could punish him as much as he had been punishing himself for the past two years. Helen assured him she’d stand by him while they got through this, she understood why he did what he did, would forgive him eventually. Not now, for the revelation of his role in Kat’s death was still too fresh, but time would heal these wounds, she told him. Time would help her forgive. These promises she offered him as a gift. Despite her benevolence, we all knew Cody was undeserving of such kindness. He had tried to kidnap his own daughter and as a result got her killed.
By the time Tristan got Cody’s written testimony, my cell phone buzzed on silent mode for the umpteenth time. Checking my missed calls, I saw I had a voicemail message and clicked to listen:
“Ari, something’s happened. I need you to come home as soon as you get this.”
I had missed the call from Tina about an hour ago while watching Cody’s confession unravel. Ever since the second threat letter I had received, I had insisted that she stay at my apartment with me until the killer was caught. It took several arguments to finally get her to agree, but only after I offered her my bedroom. Her safety was worth me sleeping on the sofa. After my four callbacks all went straight to voicemail, I clocked out and broke every speed limit on my way home.
When I arrived at my apartment, I opened the unlocked door to find Tina lying unconscious on the living room floor, a letter fluttering peacefully at her side as a blast of air-conditioning lifted its corners. Kneeling down next to her, she almost looked like she was sleeping. No blood anywhere. No evidence of a stab wound.
Thank God.
I instinctively reached down and pressed my fingertips to Tina’s neck, checking for a pulse. Alive. Picking up Tina’s limp body, I cradled her in her arms, talking her back to wakefulness like I was inviting a child to join me in a tea party.
“Tina, honey, you’re okay. I need you to wake up now. Come on, wakey wakey.”
I gave Tina’s cheeks a couple of short, sharp slaps. Finally her eyelids fluttered open against the harsh afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sliding glass door.
“What happened?” Tina asked, reaching for the back of her head.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
When Tina withdrew her hand, I looked at it. No blood. That was a good sign. I picked up the letter and began to piece together the puzzle of what happened:
You have had enough warnings. It’s D-day for you. You must stop looking for answers. The enemy must be punished. Do not fight their battle or you will suffer. The war has only begun. You’d make a helluva Jane Wayne, now embrace the suck.
It was another cryptic message apparently from the Southern Slicer ... who wasn’t Cody, because right now Cody was at the precinct with Tristan. Whoever it was, he was still out there. And until he was caught, I wasn’t safe, Tina wasn’t safe, my father wasn’t safe, Giana wasn’t safe. What if he went for Giana next? The threat lingered in the dead air between us.
“Do you remember anything?” I asked Tina.
Tina cupped her forehead, squinting in pain. I imagined she was probably experiencing the mother of all migraines.
“I can’t think ... I’m not sure. I remember getting out of the shower and getting dressed. Then coming into the living room to watch TV when I saw the letter on the table. I was reading the letter, that’s when I called you. After that it’s a blur. I think I remember something slamming into the back of my head, then feeling dizzy. I don’t recall anything after that ... like when I passed out.”
“You didn’t see anyone at all? No movements or shadows?”
“No, I never saw it coming or who did it. I’m sorry, Ari.”
I hugged her to my chest like she was my own. “No, don’t be sorry, sweetie. You didn’t do anything wrong. This maniac just isn’t gonna give up.”
The persistence. The threats. The restraint. The killer could have taken Tina’s life but chose not to. This twisted vigilante apparently knew about Scott Guffrey’s involvement in Kat’s death, Jackson’s porn addiction, and my dad’s cover-up in Marla’s murder. And yet this person was also misinformed, because Scott hadn’t killed Kat in cold blood. And my father only got targeted because of a misleading news report.
> It was someone obscure enough to linger on the outskirts of these lives, smart enough to get away with murder, quick and sneaky enough to use a knife, but stupid enough not to do due diligence in their research.
Helen? Jackson’s wife Melanie? Neither felt right.
This person was trustworthy enough to bum a ride with Jackson, a smooth enough talker to get access into Scott’s house, but sloppy enough not to finish the job with my father.
There was someone I was overlooking. A clue right in my face. Only one person alive had laid eyes on the killer and survived. And that one person was my only chance at stopping the killer before he struck again.
Chapter 34 Ari
“Good afternoon, Mrs. E,” I greeted my old neighbor when she answered the door in a bright floral muumuu.
I had brought along a variety box of Dunkin’ Donuts. One of the flavors was the closest thing to paczki I could find, a Polish fruit-filled cake covered in powdered sugar that Mrs. E used to make from scratch. Back in the day Carli and I would haunt her kitchen window like the little sugar zombies that we were, getting fat on the wonderful smell alone.
Standing on her stoop, I opened the lid of the box to tempt her. “An Americanized version of paczki!”
Her penciled brows shot up to her hairline. She waved off the donuts with a sneered “Those are garbage.” Then her talon-like fingers gripped my wrist with unexpected strength as she pulled me inside. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”
Rooting through a stack of newspapers, she cried out, “Aha!” when she located two hidden (and reasonably clean) paper plates and placed them at the kitchen table, one for each of us, then picked a donut—a custard-filled one with chocolate icing. I selected the same.
“I wanted to pick your brain again about what you saw the night my dad was attacked. We’re close to catching him, but I really need your sharp memory. Think you can help me?”
“I can certainly try,” she said, dabbing at a clump of vanilla custard that hung from the corner of her lips.
