Remnants

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Everything looks normal. No signs of—” I had spoken too soon. I had just opened another closet door and inside on hangers were a few pairs of coveralls, a couple in navy blue and one in gray. I moved them along the rack, looking at the fronts. None had names embroidered on them.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  I shared my findings with him. “I doubt he had any need for these as an investment banker.” We both knew he’d worn coveralls to pose as a janitor to take Eric Morgan, but I was curious why he’d kept them here when he could have stored them at the cabin.

  Jack left me to speak to Darla in the hallway. “Do you know of any reason Stanley would have coveralls?” I heard him ask.

  “He’d wear them when he worked in the yard,” she answered.

  Jack returned to me, and I had moved on to some drawers. The thing was, if Stanley was keeping evidence of his son in his home, it wouldn’t be anywhere easily found. The same went for a tie to his involvement with the murders. The coveralls were probably the closest we’d get here.

  And about two hours later, after working through the entire house, Jack and I made that same conclusion. We collected Stanley’s laptop and were about to head out.

  “Wait a minute.” Darla was pointing at the computer under my arm. “You can’t take that.”

  “We can, and we are.” Jack gestured for me to continue out the door.

  I sensed the heat coming from her, even with my back to her.

  Jack and I got in the car, but there was a niggling feeling in my brain about Stanley’s seeming lack of appetite since living in Savannah. And once Jack put the car into gear, clarity came to me. I faced him. He already had a cigarette in his mouth and was about to light it.

  “The window first,” I said. “Please.”

  He conceded with a subtle smile.

  “Now, I don’t know if it’s going to mean anything or help us figure this whole mess out, but Darla said that Stanley seemed to lose his appetite after moving here, and we know he visited the pub most Fridays.”

  Jack was looking at me with a sort of wonderment in his eyes.

  “It doesn’t explain a smaller appetite other days of the week, but if Stanley got something to eat at the pub, he wouldn’t be hungry for dinner at home.”

  Jack took a long draw on his cigarette. “Where are you headed with this, Kid?”

  “Darla said she managed the money for the household. But if Stanley paid at the pub by debit or credit card, she’d know. That means that Stanley had to pay cash. The question is, where was he getting the cash from if Darla kept track of every penny coming into and going out of the household? The son wasn’t always at the pub with him to cover the tab, so who paid for his food and drink?”

  -

  Chapter 38

  JACK HAD PAIGE AND ZACH stop what they were doing and return to the precinct. He’d caught them on the way to Patty Haven’s house. They’d already been to the pub but hadn’t met with any luck.

  Jack handed Stanley’s laptop over to Zach. He had it fired up and was in, the password requirement no deterrent for a wizard like him.

  “We need to have everything in order and be absolutely certain we’re looking at the right guy before we head over to the Havens’,” Jack said. “What have you got, Nadia?”

  She was on speaker again. “I made it through the video from Perimeter Mall. The good news is it shows Stanley at the back side of the parking lot pushing a lidded garbage bin toward a light-colored GMC Savana.”

  “And the bad news?” Jack asked gruffly.

  “The bad news is twofold. First of all, DMV records don’t show a Savana registered to him. It’s not a rental because nothing is showing on his credit card history. And second, the plate isn’t clearly readable and will need to be enhanced by someone more technical than I am.”

  It wasn’t very often that Nadia had to delegate a task.

  “When should we have it?” Jack asked.

  “Probably a couple hours, if that.”

  “We know who the likely unsub is,” he disclosed. “It seems possible that Stanley is working with his son, Joshua Haven.”

  “His son?” Nadia sounded as surprised as the rest of us had been when we’d come to that conclusion.

  Jack gave her a quick rundown.

  “Wow, that’s quite the development,” she said when he was done.

  “That it is. Call once you have the plate.” Jack ended the call and looked around at all of us.

  This was one of those extremely frustrating situations that required a great deal of patience. I made eye contact with Paige, and she seemed as weary as she had the night before. She wanted this case closed and put to an end. And she wasn’t alone in that desire, that was for sure. I wished we were already on the move to the Havens’, but I understood Jack’s desire to be armed with all the facts before we rushed in. Still…

  “What if there are more victims fighting for their lives?” I asked.

  Jack’s hardened gaze settled on me. “We do this by the book. We get our facts, and then we move in.”

  There was zero room for negotiation based on the set of Jack’s jaw.

  “Lieutenant, can you send officers over to watch the Havens’ house?” Jack asked. “Tell them to be discreet.”

  “I’ll do that now.” Pike pulled out his phone and made the request. He hung up. “They’re heading over there right away.”

  Jack nodded. “We need to find out more about this man she was married to, this Wayne Reed.”

  Pike had a precinct laptop in the room and started tapping on the keys. “Wayne Reed is forty-eight. Lives in Savannah and he owns Reed’s Restorations.”

  “Wow, people are creative with business names around here.” The words came without thought and warranted me a glare from Pike and Jack.

  Zach continued, not looking up from Stanley’s laptop. “Do they specialize in period restorations?”

  Pike glanced at the computer. “Ah, yeah.”

  “Meaning they’d have access to lime mortar and, by extension, palygorskite clay,” I said.

  “Good. We have Wayne connected to the clay. Does he have a Savana registered to him?” Jack asked.

  “He does,” Pike stated somberly. “And a Toyota Corolla.”

  Paige cradled her coffee cup. “So how does he fit in? He provides the wheels and the clay to Stanley?”

  “We can’t rule out any level of involvement from any of them,” Jack reasoned.

  Pike looked up from his laptop. “Wayne’s van was reported stolen.”

  Zach, who had been clicking away on Stanley’s laptop, looked up now.

  “When?” Jack asked.

  “Just this morning,” Pike said.

  “Get a BOLO out on it,” Jack directed. “And what properties does he own? Anything next to the river?”

  “Only the building where he has his business, and from the records, he lives above the shop. And to answer your other question, it’s nowhere near the river,” Pike responded.

  And with that, Jack was up and on the move. He addressed our team. “The four of us are going to talk to Wayne Reed. And Pike?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get a couple officers to join us as backup.”

  “Uh, guys?” Zach was still seated at the table. “There’s a file here on Stanley’s computer that I can’t get into.” He addressed Pike. “Do you have someone here who can work their magic on this thing?”

  Pike nodded. “I have just the man for the job.”

  -

  Chapter 39

  REED’S RESTORATIONS WAS SET UP in a large heritage house. The main level had been turned into the company’s office while the upstairs was Reed’s residence, as Pike had told us.

  The four of us gathered outside the building, Pike hanging back from the group. Two un
iformed officers were at their cruisers.

  “We’re going in casual and cautious,” Jack told us.

  Meaning we’d leave the guns in our holsters and the four of us would be entering the front door together. Check.

  “Now, we have no idea how involved Reed might be or even if he is,” Jack continued.

  I learned a long time ago not to prejudge any situation on a snippet of fact, despite the human tendency to do just that, as if life was all about reaction time, not the consequences. In the FBI—just like life in general, I supposed—we were accountable for all the results whether they were favorable or not. And Jack, well, he preferred his team didn’t fall under scrutiny from the higher-ups.

  Before we entered, Jack said, “I’ll take the lead in there.”

  A chime sounded when Zach opened the door for us, and inside stood a man who matched the DMV photo for Wayne Reed.

  “Good day, can I—”

  We all held up our credentials, but Jack took the lead toward Reed. “We’re special agents with the FBI, and we have some questions that need answers.”

  Reed was calm, especially in the face of four Feds. He leaned against the counter. “Shoot.”

  “You reported your Savana stolen this morning,” Jack began.

  “Yeah.”

  “Not really a question. This is, however… How long has it been missing?”

  Now Reed seemed to clam up, his eyes drifting over us, showing the first sign of nervousness at our presence.

  “You need to start talking.” Jack obviously smelled blood in the water. “Do you know Stanley Gilbert?”

  “I am sort of friends with him.”

  “Explain sort of.”

  Reed’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a rough swallow. “He’s a friend of my ex. You probably know about Pat—”

  Jack nodded.

  He took a deep breath. “Well, she asked me if I’d help him out.”

  “Help him out, how?” Based on the heat in Jack’s voice, I was happy that I wasn’t on the receiving end.

  “She said that he did some restoration jobs around town.”

  I knew looks could be deceiving, but pictures of Stanley didn’t indicate a man I would peg as built for manual labor.

  “You still haven’t answered my question. How would you help him out?” Jack asked.

  “I’d lend him my van sometimes,” Reed said.

  That came too easy to be the full story. Besides, it raised other questions, such as when did Stanley last borrow it and was Reed covering up more than he was letting on?

  “How often?” Jack asked.

  “Fridays.” Reed must have sensed that mattered to us because he was quick to continue. “That’s the day he did renos…usually.”

  “Usually?” Jack wasn’t letting him off that easy.

  Reed worried his lip.

  “When did you last let him borrow your van?” Jack pressed.

  “This past Monday.”

  “And when before that?”

  “The Friday before.” Reed held up his hands; Jack must have been glaring at him. “Fine, I confess. I heard on the news that you’re looking for Stanley.”

  Jack tilted his head. “Then why didn’t you call in?”

  “I didn’t want to get him in trouble. Guess you could say I was protecting a friend.”

  “Well, that friend is involved with serial abduction and possible murder.”

  “Oh…” Reed grabbed his stomach, and he was rapidly shaking his head. “No, that can’t be.”

  “Maybe you reported your van missing because you wanted to separate yourself from Stanley,” Jack said.

  “Not at all. I had no idea he was…”

  “You sure?” Jack punched out and let the question sit there for a few beats before continuing. “We’re quite certain that he used your van two Fridays ago to abduct a man from Perimeter Mall in Atlanta.”

  “I just can’t… Wow. Really?”

  I was a few feet away from Jack, and I sensed his energy shift. He was annoyed by Reed.

  “I didn’t call in because I… Well, I didn’t know where he was. I know that his Prius is out back in my garage.”

  Jack clenched his jaw and glanced over his shoulder. He slowly turned back around to face Reed. “How long has it been here?”

  “Since Monday when he picked up my van.”

  Jack tapped the side of his right thigh, a trait of his that didn’t present often but it worked for him almost the same way an elastic around a wrist could be snapped to calm the temper of a person with anger-management issues.

  “And you have no idea what he did with the van?” Jack was seething now.

  “No, I swear. Stanley’s so calm. Are you sure he—” His words stopped there, and I imagined Jack’s famous stare homed right in on Reed.

  “Besides lending him your van, were there other ways you helped him?” Jack asked.

  “I’d sell him lime mortar sometimes. I get a good discount on the stuff.”

  Reed had no idea just how helpful he was in aiding murderers. Or did he?

  “Now tell us about Patty’s kid.”

  Reed’s chin tucked in at the abrupt change of subject.

  “What’s he like?” Jack asked.

  “He’s not really a kid. He’s got to be in his twenties.”

  Jack was silent, visibly not impressed.

  “He’s a little…” Reed’s eyes shifted over us. “A little out there.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that he should be locked up, on meds, something. There are definitely screws loose.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jack asked.

  “He’d talk to himself, walk around the house mumbling. It was like he was two different people—or more. Honestly, he was the reason I had to get out of there.”

  “How did Patty react to your feelings about her son?”

  Reed scoffed. “Oh, he could do no wrong.”

  Jack looked at me. “Have Pike get his men in here to stay with him.”

  I just nodded and did as I was told.

  -

  Chapter 40

  STANLEY HAD BEEN TRYING TO move for a while now, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be getting the message. His head felt like it had been struck by a Mack Truck, and his eyelids, like his body, refused to move.

  How did he get here? Where was here? What had happened to him? All he had were hazy, jagged images that were dispersed in his mind as if they had been blown to bits in an explosion. But they began to form a picture…

  Savannah, Georgia.

  He was driving…

  Wanted by the FBI.

  Oh, it hurt to think. A tapping migraine afforded him no release to clear, coherent thought.

  He tried to link together what he did recall, and slowly, it started to take shape.

  He’d come to see Joshua and Patty…

  He winced as his neck throbbed, firing heat through his body.

  Was he standing up?

  If he could open his eyes, maybe he could see where he was. But doing so wasn’t going to come easy. It was as if his eyes were sealed shut.

  “Help!” he cried out, but it came back to his ears garbled.

  He struggled some more and managed to get his eyes open—or were they closed? He couldn’t see a thing. His heart started beating fast. He was going to have a heart attack!

  “Hello?” The voice didn’t sound like his own. Did what he said even make sense? Did it come out as hello or something else?

  Then the jagged edges of the images started to smooth out. He was here to put an end to the mess he’d gotten involved with, and it was time to turn himself—and all of them—in. Had he been given a chance to explain himself?

  Why had he been so stupid? He was naive to think they
’d be for that.

  But part of him felt he didn’t have the chance to let them know why he was back.

  A bright light came on overhead, blinding him.

  “Rise and shine.” This voice was different from his own and didn’t circle inside his head, but it sounded very distant, almost like an echo. It was a man talking to him.

  “Wake up,” the man said, and now something was also touching his cheek. It felt gauzy, as if he were having a dream or interacting with an apparition.

  “I said wake up.” The man was more insistent now, demanding a response. But Stanley couldn’t get his eyes to stay open. His mind was drifting, despite the touch to his cheek becoming more persistent, harsher, more painful.

  Stanley’s eyes shot open, but the brightness of the light had him closing them again.

  “Look at me!” The man was unrelenting, and the touch he was feeling, he now realized, was the man slapping him. Pain seeped into Stanley’s awareness.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the man. Joshua. He was wearing all black and around his neck were…bones?

  His own son…the monster. But was this a bad dream? Had he fallen asleep at the wheel and was actually lying in a hospital in a coma somewhere, none of this real? No, the throbbing in his cheek was real. He could wriggle his fingers, but his arms weighed a hundred pounds, and he couldn’t move them.

  Looking over, he saw his wrists bound in iron clasps connected to a chain. Looking down, his legs were ground to the floor, clasps around his ankles.

  Joshua must have drugged him.

  And then the memories came crashing over Stanley. He’d shown up, and before he’d had a chance to speak, he’d lost consciousness. And now he was here… Was this what his son did to the men he brought to him? He’d never come in here or watched.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Stanley asked.

  “You don’t get to ask the questions, Stanley.”

  Hearing his name come from Joshua’s lips sent shooting pain down his spine. His body remembered clearly now the fall to the marble floor.

  “Dearest Daddy, you are getting the credit for my work. And I don’t like that one bit.” Joshua left him to move around the room, which now that it was illuminated, Stanley could see was rather compact. Maybe eight feet by eight feet. There was a table in the one corner. There was something on it, too, but Stanley couldn’t make out what as his eyes weren’t fully adjusted yet.