Here and Gone

by Haylen Beck

  Then the light went out.

  Audra stayed quite still for a few seconds, waiting for it to come back on again. When it didn’t, she sat upright, ignoring the fresh flares of pain as her feet dropped to the floor. An alarm sounded somewhere inside of her, telling her this was wrong, this shouldn’t be. The camera should not be switched off. Why would it—?

  Before she could finish the question in her mind, the door to the custody suite opened, and Whiteside entered, followed by Collins. Audra’s hands gripped the edge of the bunk as her heart quickened. Whiteside marched to the cell door, unlocked it, slid it aside.

  ‘What?’ Audra asked, her voice rising in fear.

  Whiteside stood aside to let Collins enter, then followed her inside.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Neither of the police officers spoke as they approached the bunk. Audra’s hands went up, a reflex, an act of surrender.

  ‘Please, what do-?’

  In one motion, Collins took Audra’s arm, hoisted her up, and threw her to the cell floor. Audra sprawled there, her palms and elbows stinging. She put her hands over her head, ready for a blow from either of them.

  ‘What do you-?’

  Collins grabbed the collar of Audra’s T-shirt, pulled her up onto her knees. Audra looked up at Whiteside’s blank face, opened her mouth to speak again, to plead, but Collins gripped the back of her neck, forced her head down, so she could only see the sheriff from the waist up.

  Enough to see him draw a revolver from behind his back.

  ‘Oh God, no.’

  He pressed the muzzle against the top of her head.

  ‘Oh, God, please, don’t.’ Audra’s bladder ached. ‘Please don’t, please don’t, please—’

  He cocked the pistol, the metallic sound of it bouncing between the walls and bars. Collins tightened her grip on Audra’s neck.

  Audra raised her hands as if in prayer. ‘Oh, Jesus, please, no, please, don’t—’

  A single hard SNAP! as Whiteside pulled the trigger, the hammer falling on an empty chamber.

  Audra cried out, a long guttural wail. Collins released her neck.

  Whiteside returned the pistol to his waistband.

  Audra collapsed to the floor as they left. She curled in on herself, knees to her chest, hands clasped over her head. In the dim early light, even though she didn’t believe, she prayed.

  12

  SHERIFF RONALD WHITESIDE followed Deputy Collins out through the side door onto the disabled access ramp. The sun hung low in the sky, promising heat to come, glinting off the metalwork of their parked cruisers. Collins took a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket, and a lighter. She lit one, took a long drag, tucked the pack away as she exhaled blue smoke that hung still in the air, no breeze to move it along.

  ‘You want me to stick around?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Go and check on the other two. Make sure they’re okay. I’ll say you’re out on patrol.’

  She took another pull. ‘That boy might be trouble.’

  ‘Not if you handle him right. Give me one of those.’

  Collins stared at his outstretched hand. ‘You don’t smoke.’

  ‘I’m considering starting.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Come on, give me one.’

  She retrieved the pack from her pocket, handed it and the lighter over. He took one, gripped it between his lips, and flicked the lighter’s wheel. The smoke filled his lungs, and he couldn’t help but cough it out again. He gave her back the pack as his eyes watered. It had been twenty years since he had last smoked a cigarette, and he savored the nicotine crackle in his brain. Another lungful, and this time he kept it in.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ Collins said.

  Whiteside shook his head. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘We give her back the kids, make her promise not to say what we did, and we can just forget the whole—’

  ‘Goddamn it, shut up,’ he said, regretting his anger as he spoke. ‘We’re in it now, and we’re going to see it through. You had your chance to back out yesterday when I radioed. You remember what we agreed.’

  The call for the tow truck, for Emmet. They’d talked about it for months. If and when he found the right kids in the right situation, he’d radio her to ask for Emmet’s tow truck. All she had to do was say Emmet couldn’t be raised, if she wanted to back out.

  ‘I know, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  She shook her head. ‘I just never thought we’d actually do it. It was one thing talking about it. Even yesterday, when you radioed. It didn’t feel like a real thing. But last night, when I went up there to bring them food, I thought, Christ, this is for real. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough for it.’

  ‘It’s done,’ Whiteside said. ‘We quit now, we might as well hand ourselves over to the feds.’

  Collins went quiet, staring up at the hills, flicking ash from her cigarette. It had burned halfway down to the butt before she spoke again.

  ‘You should’ve killed her,’ she said.

  ‘I should’ve? Not you?’

  ‘All right, we should’ve killed her. Out there on the road. Buried her someplace and got rid of the car.’

  ‘That’s not how the buyer wants it done,’ Whiteside said. ‘He wants it so the trail ends with the parent. Otherwise there’s a hunt out for the bodies. This way, there’s someone to blame it on. All we have to do is keep her scared, see if we can force her into a breakdown. Any luck, she’ll do the job for us.’

  ‘Even so,’ Collins said, ‘it’d be simpler if she was dead.’

  Whiteside took the revolver from his waistband, held it out grip-first to Collins. ‘All right, then. There’s a box of .38 rounds in my desk drawer. You go on and load this up, go back in the cell, and put one in her head. Better yet, go out to the desert and do it.’

  She glared at him.

  He pushed the pistol against her hand. ‘Go on. Go and do it.’

  Collins dropped her cigarette to the ground, crushed it with her heel. She gave Whiteside one more hard look, before walking down the ramp and over to her car. The engine roared as she sped out of the lot. He returned the pistol to his waistband, tucked it into the small of his back. Another drag on the cigarette, the gritty heat becoming more pleasing with each inhalation.

  She was right, of course. The simplest thing would have been to drive the Kinney woman way out into the wilds, put a bullet in her head, and let the crows and the coyotes have her. But that wasn’t how the buyer played these things. And there was a detail he hadn’t told Collins. He’d heard that the buyer – the Rich Man, some called him – liked to watch things play out on the news. He enjoyed the anguish of others.

  Whiteside wondered if there’d been any word.

  He finished the cigarette, killed the butt under his boot, and went to the passenger door of his cruiser. Inside, he opened the glove compartment, reached back and up, found the pouch fastened to the underside of the dash. He retrieved the cheap cell phone and switched it on. Once it had powered up, he launched the web browser, opening a private window so that no cookies or history would be recorded. He navigated to a proxy server, then from memory typed out the forum’s URL, an obscure string of numbers and letters. The login screen appeared, and he entered his details.

  One new direct message. He tapped the link.

  From: RedHelper

  Subject: Re: Items for sale

  Message:

  Dear Sir,

  Thank you for your offer. We have carried out checks and believe your goods to be genuine and safe. Our offer is three million dollars ($3,000,000). We note that both the items show some minor damage. An additional amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars ($250,000) will be paid, provided no further damage occurs. These terms are final and non-negotiable. We trust they are to your satisfaction.

  Exchange must take place between 3:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m. On Saturday; no other timeframe will be acceptable. Please confirm acceptance of these terms and we will
be in touch within twenty-four hours to make arrangements for transfer.

  We need not remind you that any attempt to disrupt our operation will be met with swift and harsh retaliation.

  Regards,

  RedHelper

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Whiteside said.

  Cold sweat prickled all over his body. Three million. No, three and a quarter million. The forum members had said there would be extra for a pair, but he hadn’t anticipated so much.

  A year ago, Sheriff Ronald Whiteside had killed a man for fifteen thousand dollars, and it had seemed like a fortune until it all blew away. The same forum had brought him that job. A dark corner of the Internet, in the underbelly, where the perverts, the pedophiles, the snuff-hounds, all the worst filth of humanity met to trade in sordid pleasures. The Dark Web, they called it. A fancy name for a place where, no matter how bad you were, there was always somebody worse.

  Within that place, in its own shielded corner, there lay a forum, a message board. A place for cops and military people who could provide certain services. You needed something done that only a connected man could do, you sent word to this forum. Whiteside had been introduced by an old army friend. Weeks of checks, and they let him browse the top layers. Another six months, and he was into the inner core. The place where the real money could be made.

  The hit had been a low-level dealer in Phoenix. Whiteside never knew what it was over, probably a bad debt, or maybe the mark was threatening to turn informer. He didn’t really care. He simply accepted the job and got on with it. A few days of watching and following, then he blew the mark’s head off outside a lowlife Tolleson bar. He sped away on a motorcycle he’d salvaged from a scrapyard, the helmet hiding his face, not that anyone outside that particular bar would ever breathe a word to the cops. The money appeared in his offshore account the next morning.

  Simple.

  After that, another level of the forum opened up to him, one he hadn’t known existed. A core within the core. And there they talked about the big money. Hundreds, not tens of thousands. And there was a thread with a simple request. A buyer for a very specific kind of item, who was willing to pay into seven figures. A sequence of instructions, methods, requirements. And an email address, should anyone be able to fulfill the request.

  Now, his hands shaking, Whiteside read the message again. Then he pressed reply.

  To: RedHelper

  Subject: Re: Items for sale

  Message:

  Dear RedHelper,

  Thank you for your prompt reply. I confirm that your offer is acceptable and await your instructions.

  Regards,

  AZMan

  He pressed send, waited for confirmation that the message had sent.

  Done.

  He switched the phone off and returned it to its pouch beneath the dash.

  13

  AUDRA SAT IN silence. Cuffs around her wrists, joined by a chain threaded through a metal loop on the table. The room was painted battleship gray over cinderblock, chipped linoleum on the floor, one small grimy frosted window reinforced with wire mesh. The table’s vinyl top flaked in places, showing the particleboard beneath. The whole station was like that, verging on ruin, as if the people here had simply given up.

  It occurred to Audra that one good yank would probably pull the loop out of the tabletop. And what then? The state patrolman by the door would have her face down on the floor within seconds, that’s what.

  The patrolman stared straight ahead, hadn’t moved a muscle in the hour she’d been in the interview room, not even to clear his throat. She had tried talking to him, asking about her children, asking for a lawyer. Nothing. He was a big man, all biceps and belly, with meaty fists. His uniform was an almost identical beige to the sheriff’s; Audra wouldn’t have known he was a state cop, had she not been told.

  A knock on the door, and Audra’s gaze jerked toward it. The patrolman turned and opened it a few inches. A string of whispers, then the patrolman stepped aside to allow a young well-dressed man to enter. A conservative suit, a plain tie. The patrolman had said the FBI were coming, and this young man had to be one of them.

  He carried a tripod, its legs bunched together, a small camera mounted on top. A minute of fussing and adjusting and he had it set up in the corner, the lens aimed at Audra. He pressed a button, then another, rotated a display so he could see it. Once satisfied, he nodded, and went to leave.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Audra said.

  The FBI man ignored her, grabbed the door handle.

  ‘Sir, please.’

  He stopped, turned back to her.

  ‘Please, sir, tell me what’s happening.’

  He allowed her a pained smile. ‘We’ll be with you presently, ma’am.’

  As he opened the door and stepped through, Audra called after him, ‘Have you found my children? Are you looking for them?’

  The door closed. Audra dipped her head, brought her hands to her mouth, whispered into the cup of her palm, ‘Goddamn you.’

  The patrolman looked at her now. ‘Excuse me?’

  Audra held his gaze. ‘Are they looking for my children?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that, ma’am.’ He returned his attention to the far wall.

  ‘When can I get a lawyer?’ she asked.

  The patrolman remained silent.

  Audra exhaled, spread her hands on the table, willed her mind to level out, to be calm. She found a crack in the vinyl that looked like a black lightning bolt. She stared at it, followed its arcs and branches, focused in on the details, felt order restored within.

  Another knock on the door, harder this time, and the trooper had to sidestep it as it swung open. A woman and a man entered, both suited, her attire crisper than his. She was tall, long-limbed, dark-skinned, her Afro hair cut tight to her scalp, bright eyes that suggested a deep intelligence. The man shambled behind her, a nest of gray-blond hair on his head, the lined face of a smoker. He gave a phlegmy cough and drew out a seat and dropped into it. The woman remained standing, an iPad tucked beneath her arm, along with a notepad and pen.

  ‘Mrs Kinney, I’m Special Agent Jennifer Mitchell from the Child Abduction Response Deployment team, Federal Bureau of Investigation, based out of Los Angeles. May I sit down?’

  Audra nodded.

  Mitchell smiled, said thank you, and took her seat. The man bristled and coughed again. Audra caught the stale cigarette smell drifting across the table.

  ‘This gentleman is Detective Lyle Showalter from the Arizona Department of Public Safety, Criminal Investigations Division, based out of Phoenix. Detective Showalter is here strictly to observe. Let me be clear, I am in charge of the investigation into your children’s whereabouts.’

  As Showalter rolled his eyes and shared a smirk with the patrolman, Audra opened her mouth to speak. Mitchell silenced her with a raised hand.

  ‘Before we begin,’ she said, ‘there are a few things you should be aware of. Firstly, although you are under arrest for possession of marijuana, this interview does not concern that. Further, you are not under arrest in connection with the disappearance of your children, and you have no entitlement to the presence of a lawyer during this interview. You are therefore free to terminate the interview anytime. I should warn you, however, that failure to cooperate in this matter will not help you. Finally, you see that camera?’

  Audra nodded.

  ‘That camera is recording this interview, and I will share footage of this interview with as many other investigators or agencies as I deem necessary to the advancement of this investigation. Mrs Kinney, do you understand everything I’ve just told you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Audra said, her voice small and whispery in her throat.

  Mitchell pointed at the shackles on Audra’s wrists. ‘Officer, I don’t think those are necessary, do you?’

  The patrolman looked to Showalter, who nodded. He left his position at the door, taking a key from his pocket as he approached the table, unlocked the bracelet
s, let them clatter on the tabletop.

  ‘Are those the clothes you were wearing when you were arrested yesterday?’ Mitchell asked, pointing with her pen.

  ‘Yes,’ Audra said.

  Mitchell closed her eyes and sighed. She opened them again and said, ‘They should have been removed as evidence. Once we’re done here, we’ll get you something else to wear. Now, shall we start?’

  ‘Okay,’ Audra said.

  Mitchell smiled. ‘Comfortable? Would you like some water?’

  Audra shook her head.

  ‘Mrs Kinney … Audra … may I call you Audra?’

  Audra nodded.

  Mitchell took a breath, smiled, and asked, ‘Audra, what did you do with your children?’

  Audra’s head went light and full of sparks. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. Her mouth opened and closed, no words to fall from it.

  ‘Audra, where are they?’

  Stay calm, she thought. Reason with her. Explain.

  Still gripping the table, Audra took a long deep breath, filled her lungs. ‘They took them.’

  ‘Who took them?’

  ‘The sheriff,’ Audra said, her voice rising. She waved her hand at the wall as if Whiteside was on the other side, ear pressed to the cinderblock. ‘And the deputy, the woman, I don’t remember her name.’

  ‘Do you mean Sheriff Whiteside and Deputy Collins?’

  ‘Yes, Collins, that’s her.’ Audra became aware of the brittle edge to her voice, breathed again, tried to smooth it. ‘Deputy Collins took Sean and Louise away while I was in the sheriff’s car waiting for the tow truck.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. They took them.’

  ‘I see.’ Mitchell gave her a small, kind smile. ‘Thing is, Audra, Sheriff Whiteside doesn’t remember it like that. He told me this morning that there were no children in the car when he pulled you over.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Audra said, her nails digging into her palm.

  ‘And Deputy Collins says she was nowhere near the County Road when you were stopped. She drove over there to assist Sheriff Whiteside in searching you.’