I Know Your Name: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 5)

by Dan Padavona

  Inside the guest house, Jack’s barking ceased.

  As Naomi wiped a tear off her cheek, the curtain parted on the front door. Scout had watched them argue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Saturday, 5:00 p.m.

  To Darren, watching Thomas run the press conference was gut-wrenching. He’d met the sheriff last spring and understood Thomas’s struggles with Asperger’s. Facing a crowd set the sheriff’s nerves on edge. And this was no ordinary crowd. A horde of reporters with microphones shouted questions over each other as Thomas shifted his attention from one reporter to the next. It was like watching a novice surfer tackle hurricane-induced waves.

  Still, Thomas surprised Darren by maintaining his cool. Perhaps Darren shouldn’t have been surprised, for Thomas Shepherd remained the most extraordinary person he’d ever met.

  Thomas held up Shawn’s yearbook photograph. Darren’s throat tightened. The boy appeared so hopeful and full of vigor despite his home life. The kid had overcome long odds, not unlike Thomas. How would Darren live with himself if he didn’t find his cousin alive?

  “I repeat, we’re searching for Shawn Massey.” Thomas read Shawn’s address. He also gave Shawn’s age and a physical description, though the picture said it all. “Anyone who sees Shawn should call the hotline the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department set up with the Wells Ferry Police.”

  “Is it true Shawn Massey killed his mother?”

  The reporter appeared fresh out of journalism school, his tawny hair parted at the side and slicked, not a hair out of place.

  “There’s no evidence Shawn Massey murdered Megan Massey.”

  “But he visited the house at the time of the murder.”

  “We believe Shawn Massey witnessed the attack. The Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department and Wells Ferry Police urge anyone with information regarding Megan Massey’s murder to call the hotline. The hotline is anonymous.”

  “What about the husband?” another reporter shouted from the front.

  “Kemp Massey isn’t a suspect.”

  “Explain why he tried to break into his wife’s house and sent her threatening messages?”

  Darren chewed the inside of his cheek. Someone inside the Wells Ferry PD was leaking information to the press. What kind of police department did they run? This nonsense didn’t fly in Syracuse.

  Thomas fought to regain control.

  “Kemp Massey is a worried father who only wants his son returned.”

  More questions piled atop one another, a mountain that threatened to topple from the slightest disruption. Darren’s eyes flicked to Officer Barber, standing at the back of the room with his arms folded. The officer looked like death warmed over, yet he seemed to enjoy the circus. Darren ignored the temptation to scream at Barber. This wasn’t a joke.

  Darren’s phone buzzed as he turned away from the press conference. A message arrived from Kemp. After scanning the text, Darren searched for Barber again. The officer had disappeared. No sign of his partner, Officer Neal, either. Until the text arrived, Darren hadn’t known Neal brought Kemp into the office an hour ago. His stomach churned with consternation. He wished Kemp had consulted Darren first. Darren already harbored guilt for advising his cousin to invite the officers into his home. The minute they set foot inside, they built a case against him. He wasn’t sure what Officer Neal was up to. But inviting him to the station felt like a setup. Darren fired a text back to Kemp.

  Don’t speak to the police again without consulting me first.

  Darren awaited his cousin’s reply. It never came.

  The gray light peeking around the curtain seemed foreign. Shawn awoke with a start and scrambled off the bed until he remembered where he was. Heart pounding, he stumbled to the window and edged the curtains open. Studying the yard, he found nobody outside.

  He breathed again. As he turned around, he caught his reflection in Mike’s television screen. His hair stuck out on one side, and the skin hung off his face as though it wanted to slough off and reveal the skull beneath. Shawn fell against the wall and covered his mouth. The vision of his mother’s murder flooded over him. He wished he could turn back time and stop the madman. But he’d had his chance and froze like the coward he was. Worthless. What kind of son doesn’t defend his mother from an attacker?

  I’m sorry, Mom. I did my best.

  Though he didn’t believe his own words. Not unless running for his life and leaving his mother to die was his best. A tiny voice in the back of his head pleaded with him to be fair with himself. The voice claimed Shawn never had a chance to stop the killer. It happened too fast. The louder, petulant voice tamped the logical argument down. He’d failed his mother.

  I know your name.

  Despite the gurgling pit in Shawn’s stomach, his body ached for lack of food. He recalled the stocked pantry and returned to the kitchen, down the long hall, past the sitting area where he spent too many evenings blasting zombies with his friend. A quick assessment of the pantry caused him to waver between mac and cheese, pasta, rice, and oatmeal. All the choices were quick and easy to cook. He eliminated the mac and cheese—his stomach wouldn’t handle a heavy meal, and he didn’t trust the butter in the refrigerator. The last thing he needed was food poisoning.

  He opened the box of instant oatmeal and poured the cereal into a bowl. After adding water, he stirred the meal and set the bowl in the microwave for ninety seconds. Plain oatmeal tasted bland, but he didn’t mind. Less chance he’d regurgitate the food.

  The sitting area with the gaming console and wall-mounted television made it too easy for someone walking past to spot him. Not that anyone should be out in the woods. The nearest neighbor was a quarter-mile past the trees. Shawn decided he’d play it safe and keep the lights off. He ate at the kitchen counter, standing in the corner to avoid prying eyes. The oatmeal settled his stomach, so he opted for a second packet. In his imagination, he pictured Mrs. Nash doting over him.

  “You’re a growing boy, Shawn. There’s plenty left over. Stop being bashful.”

  A smile creased his eyes. He’d do anything to have Mr. and Mrs. Nash open the door and set their bags on the floor. Shawn would have a lot of explaining to do, yet he felt certain they’d understand and help him reach home.

  As if home was safe. It was impossible to hide from a murderer who knew you.

  He shuffled through the possibilities in his head. Who would hurt his mother? A disgruntled client? Plausible, but Shawn never met the people his mother defended. He’d lost the killer in the woods. It wouldn’t be long before the madman tracked him. As much as he longed to stay in this familiar home, he needed to keep moving.

  While Shawn thought back to last night, trying to recall details about the masked intruder that would help him identify his mother’s murderer, he eyed his clothes piled outside Mike’s bedroom. This wouldn’t do. The mud dried and crusted over, dirtying the floor. No chance he’d wear the clothes in their present condition. He scooped the filthy pile into his arms and located the basement door past the bedrooms. Carpeted steps descended into a finished basement. A ping-pong table divided the room with a Pacman video game machine in the corner. Shawn couldn’t stop himself from reading the high scores when he passed. Mike and Mr. Nash held the best scores. Shawn was number four on the list.

  The washer and dryer stood against the wall at the rear of the basement. He dropped his clothes into the washer, added detergent, and sat on the floor with his back against the machine. The constant thrum made his eyes droop, this bit of normality grounding him, making last night seem like a nightmare he’d wake up from.

  The washer buzzed and pulled Shawn out of sleep. He’d been out for ten minutes or more. On groggy limbs, he moved the clothes into the drier. It would take thirty minutes or more to dry his jeans.

  As he padded upstairs, he paused where the hallway opened to the living space. Day waned at the window. The light was a fragile thing that wouldn’t hold up against the coming storms. There had to be a way out
of this predicament. If only the house had a phone, he could call Polly or his father. Even Mr. and Mrs. Nash.

  Beyond the sliding glass door, a crow perched on the deck, assessing Shawn with black, beady eyes. A second landed on the rail and stared through the glass.

  Shawn retreated into the shadows. Night was coming, and the killer would be close behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Saturday, 6:10 p.m.

  Thunder rattled the walls inside Wolf Lake Consulting. Chelsey eyed the black clouds beyond the window and closed the blinds. All day, storms had threatened Nightshade County, each round more violent than the last. The severe thunderstorm watch scrolled on the television as she watched a replay of Thomas’s press conference.

  “Damn them,” she said, setting the remote on the desk. “Those media vultures aren’t playing fair.”

  “My advice,” LeVar said, glancing up from his workstation. “Turn off the television. There’s no reason to put yourself through hell. Besides, Shep can handle the media.”

  “You’re right.” Chelsey clicked the remote and returned to her monitor. “It’s disgusting how the media drives public opinion with unverified facts and hearsay.”

  Moments after Chelsey shut off the press conference highlights, Thomas rang her cell.

  “Hey, we were just watching you.”

  “I wish you hadn’t,” Thomas said, groaning. “That was a no-win situation. At least we got the word out, and people are searching for Shawn. Speaking of which, I have information for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “It took some convincing, but I got the Wells Ferry PD to share the Hanley Stokes case notes. And according to an eyewitness, Stokes visited Megan Massey’s house earlier this week.”

  Chelsey fell back in her chair.

  “That’s huge. Why haven’t we heard about this until now?”

  “When you’re dead set on pinning a murder on Megan’s father and son, you wear blinders.”

  “I’m just as guilty as Wells Ferry PD. As I expressed earlier, something about Kemp Massey doesn’t seem right. So Stokes showed up at her house. Did they argue?”

  “Megan Massey wasn’t home when Stokes visited. So we don’t know why he went there.”

  “Maybe he drove to the house, intending to murder her.”

  “Then returned last night to finish the job,” Thomas said in agreement. “Which means we need to find Shawn Massey, our only witness. I’d hate to rely on our teenage prodigy again, but did Scout find anything on Shawn’s friends?”

  Chelsey released a sigh.

  “Scout is having a bad day. LeVar has been messaging with her. Something happened with the father. From what I understand, Glen Mourning showed up at the house and caused a scene.”

  “Sounds like he’s losing control over his emotions. I wish I’d been there to help. All right, so I won’t expect a full report from Scout.”

  “Don’t give up on our teenage friend. She has a penchant for coming through in the clutch.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken. Keep me abreast if she finds anything. The search team is heading out for another sweep of the forest.” After a pause, Thomas continued, lowering his voice. “If Wolf Lake Consulting discovered interesting tidbits on Hanley Stokes, I’d be obliged.”

  “I’m certain we can work something out, Sheriff Shepherd,” Chelsey said with a wry grin. “Tell me what you have on our mysterious ex-con.”

  “He hangs out at a dive called Mahoney’s on the east side of Wells Ferry.”

  “We’ll poke around and get back to you.”

  “Appreciate it, Chelsey. Stokes might be our guy. Talk to you soon.”

  Chelsey smiled to herself. Her relationship with Thomas continued to blossom. Gone were the days of awkward conversations and worries over their past. He was the same person she remembered from high school, yet different. More sure of himself. Easy to talk to. Lately, he’d expressed interest in Chelsey moving into the A-frame. She wasn’t certain she was ready to take that step. But with every passing day, picturing a life with Thomas became easier. Complications existed. What about her tabby, Tigger? The cat would make a fine meal for Jack, and she wouldn’t give Tigger up for anyone. Was she ready to sell her house?

  A dividing line ran down the whiteboard hanging on the wall. On the left, three photographs surrounded Megan Massey’s picture with lines connecting each suspect to the victim. Hanley Stokes, Kemp Massey, and his son. A sheet of paper with a question mark drawn in magic marker represented a fourth potential killer, someone they hadn’t considered. On the right half of the whiteboard, Chelsey hung a map of Shawn’s last known locations. She peered at the map, piecing the puzzle together. The boy’s path led north. After the marina, the searchers lost his tracks. Was Shawn lost, or did he have a destination in mind?

  LeVar motioned Chelsey to his desk.

  “Found something intriguing.”

  “What have you got?”

  “So I sifted through Megan Massey’s phone history. Someone started texting her a few weeks ago. I couldn’t trace the messenger.”

  “Probably a burner phone.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Anything threatening?”

  “I told you to stay out of my business,” LeVar said, reading the transcript.

  “His business? Hanley Stokes runs a business.”

  “Selling drugs on the east side of town.”

  “Right. What else do the messages say?”

  “I know all your dirty secrets, you little whore. You’ve known me long enough to understand I’m the last person you want to cross.”

  “Why would Megan Massey cross the man she defended?”

  “Could be she learned too much about Stokes and turned on him.”

  Chelsey drummed her fingers on the desk, unconvinced. Who was the mystery man sending Megan threatening texts? As Chelsey concentrated, Raven contacted Chelsey through FaceTime. Darren and Raven appeared in the picture. Pine trees framed the background, and a glowering sky hung over their heads. Both struggled to keep their eyes open. Chelsey shook her head.

  “Leave the search to the police and sheriff’s department,” Chelsey said. “The two of you need sleep.”

  “Not until I find Shawn,” Darren said, scrubbing a hand across his facial stubble. “Do we have any leads on his location?”

  Chelsey glanced at LeVar, who rolled his chair over and ducked his head into the frame.

  “Nothing from Scout yet,” said LeVar. “I can contact her, but she’s going through a family crisis.”

  Raven scrunched her face and asked, “It’s Glen Mourning again, isn’t it? How I’d love to get that man alone in a room for five minutes. Scout deserves better.”

  “I feel we’re running blind,” Darren said, glancing into the distance. “We covered the territory north of the park, yet we haven’t found tracks since early morning. It’s like he disappeared after he left the marina.”

  “We can’t rely on Scout this time,” Chelsey said. “I still say catching Megan’s killer is the key to locating Shawn. Thomas gave me a lead on Hanley Stokes. It seems Stokes showed up at Megan’s house this week when she wasn’t home. And LeVar discovered hostile messages sent to Megan’s phone. We think they’re coming from a burner.”

  “Pretty brazen to show up at your attorney’s house and threaten her after you get out of jail,” Raven said.

  “No one ever claimed criminals were geniuses.”

  “Be careful. Stokes has a long record.”

  “He frequents a bar in Wells Ferry. I’ll drive over and check the place out, then swing past his last known address.” Raven lifted an eyebrow. Chelsey understood Raven’s concern. After Mark Benson shot Chelsey, her struggles with anxiety worsened. She flinched at loud noises, grew nervous when she investigated suspects alone. “Tell you what. After LeVar finishes with Megan’s call history, I’ll take him with me to Mahoney’s.” She turned to LeVar. “That work for you?”

  “I’m down.
”

  Chelsey’s body tensed with new urgency. Though she hadn’t zeroed in on a suspect, she sensed the conclusion to this case lay on the horizon. Between the search parties, the Wolf Lake Consulting investigators, and the sheriff’s department, the potential of locating Shawn Massey grew by the minute.

  Voices called from the background.

  “We have to go,” Darren said. “Tell us if you learn anything new about Stokes.”

  “Will do.”

  Raven and Darren disappeared from the picture. Chelsey fretted over her friends. They should be asleep in their beds, not dragging themselves through the forest. But Chelsey understood. Were it her family, she’d never stop looking, never give up believing in a happy ending.

  As LeVar wrapped up his work, Chelsey rummaged inside her desk.

  “Heads up.”

  She tossed LeVar an energy bar and pocketed one for herself.

  “What’s this for?”

  “To hold you over until we find something nutritious. We might be in the field for a while.”

  “Gotcha. Thanks, Chelsey.”

  Chelsey released a breath.

  “I feel terrible taking you into the field without a weapon.”

  “I’m ineligible for a private investigator’s license until I turn twenty-five.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t defend yourself.”

  “Don’t worry about me. If anyone starts drama, it’s hammer time.”

  Chelsey snorted.

  “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Saturday, 6:10 p.m.