Blood Stained

by CJ Lyons

  Jenna shooed him away with a gesture. He turned, took a few steps, grabbed a second coffee mug from the counter, rushed back to press it into Lucy's hands, then left through the security door to the reception area.

  "Did he just ma'am me?" Lucy asked, holding her cup out for Jenna to fill. Reminding the postal inspector who was boss.

  "Don't be upset. He did it to me, too. While I fought the urge to card him. But damn, these Pennsylvania country boys are fine specimens of humanity. Now I see the attraction."

  Lucy shook her head. Bob was the same age as Jenna and, living out here where he had daily contact with the people he worked to protect and serve, probably had seen more of reality than the postal inspector, despite her big city upbringing. "Glad you've had a good morning, because I'm about to ruin your afternoon."

  "What happened? Did you find Caine?"

  "I did. Actually he found me. Turns out that's what all this fuss was about. A misguided attempt to reach out to me." She didn't go into all the details. No need to unveil Adam's personal troubles.

  "Great. So where is he? In the car?" Lucy said nothing. Jenna lowered her feet to the floor with a loud thump. "Don't tell me you let my fugitive go?"

  "He's just a kid."

  "He's my kid. It's my jurisdiction. My case. Officially you're not even here."

  "It was a judgment call."

  Jenna's expression mirrored one Lucy usually saw on Megan. "Next time at least do me the courtesy of asking my opinion about my case. If you don't mind, Supervisory Special Agent Guardino."

  Lucy didn't take the bait. She'd had enough of adolescents for one day. "Let me call into Walden and we'll head home."

  Jenna frowned, looked disappointed. "I thought you wanted to re-open the New Hope killer case."

  "I wanted to make sure there was no threat to my family. We've done that."

  "Maybe you've done that. Maybe. But I spent the morning going over the New Hope case. A lot happened after you were removed from it." Jenna's polite way of saying after Lucy became a victim instead of an investigator. No longer privy to the after-action reports, forensic analysis, or witness statements. "Did you know one of the victims you saved that day was an Amish girl named Rachel Strohmeyer?"

  "Mennonite. And the other an undergrad from University of North Carolina. Why?"

  "Strohmeyer's family lives just down the valley. But after you saved her, she didn't go back home."

  "Where is she?" Lucy cursed her curiosity. If they left now, she'd be home in time for Megan's soccer practice.

  "Here in New Hope. Lives in a trailer with a suspected meth dealer. I have directions if you want to pay her a visit. From what Bob says, she might need our help more than the Caine kid."

  "Why the sudden concern? Strohmeyer didn't send any threatening letters via the United States Mail."

  "Never met an Amish chick before. Plus, Bob said he was worried about her. Said he's certain the boyfriend's abusive but she'd never talk to him after neighbors called in complaints. Thought maybe a woman's touch would help."

  So Jenna had a soft touch for victims of domestic violence? Lucy wondered how long that would last. The things they saw working felony sexual assaults and crimes against children—some people, no matter how well trained or motivated, just couldn't handle it.

  "Okay. We'll stop on our way out of town." Lucy pulled the car keys from her pocket. Jenna promptly snagged them.

  "I'll drive."

  <><><>

  Having the truck turned out to be a blessing. Instead of going to Thomson's Hardware and risk being spotted by Lucy or one of her cop friends, Adam drove over the mountain and into Huntingdon where there was a Walmart.

  Everything he needed. One stop shopping. With the cash from Sally's freezer, he didn't have to limit himself to what he could steal. It was a strange feeling, pulling items off the shelf without worrying about security alarms or armed guards chasing him.

  Somehow not as much fun—but also no knot bouncing in his stomach with each step. No need to constantly be on the look out for security cameras, RFID inventory labels, or nosy sales clerks. For the first time ever, he felt, well, normal as he walked through the aisles with their shiny displays calling out to him: buy me, buy me.

  Maybe it was the boots. They made him walk tall, no slouching. And they rang out each step, making it impossible to hide. His heels stung with new blisters so he wouldn't be able to run again, not like he had from Lucy.

  He added three down sleeping bags to his cart. Scooped in more flashlights. A porta-toilet with a seat—Sally would like that. Moving in jerky movements like the maniacs he used to avoid on the streets, he filled the cart. Duct tape. Rope. Socks. First aid kit. Dehydrated food rations.

  Clatter, thud, ker-plump, he threw them all in. Not even reading labels. Too focused on not hitting anything. His anger at Lucy mounted. Should have never counted on her to make things right. Had to take care of this himself. There was only him. No one else. No one he could trust. No one who could save the kids.

  He stopped. Knives. An entire wall filled with knives. Hanging in bright plastic sleeves that glistened in the overhead fluorescent lights like tinsel hanging from a Christmas tree. Short blades, long blades, multi-function, fixed, folded, serrated, straight, double-edged.

  He didn't need another knife. He had his dad's. Razor sharp. Perfect for cutting what needed cutting.

  But… His gaze fastened onto a Gerber Covert FAST. Titanium coated blade. One handed opening. If he had it, he could save Dad's knife. Use this one for workaday stuff like getting all this shit out of the plastic boxes they came in. It was so shiny.

  He examined the knife; the overhead light reflected from the plastic wrappings at a strange angle, making the blade look red. Or maybe that was just his memory.

  Either way, by the time he turned down the aisle with toys and coloring books, the knife was safely tucked away in his pocket, its wrappings kicked beneath the bottom shelf. You didn't pay cash. Not for a knife you were planning on using. A knife like that deserved the risk and thrills and effort that came from stealing it.

  Suddenly he felt like himself again.

  He had a plan—or the beginnings of one. After loading up on games and crayons and sketch pads, he realized he needed one more thing. Marty. He couldn't be sure about Marty. Darrin would be fine, but Marty… He hated the thought of treating family like fish.

  It was all Lucy's fault. If only—never mind. He'd just have to risk Marty. Like Dad always said, sometimes you just had to go all in. That's where the fun was. The rush that told you you were alive.

  He pushed the cart around a corner too fast and almost ran down two middle-aged women. Something about his face must have scared them because they scurried off faster than jackrabbits. He ignored them. Chain. Heavy as it rattled to the bottom of the cart. And locks, strong locks. Just in case.

  No stun guns here in Walmart, although there were plenty of shoot-you-dead pistols and rifles and shotguns. Dad never relied on any one tool. If the stun gun didn't do the job, he'd use his bare hands or a cloth smothered in an adhesive remover made of chloroform. Adam turned away from the gun aisle and rolled his cart down the cleaning supply aisle.

  Better safe than sorry.

  Chapter 15

  "Deputy Bob seemed upset he wasn't the one coming with you," Lucy observed as Jenna spun the Taurus out of the sheriff's station with a yank of the steering wheel. The postal inspector drove like a mailman, all jerks and stops and lurching leaps forward. Or maybe that was how people drove in L.A.

  "Oh him. He's just a fetch and carry flirt."

  "A what?"

  "You know. A guy you flirt with to get him to fetch and carry. Doesn't mean anything."

  "I'm not sure Bob would agree." Jenna's callous attitude surprised Lucy. She couldn't get a handle on the postal inspector. Had a feeling it was because she hadn't actually met the real Jenna Galloway yet. Just one mask after another. "Not very PC of you."

  Jenna snorted. "Oh please
. Sexual equality is bullshit and you know it. Don't tell me you never used your womanly charms to get what you wanted."

  "Undercover, maybe. If it went with the role. But otherwise, no."

  "Let me guess. Married your childhood sweetheart, haven't looked at another guy since." Jenna's voice dripped with disdain. And something more. An undercurrent of envy?

  Lucy didn't answer. Mainly because Jenna was right. She and Nick were college sweethearts; she'd never met another man who made her feel like he did. "Guess I'm just lucky," she answered. "Found the right guy early."

  "You mean you settled for a guy. Humans aren't meant to be monogamous. Mate for life like wolves. Which is one of the reasons they're going extinct."

  "Does poor old fetch and carry Bob know what you think of him?"

  "He's not an idiot. I'm sure he knows the score without me telling him." Jenna glanced over at Lucy. "I'm not a slut. I'm just a healthy woman who enjoys men—plural—any way I can get them."

  Implying Lucy was some old biddy who couldn't get with the times. Maybe she was. She grew up not so far from here and even though she'd lived in Atlanta and DC, she never really left those small town sensibilities behind. Or maybe it was the security Nick offered after spending her days immersed in the extremes of human sexuality and witnessing first hand the damage it could do.

  Lucy answered, "And I'm a healthy woman who enjoys her man—singular—any way I can get him."

  "Whatever floats your boat," Jenna said dismissively. But again the undercurrent of envy tinged with something else. Pain?

  "Why did you volunteer for the SAFE team, Jenna?" Lucy had read Jenna's personnel file, knew her official answer, but she wanted the truth that would never make it into the files.

  Jenna pretended to concentrate on the empty road. "Haven't these rednecks ever heard of street signs?"

  "You mean like the one to the Twin Oak Trailer Park you just drove past?"

  Jenna swore and hit the brakes, sending the Taurus into a controlled skid as she made a J-turn, sliding into the gravel drive of the park. "Couldn't see it for the snow. Which number?"

  It was barely spitting flurries. "Forty-three."

  "Have you seen Strohmeyer, I mean, since—" Jenna fumbled, obviously not liking her word choices. Lucy understood. Easier talking about Unsubs and crime scenes than real people with real names.

  "Since Adam and I saved her? No." She tried to visit Rachel in the hospital after the docs finished stitching Lucy's own wound, but the girl had already left.

  "The after-action report is pretty sketchy. She received medical care and a forensics eval but refused to sign the releases, so we never got access to any results. Never made a statement either. Refused."

  "There's no body to compare the evidence to anyway."

  "I guess. So, I thought she was Amish—"

  "Mennonite."

  "What's the diff?"

  "They have cars and phones." Not that their connection to technology helped Rachel's family. Lucy remembered their initial interview when they realized their little girl hadn't just run off with an "English" boy. They'd held tight to each other, swallowing their emotions, leaving the station with a stiff gait, clutching hands and their Bibles.

  The day after the rescue, she spotted two deputies escorting the Strohmeyers into the station. Coming back from trying to see their daughter. They looked more haunted than ever. Worse than if she had died.

  Jenna navigated through the twists and turns of the trailer park. "I'll circle the location first," she said, steering them around another curve. Procedure dictated scouting a residence, then parking a short distance away before approaching.

  "Should be up on the left."

  Jenna turned the corner too fast, gravel spitting behind them and a dead end in front of them. Not exactly a stealth approach—not that Lucy was anticipating the need for one. Still, she watched the windows and mirrors as Jenna made a three point turn. Hands inching back curtains in the trailer opposite and the one beside Rachel's. Hands no doubt also connected to cell phones.

  "Sorry about that," Jenna muttered. They had no choice but to park in front of Rachel's trailer.

  The good news was the only vehicle in the yard had a flat tire. The bad news was it was the last trailer on the street, backing on scrub bushes and a neglected meadow bordering the forest. Their car was the only cover and there were plenty of escape routes out the back.

  Maybe the meth-head boyfriend was gone. That would make life easier for everyone.

  Lucy checked her cell. One tiny bar, barely hanging on. "You got reception?"

  She shook her head. Lucy handed Jenna her phone. "Call Bob. Ask him to send backup. If he can't, we'll come back later."

  Before Jenna could complete the call, the door to the trailer slammed open. It bounced off the outside wall. A large man, shirtless, wearing saggy jeans below his hips, dragged a woman to the doorway. He held a pistol to her head. The woman—girl, really—was barely conscious. She slumped in his arms. Her shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, her hair stringy and matted. Rachel Strohmeyer.

  "Come on in, five-oh," the man shouted. He swung the girl back and forth, using her shoulder to brace his gun arm. "Why the hell not? You're the least of my worries."

  <><><>

  Adam parked the pickup beneath the overhang behind Stolfultz's hay barn. It was snowing harder now. With the cows in the main milking barn, no one would spot the truck all the way out here. It took him three trips to haul all of the supplies to the cave.

  He set everything up in the main room, laying the sleeping bags out around the rock he used as a bed. A tight fit, but slumber parties were like that. At least the only one he'd ever went to was. A bunch of boys bumping and crowded and giggling when they were meant to be sleeping. He was six then. With his mom in the hospital, Mrs. Leary made her son invite Adam to his birthday sleepover.

  She hadn't realized she was inviting Adam to be a sheep in a den of wolves. She just thought he was a shy kid. A little strange. Too quiet for his own good.

  He stayed quiet that night. Silently suffering as the other boys threw all his clothes out the window, leaving him shivering in his underwear. They played games where the winner got to pick the next torture: shoving Adam's face in the toilet and flushing it, giving him an Indian rub, squirting soda up his nose, locking him in the cedar closet and ignoring his tears because he was afraid of the dark.

  But the dark turned out to be his protector. Left in the closet for the night, he made a nest for himself of old coats that smelled of Christmas and slept. In the morning when Mrs. Leary found him curled up in now-dirty underwear, she yelled at the boys and apologized to Adam, making him French toast while the boys ate plain old cereal.

  Tonight would be nothing like that slumber party. Adam stepped outside to fill the Coleman lanterns, lit one and brought it back into the cave so he could assess his arrangements in brighter light. Perfect. The boys would love it.

  He checked on Sally in the pit, anxious to see her joy at the new art supplies he'd gotten her. She was curled up, sound asleep, sucking her thumb. He didn't have the heart to wake her. Besides, it was nearly time for school to let out and he needed to pick up the boys.

  He left the light at the top of the pit so she wouldn't wake to darkness, grabbed his new knife, duct tape, and plastic baggie with the washcloth he soaked in chloroform, and went to collect his brothers.

  Chapter 16

  Rachel's head lolled to one side. Then she raised her lips to kiss the hostage taker's cheek.

  Being caught in the middle of a hostage negotiation with a suspected meth-user was bad enough: they tended towards the paranoid and unpredictable end of the crazy spectrum.

  But a hostage situation where the hostage was too stoned to realize she was a hostage? Talk about a nightmare.

  Lucy made a snap judgment call. Defuse the situation before things escalated. "Cover me."

  "Where the hell you going?" Jenna asked, drawing her service weapon.


  Lucy didn't answer. She left the car and stood with the engine block between her and the hostage taker's shaky aim. She raised her arms, palms up. No threat here. Just your ordinary Pittsburgh soccer mom.

  "What's your name?" she called, feeling the weight of stares on her from all sides. As if the trailer park had sprung to life in a heartbeat. "How can I help you out of this mess?"

  The hostage taker scratched at his beard with the barrel of his pistol. Unfortunately the weapon didn't discharge and he never gave Jenna a clear shot. The postal inspector qualified as expert on the range but had no real life experience. Lucy hoped she wouldn't get any here—at least not if Lucy did her job right.

  "It's cold out here, Roy. Take me back inside, baby. Light me up again. I'm crashing hard," Rachel murmured, her eyes fluttering open. Rachel slumped in Roy's arms once more. "Why're we out here? What's going on?"

  "What's going on?" Roy shouted as if Rachel were in the next county. Or as if this was somehow her fault. "Someone's stolen my boots, my truck, my jacket, and Leon's money. He's on his way here now to settle up and I ain't got squat to give him except your sorry ass."

  Lucy wished Roy's conversation with Rachel involved more body language. He relaxed into a pose holding Rachel tight as a shield against his body, his weapon aimed at her head, finger on the trigger. Lucy glanced into the car at Jenna who gripped her Sig Sauer with both hands, steadying her aim on the open window ledge. It was a shot Lucy wouldn't trust to a trained sniper, not the way Roy kept moving his head up and down behind Rachel's, so she shook Jenna off.

  "Sounds like hard times, Roy. My name's Lucy. Maybe I can help."

  He jerked as if he'd forgotten she was there. "How the hell you gonna do that? Got three thousand dollars in your purse there, Lucy?"

  Lucy didn't even have a purse. Much less three thousand cash. "I could invite you down to the sheriff's station. If you're safe and sound in custody, might give Leon time to cool off." The throbbing sound of a motorcycle missing its muffler rumbled through the snow-laden air. "You can even tell him we confiscated it. No one the wiser and you'd be clear."