October's Children: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller

by Dallas Mullican

  A rap at the door and Preston stuck his head in. “Everything okay? I saw the Sheriff jet out of here. She looked pretty upset.”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. You mind keeping an eye on him for a few minutes.” Marlowe thumbed toward Sam.

  Marlowe retrieved Amanda’s gun and left the interrogation room. At the end of the hall, he made eye contact with Troy and motioned for him to follow. They found Amanda in her office packing personal items into a bankers box.

  “What the hell happened? What are you doing?” Troy grabbed for the box. Amanda snatched it away, sat it down out of Troy’s reach, and continued setting objects inside without so much as a glance up at him.

  “Amanda, you don’t have to do this. We can work it out.” Marlowe eased around the desk and placed his hand on her shoulder.

  She jerked back from his touch. “You saw what happened. I lost it. I could have killed him. I wanted to kill him.” Amanda took a long gaze at some photo, ran her fingertip lightly over the frame’s edge, and tucked it into the box. “Ironic, all this time I wanted to put Ewing in prison, or worse, and now it’s likely me going into a cell. At the very least, he can sue the county into bankruptcy.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Yes, you messed up, bad, but Sam isn’t exactly the greatest witness, and I’ll stand for you. Nothing happened,” said Marlowe. “You’re emotional right now, and understandably so, but don’t say or do anything until we can work this out.”

  “No.” Her head snapped up with a determined set to her jaw and steeled resolve in her eyes. “Listen, both of you. I don’t want you jeopardizing your careers for me. I won’t allow it. Promise me you’ll play this straight up.” She stared them both down until they gave her vague nods of agreement. “Besides, it’s all on video. Even if we erased the tape and denied everything, I’d know. I couldn’t live with it. I’ve put that poor man through enough already. I saw what I wanted to see, made all the evidence fit. My mind was made up from the get go, and I refused to consider Sam didn’t do it. I’m not going to call him a liar on this, too.” Amanda set her palms flat against the desktop and hung her head.

  “Okay, why don’t you go home and take it easy until this case is resolved. Afterwards, we’ll deal with it.” Marlowe again patted her shoulder, and this time she leaned into his touch. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.” Amanda hugged the box to her chest, gave them a sad, resigned smile, and left the office. Once she was out of the room, Marlowe turned to Troy. “Have someone make sure she gets home.”

  “What are you going to do? Shouldn’t we—”

  “I’m going to see if I can salvage anything from Sam. He’s still the closest thing we have to a witness. He’s got to know something useful.” Marlowe stepped to the door.

  “Think he’ll talk now? If he wouldn’t before, he sure as hell won’t now.“

  “I’ve got to try,” said Marlowe. “He’s all we’ve got.”

  “Shit, her badge. She left it.” Troy picked up the silver star and turned it between his fingers with tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

  “Leave it for now.” Marlowe gently pried the badge from the deputy’s hand and placed it in one of the desk drawers. He squeezed the big man’s arm. “I know how you feel about Amanda. I care about her, too. And I promise we’ll do all we can to help her, to keep her out of hot water, but right now, I need you to run the department in her place. We still have a job to do, and three little girls depending on us. I need you to step up, Deputy.”

  Troy wiped his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  Marlowe left Troy to collect himself and returned to the interrogation room. Before entering, he dialed down the lighting and set the thermostat to a comfortable setting. Inside the doorway, he nodded to Preston, who returned the gesture and promptly exited, leaving Marlowe alone with Sam.

  “I’m sorry about earlier. There’s no excuse, and you have every right to—”

  “She’s in pain.”

  Sam’s voice held no anger. Instead, Marlowe noted sincere compassion. The simple insight stunned Marlowe. He stared at Sam, amazed at how this man, vilified and wrongfully accused, could see beyond hostilities and find a measure of forgiveness for his persecutors. Furthermore, he recognized the common bond binding Amanda and Sam. Marlowe could relate, coming close to losing Paige more than once, and with Katy’s murder, he did not need to imagine a pain that never entirely went away.

  Marlowe pointed to the image still paused on the television screen. “Tell me about Hailey.”

  Sam’s expression brightened and darkened simultaneously upon the mention of his daughter’s name. Memories at once cherished and heartrending swirled behind his eyes. “Beautiful. I never understood how something so beautiful could come from any part of me. And smart. That day, when I picked her up from school, she showed me her report card. All As. She always got straight As. I was so proud of her. She was smarter than me even before the…” Sam unconsciously rubbed the scar blemishing the side of his head. “I should have seen the car. I should have done something.”

  “There’s nothing harder than losing a child. The sheriff lost her son to an accident, and like you, blames herself, unable to let go. In my own way, I can relate. I’m no stranger to grief and guilt.” Marlowe tapped a finger on the photos of the twins. “We can’t do anything about the past, about our own losses, but we can help the Sorrels avoid the same pain. They wait by the phone, staring at the door, terrified each knock or call will bring the horrible news their girls are dead. Or perhaps worse, no word will ever come. They might never know what happened to their children. Never know if they are dead, or alive out there somewhere in the world, waiting for mommy and daddy to come find them.” After retrieving the items arranged on the table, Marlowe returned them to the box. “I know you didn’t take the girls, and you didn’t kill the parents. You’re cleared, no longer a suspect. You can walk out of here right now and put this all behind you.” He patted the tabletop, drawing Sam’s gaze to meet his own. “But I hope you won’t. You were the last person to see the girls. Something you saw, no matter how seemingly insignificant, could prove the difference between life and death for them. It could mean their safe return to their parents. You couldn’t save Hailey, and that wasn’t your fault, but you have a chance to help these children. You can honor Hailey’s memory, and maybe, find a little peace for yourself.”

  Sam seemed to huddle into himself, a protective stance—shoulders pulled in, head down—but gave a slight nod of consent.

  Marlowe smiled grimly. “After the girls ran across the creek, you followed them to the edge of the forest, behind the Baldwin’s house. What happened next?”

  “The rain, I remember it coming down hard, and thunder so loud it hurt my head. But it was the lightning that scared me most. It struck real close and hit a tree not a hundred yards away.” Sam shivered at the memory. “I’d seen the girls go ‘round the front of the house, so I knew they were okay. I found a dugout in a big ol’oak tree and climbed in. Guess the rain beatin’ down lulled me to sleep. When I woke up, it was real dark. Musta slept a couple of hours.”

  Shit. A lot could have happened in two hours or more.

  “Do you recall any vehicles driving along the road?” asked Marlowe.

  “No sir.”

  “Any sounds from the house that seemed out of the ordinary? Loud noises or screams?”

  “No sir. Guess I slept pretty deep.” Sam frowned. “Sorry. I’m not being much help.”

  “You’re doing fine,” said Marlowe. “Once you woke, what did you do?”

  “The storm had let up, but more lightning not too far off and thunder still boomin’. Another storm coming in, so I figured I’d head on down to the river. That cave ya’ll found. It’s where I go when we get a heavy rain, since the roof leaks pretty bad at my house. Just found it one day when I was going to the Bend.”

  “Before you left for the cave, you went inside the Baldwins’ home. What made you go inside? Did you hear somet
hing? See something?”

  Sam shied at the question and averted his eyes. “I-I didn’t…I didn’t go inside.”

  “It’s okay. You’re not going to get into trouble. Just tell me what you saw in the house.”

  A long pause suggested Sam might not answer, and once more, his fear would win out over concern for the children or appeals to his sense of honor. In spite of any slowness of mind or diminished intellect the wreck might have caused, he obviously understood what made him appear guilty and displayed a reticence to trust Marlowe’s assurances to the contrary.

  “The front door was open. I watched for a bit, but no one came to close it.” Sam eased in, his voice barely audible. “Decided I better check. Guess I was still worried about those girls. I went up to the doorway and yelled in, but nobody answered. The smell hit me first.” He blanched and bit his lip. “Coppery like and smoke. I stepped inside and saw the woman sitting real still on the sofa. I said ‘mam, you okay?’ a couple times before I noticed the blood. I wanted to run right then. Just get out of there.” Sam’s hands trembled and his knees bounced up and down beneath the table. “Somehow, I made myself stay. No one was in the bedrooms or bathroom. Not a sound, dead quiet. I started down the basement stairs and saw the man. I did run then. Fast as I could. Didn’t stop ‘til I reached my cave down by the river.”

  Sam looked as if he might hyperventilate, breaths coming in quick gasps, his body quivering. Marlowe gave him a moment to settle before gently nudging him on. “Good, you’re doing great. Both of the Baldwins were dead when you found them?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You say you saw the man, but you did more than that, right? You took the ring off his finger?”

  “I didn’t. No way I would touch him. I found the ring on a dresser in the bedroom, the bigger one. Looked so much like mine, the one I threw in the lake when Janet left me. Not sure why I took it. I’m sorry.” His head dropped, his vision fixed on the tabletop.

  “I understand. It’s okay.” Marlowe leaned forward, his voice calm and low. “You took something else didn’t you? A gun?”

  Sam shook his head violently. “No sir. I didn’t take a gun.”

  “I need you to be honest, Sam.”

  “I swear I didn’t. I swear.”

  Tears flowed from Sam’s eyes as he continued to shake his head. He was more child than man, and Marlowe knew pushing him further would not yield any better results. “Okay, Sam. It’s alright.” Marlowe waited for Sam to calm. “That’s all for now, but I’d like you to stay here at the station for a few days. We’ll put out the word that you are not a suspect and make sure the right places know. Still, some folks aren’t going to like it. They want someone to blame, and you’re their most convenient target.”

  “I wanna go home.”

  “It’s for your own protection. If not here, we can put you up in a motel out of the county.”

  “No. I wanna go.” His voice rose, a shrill tenor vibrating with the adamancy of his refusal.

  “Okay, Sam. I’ll have a deputy drive you home.”

  “I can walk. I wanna walk.”

  Marlowe thought to insist, but with Sam one complaint away from landing Amanda in a world of hurt, not to mention the obstinate set to the man’s jaw, he decided not to push the issue. He could send a deputy behind Sam to keep an eye on him.

  Marlowe waited at the front entrance to the station while Sam changed and gathered his things. No deputies were presently available to play babysitter, which worried him, and left him with no choice but to send someone later.

  “Remember what I told you,” said Marlowe as Sam left the station. “Keep your head down and stay out of sight for a few days.”

  Sam nodded and trudged off down the sidewalk, never glancing back. Unable to shake a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Marlowe watched him until he disappeared around a distant corner.

  * * *

  The images of Hailey played over and over in Sam’s mind as he ambled along the highway. Seeing her photo was one thing, he stared at it each day for years, but in the video, she seemed alive—the wind blowing her long golden hair, the glint in her brilliant blue eyes, the joy in her contagious laughter. Every movement contradicted the stillness of death that claimed her. He missed her so much.

  On a side road feeding into Highway 11 a monstrous truck idled at the stop sign. Black with Chevy painted in orange along the tailgate and sporting a confederate flag on the back windshield, the truck revved its powerful engine, a thunderous growl breathing smoke from the tailpipe. Sam knew the vehicle; he still wore bruises courtesy of the occupants.

  “Hey, child killer.” Randall Pitts pulled onto the road and coasted alongside Sam. “How come you ain’t in jail? Some hippie, liberal judge let you out?”

  Percy crushed a beer can in his fist and tossed it at Sam from the passenger window. Sam turned his body, and the can, aimed for his head, hit the back of his neck, wetting his hair and spilling onto his jacket.

  “Time for some fuckin’ country-style justice I’d say.” Percy slapped his brother on the arm. Both men laughed—a cruel, sadistic sound—and raced up the road, tires squealing in a cloud of white smoke followed by a deafening roar.

  Sam shivered in the cold. The beer felt like a razor blade as it edged round his neck and trickled down his back and chest. Up ahead, the Pitts brothers had turned the truck around. A menacing black grill seemed to snarl at Sam, an accompanying growl rising and falling with each press on the accelerator.

  The truck launched into gear and barreled down the blacktop, its massive tires straddling the white line at the road’s edge. Sam walked on, oddly devoid of fear. Two steps to the left would take him beyond the shoulder and out of harm’s way. Two steps would continue a life without Hailey, without his little girl. Two steps would continue a life without joy, without hope.

  Two steps.

  Hailey, baby, Daddy’s coming.

  Two steps Sam Ewing did not take.

  CHAPTER

  24

  Amanda’s fallen god stared down from her altar of lost children—a false god, nothing more than a white rabbit teasing her down holes to nowhere. She saw her reflection in the eyes and deportment of that pitiful man, sad and broken, and it sickened her. With her gun to his beneath his chin, she had desired so badly to squeeze the trigger, and looking back, it remained unclear in her mind exactly who she wanted to kill. Their voices striking unison and thundering through her head humbled and humiliated her and made a lie of her convictions.

  Time to reevaluate and recommit.

  She pushed away cravings for liquor, thirsty to experience these emotions undiluted, raw and painful. Falling on her hands and knees, Amanda raked flyers of missing children still littering the floor close around her. Her god required a new face, a true face. When she closed her eyes, the visage of the man drowning her son in the river faded to blank, the tarry, black glob oozing across the yard, again featureless and amorphous.

  Sam Ewing did not kill Tommy, but someone did. Someone still out there. Amanda realized events had transpired as they must. Fate, everything drove her to this moment. She should have quit the force long ago and devoted her life to what was most important, finding her son’s killer—a matter she could now rectify while avoiding the same mistakes. This time, she’d be certain. This time, she would follow no procedures, and no laws would dictate or restrict her actions. Her only guide—a mother’s need for retribution, for closure.

  With the flyers gathered into a neat pile, Amanda stood and walked to the wall. She removed Sam’s photo and began tacking the children’s pictures back into place. A sense of renewal filled her, a certainty of rectitude. No matter how long it took, she would dedicate the remainder of her life to the pursuit and make things right. Others would undoubtedly assume her mad, a mother unable to move on. They might see no difference between her and Sam. Even so, someday, when she stood before them with Tommy’s killer in tow, they would understand how wrong they were.

&n
bsp; Nothing else mattered.

  The children depicted on the flyers, hundreds of them, were never found. None except for the last. A Hispanic girl named Sofia Martinez, age five, disappeared from a shopping mall in Columbus, Mississippi. Sofia’s older sister, Emma, age seven, witnessed the abduction. A man, later identified as Brian Stafford, approached the sisters, snatched Sofia, and sped away with her in a white van. Emma provided police with a vague description, which proved unhelpful. Months later Emma recalled the man as someone who had performed yard work at her family’s house. The police did not take her claim seriously, so the Martinez family hired their own sketch artist and released the picture to the media. Stafford’s family turned him in, and authorities found Sofia alive nine months after her kidnapping.

  Amanda kept this one flyer as a reminder of the possible. When no one believed, when faith grew dim, she held the image of Sofia to her chest. Possible. If she could hold on to hope and keep looking. Emma Martinez never gave up on her sister, and Amanda would never give up on finding justice for her son. She would prove them wrong. Prove she had not wasted years chasing a ghost, fueled by grief and anger, unable to let go and face the truth. She would prove them wrong. Nothing else mattered.

  The full scope of her altar, its reconstruction complete, encompassed four years of sorrow, loss, grief, frustration, and anger. So many faces, innocent and young, with frozen smiles, refuted the horror they experienced, and which their families and friends endured. Amanda stared at each one in turn, and then the entire mosaic, allowing it in, letting it fill her. Heat on her neck and face, a constriction in her stomach and chest, she clenched her fists, her teeth grinding.

  Rage.

  She would stoke it daily, hourly, every minute and second, never letting the inferno wane. Some lived on hope, the belief of things yet unseen. Rage propelled with greater intensity. It did not wait, but actively pursued its culmination. Amanda hugged the fury close. She would carry it as a shield and a weapon —a shield from anything that might detour, a weapon to slay the beast haunting her past and plaguing her future.