The Depth of Darkness

by L. T. Ryan

  Thirty minutes later Sam and I occupied a booth at Schmitty’s. We’d dropped the Boss off at my place, after which I’d called to check on Ella. She’d already gone to bed, worn out from a day of boating and fishing, Terrence had said. He’d also told me that no one had been by. A relief to me. I figured I’d leave her there a few more days and pick her up once things seemed to have settled down. Now that the men had their ten million dollars, they had little use for me.

  Sam raised his drink, took a sip and set the glass down. “What’s next for you?”

  “I figure I’ll hang around for a couple days and see if Bridget calls with any leads.”

  “Think she will?”

  “Find a lead? Yes. Call? No.”

  “Things didn’t go so well down in Savannah I take it.”

  “You could say that.”

  “I did say that.”

  I nodded and said nothing.

  “I’m going to do what I can to get involved with the case, Mitch. With you out, I don’t have a partner, so I don’t think they’ll assign anything to me. Figure I can latch onto the investigation. Maybe I’ll turn something up. If I do, you’ll be the first person I’ll call.”

  “Appreciate it. Now, Sam, do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  “Stop talking about it.”

  We talked about sports and our hopes for the upcoming football season. I figured I’d get to catch a lot of games, being recently single and suspended. Although Lana and I hadn’t talked, the breakup would occur soon.

  Midnight rolled around and I decided to head home. A few detectives we knew had joined us and one who remained sober promised to get Sam home safely. With the temperature in the sixties and the humidity about the same, I walked. The temperature had cooled enough and the humidity had dropped enough so that the mile and a half trek didn’t result in me covered with sweat.

  I stopped on the sidewalk across the street from my house. There was a car in the driveway. A woman on my porch.

  Only it wasn’t the woman I wanted to see.

  Chapter 50

  I crossed the street and cut across the lawn toward the screened in porch, well aware that Lana watched my every step. She waited on the sofa next to the front door with her hands on her knees and her back straight. As I neared, the light caught her face and her eyes sparkled with tears. I pulled the door open. She wore a plain t-shirt and cutoff jean shorts, frayed white at the bottom. A cast extended from just below her left knee and covered her foot. Her bare toes poked out. Someone had painted her toenails pink or red. The light was too dim to tell.

  “What are you doing here, Lana?”

  “I hadn’t heard from you. I wanted to see you.”

  I felt cold and distant. Was I really here with her on the porch? We’d shared many embraces in front of the door, sat up late into the night on that couch, talking about our pasts and the possible future. A future that had no chance of happening now.

  “Mitch, what’s wrong?”

  I walked past her. She reached out. I avoided her hand.

  “I’m going inside.”

  “Help me up?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Our gazes met. Her eyes were wide and wet. Her right arm extended toward me. I stepped inside and let the screen door slam shut behind me. I’d hoped she’d take the hint that I didn’t want her around. She didn’t, though, and a moment later the front door closed and she navigated down the hall, on crutches, toward me.

  “You know, don’t you?” she asked.

  I stood in front of the refrigerator with both doors wide open. The cold air washed over me. I inhaled it deep. My damp shirt clung to my chest and felt as though it had iced over. I thought I’d be the one to resort to point blank questioning, not her. I grabbed a beer and then let go of the French doors. They swung shut, cutting off the cool air.

  “Mitch?”

  “Yeah, I know, Lana.”

  “Did he tell you?”

  “McCree mentioned it when they interviewed him. I wasn’t there, but one of the detectives sent me the transcripts.”

  “What did he say?”

  I turned around and walked over to the kitchen island where she stood on the opposite side. I twisted the cap off my beer and placed the it in my pocket as I set the bottle on the counter. The escaping carbonated gas looked like steam slipping through a street grate.

  The tears that had been gathering in Lana’s eyes now fell down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. The tracks crossed and intermingled and her shirt absorbed her tears. Despite the sorrow she exhibited, I did not find it difficult to be angry with her.

  “He said that he had a thing for student teachers. He meant twenty-something women, I suppose. A few he kept around. Some longer than others.” I dipped my head so our eyes were level. She glanced away. “And he said that you kept coming back for more. Week after week, even while we were together. And here I thought you didn’t show up on Sundays because you were a church going woman.”

  “It’s not like that, Mitch.”

  “No? Then what’s it like? Please, Lana, enlighten me, because I’d sure the fuck like to know what you’ve been doing.”

  Her hands gripped the counter top like she expected it to float away, and she’d been tasked with keeping it in place. “He threatened my job, Mitch. My career was in jeopardy. Nobody would have believed me. He’s a man, an administrator, they’d have taken his word for it and I’d have been out on the street made to be the evil seductress. I wouldn’t have been able to teach anywhere, ever again.”

  “This is how you justify it? I’m the law. You could have told me this early on and I could have fixed it.”

  Her head shook, but she said nothing. The tears continued to fall. We were more like strangers now than we’d ever been.

  “Mitch, please, I want to fix this.”

  “Then show yourself to the door.”

  “Mitch,” she said as I turned my back on her. “Don’t go.”

  I headed toward the garage. Her tears had given way to heavy sobs. Without turning, I said, “Lana, if you’re still here when I return from the garage, I’ll have you arrested.” I let the door fall shut behind me and leaned back against it. My head started to ache. A combination of too much beer, stress, and dealing with her. It had to be done though, and I began to feel relieved that I’d never have to face her again.

  I spent the following two days murdering my lawn with industrial strength weed killer, working on the Boss, and wasting time on the computer. Sam called three times a day. His updates were brief and lacking substance. Bridget didn’t call at all. I wondered if she’d taken early leave for her new position. Which would be the city lucky enough to have her, Denver or D.C.? I kept up hope that she’d stop by if for no other reason than to allow me to apologize to her. Of course, I could have asked Sam to look up her address for me. But I didn’t. It didn’t feel right. It had to be her choice, not mine.

  On that second night, as I drifted in and out of sleep, wondering about Debby Walker and whether or not she was alive, my phone rang. I ignored it. Nothing good happens when you answer a call at two in the morning. It rang again. Being forced awake moments before, I picked it up to answer it. The call came from a number in the 912 area code. I nearly sent it to voice mail, but then I remembered that the 912 area code was used in southeastern Georgia.

  It was the only area code used in Savannah.

  Chapter 51

  As quick as I could clear my throat, I answered the call. “Cassie?”

  “Mitch, have you found the girl yet?”

  I righted myself on the sofa and took a drink from the glass of water I had on the end table. “I haven’t done anything since I left. I’m suspended and that FBI agent is pissed off at me, so she shut me out.”

  “Personally or professionally?”

  “You sure you’re not psychic?”

  Cassie did not respond to my failed attempt at humor.

  “Both,” I said. “Sam is trying
to latch himself onto the investigation, but not having much luck. It’s a dead end up here, both on the girl and the murderer-kidnappers.”

  “Bent,” she said.

  She threw off my train of thought. I paused for a few seconds. “What are you talking about?”

  “Bent,” she said again.

  “What is bent? What’s this have to do with the girl?”

  Cassie breathed heavily into the phone, like she was hiding it from someone, or something, while talking.

  “Cassie? Talk to me.”

  “That’s what he says his name is. Does Bent mean anything to you, Mitch?”

  “Bent? Do you mean Ben?” I glanced at the portable hanging on the wall. I thought about calling Sam to find out if something had happened. “We’ve got a person of interest named Ben McCree.”

  She remained silent for a few moments, then said, “No, that’s not it. Think, please. Bent? What’s it mean?”

  “Bent.” I repeated the word verbally and mentally several times over. “Bennett? Cassie, Principal Bennett is the man who was murdered.”

  “Bennett,” she said, followed by several words spoken too low for me to decipher. “Yes!”

  “Is Principal Bennett there with you now?” I asked.

  “In a way,” she said. “It’s not like that all the time.”

  “Well, what’s he saying?”

  Cassie took a moment to respond. Then, she whispered, “Bricks, bricks, bricks.”

  “What?” By this point, I’d risen and now stood in the kitchen, waiting for a pot of coffee to brew. I decided after this I’d buy one of those single serving machines with the little plastic cups. As often as my nights were interrupted and called for a heavy dose of caffeine, it’d save me a lot of time.

  “Bricks,” she whispered again. She kept repeating the word. I’d only watched Cassie in action once before, and this fell in line with what I saw then.

  “Cassie,” I said loudly. “I need you to talk to me.”

  She coughed, then groaned. “Mitch?”

  “What’s going on? What is it about bricks?”

  “That’s what he kept saying, Mitch. That, and he told me time is running out. Soon to be gone. Bricks secured the wall between the past and the future.”

  “What the hell? We’ve got a riddling ghost?”

  Cassie groaned, deeply. I had a feeling it wasn’t her and that I’d upset a ghost. I said, “Bricks, time running out, soon to be gone.”

  “Yes, Detective,” she said. “Does any of that make sense?”

  “No,” I said. “Can you ask him to elaborate?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes, he left.”

  “Was it something I said?”

  She started to speak, then hesitated. “It’s not like that. He’s just…gone.”

  “When these beings come to you, do you get any kind of imagery?”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “Did you tonight? Like maybe an image of where the girl is or of these bricks?”

  “No. There was nothing, Mitch. Blackness and his words, that’s all.”

  “How’s that…” I cut myself off. No point in asking how the man sounded. It did little to advance our case. “Okay, listen, Cassie. I’ve got your number on my phone, and you’ve got mine. You hear anything, get any more visitors, whatever, you call me. Got it?”

  “Okay, Detective.”

  “And I’ll do the same.” Although, I didn’t expect to receive any spectral guests anytime soon.

  We hung up and I ran upstairs and showered, skipped shaving, and got dressed. By the time I returned to the kitchen, the coffee had brewed. I poured some into a mug while thumbing Sam’s number. The phone rang several times, then the call went to voice mail. I called twice more before he answered.

  “Sam, you up?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Probably not.”

  He groaned into the phone. I imagined him sitting up and grabbing his head. He’d had a lot to drink, and I guessed he’d drank plenty more after I’d left. The clock on the microwave said it was two-thirty in the morning. He might have only been asleep for half an hour.

  “Cassie called me,” I said.

  Sam drew in a sharp breath of air, then exhaled loudly. “What’d she say?”

  “She said that Principal Bennett was with her.” I wanted his reaction to that before I gave him the rest.

  “Okay,” he said, drawing the word out.

  “He had a message for us.”

  “What was it?”

  “He said bricks and that we’d better hurry the hell up.”

  “Hold on.” After a few moments of silence, followed by the sound of running water, Sam returned to the phone. “What’s the context of this ghost message?”

  “Cassie kept saying bricks over and over again. And then, I guess his final message, was time was running out and something about a wall and the past and the future. I figure he meant the girl. But bricks, I mean, what else do kidnappers do with bricks other than tie them around someone’s neck or ankles when they toss them overboard into the water? And if that were the case, time would have run out long ago.”

  “Unless they built something with the bricks.”

  “Or closed something.” I reached into the cabinet and pulled down a travel mug.

  “Mitch, didn’t you say something after we left McCree’s house about bricks.”

  I searched my memory, but could not recall. “It’s not registering at the moment.”

  “Horace or Fairchild, one of them mocking you.”

  “About the bricks in the corner of the yard.” It came back to me. I pinched the phone between my neck and shoulder while dumping the contents of my mug into the travel mug. “Sam, get dressed. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Chapter 52

  My headlights washed over Sam’s front lawn as I turned into his driveway. He stood on the porch, coffee mug in hand, and with his shoulder holster hanging open. His shirt was unbuttoned and his slacks looked wrinkled. I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Sam was dressed for work.

  He jogged over, opened the door and plopped onto the passenger’s seat. “Damn car’s gonna wake the neighborhood.”

  I revved the engine. It sounded like two dozen lions roaring. “Let’s go, man.” I backed out of the driveway, shifted into first and pressed the gas. The Boss’s tires screeched along the asphalt. I could care less who it woke up. We had a lead.

  “Did you call Bridget?” Sam asked.

  “No, why?” I hoped he hadn’t.

  “Just curious how much we were sharing, that’s all.”

  “Nothing,” I said. “You and me right now. That’s it. We figure out for sure where the girl is, we can make some calls. To hell with everyone else for right now.”

  “Okay. Just wanted to know where we stand.”

  I raced past an unmarked going at least thirty over the speed limit. Had to have been a cop I knew. He didn’t come after me. I wouldn’t have stopped even if he had.

  The lights inside McCree’s house, like most in the neighborhood, were off. The empty driveway offered no clues as to whether someone was home or not. We drove past and stopped two houses down. Sam and I approached McCree’s from the front. The garage door had eight square tinted windows cut into it about head high. We each shined a flashlight through the window next to us and peered inside. Our beams bounced off the bare floor. It looked the same as a few days before.

  “Think he fled?” Sam asked.

  “I’m wondering,” I replied.

  “He came off as an arrogant prick in that interview, but nothing that he said gave any indication he might have been involved. It really sounded like he hated his brother and only loaned his truck to appease their mother.”

  I nodded and said nothing.

  “Try the door?”

  “Nah, let’s go around back.”

  We walked around the side of the house. Ten feet of grass separated
McCree’s house from his neighbor’s. A six-foot privacy fence ringed the backyard. The gate was padlocked, so we climbed over.

  “He didn’t have a dog, did he?” I asked as I threw my right leg over the top of the fence.

  Sam forced a laugh, grabbed the top of the fence, and pulled himself up. “Better hope not.”

  I dropped to the ground and pulled my pistol. I swept my flashlight across the yard in wide arcs, the barrel of my gun following along. The shin-high grass could stand to be mowed. Dew reflected off the tall bending blades.

  “Where was it?” Sam asked.

  “Other end,” I said, starting toward the opposite side of the yard. I passed by the sliding glass door and raised porch. I recalled those two yokels Horace and Fairchild standing there, mocking me. I swore right then and there that if they did anything to screw this case up, I’d nail their asses to the wall. As it turned out, I might have to thank them if this bricks revelation helped the case. I shined my light through the uncovered back door. Nothing stood out in the illuminated portion of the home.

  Sam’s light shot ahead of me and fell upon the stack of bricks. “There you go.”

  We continued forward and stopped a few feet shy of the pile.

  “So, you think that’s what the message was about?” The tone of Sam’s voice told me he still didn’t believe in Cassie.

  I leaned forward to inspect them. “They look old, worn. Keep that light on them for a minute.” I backed up a step or two before heading toward the deck. The wooden stairs bent slightly with each step. I reached the top, turned, and located the bricks again. “The pile’s maybe half as tall as it had been a few days ago.”

  “These bricks are the ones then.”

  “Presumably, yes. But, for what?” I shone my lights on McCree’s house. The sides and back were siding, but the front was brick. I grabbed a brick from the pile in each hand and told Sam to do the same. We kicked at the gate until the latch broke and then jogged around to the front of the house. I placed one brick on the ground while holding the other in my hand. It felt weathered and gritty. I took a step back and aimed my light toward the bricks, and then on the house.