Scare Me

by Richard Parker

  They weren’t crouching though.

  Will quickly descended the stairs. He hadn’t looked back as he’d entered the garden. Why would he have when he expected to find the family inside the house? He grabbed his laptop and headed outside where the sprinklers were still hissing.

  At first he thought the people kneeling in a circle had been beheaded. But as he moved closer he could discern the two adults and two teenagers were crouching on all fours with their heads entirely buried in the border of earth.

  Now he could see the mother’s jade summer dress was streaked with dark blood. When he reached them, he could tell how hard the mud had been compacted around their shoulders. They were all buried up to the neck and when he tried to shift the mother back from the circle she didn’t budge. The bodies were rooted in the ground, their fingers touching at the centre as if they’d dug themselves in.

  Will ditched the laptop and knelt in the dirt with the corpses, felt the impact in his knees as he tried to fix on his reason for being there. He slid his hands into the pockets of the boys’ jeans, feeling the pressure of their dead flesh against his gloved fingers. What item of clothing was he looking for? He unbuttoned the back pockets of the father’s chinos, but there was nothing concealed within. He looked over the tableau for something that could be removed – no jewellery that he recognised as Libby’s.

  Then he saw the garden spade leaning against the wall and knew it hadn’t been carelessly left there after the family had been positioned. Will got to his feet and grabbed the handle. He aimed the blade at the centre of the human circle, trying to estimate where their heads would be and lifted one of his legs over the bodies. He slowly exerted pressure on the edge with his foot.

  The spade slid slowly into the dry, compacted soil, half an inch at a time. As he waggled it from side to side, he prayed he wouldn’t contact bone. The blade creaked, grated and went deeper. He tried to maintain his balance and pushed harder against the metal. It hit the looser earth below and gave to his weight, sinking all the way so the sole of his shoe was almost flush to the ground.

  He carefully levered it and, as the ground parted, the bodies slumped sideways and he could see their hair emerge, matted with soil. He tugged them away from the hole by their cold ankles and turned them. The dirt fell inside the hollows in their heads.

  There was something protruding from the father’s mouth. It looked like a sharpened tongue, but its colour was too bright to be blood red. Will tugged it. It was a piece of material balled there. He yanked the headscarf out and clutched it in his hand.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  While Weaver was out of earshot, Pope made the call. Waiting for a police statement was a good time to use up the free minutes on your cell, but this was one conversation he’d been nervous about since he’d opened his eyes that morning.

  “Patrice?” When there was no greeting after she’d picked up, he assumed she still had his name in her phone. “I tried you at home, but I got your voicemail.”

  “I’m at the mall…” She left the statement trailing as if she might be waiting for specific directions.

  They both needed a map for these conversations. Pope gave her the chance to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Should I call back later?”

  “No,” she said a little too quickly. Did she just want it over and done with?

  Pope tried to picture Patrice with the phone clasped to her face. It had been three years since they’d seen each other. She’d filled out a little the last time, but it had suited her. She’d let her hair go grey and that had worked too. He wondered if she still had it in a spiky bob. “Just wondered what plans you had for tomorrow.”

  “Sean’s eighteenth, Sean’s twenty-first – do you really think it matters if you put in an appearance?” Patrice’s voice had the resignation of someone who knew Pope would forever disappoint her, but had given up being angry about it.

  He hated to hear that more than anything else. He’d always felt that he’d have time to make amends. But he was fifty-five and nothing had changed since their last meeting. That had coincided with him moving in with Lenora and when he thought his minor celebrity status might have led to better things. Looking back he was sure Patrice might have been looking for friendship if not reconciliation. It had been his last chance to be decent to her and he’d blown it. He’d spent every minute they’d had telling her how good things had been for him when he suspected they hadn’t been for her. “I could drop everything tomorrow and head over for the day.”

  “Drop everything?” For once she wasn’t referring to the job that his inability to uncouple himself from had made him a stranger to her and Sean. Patrice was alluding to the fact he had someone else at home now. She wasn’t aware his relationship was now based largely on the sharing of an apartment.

  “It would be good to see you.” Getting older made him mean it more and more. “How are things?” He knew the question was a mistake before he asked it.

  “I’ve got to finish the shopping.”

  It was like she’d made the conscious decision to shut him out of every part of her life. He sensed she was lonely. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Patrice.”

  “You might have to,” she said tiredly, as if rejecting his demands was the one luxury she’d earned.

  Pope resisted the urge to say her name as Weaver returned from the bathroom. He knew she’d hung up so folded his phone and put it on the table top. He looked down at his quesadillas and tried to decide if they were breakfast or dinner. It was dark outside, that ruled out lunch.

  “It’s ten to.” Weaver was still zipping his pants. He sucked the last of his Sprite though the ice in his cup and pointed at Pope’s plate. “Don’t make a career of those. We’ve got to get back.”

  He left Pope to consider how, when he was married, he yearned to be single and now he was virtually single he yearned to be married. He pushed the plate aside and rose unsteadily to his feet.

  A waitress approached his table with a pad and pencil.

  “I’m good thanks. Just the cheque.”

  “I was just wondering if I could get your autograph.”

  Pope took her in a little more. Slim, late forties, dark ringlets and handsome Hispanic features to match her accent. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown. Flirt with this woman when the cops were about to issue a statement, what was he thinking? “Sure.”

  “I thought it was you then I saw the news truck parked out front.”

  “Who am I signing this to?”

  “Albertine.”

  Pope felt her gaze on his exposed legs while he signed the pad and smiled. It was the first time this had happened in a good while.

  “Working a story around here?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got to run, but switch on News 55 and you’ll see what it’s all about.”

  “It’s been quite a happening place today. Glad my shift’s over, I can’t take any more excitement.”

  Pope didn’t know if there was a proposition there, but smiled again and moved towards the door.

  “First the weird guy in the parking lot and now you turning up here.”

  Pope looked through the window at Weaver pulling the OB vehicle out of its space and waving frantically at him. “Weird guy in the parking lot?” He only repeated it to humour her.

  “Came in to use the computers and then stood frozen in the lot on the way back to his car. Didn’t move for a couple of minutes. It was freaky.”

  Although middle age was rounding off Pope’s instincts he knew he’d be mad to dismiss any story with such proximity to the homicide in North Vine Street; Pope waved at Weaver to hold on. He turned from the door. “What time was this?”

  “Around lunchtime.” She rolled her eyes briefly upwards and then nodded to confirm.

  Pope moved back into the dining area. “And he used these computers?” He gestured towards them and walked to the rear of the restaurant. There were four there. Surely a perp wouldn’t log into a computer so near a crime scene. “Do you remem
ber which desk he was at?”

  “The end one. Where you’re stood.”

  “Any chance I can log in here?”

  Albertine looked around. A handful of diners seemed disinterested in their exchange. She joined Pope and quickly tapped in a password. “Don’t tell my boss I did this. Facebook is the only way I keep sane in this place.”

  Pope examined the surfing history for that day. “Has anybody used this computer since then?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t kept track.”

  He scrolled through the list. A couple of hotmail accounts had been accessed as well as a selection of employment sites. There was no point looking at those though because he’d need the personal passwords. Google maps had been used prior to them. He clicked on it and a page opened up with a map of Maryland on it. Albertine leaned in to look over his shoulder and he could smell her heavy floral scent.

  “I get off my shift now. Just have to get changed and I’m out of here.”

  She waited for a moment and then he heard her heels clack away from him. “Thanks, Albertine, I won’t be long here.” Pope said eventually and looked at his watch. He was cutting it fine. There was nothing here. But he still clicked the previous website even though it looked like it was porno:

  williamfrostxxx.net/

  Momentarily he thought he was looking at some cryptic gaming site, but he recognised the house on North Vine Street before he had time to read the words against the dark blue sky above it. He clicked it and it opened up the page of images taken of the interior.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  REST. MORE INSTRUCTIONS TOMORROW MORNING.

  Will felt relief partially unlock his muscles.

  “Taking it?” The gangly teenager with his tattooed arms folded around him had hung back while Will tested the laptop. Dropping his own hadn’t damaged it, but the battery power had run out as soon as he’d booted it up again. There were no electronics stores open and he’d jogged down the main street before making a beeline for “Ellicott Jewelry and Loan”. They’d refused to sell him a charger separately.

  Will looked at the stack of other battered laptops amongst the jumble of pawned electrical hardware. At least this one worked. “So, you’ll throw in a charger for this?”

  The teenager raised the metal piercings in his eyebrows, as if keeping open the store had already been trouble enough. But he untied his arms and started hunting through the mess of wires, old mobiles and power packs on the lower shelf. He untangled one and handed it to him.

  “Four hundred and seventy-five dollars,” he twanged and moved to the register.

  Will didn’t care if he was being taken for a ride. He needed the laptop and had enough money in his wallet. He followed the boy to the raised counter at the back of the room to pay it into a revolving window. Through the distressed, yellow glass the boy moved his mouth silently, counting every note.

  The teenager followed him out afterwards and Will walked briskly away as the shutters clanged down. Gangs had replaced the pedestrians he’d seen earlier. A jacked up Toyota crawled slowly past him, the men inside following him as he walked. He spotted a dirty yellow taxi rank sign on the other side of the street and crossed quickly to it. He held his mobile to his ear and waited for Carla to pick up while he clutched the laptop tighter under his arm.

  Pope was ramrod straight in front of the computer monitor in Burrito Joe’s, his jacket and tie draped over the back of the chair. He’d dispatched Weaver back to the crime scene and told him to get the statement. They were sure to be releasing the names of the victims. But with any luck the detective would be customarily late and they’d have to hold it over for 55’s news at 9. If need be, he could do a hasty pickup and they could stitch it together.

  But Pope was already thinking beyond News 55. If what he had in front of him wasn’t some sort of bizarre hoax it looked like he’d stumbled on a major story that had barely started rolling.

  There was no doubt the cut-out house depicted on the home page of the site was the crime scene they were camped outside. If he’d been in any doubt then there was the exact address in the little box that popped up when he played his cursor over it. He clicked through to the interior photos again and saw exactly what the crime scene team were photographing and fingerprinting while the rest of the TV circus waited outside.

  How could this be a hoax when Weaver was probably at that moment jostling with the other cameras in North Vine Street? He’d seen plenty of bodies pulled out of rivers and dumpsters, but the methodical evisceration and arrangement of the family on the blood-soaked couch was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Why had they been made to look like they were covering their eyes like that?

  His breaths came unevenly, but he didn’t know if that was the prospect of his sudden access to the situation or being privy to such calculated evil. Were the occupants of the other houses on the street to be found disembowelled as well? He considered how the psychopath behind the site would react if Pope’s unwanted observation were detected.

  Pope had done a search for the man the website was named after and quickly gleaned who he was. He’d confirmed this when he’d found that the person who’d sat in the same chair as he was had logged into a personal Ingram International email account. He had to be the guy the instructions on the site were for. If he were anyone else why would he have used a local Internet café?

  When he’d clicked back to the home page the words that had originally been there had been replaced. But he didn’t need to read the first again to know the industry millionaire’s daughter was being held. It also looked like her release was dependent on Frost visiting the houses and collecting an item of her clothing from each. If it was money being demanded from him, why put the guy through such a horrendous ordeal? It looked like he was being made to play a seriously twisted game.

  Only two houses on the row displayed their addresses and interiors – North Vine Street and the one in Ellicott City. No bodies in the photos of the second one. Judging by the Google map that had been opened it looked like Frost was heading there next. He’d been here over seven hours ago.

  REST. MORE INSTRUCTIONS TOMORROW MORNING.

  They were the new words typed across the dark blue sky of the street. Perhaps he was already done. Pope had already checked the Ellicott local online news for stories, but had found nothing significant. Didn’t mean it hadn’t happened though.

  He saw another waitress taking orders and remembered Albertine. Looked like she’d gone. He’d been sitting in front of the computer for nearly half an hour.

  Every second he kept it to himself he was withholding evidence from the police. Neither victim nor kidnapper or anybody else knew he was in the picture. What the hell was he going to do with this?

  When Will had asked his driver to suggest somewhere to stay he’d recommended a place out of town. It had sounded like a good option and he hadn’t cared if the cabby was on a retainer.

  He got dropped at The Hotel at Turf Valley, which was a converted horse ranch nestling in some hills and surrounded by its own golf course. He checked in to a basic room that smelt of chemical pine, plugged in the laptop and lifted the lid. The aroma of stale nicotine leaked out of it into the air. He positioned it on the nightstand. The cursor was sluggish, but the next house still wasn’t active and the instructions hadn’t changed. He looked around him. His bed wouldn’t be slept in, but he was grateful for some privacy to collect his shredded thoughts.

  As he seated himself on the edge of the mattress the silence became unbearable. While he’d been travelling and anticipating the task he’d been set there had been little time to dwell on what he’d seen. Now his perception of events had time to catch up, the nausea he’d been restraining intensified.

  He considered the picture of Libby and Luke that had been screwed to the wall in the house. It was a taunt to the police as well as him. Anyone investigating the crime scene wouldn’t know who they were, would assume they were just part of the family that lived there. Were the kidnappers g
etting a perverse thrill out of pushing it right in their faces? It wasn’t difficult to guess where they’d obtained it. Libby had uploaded hundreds of photos to her Facebook wall.

  He rose and turned on the TV, surfing images aimlessly and then finding purpose. It didn’t take him long to locate the news report he was looking for.

  “A family of four, whose bodies were discovered at their Florida vacation home earlier this afternoon, have now been identified. St Louis business entrepreneur, Holt Amberson, his wife and two children were found after maintenance workers alerted police. Kissimmee police have cordoned off the property, just off Highway 193, and are appealing for eyewitnesses.”

  A helicopter’s eye view revealed the pool he’d recently stood beside and the curving path of bay trees to the gates. A concentration of white vehicles was clustered where he’d parked the Volvo and, further down North Vine Street, an even larger body of media transports had assembled along the grass verge. If the pilot got any closer, Will could have seen his bloody footprints from the gate.

  Holt Amberson. Nothing came to mind even when his lips formed the name.

  The voiceover filled in the gaps.

  “Mr Amberson, CEO of Consolidated Breweries, made his last public appearance at the Stockwood Alliance Industry Awards only two weeks ago.”

  His mobile rang. Carla’s name was in the display.

  “Police say they’re treating the case as a homicide investigation.”

  He could hear the delay of the same news reporter’s voice in his office.

  “You got a room OK then?” There was a quaver of exasperation in her voice.

  Will had spoken to her outside the rank. He’d spared her most of the details of what he’d found and told her that he’d secured the scarf. She’d been silent when he’d described the framed photograph. He’d promised to call her when he’d found a room. “I’m in some golf hotel just outside Ellico–” He grunted as he felt a prong of pain at his abdomen.