Head Start (Cedar Tree #7)

by Freya Barker

  “Thanks.” I smile at her, trying to communicate how well aware I am that she knows what she’s talking about. She’s worn those shoes.

  “Let me feed you. Special is chili today. Are you game?”

  I nod. I’m not really hungry but recognize the need to eat. Unusual for me, since I always seem to be hungry, but the last few days have taken their toll. I’m sick with worry. Scared that the tentative progress I made before Friday night will not be enough to bind her to me. Afraid that if she persists her repeated pleas for me to leave her, it will eventually be too painful for me to resist. A reminder she put her trust in me and I failed her. I told her I’d keep her safe and I didn’t. Another mark on my soul.

  When Arlene puts a steaming bowl and a cold bottle of beer in front of me, I notice Seb standing behind her in the kitchen doorway.

  “Hey.” I’m surprised to see the strained look on his face as he bites off the greeting. It also doesn’t escape me that Arlene shoots some furtive glances his way.

  “Good chilli,” I try, lifting a bite on my spoon before shoving it in my mouth. It is good. Wholesome and spicy, with just the right amount of heat, and loaded with meat, beans and vegetables. From under my eyebrows I see him slowly approaching.

  “She gonna be okay? Kendra?”

  And suddenly it hits me. Guilt. I might as well be looking in the mirror, because now it’s clear as day what I’m seeing on his face. “Look,” I start, putting my spoon down, “she’ll be fine. She’ll heal.”

  Seb busies himself with the glasses on the shelves against the wall before turning back to me. “I’m—”

  I don’t even let him start, let alone finish as I shove my bowl out of the way and lean forward on the counter. “No. None of this is on you. It’s on me. I promised I’d protect her and I didn’t. It’s—”

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” Arlene suddenly blows up. “Would you two knock it off? Are we having a piss-off on who is the guiltiest here? Shall I weigh in? I’m the one who let her go to the bathroom and didn’t see her slip out.” She wards off any protest with her hands up. “Enough already. Yes, she got hurt. And yes, it’ll leave its mark, but you have to realize she made the choice to use herself to save her sister. And I can fucking guarantee you she would do it again. In a goddamn heartbeat. So stop taking ownership of something that is not even yours to own!” She tosses her towel in our general direction when she stomps by toward the kitchen. “Men are so stupid,” I can hear her mumble as she disappears.

  Seb shrugs and takes off after her, leaving me to myself, but not for long.

  “Thought I might find you here,” Gus says as he walks in and sits down beside me. “Emma mentioned you’d taken a break when she called me from the hospital. I thought you might like an update.”

  I lower the bottle of beer I just lifted to my lips. “Tell me.” I turn on my stool to face him. For two days I’ve avoided everything by being plastered to Kendra’s bedside, but now I want to know.

  “First off, Beth and Clint dropped in on Saturday. They’d gone over to the house with an insurance claim adjuster and had a look at the damage. Good news is, whatever Kendra had in the bedrooms or bathroom is salvageable. Bad news is, whatever wasn’t in there is toast. Clint says he can get his brother down here and between the two of them and their crews, they can have it fixed in a month, maybe two. He doesn’t suspect any problems with the insurance company, but apparently Beth has decided it is finally time to sell. Doesn’t look like her son will be coming back to live in Cedar Tree and—”

  “I’m buying it.” I’m not sure where that came from, but now that I’ve put it out there, I like the idea. I’ve always liked the house, and I know Kendra loves it. So I’m buying it. I can see Gus isn’t so sure.

  “Are you sure you can afford to? I mean, I’ll help—“

  “Gus,” I cut him off. “Spent years in the military with nothing to spend my money on. And since coming to work for GFI, have you ever seen me spend more than is absolutely necessary? I’ve got savings, investments. Substantial ones.”

  A small smile spreads on Gus’s face. “You’ve got investments?”

  “What can I say?” I shrug my shoulders. “I’ve got mad skills.”

  “You do it yourself? Fuck, should’ve had you have a look at my portfolio instead of that slick suit at the bank.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Take you up on that. And as for the house, you’d better give Beth or Clint a call. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled if it stays in the family, so to speak.”

  “Who’s the guy? Was it Maryn?” I prompt Gus to get back to business.

  “Yes and no. First of all, he’s alive, although I can safely say he’ll never look the same again. You did a fine number on him,” Gus says, one eyebrow raised.

  “Should’ve killed him.”

  Gus doesn’t say anything, just gives me a long hard stare before continuing as if I’d never spoken. “The shack was winery property, but had been unused for years. It used to be a workshop where they’d repair the old barrels. No one’s been in there for decades. Owners had plumb near forgotten it was there. There was evidence someone had been bunking there. Theory is Maryn used it as shelter after the FBI raided the farmhouse.”

  I could’ve figured all that out myself. “What about the guy? And the last victim, Franka?”

  “No sign on Franka. No evidence she was ever there. As for him, you know there was little history to be found on Maryn. Nothing that could be traced very far. On Saturday morning, the FBI was able to collect his fingerprints and some DNA. Fingerprints match a print found on the inside of one of the shadow boxes in the farmhouse on County Road D. Same guy, Casal Maryn. But here’s where it gets interesting... the prints had a second match.”

  “I call bullshit,” I blurt out. “No two sets of fingerprints are alike. None. Doesn’t happen.”

  Gus lifts his hand. “Hear me out. The second set were fingerprints taken a couple of weeks ago by the Gallup PD as a standard procedure when bringing in suspects. Suspect in question at the time was one Lars Cayman.”

  Sonofabitch.

  “Say what? How the fuck is that possible?” I know I’m yelling when Seb and Arlene’s heads poke out of the kitchen.

  “Calm the fuck down and I’ll tell ya!” Gus barks, staring me down. Clenching my jaw, I manage a mere barely-there nod. Angry thoughts swirling through my mind. They’d had him. Had him in Gallup and let him go. Let him disappear.

  “He seems to have meticulously planned this before he ever even met face to face with Kendra. The conference was obviously part of his cover as was the police report he filed in Grand Junction for the supposed theft from his car. He was carefully building sufficient bits and pieces of alibis so that if ever attention came his way, he’d be ready. This guy’s had a head start on us from the get-go. His bad luck that he picked Kendra for his next victim. No way he would’ve known her circle of friends included the same people who were investigating his case. Only odd thing is that he approached her under his own name and not another alias.”

  “She was special,” I mutter to myself.

  “How do you figure?” Gus obviously heard.

  “I read his e-mails. He seemed genuinely interested in Kendra. Spent a lot of time just getting to know her. With the others, he exchanged just a handful of e-mails before moving quickly into pushing for a face-to-face meet. He didn’t do that with Kendra until four months after they started talking. Almost like whatever he’d been looking for, he’d found in her.” I’m rolling with that theory now and the pieces start falling into place bit by bit. “He never used the Sux on her. Not the first time he took her from the hospital parking lot and not this time. He used a Taser on her sister, and as far as we know, the Sux on the other victims we know of, but nothing on Kendra. The shed—it looked like some kind of freaky church with candles everywhere, him chanting what sounded like Latin and Ken...Kendra was like the altar he worshipped.”

  I see comprehension coming ov
er Gus’s face. “Son of a bitch...the map. He left her Tracy Poole as an offering.”

  “Yes,” I agree, a sick feeling in my stomach. “And when she didn’t respond the way he thought she should, he left her the rest of the map as a reminder. That’s when he got impatient.” I grab Gus by the shoulder. “Kendra can’t know this. She’s barely coping. If she finds any of this out, it’ll push her over.”

  “She’s a grown woman, Neil. You can’t keep everything from her.”

  “You didn’t see what I saw in her eyes, Boss. I know I can damn well try,” I spit right back at him.

  Gus shakes his head, obviously not agreeing, but that’s his problem. Seeing I won’t budge on that, he changes the subject. “Damian went down this morning to search his place in Gallup himself with an FBI forensic team. Cayman called in sick the last few days of the school year apparently. Went to a walk-in clinic to get some antibiotics and from what the Gallup PD keeping an occasional eye on the place could see, he never left the house. They never even realized he had flown the coop until after we discovered the possible connection. They’d forced their way in, only to find the house empty, as it appeared to have been for quite a while. Last time any of the patrols had an actual visual on Cayman was last week and no one bothered to update the FBI. Major fuck up. Damian is livid and is ripping the place apart. Let’s hope we get some more clarity tomorrow.”

  Yeah, let’s hope. Although I’m not so sure clarity is going to help Kendra much.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Kendra

  I try not to look at the man sitting beside me.

  I’ve sent him away from my bedside this past week as many times as he returned to it.

  I cracked. Crumbled. I’m alone in my bubble and wish to stay there. The pain has gone dull, unfortunately, and the rest of me has dulled, too. I’m no longer sure how to feel, how to react. I don’t trust my read on other people’s feelings or thoughts. I’m drifting.

  But Neil won’t leave me alone. The rest of them leave when I tell them to, but not him. He keeps coming back. Just like he came back today, making sure I have somewhere to go now that I’ve officially been released. Mom offered to take me to Durango but the thought alone gives me hives. People have been impacted enough by my actions.

  “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Pup,” Neil asks, not appearing put off at all by my silence.

  I push down the tingle I feel when he calls me that name. My mind can’t seem to keep still, flitting from one thought to the next and I just can’t seem to grab ahold of just one. No focus. Not since they started me on the sedatives last weekend. If it hadn’t been for Naomi and Neil promising to keep a close eye on me, I don’t think I would’ve been allowed to leave the hospital.

  I still haven’t answered Neil.

  He reaches over and covers my fidgeting hands with his big one. The warmth is like magic. Stillness seems to spread through my body from that touch alone. He does that. Every time he touches me.

  I vaguely register that we are not heading to the apartment over the diner, where I expected him to take me, but turn off toward Gus and Emma’s place. Yet even when he parks the car and comes around to help me out, I don’t say anything. I just let him carry me around the house and straight to the guesthouse in their backyard. I can’t help but wince when his arm comes around my back. Even with most of the stitches gone, it’s still sensitive.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles as he carries me inside and sits me on the couch, elevating my cast and piling the rest of the pillows behind me. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  Almost detached, I take a good look around. I don’t remember if I’ve ever been in here before but it’s a decent-sized place. Outside, I hear voices approaching. By the sounds of it, Neil and Naomi, who said she’d be following behind. But it’s Chaos who rounds the doorway first and, without stopping, jumps on the couch beside me and lays his big head on my leg. My Chaos. I don’t even notice my hand gently stroking his head, or the tears that start rolling down my face. Nor do I catch the meaningful look that Neil and Naomi exchange. I just feel the unconditional acceptance of the dog on my lap as I close my eyes and let my feelings wash me away.

  Neil

  Jesus.

  This is the first real emotion I’ve seen from Kendra since that night. Naomi told me about the violent breakdown she’d had in the hospital, which was the reason they had her drugged out of her brain when I got back. She’s been like a robot the entire week. Someone I don’t recognize—emotionless, cold, uncaring. Not my Kendra. She didn’t even react the first time her tearful sister came to see her. She was quick to dismiss her family when her mom told her to come back to Durango with them and instead told them to go home without her. They’d eventually done so reluctantly, after reassurances from Naomi and myself that we would look after her.

  I had, or as much as she allowed, which wasn’t much. And I was planning to continue doing it as long as necessary.

  “Step outside with me.” Naomi tugs on my arm, and I hesitantly follow her out.

  “You called it,” I told her, seeing as getting the dog in to see Kendra was something Naomi had been trying to accomplish all week. The hospital wouldn’t budge, since he wasn’t registered as a service dog and although that is something that can be done online, we’d still have to wait for the paperwork to come in. Besides that, she’d had Chaos for less than a week at the time of her attack. I have to admit, I didn’t think his presence would have any impact, but Naomi was determined to try. She said she’d seen amazing results from her residency days in Phoenix, whenever animals were introduced to patients who had all but checked out. After a week of staring into blank eyes, I’d been ready to see something there. Anything.

  “Lucky. Key is now to try and capitalize on the little cracks. Get her to talk. She refused to speak to the social worker. Kendra is normally a very controlled person, doesn’t easily share much about herself in the best of circumstances. Doesn’t trust easily either, but she trusts you. I think you stand the best chance of getting somewhere.” Naomi looks at me earnestly and I know she wants the best for her friend, but I can’t help wonder if someone so adept at hiding his own monsters is really equipped to deal with someone else’s. Seeing the doubt in my face, Naomi steps closer and puts her hand on my arm. “You love her?” she asks softly and my eyes find hers.

  “Yes,” I tell her with conviction, making her smile.

  “Then you are the right person to bring her back.” She goes up on her toes and presses a kiss on my cheek. “I’m a phone call away at the clinic, and Emma is inside the house, cooking for an army. You’ll be all right. She’ll be all right.” With that, she leaves.

  Fuck.

  A little hesitant, I step back inside only to find Kendra on her side on the couch, the big lug of a dog stretched out in front of her on the couch, her arm holding him close. She’s sleeping. Good. I grab my laptop and facing the couch, I sit down at the kitchen table.

  -

  Three hours later, after having sorted through my e-mails, most of which are from Jasper and Damian, I am up to date on the case. I’d had a hard time focusing on anything while sitting in a hospital room, especially since every time I tried, the rage for what was done to my girl threatened to overtake me. No place for that when I was sitting next to her bed. Now, with her home and safe, it seems easier to process.

  So when Kendra finally opens her eyes, looking around a little dazed, I feel sufficiently prepared to deal with whatever comes my way.

  “Hey, babe.” Her startled eyes come up to meet mine.

  “Hey.” She seems almost as surprised at the sound of her own voice as I am.

  Quickly capitalizing on that small victory, I walk over and sit on the edge of the coffee table. “You hungry? Emma brought over some food. A ton of food, actually. I stuck it all in the fridge for you to sort through.” I grab the crutches Naomi brought with her and offer them to Kendra, who is trying to sit up. “While you do that, I’m gonna
take this guy for a walk.” I indicate Chaos who jumped off the couch the moment Kendra removed her arm from around him, and made a beeline to the door. Without waiting for a response, I grab the dog leash and clip it on. “Be right back,” I say over my shoulder as I push open the door.

  I don’t know if she’s scared that I’m leaving her alone, but I’m hoping she still trusts me enough to know that I wouldn’t leave her by herself if I thought for one minute there was any danger. There isn’t. As of this morning, Maryn is still in a coma. I know I did substantial damage and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about that. Looks like there is little interest in investigating the circumstances, given the man is linked to the now confirmed death of eleven women and suspected of more. Apparently, the search of Maryn/Cayman’s house in Gallup, FBI style, netted quite a bit of interesting information over this past week. Searches went out and the bodies of two of the women, Shirley Haig and Jenny Weber, were found near Perins Peak. Two more bodies of missing women turned up near Aztec, New Mexico, and three in total in Canyonlands National Park in Utah. There were still more expected to turn up. But there’d been no sign or mention of Franka Mellis.

  Lars Cayman, which turns out to be the name on his birth certificate, which was discovered along with some journals, was one sick and twisted puppy. From what Jasper was able to piece together, he grew up the only child of a single mother. Sarah Cayman, a recent nursing school graduate at the time, was the daughter of a Mormon priest who grew up near Monticello, Utah. When she became pregnant out of wedlock at the age of twenty-two, the young nurse was expelled from the family and their strict congregation by her father. She ended up finding work and living a rather reclusive life in New Mexico with her young child. She committed suicide when Lars was only sixteen. Police reports from that time showed Lars as the person to find his mother hanging from a tree in their backyard. A coroner’s report indicated open wounds on her back along with substantial scarring. Wounds he did not believe could have been self-inflicted. According to the journals the FBI found in Cayman’s house, Sarah Cayman was convinced since Lars was the reason she was cast out of the fold, he should be responsible for her redemption. So from around the age of six, he had been made to believe that it was up to him to give his mother the wings she had lost.