Everyone Was Left Behind

by Steve Armstrong

“That should keep anyone from getting through the tunnel, at least without the help of power tools,” the detective said after they finished. Seitzer ran his hands over the boards and pushed on them, testing if they would move or not.

  “Thank you again,” Elizabeth said. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They stood across from each other, eyes locked. She appeared as though there was something she wanted to say, but the words waiting to be said never came. The widow smiled politely and started up the stairs. Seitzer followed her up into the playroom. Her daughter Abigail lay on the floor coloring and looked up when her mother came into the room.

  “What you doing, momma?”

  “Oh, the detective was helping me fix something in the cellar.”

  Abigail cocked her neck, visualizing what her mother’s words might mean. “No more person in the cellar now?”

  “No, sweetie. No more people in our basement.”

  The little girl nodded and returned to her coloring. “I saw someone in the house,” she said while picking up a yellow crayon.

  “We didn’t see him, Abby, we only heard him.”

  “No, I saw a man.”

  Elizabeth’s bemusement at her daughter’s perception began to fade into concern. “When did you see a man? Last night?”

  “No, not last night.”

  “When?”

  “The night the police came to our house.”

  She looked at Seitzer, concern gathering on her face. “Where was he? Where did you see him?”

  The child, oblivious to the anxiety in her mother’s voice, continued scribbling on the paper. Elizabeth knelt down on the floor in front of her daughter.

  “Abby, where did you see the man?”

  “In your room. He try wake you up.”

  “What did he look like Abby? Did you see his face?”

  “Yes.”

  “Abby, what did he look like?”

  The girl stared at her mother, blinking. “He looked like a man from church.”

  “Which man?”

  Abby surveyed the room and pointed to a play guitar. “The man who plays that.” She resumed her coloring. Though the event obviously proved noteworthy in her mind, its memory didn’t seem to trouble the little girl. Elizabeth Wilcox was a different story. She watched her daughter color for a moment before rising to her feet. When she did, Seitzer saw that her countenance had changed. Even more than the night before, she appeared rattled by this revelation.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  Seitzer nodded. At certain points, Abby’s toddler cadence seemed like a code. If she hadn’t strung multiple sentences together, the detective would have struggled to unravel her meaning.

  “Why was he in my house?” she asked.

  “You really don’t remember him being there?”

  “No! I don’t remember it at all.”

  From experience, the detective knew waking up Elizabeth when she had taken the sleeping pills was difficult—but not impossible. “He thought you loved him. I think he wanted you to leave your husband and run away with him. It makes sense that he came here—he tried to call you several times that night.”

  For the first time, it seemed that Elizabeth Wilcox really considered how attached to her Watkins had become and that he might have been involved in her husband’s death. Seitzer’s suspicion toward the widow plummeted further, though a part of him could still vaguely imagine a scenario where she had coached her daughter to say that entire piece about Jason Watkins as an attempt to distance herself from him.

  “You haven’t seen him or heard from him, have you?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “And you would tell me if you did, right?”

  Her troubled eyes assured him that she would.

  “Do you lock your door at night?”

  “Usually. But I have been known to forget at times.”

  The preacher’s wife turned her gaze to the window that overlooked her backyard. Seitzer’s eyes followed hers, gravitating toward the woods behind the church. In the daylight, they seemed so contained, so finite. But at night, they seemed to open a portal to another dimension. Seitzer couldn’t help but wonder if a clue to the mystery lay somewhere among the trees.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Harrison met Seitzer in back of Holy Spirit Tabernacle. The elder detective was still staring into the woods as if they held some meaning he was attempting to decipher.

  “What’s going on?” Harrison asked.

  “We’ve never searched the woods when we could actually see, have we?” Seitzer asked, stuffing his hands into his pocket.

  “Do you think it’s worth our time? These woods seem to go pretty far.”

  “I think it’s something we should do if only so we can say that we did it. It could be a drop zone for the weapon.”

  “It’s kind of a stupid place to drop a weapon since it’s so close to the scene.”

  “True. But criminals aren’t always smart, which is good because it makes it easier to catch them. Besides, Jason Watkins isn’t exactly a hardened criminal. Even if he planned this out, he could have panicked. Did you bring the metal detector, like I asked?”

  “Yeah, it’s in the car.”

  Harrison walked back toward the car and returned a minute later with the long, narrow black metal device. This instrument could accurately locate guns and even objects as small as SIM cards; it would come in handy if a weapon had been buried underground or hidden in the dense bed of leaves of the forest floor.

  “You know how to use that thing?” Seitzer asked.

  “Of course.” Harrison turned on the metal detector and it beeped to life. “These woods are way too big for us to check on our own.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I have a specific destination in mind.” Seitzer began walking. “So, here’s a new fun fact. Abigail Wilcox just told me that she saw Jason Watkins in her mother’s bedroom the night of the murder.” They crossed the boundary of trees and shrubs that delineated the beginning of the woods.

  “They weren’t, uh, being intimate, were they?”

  “I don’t think so. According to Abigail, Watkins was trying to wake Wilcox up—kind of like we did. Elizabeth seemed really shocked by her daughter’s news.”

  “How come Abigail never mentioned this before?”

  “We never asked. That was sloppy on our part. I figured since she was in the house when the murder happened and since she’s only three she wouldn’t be able to tell us anything. Stupid.” The gently sloping footpath led them toward the bottom of the gully.

  “How’d you get her to talk? I thought you didn’t interview kids.”

  “I didn’t. She just kind of told us.”

  “Out of the blue? Isn’t that kind of weird? Maybe her mom coached her on what to say to distance herself from Watkins.”

  “That thought crossed my mind.” Seitzer stopped to check a satellite map of the area. “Here, let’s go this way.”

  “If it’s true, then we can connect Jason Watkins to the murder scene and the general time of the murder,” Harrison said.

  “But it doesn’t explain who Titus saw in the tunnel.”

  “Maybe it was Watkins. Maybe Watkins came into the tunnel after Titus went into the church, so Titus saw him on his way out. I think it’s possible.”

  The metal detector beeped so the detectives paused. But when Seitzer swept the leaves away from the hot spot, he only found a bottle cap.

  “Do people use this as a dirt bike trail or a hiking trail?” Harrison asked.

  “Obviously, someone comes here, but I don’t think it gets a lot of use. There’s a running path on the south side of town that’s much more popular.”

  They continued walking. When they reached the bottom of the gully, Seitzer led them off the trail. After five more minutes of walking, a dilapidated stone structure came into sight.

  “What’s that?” Harrison asked.

  “It’s something I
saw on Google maps that caught my attention.”

  “What is it?” The seven-foot tall structure still had a partial roof, though one of the sides had crumbled down.

  “I don’t know. You can find these kind of ruins around. Could’ve been something from a farm way back when.”

  They drew close enough to peer into the interior of the ruined building. Inside, a blue plastic sheet with shredded edges stretched across the top like a canopy and a tattered and dirty sleeping bag lay on the floor.

  “Looks like someone’s been sleeping here,” Harrison said.

  “Yes, it does.” Seitzer crouched down to get a better look at the makeshift shelter.

  “You think this is connected to our case?” Harrison asked.

  “I had a hunch. Remember the old pastor of the Methodist church? He talked about Ray Browning being homeless and seeing him walk into these woods. Well, I figured there are only so many places a homeless person can find shelter around here and not be spotted by cops or someone else. So if Browning got spooked, he might have thought it was a good idea to come back here. Maybe Browning was even trying to camp out in the tunnel between the church and parsonage.”

  “So you think Browning is staying out here now?”

  “Maybe. If Pawlaski is right, Browning never went back to his apartment last night; maybe he came here.”

  “But why?”

  “Maybe he killed Wilcox and is on the run. Maybe he got spooked by Pawlaski and his paranoid inclinations took over. I don’t know.”

  “I thought Watkins was our prime suspect now?”

  “Both are still in play. Or maybe Browning broke into the church last night but didn’t kill Wilcox. We don’t know enough yet to draw any conclusions.”

  “Should we do a stakeout here tonight?”

  Seitzer surveyed the woods, growing dim in the fading light. The space didn’t seem contained enough to perform an effective stakeout. If Browning was staying there, he had too many ways of approaching the site. And in the dark, he could easily have gotten the drop on them or circumvented them completely.

  “No, I don’t think that would work. But I think we’ll send out Kelly and Glass tomorrow when they can better watch for Browning.”

  “What about Elizabeth Wilcox? Are you going to camp out in front of her place again tonight?”

  “I was considering it. You’d be welcome to join me.”

  “Is it okay if I come back later? Julie and I had dinner plans for tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  The detectives walked back the way they came just as things really began to grow dark. Seitzer left the site and didn’t return until 9 pm. Harrison joined him shortly after and the two settled in for a night of observation.

  “You shouldn’t spend too much time with Elizabeth Wilcox alone,” Harrison said a few minutes after he had settled into Seitzer’s car.

  Seitzer swiveled to face his partner. “Where is that coming from?”

  “You spent the night at her place last night alone—”

  “Well, if you had answered your phone, I wouldn’t have. And she asked me to stay, so I was just trying to protect her and her family.”

  “I’m not accusing you of doing anything wrong, I’m just afraid you might be developing feelings for her.”

  Seitzer looked away and shook his head. When he didn’t offer a verbal rebuttal to Harrison’s claim, the younger detective said, “Do you have feelings for her? Because I would understand why. She’s beautiful. And vulnerable. And you’re—”

  “I’m what?” Seitzer snapped. “What am I, Harrison?”

  Harrison remained silent.

  “She’s just a person in this case. Victim, person of interest, suspect—it doesn’t matter. When we’re done with this case, she’ll be out of my life.”

  “You know, she could still be involved in the murder.”

  “I know.” Seitzer stroked his chin. “I know.”

  Neither Detective spoke much after that terse exchange. They took turns sleeping. During one of his watches, Seitzer walked the grounds behind the church and parsonage. He shone his light into the woods but saw nothing. If Browning was lurking in the shadows, he didn’t dare emerge from his hiding spot. Maybe he had moved on again, propelled forward by whatever sixth sense sent him away every other time the detectives had closed in on him.

  By the time someone knocked on the passenger side window, both detectives were snoozing lightly. Seitzer opened his eyes to the accompanying morning light, revealing Elizabeth Wilcox holding two cups of coffee. Seitzer rolled down Harrison’s window, who was now also adjusting to his surroundings.

  “You guys should’ve let me know you were staying; you could’ve slept inside,” Elizabeth Wilcox said, handing the steaming hot mugs into the car.

  “It was better for us to stay outside and see if anything was happening out here,” Seitzer said, a little perturbed that the widow extended the same invitation to Harrison as she had to him.

  “Did you see anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Seitzer replied.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” Harrison said after he had taken a few sips.

  She nodded, then left the detectives alone.

  “What now?” Harrison asked.

  “Go, get some sleep. I’ll give you a call later in the day when I figure out what we need to do next.”

  The detectives split up to get some more restful rest. Until they found either Watkins or Browning, progressing forward in the investigation would prove difficult.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Charity’s phone woke her up Saturday morning. Her parents must have been otherwise engaged because they had allowed her to sleep past nine. She reached for the phone on her nightstand and looked at the number. Kevin, again. The boy had called or texted Charity just about every day since his clumsy proposition of her the day Jesus was supposed to return. She dropped the phone without answering it and sat up in bed to let her grogginess pass.

  Her phone chimed again. She assumed without looking that it was Kevin. The text read, Please call me—it’s important. Charity sighed. She needed to say something to him, even if it was only to ask him to stop texting her. For the moment, she avoided such a climatic message and settled for, What? She hoped her perfunctory reply would repel further contact from him.

  It didn’t. Look at the church’s YouTube page. Charity shook her head. Kevin should have remembered that she had no internet access at home. She reminded him of that fact via text. Can you meet me at the library? he asked in response. Charity glared at the message. This seemed like some sort of ploy for the two of them to spend time together in person. What could be so important that she had to see for herself? At any rate, Charity was getting worn out trying to push the boy away. Okay, I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.

  It was more like an hour when Charity met Kevin at the library. She found him inside, seated in front of one of the computers in the library. He perked up when he saw her, but that uptick in energy faded as soon as he noticed Charity’s standoffish body language. Despite his disappointment, Kevin persisted in pointing out whatever it was on the church’s YouTube page that he wanted her to see.

  “I found this last night in the comment section of the video message that your father posted a few days ago.” Kevin scrolled past the video pane down to the various comments.

  “There, right there.” He pointed to a comment halfway down the screen. Charity bent her head down to read it, careful to not get too close to Kevin.

  “You’re all liars. The truth of God is not in you, and I’m going to prove it. Because you refuse to turn from your stubborn ways, your judgment day is coming. You will all die. God has decreed it and has handed you over to Satan. Repent of your sins or be destroyed,” Charity read aloud. As she sounded out each word, goose bumps formed on her arms. By the time she finished, Charity shivered involuntarily.

  “Who wrote this?” she asked.

  Kevin shook his head.
“I don’t know. Whoever it is commented on some of our other videos.” He clicked on the username, Dragonman7676, to show Charity the other messages he left. One, in particular, stood out to her: an exchange with another user she figured was Graham Wilcox. The comment mentioned meeting Wilcox and needing help. She wondered why this same person had now threatened Holy Spirit Tabernacle.

  “Did you show this to anyone else?” Charity asked.

  “I showed my parents, but they just said it was some crazy person and that I shouldn’t worry about it. They asked me to delete it. But I felt like I should tell someone else. It’s scary, right?”

  Charity nodded. Maybe Kevin’s parents were right—if people who commented on YouTube videos actually did all of the things they talked about doing in their comments, the world would surely devolve into complete chaos. Still, the words on the screen continued to disturb her.

  “You should tell your father, maybe he’ll listen,” Kevin suggested.

  Charity recalled the last night that Hope had been home and the conversation that had sparked her sister’s departure. No, her father wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t take these words as a threat because doing so would seem to call his own faith into question. Like Kevin’s parents, he would dismiss the comment either through the lens of nonchalance or the lens of faith.

  “No. You should show it to those detectives. I think they’ll know what to do with it,” Charity said, realizing as she said the words that she sounded like her sister had a few days ago.

  Kevin seemed dissatisfied.

  “Do you really think I need to show them?”

  “Either it’s no big deal like your parents said, or it is a big deal. And if it is a big deal, showing it to the police is something you should do,” Charity said, her voice rising in pitch.

  “Can you come with me then?” Kevin asked, exasperating Charity yet again. It seemed everything he did frustrated her these days.

  “Fine, I’ll come with you,” she agreed, feeling guilty that she was punishing Kevin for things that weren’t his fault.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Seitzer and Harrison entered the library a few minutes after 11 am. The two had been digging into Ray Browning’s and Jason Watkins’ background in an attempt to track the two persons of interest down when Charity Wilcox called them from the library. Seitzer could have asked the teens to come down to the station, but he wanted to check in with the librarians to see if they had seen Browning. Before the detective made a beeline for Charity and her friend, he stopped off at the reference desk by the computers.