by Brenda Novak
So what, exactly, had he been up to? Had he been peeking through the windows? Stolen or booby-trapped something? Was he running some kind of surveillance so that he’d know exactly what was going on?
As extreme as that sounded, it was plausible. After what she’d seen this morning—the state of the house and the way Sly had been living—she thought he was coming completely undone. “I remember the rain.”
“Not only that, but I found a back window that looks like it’s been tampered with. I’m afraid he’s been inside the house. That’s what really concerns me.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
She’d thought she was relatively safe, living with Dawson. But instead of causing Sly to back off, it’d provoked him further. He had a weapon—issued by the city, no less—and he knew how to use it. He could hurt, even kill, both of them. Maybe Jayden, too.
“You’ve been confident that the pride he takes in being a police officer would hold him in check—”
“Chief Thomas has an eye on him and he knows it,” she said, hoping to justify that confidence.
“But he doesn’t seem to be respecting his boundaries even still.”
“He isn’t doing well,” she confided.
There was a slight pause. “What do you mean? You’ve talked to him?”
“Chief Thomas and I went over there this morning.”
“What for?”
She’d done it for a lot of reasons. Dawson was one of those reasons. But so was Jayden. “He still has partial custody of my son. Legally, I have to let Jayden spend the weekend at his place. But with the way things stand between us, it’s going to be terrifying for me to see that happen.”
“You told me Sly hasn’t taken much interest in Jayden since you left him.”
“That’s true—so far. He rarely exercised his visitation rights. Even when he did, he kept Jayden for only a few hours or, once in a great while, overnight. He didn’t want to make my life any easier, didn’t want to allow me the chance to have some fun or date. Making sure I always had Jayden was another way he could control me. But now that he knows I’m sleeping with you, that having Jayden isn’t standing in the way, I’m afraid he’ll take him just to show he can. In other words, he’ll do whatever I’d rather he didn’t. That’s all I can rely on where he’s concerned. So, in an effort to get ahead of that, I tried to calm him down, to call a truce.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not so good,” she admitted. “Sly has always been fastidious when it comes to his personal hygiene and belongings. But the house must’ve been a wreck, because he wouldn’t let us in. He had us meet him around back. Even the patio was nothing like I’ve ever seen it before. He’s partying a lot, and not cleaning up. And he’s not limiting that kind of behavior to the weekend. He reeked of alcohol when he opened the door, gave me the impression he was up drinking until very late.”
“Probably because he didn’t start until he got back from spying on us,” Dawson said with a dose of sarcasm. “Anyway, how’d he treat you?”
“Very coolly. He’s blaming me for everything that’s going wrong in his life, can’t see how he’s contributing to his own downfall. I told him I’ll accept his latest offer on child support and forgo any alimony, and that I’d stop pushing for a restraining order, which would take some of the pressure off him at work, if he’ll just stop trying to cause trouble and leave us alone. But I don’t think it’ll do any good. He demanded that I also call off the arson investigator.”
“I hope you refused. You must have, since the investigator is there.”
“Yes.”
“What’d Sly say then?”
“He got belligerent again.”
Dawson made no reply.
“Hello?” Sadie said into the silence. “You still there?”
“Yeah.”
She brushed a few fallen leaves off the patio table. “What are you thinking?”
“That I hope he comes back to the farm tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because the next time he sets foot on my property, I’ll be waiting for him.”
Sadie gripped the phone tighter. This was not going the way she wanted. “Don’t even talk like that. Don’t you see how dangerous a private, late-night encounter with him could be?” Dawson was beginning to feel some of the frustration and desperation she’d felt for a long time, which was only making the situation more volatile.
“I can’t allow him to skulk around the house,” he said. “If he’s trespassing, I’m going to do something about it.”
Sadie pulled her sleeve down over her free hand. It was colder out than she’d expected. “And what happens if it comes to an altercation?”
“I guess he’ll learn that I’m not going to tolerate his bullshit.”
“No. Don’t you see? He’s willing to go further than you are. He proved that when he almost drew his gun the night of the fire—which means you could get hurt instead. And even if you don’t, you could be arrested if you hurt him.”
“Chief Thomas knows Sly’s been out of line.”
“So? He also thinks you killed your parents! He won’t protect you. If, in making sure Sly gets what’s coming to him, you go back behind bars, Thomas will think justice has been served all the way around. Two problems solved at once.”
“I have to do something! I can’t wait for him to murder us in our sleep. After what happened to my parents, I have to be able to protect those I care about.”
Sadie caught her breath. Had he really just said that? She’d promised herself, if she could only get away from Sly, she’d never give any man the right to lay claim on her again. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake. But she couldn’t pretend she didn’t have feelings for Dawson. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t known each other all that long.
She needed to get out on her own. To figure out who she was these days and what she wanted.
“I understand,” she said. “We just have to be careful. Let’s get Chief Thomas involved, have him waiting for Sly if he comes back tonight.”
“What will that do?”
“It’ll prove that he’s disobeying orders. Did you get pictures of those tire tracks?”
“I did.”
“Email them to him.”
“Even if I do, and Thomas agrees to come out here, he’ll just confront Sly and send him home. He won’t arrest him, Sadie. He may suspend him, but then Sly will have even more reason to hate us—and more time to act on that hate.”
“But we only have to avoid trouble until the investigation here is complete. Hopefully, that won’t take too long.”
“And if Damian Steele doesn’t find anything?”
“I’m hoping it won’t go that way,” she said, because if there was no evidence linking Sly to the fire, she’d have only one escape. She’d have to leave, find someplace Sly could never find her, as she’d been thinking of doing before.
Then whether or not she was falling in love with Dawson would be a moot point. She’d have to sever ties regardless.
25
Dawson felt uneasy as he hung up. He didn’t have any good options when it came to stopping Sly Harris. That meant he had to at least try to go about it the “right” way. But he’d be giving up the element of surprise, and for what? He had no trust for the local authorities, wasn’t sure sacrificing that advantage would do any good in the end, especially because asking for their help included the expectation that they would act against one of their own.
He’d already lost so much. He didn’t want to lose any more. But he couldn’t figure out a better way to go.
He was just about to give in and call Chief Thomas when his phone rang. The number wasn’t one he recognized—there was no name attached to it—but he was glad he answered.
> “This is Oscar Hunt.” The caller spoke in a loud, gruff voice. “Big Red told me to give you a jingle.”
Oscar. At last. The possibility this man represented set off a riot of butterflies in Dawson’s stomach. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate you getting back to me.”
“No problem. Red said you’re calling about that vagrant I met in Silver Springs a year ago, when your folks were killed. But I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help you. I mean...what more can I do? I went to the police, gave them a full report.”
Somehow Dawson’s defense attorneys had never been made aware of that report. Otherwise, they would’ve tracked this guy down and asked him to testify. “Do you remember who you talked to?”
“No. It’s been too long. But I’m pretty sure it was the detective investigating the case. I remember, because they had me wait at the station until he could come in even though he’d left for the day.”
“John Garbo.”
“That sounds right.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him?”
“Certainly. I’ve never given a statement before, so it was memorable. The detective was a strange-looking fella. Built like a cannonball. Bald. Funny little triangle of hair below his bottom lip.”
That was John Garbo, all right. He had to be the only man in Silver Springs who was over forty sporting a soul patch on his chin. So what’d happened to that report? Had he deep-sixed it? Stuck it in with a pile of papers no one would ever go through? Maybe he’d put it in the file and just hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. From the beginning he’d been so sure that Dawson was his man he hadn’t been willing to take a close look at anything that didn’t fit the case he was building—just like Dawson’s attorneys had said. “What’d you tell him?”
“Just what I saw, man. That there was a tall, skinny dude trying to bum a ride to Santa Barbara at the station right there as you come out of town.”
The memory of that night, the fight that had ensued when the dude wouldn’t get out of his truck and the creepy sense that he wasn’t right in the head made Dawson slightly queasy to this day. By the time he’d gotten rid of his belligerent passenger, he’d had such a terrible feeling about him—as if he’d been lucky to get away. And then he’d found his parents dead. “When did you see this ‘tall, skinny’ dude?”
“Night before Valentine’s Day, around ten-thirty.”
That was the night his parents were killed, all right. “How can you be so specific? It’s been over a year.” Dawson didn’t want to get suckered in by one of those strange people who fed off the excitement surrounding a high-profile case and tried to insert himself in it. Hard as it was to believe, he knew there were such people.
“Easy. I worked fifteen hours that day so that I could finish the bunker I was building in time to head home to my family. Still didn’t get done, had to go back two times after because I’d screwed up and needed to fix what I’d done wrong, but I wanted to be there for Valentine’s Day. My wife had just received a call from her doctor, saying she was cancer-free. We were going to celebrate.”
“Congratulations,” Dawson said. “I hope your wife is still in remission...”
“Sure is. Just had her annual checkup.”
“That’s wonderful. So...you were returning to Santa Barbara?”
“Yeah. I would’ve given the guy a ride, but I had so much equipment in the back of my truck that I’d had to put my luggage in front. Wasn’t room.”
Too bad Dawson hadn’t also refused. But he’d felt confident he could handle himself, if necessary, and he’d never dreamed he’d need to fear for his family. “He spoke to you? Asked you for a ride?”
“He did. I was sort of tempted to figure out a way to make it work, like I said. But I was too loaded.”
“When did you go to the police to let them know you’d seen this person?”
“Not until a few weeks later. I learned of the murders when everyone else did. It was all over the news. But I didn’t think I had any information—not until after they arrested you and I saw a clip where the anchor gave your version of the night’s events. Then I realized that I’d seen the same guy.”
“You don’t happen to know where that hitchhiker is now...” Dawson held his breath, but the crushing response came anyway.
“No clue. Could be anywhere.”
Dawson let his breath go as he struggled to cope with the bitter disappointment. But then Oscar spoke again.
“I can tell you what he was doing in town, though.”
“You can?” Dawson’s hope skyrocketed again, almost giving him an emotional whiplash.
“Yep. Told me he came to see his little brother at the boys ranch you folks got out there.”
“New Horizons.”
“That’s it. I remember because he was royally pissed that they made him leave at lights-out, wouldn’t let him stay on campus even though he had no way to get back to Santa Barbara, where he had friends.”
Dawson clenched his fist. There was the connection he’d been looking for, and what a hopeful connection it was! His heart began to race as he considered the implications. Because of privacy laws, Aiyana wouldn’t be able to give him a list of all the students she had a year ago, but she had to have access to such a list, and he felt certain she’d be willing to call them all herself, if need be.
Dropping his head in his free hand, he had to blink several times to overcome a sudden upwelling of emotion. At last, he had a small break that could lead to the one thing he craved more than anything else: justice. “Thank God.”
“You don’t think what I’ve told you will do any good, though, do you?” Oscar asked. “I mean it didn’t do any good when I reported it last year.”
Filled with a new sense of resolve, Dawson lifted his head. “I didn’t know about it last year.”
* * *
Chief Thomas had asked Sadie to call him when the arson investigator was done. He wanted to meet him, to speak with him. She’d just texted Dawson that he was leaving soon and was about to let Chief Thomas know as well when Damian Steele said he was going to swing by the police station on his way out of town, anyway. Figuring that would take care of it, she asked if he’d found anything.
He explained that he needed to do some more research and run a few tests before answering that question, but he left her with the promise that he’d be in touch as soon as he had any news.
“Something has to go my way eventually,” she muttered as she walked around to the back.
A flood of nervous energy made her feel slightly shaky as she opened the door and saw all of her belongings from the living room, bedroom and bathroom piled up and crammed into the small kitchen. She wouldn’t be able to get through to the living room from here even if she wanted to go in there. The firefighters had blocked it off. But, after taking a cursory glance at the towels, one nightstand, a side table, two lamps and a couple of boxes of storage items from the coat closet, she realized that there were no surprises here. The couch must’ve been destroyed. The mattress she’d used as a bed and a second rickety nightstand were gone, too. So were a lot of Jayden’s clothes and toys and her own clothes. Everything that had been against or near the wall that went up in flames would need to be replaced.
Thankfully, none of those items held any sentimental value. But neither did any of the stuff in here. She went through the boxes carefully, just in case someone had put her photographs inside without making a note of the fact that they’d found the one thing she’d been asking for. But there were no pictures.
Her hands felt clammy and she had a tension headache by the time she finished. She’d been told to stay out of the other side of the house, but she’d watched Damian Steele go in there and come out unscathed, and she wasn’t about to wait another day before launching a full-fledged search for her photos. She needed some resolution, some peace
of mind there, at least.
She went outside and around to the front, where she made sure no one was watching before letting herself into the living room.
The sun poured through large holes between the burned studs of the left wall. Almost everything below that was scorched black and looked ready to disintegrate. She didn’t want that to happen while she was there. With her luck, the roof would collapse. But she needed only a few minutes, just enough time to look in places the firefighters and police might not have thought to check.
Problem was, her house was so small that there weren’t a lot of places her pictures could be. She might’ve taken them out and left them on the couch. She’d been doing a little scrapbooking to pass the time. But she didn’t think that was the case. Dawson had been on the couch one of the nights before the fire, and she was pretty sure she’d remember if she’d had to move the plastic container she kept them in.
The side table had a sliding door. Maybe she’d stuck them in there and the firefighters hadn’t noticed that it opened...
She found some pictures Jayden had colored or drawn at Petra’s that she’d saved. Surprisingly enough, they were okay. The table had protected them. She was happy to find something that held sentimental value, but those hand-drawn pictures couldn’t replace the photographs she’d had a professional take of him as a baby, or the photographs of her parents.
Where could she have put that plastic case? It had to have been in the closet, under the couch or in this side table.
Unless she’d shoved it in the bottom of the painted armoire in her bedroom. She’d had more clothes before the fire, but still not a great deal. There’d always been plenty of room in that armoire. She’d put various odds and ends in there...
The bedroom had suffered more damage than the living room. A lot of the floor was gone, showing the crawl space underneath. She tested each step to make sure it wasn’t going to give beneath her weight as she moved gingerly to the charred armoire near the devoured mattress where she and Jayden had slept for the year she’d been separated from Sly. The sight of it frightened her. Had she not been sufficiently awakened and capable of getting them out...
