“True, but it doesn’t hurt to send it to the lab,” Jake said.
He took his flashlight off his belt and examined the fabric. “You know, this shirt is for a smaller person. Maybe Mitch’s?”
“It’s a possibility it could belong to Mitch, but without a warrant, we can’t touch anything.”
Jake shrugged and made himself at home looking for other evidence outside of the garage.
“Why do you suppose Judge Styles is leaving tonight?” he asked. He shoved his hand inside a box butted up against the house. “Crappppp,” he yelped, jerking his arm back violently. “Something bit me.” A mousetrap hung off the end of his finger.
Tom couldn’t help but laugh at him. He laughed so hard, he fell back into the Suburban, denting the fender. “Owww, that was my funny bone,” he said, rubbing his elbow. “Nothing bit you, you dope. Come here,” he told him.
Tom eased up the spring and pulled Jake's middle finger out of the mousetrap. Jake shook it rapidly thinking the pain would subside. “Cripes, it's broken. It’s numb.”
While Jake jumped around like a pansy, his finger in his mouth, Tom took a walk up the sidewalk in front of the house and stood staring in the picture window. “I bet the SOB runs, and takes his punk son with him,” Tom said.
“You’ve dealt with these kinds of pompous bullies before, haven’t you? The kind who thinks they can run from the law?”
Jake shrugged and then nodded. “I guess. There's usually one or two in every town. Greedy politicians, corrupt judges; it's universal.”
As they debated how best to get the judge to venture back outside, the floodlight on the side of the house came on. Leaning backwards to see what tripped the motion detector, Tom spotted a German shepherd in a chain-link dog run. The dog hadn't made a sound, yet he stood watching them, ears at full alert. Creepy. “I hate floodlights. I can't even be secretive,” he frowned, grumbling.
“I don’t think the sleaze bag will to talk to us, so I say we knock the door down and drag his butt out,” Jake offered.
“He knows we’re out here, dummy. Why the hell else would he hide inside? If we stand and wait long enough, he’ll tire and come out,” Tom added with total confidence. “If not, I’ll knock again and if he still refuses to come out, we’ll take further action and then I know he’ll talk.”
“That’s not the way we did it back home on the police force. We busted the door down and hauled their ass in,” Jake said grinning.
“Yeah, but you worked for a substandard, backwoods police department. Podunk, U.S.A. How many warrants did you have when you decided to play super cop?” Tom asked, deliberately being a smart-ass.
“Shoot…we didn’t worry about warrants, because we usually knew the suckers were guilty,” Jake explained.
“Oh, okay, so I guess if by some chance you made a mistake, how well did it hold up in court? I’m not even gonna ask you about the court system in Podunk,” he said, laughing.
“We didn’t have much crime because of it, I'll tell you that much. Smooth sailing six nights out of seven,” he said. “Most of the bad guys were too dang scared of us. We were busy on Saturday nights, though. That's when the mill workers collected their paychecks and headed into town to spend it on whiskey and shady ladies. Crime picked up on Saturday nights.” Jake grinned back at him. He knew Tom loved to tease him about his hometown.
“It’s a wonder you were able to get a job in a civilized town,” Tom said jokingly, strolling the perimeter of the yard.
The front door of the house swung open and they both jumped, dashing to the front steps. “Judge Styles. Can we talk to you for a minute?” Jake called.
“What do you want,” the judge growled. “Why are you snooping around in my garage?”
“We need to talk to Mitch, Judge. We're investigating a series of murders and he may have important information in the case.”
“That's ridiculous. My son is a straight-A student. He's captain of the football team. He knows nothing about those girls.”
“I didn't say anything about any girls. How do you know which murders we're talking about? Where is he, sir?”
“I'm not stupid, detective. There have been no other murders in this town in months. And Mitch has gone away for a few days. He needed a break from his studies. He'll be back after the holiday. Now get the hell off my porch or I'll have your jobs.” He moved to slam the door, but Jake shoved his foot in the breach.
“Why are you packing your car, Judge Styles? Why are you going camping in the middle of November?” Tom said, noticing a shadow moving across the upstairs window.
“It’s none of your damned business where I go or why. You stay away from my son. I won't have him upset. Now get off my porch.” He shoved Tom roughly backwards and slammed the door.
“See, I told you he'd be difficult,” Jake said gruffly.
“I know his kid is in there. I saw him in the upstairs window. What do you suppose we do now, genius? Bust the door in, and then we’ll be sitting behind bars,” Tom replied in frustration.
“We can’t stay out here all night. We have to talk to his son. Move, I’ll bang on the cotton-pickin’ thing,” Jake yelled.
Tom and Jake worked together like two peas in a pod. No matter how they occasionally got on each other’s nerves, they stuck together. Tom depended on Jake to come through for him. The boy had fire in his belly and nothing got in his way when working on a case. He stood back, leaning on the railing, watching his protégé. Kicking the door with his foot, Jake stirred up a ruckus from inside the house. The front porch light flashed on and someone peeked out between the mini-blinds.
“Hey Judge, open the door. I know Mitch is in there. You don’t want me to come in there after him,” Jake shouted.
“You can’t threaten a judge, man. He'll have your balls for that,” Tom whispered.
Jake tilted his head back in disgust. “You’ve got to be joking. How about we go get a warrant? That might make you feel better.”
“We leave, and he’ll take off, with any evidence. Then what?” Tom added, trying to get Jake to think rather than blindly act.
“Let’s call the station and see if we can get a warrant—have them bring it to us.”
“We don't have enough evidence to get a warrant for Judge Styles or his kid. The only other judge in town is one of Styles' good-old buddies. Why don’t we call a couple of uniforms to set up a stakeout? Mayor Mackenzie took off and so did Kemp, but thanks to surveillance, we know where they went. When they are least expecting us, we can make our move,” Jake said wisely.
“Are you feverish? You want to give up on busting a judge's kid? And who the hell is Kemp?” he asked.
“The principal. I thought I told you about him. And no, I’m thinking logically about this. They know we’re on to their little scheme,” mumbled Jake. “We have to outwit them.”
It surprised Tom to see him giving up this easy. Normally, he’d have the doorframe down by now. It pleased him Jake had learned a thing or two and decided to use his head instead of going overboard and sinking the ship with his exuberance.
“Well, call for a stakeout team, then. I don’t want to stand here all night and argue the situation.” Walking back to get in the car, he saw the judge in the window smiling from ear to ear. Tom detested smugness. If he had a chance to get him, he’d wipe the smile off his face just for spite.
***
A gray-haired woman opened her door and saw Jennifer sprawled on her back porch with her eyes closed. She reached for her wrist, feeling a faint pulse. “Child, what happened to you?” she cried. Jennifer managed to open one eye a crack. “Oh, you poor girl,” she moaned, lifting strands of Jennifer’s hair that clung to the front of her bloody gown like static cling. Jennifer reached up gory fingers and grasped the woman's hand, but she yanked her hand back as though Jennifer were contagious.
“Help me,” Jennifer croaked. A worried, panicked look washed over the old lady's face and she ran back inside her house to call the pol
ice. The rickety screen door snapped shut. Jennifer took a deep breath and tried to pull herself up from the concrete, but she couldn’t muster enough energy to stand. Between Donovan whacking her good over the head and Maddie Ann battering and bruising her body, she never wanted to move again. Help would soon be on the way and she’d finally get a warm bed and safety. She'd welcome the cold green walls of the hospital about now.
The woman brought a pillow and a warm woolen blanket out to her. “I don't want to move you for fear of hurting you worse. Stay calm and the ambulance will be here soon.”
As Jennifer welcomed the company, she soon heard the blare of sirens coming up the road. Listening to slamming doors echoing from the side of the house, a single tear fell from her eye and she thanked the Lord she'd found a haven.
“Over here,” the old woman yelled. “You'll be fine now, dear,” she whispered.
Two men carrying a backboard rushed through the house to the backyard. After securing her neck with a high cervical collar and strapping her on the backboard, the paramedics carried her through the house to the ambulance. They lifted her gently atop a gurney at the steps and wheeled her off down the driveway.
Jennifer kept her eyes wide open. She wanted to say something, but her cracked lips wouldn’t cooperate. She flinched as the paramedics busied themselves inserting an IV and readying her for the fifteen-minute trip to town. She heard the loud siren's wail as the ambulance took off at breakneck speed.
***
Steve drove up into the driveway and noticed the mini-blinds in the living room pulled shut. Cindy must be napping, he thought. Either that or she’s hiding from the neighbors again. Before he got out of the car, he looked back in the rearview mirror and saw his neighbor across the street standing near the curb. His cold black eyes went straight through Steve. He shook his head and got out of the car.
“Your daughter’s a sicko…you’re all sickos’,” the man yelled.
“Awe, bite me,” Steve retorted flicking him off and heading toward the porch. As he went inside the house, Cindy rushed out of the kitchen in her nightgown. She looked as though she had been crying. Immediately, his guts twisted in knots. What now?
“I just got off the phone! They found Jennifer, and she’s alive,” Cindy screeched. She swung open the door and ran toward the car. “Let's go. She's at the hospital.”
Steve followed behind her. He groaned and sent a quick prayer heavenward. His eyes filled with tears. “Are they sure it’s Jennifer? Our Jennifer?”
Cindy nodded, smiling through her tears, and placed her hand on his wet cheek. “She's alive.”
“Well, don't you think you should put some clothes on first?” he asked, looking pointedly down at her nightgown.
***
Concerned about the investigation, Tom hoped something, anything, would surface. The lack of evidence in this case baffled him. While he sat and wrote his dailies, someone yelled for him to answer on line two.
“Detective Brown speaking,” he answered.
“Detective, this is Phillip Mullions with the U.S. Geological Department. I’m calling to see if you may have given us the wrong location where the earthquake occurred. We can't find the opening at the cemetery you told us about.”
“What are you talking about? You are out at Old Creek Cemetery, right?” he asked, puzzled.
“Yes, sir, I do believe we are, but there is no sign of an earthquake in the vicinity.”
“Is this a joke? I’m in no mood for games. I know what happened out there yesterday, and it was violent and extensive. If you can’t see it, then maybe you are not in Old Creek Cemetery,” Tom said. “Are you out on Dunn Road?”
“Yes, sir. We know how strong it was because it measured 6.2 on the Richter scale. It was a localized fault that we didn't know existed in this part of the country. Maybe you should come out here and escort us to the exact area, because I’m telling you there's nothing out here,” he insisted.
“You know what, I’ll do my best. Right now I’m busy solving murders,” he said sarcastically. Those idiots couldn't find their butt with both hands and a full team.
Tom slammed the receiver down and scattered the paperwork from his desk off into the floor. He didn't have time for this. Irritation coursed through his veins and he scratched vigorously through his short gray crew cut. He leaned back in his chair, pushing against the desk with his stout legs. What in the hell was going on out at Old Creek? Whether he had tons of work in front of him or not, he had to go see for himself.
As he strode across the squad room, several fellow officers sat around in the lobby stuffing their faces. Typical.
“Hey, Tom, want a doughnut? My wife made them this morning,” Jim Banks said.
“Not today, Banks, but I’m sure Sergeant Manning wouldn’t mind having one, and one more, and one more…,” he said, smirking.
“Funny, Tom,” Manning said as he jammed a whole doughnut in his mouth at once.
“Hey, don’t all of you have work to do? I believe that’s why the force pays you.” He took his jacket off the hook beside the double doors.
Leaving the station to loud catcalls, Tom couldn’t make heads or tails of the whole earthquake mix-up. It was if someone slipped drugs in his drink, because nothing about this case made any sense. It played differently from any other case he ever worked on. They had plenty of suspicious suspects, just not enough evidence to charge any of them yet.
Tom raced out to Old Creek with his siren blaring, hoping to talk to the geologists before they headed out. At the desolate dirt road turn off, he slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting a white cargo van with a U.S. Geologic Society emblem on it as it slid around the corner in the loose dirt. It zipped onto the blacktop road, screaming toward town. A man with salt and pepper hair wearing a navy blue suit sat behind the wheel. Well, I guess I’m too late, Tom thought. He kept his eyes alerted for other cars following the one that nearly hit him.
Tom pulled behind a string of cars left from the construction workers, parked, and got out. “Good Lord. This can’t be. It’s all gone,” he said in total disbelief. Walking up the grassy knoll to take a better look, he saw the cemetery exactly the way he left it the night before last—a wide expanse of grass punctuated by headstones and pathways. Clumps of wheat grass waved in the gentle breeze. Had he dreamed the whole episode? Impossible. How do you dream dead men?
He walked over and stood before the massive iron gates, shaking his head in disbelief. He'd seen them in a crumpled heap; he'd seen the upheaval of the earth with his own eyes. Wiping the sweat from his bushy brow, he suddenly felt an icy thrill shoot right through him, as if he'd walked inside into a subzero freezer. The feeling shocked him, and he didn’t know what to think, but whatever caused it, it scared him. Tom scratched his head. He didn't believe in the supernatural, but something was going on out here.
As he turned to leave, he heard a mousy voice call out. “Help me. She’s going to kill me.”
He jumped, swallowing hard, and felt his pounding heart thrum in his chest. Turning slowly, he saw a solitary figure standing at the rusted gates, her boney fingers wrapped securely around the bars.
The detective blinked. Twice. A young girl with golden curls stood sobbing as though her heart broke. He took a step forward.
“Who are you, little girl?” he asked.
She didn't answer. She held her face in her hands, weeping.
“If you don’t tell me what's wrong, I can't help you,” he told her and inched closer.
“Come closer, I can’t move my leg. It hurts,” she sniveled.
Tom did as she asked, fighting the feelings of wrongness he sensed. He wanted to help her. His alert eyes quickly scanned his surroundings and he listened for the slightest noise. As Tom leaned closer, the little girl lifted her face and a pointy grin spread across her mouth. Her eyes dripped black gunk raining down her cheeks and onto her white gauze nightgown.
“Surprise, Tom,” she exclaimed, clamping a claw like hand against the
side of his face. Her repulsive touch startled him and he leaped backward, tripping over a branch and landing on his butt in the dirt. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The scorched flesh on her face surrounded the pits of Hell in her fiery red eyes. Her fang-like teeth pressed against her bottom lip as crimson blood rolled down her chin.
“You…you’re Maddie Ann…” he gasped. Tom grimaced and scrambled away from the gates. “I’ve heard about you. You kill kids, you sick little bitch.”
“Are you going to help me? Please come back,” she begged, then let out a shrieking laugh. “That's fine, Tom. I’ll get you in your sleep.”
He stood on trembling legs and stumbled toward the car. Cold, clammy sweat rolled in his eyes and down the creases of his neck. It stung like fire. As he reached the bottom of the hill, he fished his keys out of his pants pocket and at once dropped them. They fell from his sweaty grip, landing by his feet. Tom bent over to regain them, but they kept slipping out of his clammy hands. “Shit,” he yelped. His face felt fiery hot and bright blood oozed from the scratches her claws had left. Instinct told him to run.
Maddie Ann s Playground Page 35
