Peak searched through the cabinets. “Not yet.” He flipped over every dusty coffee mug for any messages or clues. Though unlikely to find anything, a detective could never be faulted for being too thorough.
Using a small flashlight, Rachel leaned down next to the corpse and peered under the bed. A few roaches scurried away from the light. Rachel pulled her head away before she became too nauseated from the body’s smell. “If the photographers are finished with him, you can get him out of here,” she told Gates.
Without a word, the coroner exited.
Orphan Albert followed Rachel around the cabin. She reached the plastic icebox and popped it open.
“Peak,” Rachel called, locking eyes with a porcelain doll lying in the icebox. It had full lips, a pale body, and pink blush on its cheeks. One of its eyelids was partly closed. Its little white dress was ironed and its hair combed.
The gaunt detective appeared behind her. They stared at the doll together.
“Their creators sometimes use human hair,” Peak said.
“Learn that from a Snapple bottle?” Rachel replied.
“My daughter told me.” Peak said. “She wanted one for her birthday.”
“I see weirdness runs in the family.” Rachel’s smile betrayed her.
“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” Albert said.
Rachel glared at the Orphan. Peak studied Rachel and the place where Albert stood. “Is he...?”
Lips pursed, Rachel nodded.
“What can he tell us?” Peak asked as objectively as possible.
Rachel waited for Albert’s response. “I remember crawling in here, beat to hell thanks to you and then…” the Orphan’s voice trailed. “And then… I don’t remember.”
“Really?” Rachel said, not impressed.
“I want to find this killer too,” Al replied.
“What is he saying?” Peak asked.
“Nothing useful.” Rachel thought that the smoothie would’ve made him leave. That the attack in the house was some fluke. Rachel’s gut twisted. She needed answers.
The coroner returned with a stretcher and a few helpers. In an instant, Orphan Albert vanished. Minutes after that, his cadaver was carried out of the room. Rachel and Peak finished up their search of the cabin. The Forensics team found no fingerprints or evidence left behind by the killer. They packed away the doll.
Outside, Rachel and Peak marched around the cabin. It was 5:41 a.m., and the sun hadn’t come up. “What’s it like talking to them?” Peak asked.
“It varies,” Rachel replied. “Sometimes they’re cooperative. Other times they’re confused.”
“Is it dangerous?”
They turned the corner of the cabin, their flashlight beams dancing across the dirt. “Rarely.”
“How about in his case?”
Rachel stopped and sighed. Peak looked at his shoes. They were quiet for a moment.
“I have an idea of who might be our killer,” Rachel said, changing the topic.
Peak raised a brow.
“Mayor John Parkman.”
Peak didn’t seem too convinced.
“When we interviewed him before this whole fiasco, I saw the Highlands girls. They were convinced that he knew something.”
“Can we really trust them?” Peak said.
Rachel thought about that night when the Roper chased her through the woods. She escaped him, but the Orphan girls--his victims--led Rachel straight to Albert’s home. “It’s a lead.”
“One that Lieutenant McConnell won’t want us pursuing,” Peak replied. “The community can barely process that the Treasurer was a serial killer. To say the Mayor was in cahoots with him sounds ludicrous.”
“If it’s the truth, I don’t care how it sounds,” Rachel replied.
“I struggle to trust the testimony of these… Orphans,” Peak admitted. “There are days when I question your ability to see them. No offense.”
“None taken.” Rachel said, but felt some hurt from her partner’s comment.
The sky turned crimson as they left the crime scene. By the time they dropped off their four-wheelers, the sky was blue. Yawning, Rachel returned to her car. She arrived at the police station and brewed hot tea for herself. Warming her hands with the ceramic mug, she took a sip of her black tea. Its smooth smell washed out the stench of death. Today was one of the days when she regretted giving up her art career.
Rachel returned to her desk: a small metal thing with a rolling chair, computer, and a stack of files. Peak sat at the desk in front of her. His fingers plucked away his keyboard, writing up the case report. He drank sugared coffee from a tall Styrofoam cup.
Rachel unlocked her drawer. The metal screeched as she scooted it partway out of the desk. She pulled out her sketch pad, flipped through the pages of Orphan sketches, and landed on a blank page. She jotted down a list of leads she wanted to pursue i.e. the owner of the cabin, Albert’s neighbors, family, friends, and lawyer. She made a note of the doll as well. Perhaps Forensics would learn something from that. Even a partial fingerprint could launch the case miles ahead.
She searched the database for the addresses and phone numbers of Albert’s loved ones. She found his uncle, Ulysses Jacobson, living in Burnet, Texas. She left him a voice mail, saved his contact information, and joined Peak in filing case reports.
At 8 a.m., Lieutenant James McConnell strolled into the precinct. He stood inches over six feet and had long grey sideburns reminiscent of the 1970s. Holding a stainless-steel coffee thermos, he stopped beside Rachel and Peak’s desk.
“How would you two like to be on TV?” McConnell asked.
Knuckles resting on her cheek, Rachel turned to face him. Peak twisted his seat around, fingers intertwined on his belly. Their flat expressions showed their excitement.
“I’ll sweeten the pot,” McConnell said with smile. “I’ll let you have the rest of the day off.”
Peak and Rachel exchanged looks.
“What’s this about?” Rachel asked.
“You’re out of the hospital, and the Highlands Roper is dead. Mayor Parkman’s in a congratulatory mood.”
“Does he know it wasn’t us who killed Jacobson?”
“We’re keeping that information under wraps.” McConnell admitted. “The town needs heroes. You two are the face of that. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to solve Jacobson’s murder.”
McConnell walked toward his office. “This isn’t a suggestion, Detectives.”
Peak cracked a smile. Dark circles underlined his eyes. “Look at us. A couple of burnt-out superstars.”
“Dreams do come true,” Rachel said sarcastically and finished her report before going home to change.
Rachel lay in her bed for the next few hours. She stared at her white ceiling, unable to sleep. Albert’s attempt to kill her had put Rachel on guard. The man was unpredictable and egotistical. That was a dangerous mix for someone who had nothing left to lose.
Rachel slipped into some nicer clothes before heading out. Peak didn’t change; he only combed his hair. They met outside of Town Hall. The local news crew had already arrived. They adjusted the camera to see the podium. A line of chairs was set up behind it. Rachel and Peak sat in the farthest seats: two outliers in the row of suited town officials.
“This feels spontaneous,” Rachel whispered to her partner.
“Our mayor is happy the case received swift closure,” Peak replied. “Nothing suspicious about that.” There were traces of sarcasm in his voice.
Mayor John Parkman arrived a minute before the broadcast began. For a man in his late fifties, he was handsome. He had trusting blue eyes, rich brown hair, and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. The man looked like he was born to lead. He stood before the fuzzy microphones on the podium with the perfect mix of somberness and celebration.
“This is a monumental day for our community,” his speech began. “Albert Jacobson is dead. God administered justice swiftly and mercilessly...”
Rachel listen
ed to the man go on, dismantling Albert’s legacy brick-by-brick until his classmate, friend, and fellow city council member was nothing more than a wet smear in Highlands’ history. The Roper stood amidst the small crowd gathered at the bottom of the steps. He watched Rachel and the mayor through the two crude black holes in his mask.
Rachel fidgeted in her seat. If he attacked her now, on live TV, how would that look? Rachel imagined she’d be thrown off the case for medical abnormalities. She was tempted to excuse herself, but that was when the mayor told them to approach the podium. The Roper watched her with expectation.
Parkman spoke to the crowd. “I would like to personally recognize two local legends, homicide detectives Rachel Harroway and Jenson Peak. Both of these brave individuals risked life and limb to put an end to the Roper’s reign of terror. For that, the town of Highlands is grateful,” Parkman smiled at them.
Peak shook his hand, giving the mayor a curt nod.
When Parkman took Rachel’s hand, she leaned in and whispered. “Come down to the station. We want to talk to you about your alibi the night of Albert’s murder.”
Parkman’s smile didn’t change, but there was worry in his eyes. “Thank you,” he replied and turned back to the crowd. “If not for these two, that monster would still be out there. Let’s give them a round of applause.”
The crowd clapped. The Roper was no longer with them. The broadcast ended, and soon after, the mayor led the procession of town officials away from the podium. After being congratulated by a few men and women in suits, Rachel and Peak reconvened at their cars. Before they could say a word to each other, their phones beeped.
“It’s McConnell,” Peak said.
The text read, MY OFFICE. NOW.
“That took less time than expected,” Rachel said and sighed.
PLAQUES HUNG on the walls of the small room. Photos of McConnell’s son, through his middle school and high school years, decorated his desk. The boy wore a soccer uniform in every photo.
McConnell bounced his eyes between the detectives. “You know why you’re here.” It was a statement. “You better have a good reason for telling the mayor that he’s a suspect in our investigation.”
“I believe he’s a lead worth pursuing,” Rachel said. “In Jacobson’s trophy room, we found a picture of him and Jacobson.”
“We found a picture of his mother in his house,” McConnell said. “Should we dig her up and question her?”
Peak straightened his posture. “What my partner is trying to say is that we shouldn’t cross the mayor off our list without knowing the full story.”
“Of that, I agree,” said McConnell. “Nonetheless, labeling him as a suspect with no evidence is sloppy detective work. He called me after the broadcast, as you know, and asked me if he needed a lawyer. He also asked me the mental status of my two finest detectives after the Roper attempted to murder them less than a week ago.”
“Lieutenant, I’ve made my career by trusting my gut, and something doesn’t sit well with Parkman,” Rachel said.
“I love my gut,” McConnell stated. “But that doesn’t put criminals behind bars. Evidence and facts do that.”
“You don’t think it’s just a little bit curious that our mayor had a close relationship with our victim?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” the lieutenant replied. “Do you have any excuse for this blunder or are you not fit to return to the field?”
Peak turned to Rachel. She spoke up. “I did it to ruffle the mayor’s feathers. If he’s guilty, we’ll see him scramble to cover his tracks. If he’s innocent, there’s nothing to worry about. That’s God’s honest truth.”
“Next time, fill me in on our master plan,” Lieutenant McConnell said. “You both are dismissed for the day.”
3
DREAMCATCHER
Rachel made use of her free time.
The trees were thick and old, the bark nearly black and the canopy so dense that the sun barely kissed the earth. Dangling from colorful strings, odd wicker symbols swayed below their branches. They were geometric in shape: triangles, squares, and the like, and created using shaven sticks fastened at the corner by weathered thread. From some unseen place, birds screeched at the day’s dying sun.
With her mother’s leather-bound journal in hand, Rachel stepped out of her Impala and into this strange place. The air here clung to her throat as she waded through the tall grass that blanketed the yard around the drab doublewide trailer. Junk cars jutted out of the weeds. Clouds of gnats congregated above a neglected birdbath.
This ominous place reminded Rachel of her mother. Separated by decades, they both walked this path, and Rachel expected to walk it many more times. Holding the screen open, she knocked on the trailer’s front door. It opened an inch, enough to see the man’s dark hazel iris surrounded by a ring of milky white. Without a word, the tall, full-blooded Cherokee man opened the door and stepped aside. His dark face was hard as rock, and white hair tumbled down his broad shoulders.
The smell of incense permeated the hazy residence. Dreamcatchers and wolf paintings decorated the yellow walls. Odd potted plants covered the kitchen’s table top. Rich soil sprinkled the floor below. A black and white movie flickered on the large flat screen in the living room. There were no doors in the trailer, just painted wooden beads streaming from doorways and down to the carpeted floor.
“How is your mother?” Sequoyah asked in his baritone voice, closing the door behind Rachel.
“Still in the mental hospital,” Rachel replied.
“Shame,” Sequoyah approached his countertop. “She had talent.”
Sequoyah returned with a bag of leafy herbs and gnarled roots. “This is the last batch I’ll have for a while. Make it count.”
Rachel crossed her arms. “We have a problem, Sequoyah.”
The stern-faced man lowered his brows.
“The last smoothie didn’t work. One of the Orphans remain, and he’s not exactly Casper.”
Sequoyah stared her in the eyes. “Did you kill him?”
“I thought I did, but I never struck the final blow.” Rachel had a bitter taste in her mouth. “Did my mother ever have an issue like this? I couldn’t find anything in her journal.”
Sequoyah grunted. “I had my theories that a similar event was what drove her to insanity.”
Rachel felt the world spin. “You never told me that.”
“I never thought you’d take a life. I thought you understood the rules. The restless dead don’t leave until they’re avenged. They’re only avenged by--”
“I know how it works,” Rachel lashed out. She fought her frustration. Without Sequoyah, she had no smoothie. Without that drink, there was no way to turn off the Gift and no way to rid herself of the Orphans. For all she knew, Rachel was the only one that could help them. Even Sequoyah didn’t have the Gift; he only knew about it from Rachel’s mother. Or so he said.
Rachel massaged her forehead. “Isn’t there some way you can just up the dosage? Make the drink stronger?”
“It won’t help,” Sequoyah said stoically. “You killed him. He stays until you’re brought to justice.”
“It was self-defense,” Rachel argued. “And someone else killed him.”
“It is through your actions that led this man to his doom, correct?”
“In a sense, sure.”
“Then you’re responsible.”
Rachel ran her hand up her black hair. “I’m forty years old. You’re saying I have to live with this guy for the rest of my life?”
Sequoyah’s face was hard as stone. “Yes.”
Rachel laughed. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. When she learned about her ability from her mother eight years ago, her mother said it was a gift, a curse, and a joke. Rachel understood it was clearly the latter of the three.
Sequoyah handed her the tightly packed plastic bag of herbs and roots. “This batch is on me.”
Rachel took it and headed for the door.
Sequoyah spoke. “This Orphan is here to stay. I suggest you find a way to live with him. You are a friend to me, Rachel. I do not desire for you to share your mother’s fate.”
“He tried to kill me once already,” Rachel said as she opened the door. “He’ll try again.”
Rachel drove away, listening to the hum of her tires on the road. She sacrificed her marriage, her relationships, and her art career to help these Orphans, and this was how she got repaid? To be eternally tormented by a demented killer? No. She shook her head in angry defiance. I will not submit.
Rachel went to the liquor store after dark. She stocked up on whiskey before returning to her large house. She pulled out a dusty glass from the cupboard and washed it out in the sink. She sat at the kitchen table where her ex-husband used to edit his photos after a long day’s shoot. She filled the glass and drank. The liquid went down her throat like fiery snakes. She filled it again, drank, and waited.
An hour inched by. The whiskey bottle dwindled.
In her boredom, she opened the journal Peak had gotten her. It was a book of blank pages, waiting for her story. She thought it would be a book of heroics, but it appears it would be a tale of horror.
A massive chill filled the room.
“You look grim,” Albert said with his typical smug Southern twang.
Rachel turned her bloodshot eyes to the Roper sitting in the chair next to her. He wore his mask. Blood oozed through his tattered shirt.
“You’re a sexy woman, in a mature sort of way, but tonight, maybe I should lend you my bag.”
“I want you…” Rachel hammered her fist on the tabletop. “To get out! Out of my mind! Out of my life! Out!”
Albert clicked his tongue to the top of his mouth. “You wasted all this time to tell me that? Come on, Detective. We’re just getting started.”
Rachel hurled her glass. It phased through his face and shattered on the wall. In an instant, the Roper’s gloved hand was around her neck. She clawed at his arms, but her hands only raked at the air. Her chair balanced on its hind legs as the world warped and her esophagus was crushed. Her face turned cherry and then grape. Her eyes rolled back as her limbs flailed wildly. Helpless, she tried to speak, to curse him, but the world turned black. Her final breath escaped her.
The Haunting of Rachel Harroway- Book 2 Page 2
