by Jen Blood
I didn’t argue. Whenever I can minimize the time my dogs are exposed to cagey men with guns, I’m happy to do so.
Phantom hesitated when I called to her, her gaze locked on Dean. There was an implicit message there that others might not be able to read, but it was as clear to me as if she’d whispered it in my ear.
Something was wrong here.
“Get her out,” Dean repeated, a trace of menace in the words now.
“Come, Phan,” I said again, more firmly this time.
She took one last look at Dean, then turned her back and trotted to me. I returned her to Wade’s SUV, half listening to the conversation between Jack and Dean behind me. Half listening to the forest around me.
I didn’t like it here. Dean had met us at the site of what Jack told me had been a casino in the former town of Glastenbury, long before the place was unincorporated in 1937. The casino was built after settlers had deforested the entire area; the higher-ups in town figured they’d try to cash in on the tourist trade since they’d killed the only other industry available to them. Thanks to the deforestation, though, flooding was inevitable. The casino operated for one season in 1897 before the fall rains came and washed out the railway tracks up to the mountain. They were never rebuilt, and the place fell to ruin.
The forest had reclaimed everything now. I doubted sunlight could get through, the trees were so thick. The only thing remaining of the original structure was a granite wall built into the hillside, a remnant of the casino’s foundation. The leaves had turned, the forest floor carpeted in rust and red. Something beyond that had me on edge, though—a feeling that eyes watched us just outside my line of sight, secreted in the trees.
Phantom appeared to agree. As I shut her in the back seat, her gaze remained locked on the tree line behind me. I turned, but saw nothing.
“Stay,” I said to the dog, returning my attention to her. She whined, but didn’t move.
“She’ll be fine,” Wade said from the driver’s seat. “A lot safer than you are. I don’t like this guy.”
“We’ll be all right,” I said, though I wasn’t convinced myself. I closed the door and returned to Jack’s side.
“…they’ve been gone too long as it is,” Dean was saying when I returned. “They know our history—know better than to scare me like this.”
“We’re doing what we can, Dean,” Jack said.
“So you say, but so far that hasn’t done us a whole hell of a lot of good, has it?” Dean snapped. I thought of how fondly Jack had spoken of the man before, and was a little taken aback at the old coot’s behavior. Oblivious, Dean shifted his attention to me and extended his hand, effectively dismissing Jack. “Dean Redfield, ma’am.”
“Jamie Flint,” I said. We shook hands, his grip stronger than I’d expected—stronger than it needed to be, really, demonstrating a powerful need to dominate in that simple interaction. I let him have the win; I had better things to do than arm wrestle old men.
“I saw Mr. Campbell speak a few times,” Dean told me. “First on TV, and I liked what he had to say enough to make the trip to a couple of his training seminars.”
I suppressed a grimace. My former mentor, Brock Campbell, had been a poster boy for the testosterone-driven, good-old-boy network of dog handlers who had ruled the scene up until a couple of decades ago. And still do, in some cases. If cooler heads hadn’t prevailed, a prong collar and a bull whip would have been his company logo. I thought of the way Dean had reacted to Phantom, confused.
“Are you a handler?” I asked.
“Me?” He shook his head. “No, no. Don’t care for dogs. But what Mr. Campbell talked about was deeper than just training dumb beasts. He had a way about him, an understanding of the order of things. What he had to say about dogs could just as easily be applied to the rest of a man’s life, as God intended him to live.”
Ah. If that was the way Dean felt about things, it gave me some insight into the way he probably lived his life. I was surprised he wanted anything to do with having a woman run the search for his family.
“You wanted to talk to me about your daughters?” I said, rather than stand there making small talk any longer.
He frowned, and I caught what looked like anger in his pale eyes. He was supposed to be leading this conversation.
“How long’s Brock been gone now?” he asked, rather than answering my question.
“Six years. Almost seven.”
“Mmm,” he nodded. “No offense to you, but I was surprised to hear he’d signed over his business to a woman. A lot of us were.”
“We worked together a long time. If you’d actually known him, I don’t think it would have been that surprising at all.”
The spark ignited in his eyes at the implied rebuke, and his face tightened. For the first time, I saw beyond the smallness of a man who was simply living in a bygone era, to something deeper. Something dangerous.
“The girls who are missing…” I prompted once more.
“Ariel and Melanie,” he said. “My daughters.”
He still held the rifle in one hand. I noticed that Jack’s gaze had shifted to it as the tension ramped up in our conversation.
“I’m not sure what you think I can do that the other searchers already out there can’t,” I said. “They all know this area well—much better than I do.”
“I want you here,” he said. “Mr. Campbell trusted you, so I trust you. I got down on my knees last night and I prayed to God. Your name is what He came up with.”
I looked at Jack, but he appeared as surprised as I was. “I’ll do the best I can, but I can’t make any promises.”
He grunted at that. “Did he tell you what happened before?” he asked, nodding toward Jack.
“He did,” I said.
“I’ll bet,” Dean scoffed. He turned hard eyes on Jack, then returned his gaze to me. “My brother killed his own flesh and blood. They found my sisters buried in land that had been mine, before the government stole it out from under me. Those girls were slandered. Made a mockery of in death.”
His voice hardened even as his eyes grew distant, as though lost in the memory. “I told Gordon to stay the hell away from us before any of this even happened. He was supposed to be this bigshot FBI man that everybody looked up to. My family was whole before he came… Two days after the government took our home, my baby sisters were dead.”
“Dean—” Jack began.
Dean held up his hand. “Be quiet,” he growled. “You’re the only one of any of these sons of bitches that’s worth a good goddamn, but how do I know you’re still on my side? They could’ve gotten to you too, for all I know. I’m only dealing with you now because I haven’t got a choice. The fact of the matter is, everything was fine, we were safe, until your people started nosing around again. And then, suddenly, more of my family is gone.”
Silence fell. Jack looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t bother arguing. The focus shifted back to me. There was absolute stillness around us—eerily so, and I got the strange sense that something out there was holding its breath, waiting for me to speak. I took a few seconds before I found my voice again.
“All right… Well, I think I have a good sense of what’s happening now. It seems like the best thing anyone can do is what’s already being done: get out there and search.”
“So you’ll join them, then,” Dean pressed.
“Yes,” I said, though I’d thought that much was obvious. “I don’t really see why I shouldn’t.”
“Thank you,” Dean said. “Truly, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “We haven’t found them. Jack said you have someone you want me to talk to?”
Dean placed a call on his handheld radio. Jack followed me back to the SUV, where I let Phantom out once more. The dog hopped to the ground with her tail held low and her eyes on the tree line again. I followed her gaze, but still saw nothing.
Jack watched both of us, clearly wanting to say something. I stroked the t
op of Phantom’s silky head, the action more reassuring for me than her, and waited for him to speak. All the while, my focus remained on the trees.
“What he said about Gordon…” Jack finally began.
I turned to look at him. “Had you worked with Gordon Redfield before?”
“He was my mentor at the Bureau for two years.”
The information made me pause. “And you never suspected anything?”
“Not for a second.” It cost him something to admit that, his eyes more distant with the words.
According to the articles I’d read while traveling that morning, Gordon Redfield had insisted throughout the trial that he was being framed; that his record spoke for itself, and he would never touch his family. Or anyone else, for that matter.
Ultimately, the jury found him guilty of the murders of his sisters, but the conviction had been a surprise. There was wide speculation that he would eventually be released on appeal. Here we were seven years later, though, and clearly that hadn’t happened. Massachusetts didn’t have the death penalty so he’d been sentenced to life without parole instead, but so far that was the only break he’d caught in this case.
“Do you think he did it, then?” I pressed. “Dean seems pretty clear on it, but are you?”
His eyes found mine. For a moment, I was caught by the hardness there—the betrayal that was almost blinding. Somewhere beneath that, though, I sensed something else: doubt.
“I’m sure,” he said. I wondered whether he was lying to me about that, or himself.
Jack looked around again, checking on Dean’s position. Since Dean had gotten off the radio, another man had joined him—this one taller and broader, with a thick beard and red hair threaded with silver. Phantom had wandered a few feet. I snapped my fingers, and she trotted back to me. Dean and the red-haired man approached, both looking as though they expected something to emerge from the forest and eat them alive if they weren’t careful. Frankly, I found it a little unnerving.
“This is my younger brother, Claude,” Dean said. “He was the one who saw the girls last.”
Both Jack and I perked up at the words.
“And what time was that?” I asked.
Claude’s forehead furrowed. His right hand sounded out a spasmodic rhythm against his thigh, his mouth slightly agape. “I…”
“It was six-thirty,” Dean interrupted. “Claude’s not great with time, but I’d just come off my shift.”
“Your shift?” I asked.
“Guarding the place,” Dean said shortly, glaring at Jack. “To make sure nobody came for us.”
Claude nodded. It was hard to gauge his age, though I guessed somewhere in his forties. He swallowed hard, then wet his lips. “Dean just come off his shift,” he repeated.
“And what did you see?” Jack asked. This was clearly the first time he was getting a chance to interview the man. Claude looked at Dean, as though seeking permission to continue. Dean nodded.
“I saw Ariel and Melanie—they were whispering. I asked what they were doing, and they told me to mind my own business.”
The words came slowly, his voice thick and uncertain.
“Were they dressed when you saw them?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Claude said with another nod. “They were both in their raincoats. I told them it was too cold to go out. Too early. That this place doesn’t like us. I told them not to go out alone.”
Dean looked away. Jack, however, remained focused on his subject. I listened intently, caught by Claude’s phrasing. This place doesn’t like us.
“Can you tell us exactly what they were wearing?” I asked. Claude closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
“Pants—not jeans. Tight pants, like you say they shouldn’t wear out.” He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, clearly expecting a reprisal of some kind. Dean stayed quiet, but I could tell he didn’t like Claude’s answer. “They had their boots on. Well, Ariel had her boots on. Mel had on more girly shoes, and Ari told her she’d get blisters walking around like that and Mel said, ‘I don’t plan on staying on my feet that long.’”
I exchanged a glance with Jack. Dean’s eyes fell.
“Okay. That’s good, Claude,” I said. “Good memory. Now, can you tell me a little bit about Melanie and Ariel? Do they like the outdoors?”
“No,” Claude said. He laughed, then sobered at the look on Dean’s face. “Especially Mel. They like to be in cities. They like to go shopping.”
“Do either of them play sports?” I asked, trying to gauge just exactly how out of their element these girls were.
“Ariel does,” Dean volunteered. “She’s the younger of the two. Claude’s right: Melanie likes cities. Boys with fast cars. This was the last place either of them wanted to be.”
“But Ariel is physically active,” I pressed.
“She’s strong,” Claude confirmed. “Really strong. Captain of the basketball team. She goes to the school and works out in the gym every morning, no matter what. Even when she’s sick. After we moved, she started going running outside. And she brought weights here with her.”
“So she’s in good condition,” I said, looking to Dean.
“Excellent,” he agreed. “She’s deep into that whole CrossFit thing, wants to be a trainer someday. Has all these dreams about going out to Hollywood and training the stars. She’s always trying to get Melanie to do more.”
“What did they say when you told them they shouldn’t go out alone?” Jack asked Claude.
“They said they wouldn’t be alone, and I shouldn’t worry.”
“They told you they wouldn’t be alone?” Dean asked, his voice sharp.
“That’s what they said,” Claude said. “I forgot. Mel said, ‘Don’t worry, Claudey. We’re just going for a little walk. We’ve got an escort.’” He paused. “Then Ariel’s lips got skinny, like they do when she’s mad, but she didn’t say anything else.”
“And they didn’t tell you who this escort was?” I asked.
“They didn’t say. They just told me it was a secret, and not to tell anybody they went. They’d be back before breakfast, that’s what Mel said. ‘We’ll be back before Daddy even knows we’re gone.’ But then they didn’t come back.”
His gaze shifted to Phantom, who sat at attention at my left side. “That’s your dog?” he asked me.
“Phantom,” I said.
He knelt where he was, tipped his body away from Phantom, lowered his eyes, and extended his hand just slightly. It was a good greeting—sophisticated even, demonstrating empathy and an understanding of other beings that I appreciated. Phantom glanced at me.
“Go ahead,” I said.
At the magic words, Phantom got up from her spot and walked sedately to the large man now kneeling before us. He looked nervous, an unsteady anticipation in the way he held out his hand. Phantom sniffed, lapped at his hand once, and then moved in so Claude could pet her.
“Nice dog,” he said, only partly speaking to me now. “Nice dog. Why’s she got a scary name, if she’s such a nice dog?”
“When I found her, she looked like a ghost,” I explained. I faded, aware that the explanation was over his head and unsure how to make it any simpler. It was true, though.
I wasn’t supposed to save Phantom, when she came to me. I was at the DeKalb County Shelter in Georgia looking at a dozen mutts they’d pulled from their three-page-long list of dogs about to be euthanized. According to the Merced staff, those dozen dogs had all the qualities I was looking for to become professional working dogs; all I had to do was take them. As I was putting them through their paces, literally deciding then and there who would live and who would die, a worker went past dragging a German shepherd who clearly did not want to go wherever he was taking her. The dog was so thin I could count every rib through her mangy coat. Her eyes were dull, her gait halting. But she turned and looked at me, the hot Georgia sun blazing down on us both, and I knew. If anyone was going home with me that day, it would be her.
I didn’t know how to explain that now, though. “When she walked,” I continued, “she reminded me of something that wasn’t really…” I trailed off, not sure what else to say.
“Not from here,” he finished, to my surprise. “Like she wasn’t from here. That’s how I feel sometimes, too. Like maybe I was supposed to be some other place, but I ended up here instead, like this.”
Dean set his hand on Claude’s shoulder more firmly than was necessary. I couldn’t tell if there was an implicit threat in the gesture or I was just reading it that way. Phantom looked up warily at him, but she didn’t leave Claude’s side.
“Come on,” Dean said. “We’ll go get everybody rounded up so Jamie and her dog can start looking for the girls.”
Claude stood with some effort, every movement careful. When he was on his feet again, he looked down at Phantom, then back toward the woods. “I hope you find them,” he said. “The voices get hungry at night.” He paused. A chill swept up my spine.
“The voices?” Jack asked.
He looked at Jack and frowned. His gaze shifted back to the forest. Phantom likewise stared into the trees. The hackles rose along her spine.
“What voices are you talking about, Claude?” I asked.
“It’s time to go,” Dean said.
“Claude?” Jack prompted.
Claude shook his head. “No voices,” he said, the words barely audible. “I wasn’t talking about anything.”
He turned and strode away—toward Dean’s truck, away from the trees—without another word.
#
Two others emerged from the woods shortly after Claude had gone, delaying my ability to join the search yet again. One was a slender middle-aged woman with the same distinctive Redfield features—strong chin, prominent nose, pale blue eyes—that I’d seen in Dean. The other was taller, male, again most likely in his forties.
Dean frowned at sight of them, but grudgingly nodded them over.
“This is my sister, Wendy,” he said, gesturing toward the woman. The slender woman extended her hand. Her grip was stronger than I’d expected, her palms calloused. Despite the print dress that covered her from chin to ankle or the demure bun in her hair, she was clearly a woman used to hard work.
