by Jen Blood
It was just after eleven, according to the clock. Still, Ren shook her head. “Your mom will keep looking for Ariel as long as it takes, as long as she knows we’re in trouble.”
Bear didn’t say anything to that. He wished he could be so certain, but the truth was that his mom was a handler first. Always had been. You didn’t overwork the dogs—that was the first rule of this whole business. Everyone benefited if you acted in the K-9’s best interest whenever possible, and Jamie had always lived by that.
“You think I’m wrong?” Ren asked. He shrugged, but didn’t say anything. He watched Ren’s reflection in the glass, and saw her roll her eyes. “Jamie would do anything for you.”
“I don’t want her to do anything for me,” he said after a long few seconds. “I just want her to do her job, and take care of the dogs in the process. If she does that, I’ll know she did everything she could to find Ariel and get us out of here.”
Outside, another couple of dogs howled in the wilderness. Bear didn’t recognize them—did they belong to the Vermont K-9 teams who’d come in? He would have thought they’d have gone by now, knowing there was a killer out there somewhere. Phantom answered the call, and that started a whole new string of canine wails across the forest. Then, he heard Dean’s voice outside the door. Both he and Ren froze.
“What the hell’s going on out there?” Dean demanded. The tension was strung so tight in his voice, Bear thought the man might snap. A second later, the door slammed open.
Dean stood in the doorway with Wendy beside him. Neither of them looked good, but it was Dean who worried Bear. The nearly legible threads he’d seen on the air around the man earlier were nothing but tangles now, blackened and rotting. Bear was reminded of worms left to bake alive on the concrete on hot summer days.
“What’s happening? What’s going on out there?” Dean demanded of them.
“How should we know?” Ren asked. Her voice held some of the old spirit, something Bear was only briefly happy to hear. “How are we supposed to know anything if you lock us in here and refuse to let us go?”
“You saw something earlier,” Dean accused Bear. “You know the same kinds of things Claude does. I could tell the second we started talking. What’s happening out there? Why would the dogs be barking like that?”
“I don’t know,” Bear said. Dean took a threatening step toward him, his face twisted with anger. Bear held up his good hand and stepped sideways just enough to block the man from reaching Ren. “I swear!” he said. “If I knew something, I’d tell you. As it is, all I can say is that something is happening. But I can’t tell anything without talking to my mom or the others.”
Dean nodded. His gaze drifted to the window, and Bear had to resist the urge to look as well. For a few seconds, the old man just stared. Beside him, Wendy looked tired. Afraid. Ready to quit—which Bear figured might work in their favor, or might not.
“If you know something…” Dean began.
“I’d tell you,” Bear said. He didn’t know whether or not it was a lie, but he figured it didn’t really matter. Right now, he didn’t know shit.
Dean looked out the window again and shook his head. “It’s a goddamn nightmare,” he muttered under his breath. He turned around and left the room without another word.
Wendy stood there for a minute after he was gone, like she wasn’t sure whether or not she was supposed to follow him.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Earlier that day, Bear had explained to her that both he and Ren were vegetarians. The woman had looked almost baffled at the news at first, before she’d dutifully nodded. That evening, she’d brought them homemade vegetable stew.
“We’re all right,” Ren said. “We just want to go home.”
Wendy nodded. Her eyes were shadowed, her skin sallow. Half the ghosts Bear knew looked better off than she did. “I know. You’re not alone—that’s all I can tell you.”
She turned and left without another word.
* * *
Chapter 19
AT TWENTY MINUTES PAST midnight, an hour after rescuers had broken through to set us free, I sat sideways in the front pew of the Glastenbury Church so I could keep my foot elevated, an ice pack against my knee. Phantom was asleep at my feet, while Casper and Minion had retired for the night after what I knew had been a long day for both of them. Both were now fast asleep in their crates for the night.
Beaten and sore and with no end in sight, I wished I had a crate I could crawl into myself.
After McDonough had briefed the swelling ranks of law enforcement and searchers on where everything stood, he had dismissed everyone but Jack and Rita Paulsen. Despite my fatigue, I wasn’t budging till I knew what our status was now that the tunnel had been discovered, so McDonough escorted Jack and Rita into his cramped office in the back of the church for a little privacy. I could hear him giving them both a dressing down, as clear as if I’d been in the room with them. The gist of the trouble, as far as I could tell, was that Jack had gone over McDonough’s head in order to make the trek to see Gordon Redfield, and then had done that one better by getting them to bring Gordon—accompanied by U.S. marshals—out here. He’d forced McDonough’s hand, and McDonough was not a happy man as a result.
I perked up my ears, listening shamelessly as the conversation continued.
“At this point, we don’t have a lot else to go on,” Jack said. Based on the tension in his voice, it was taking a lot for him to stay calm. “Dean has two hostages—one of them injured—and so far he’s shown no interest in letting them go if we don’t find Ariel. This may be our best chance of not only finding her, but of figuring out who the killer is. We’ve got less than twelve hours before Dean’s deadline. Bringing Gordon in was the best idea I could come up with.”
“The best we could come up with,” Rita interrupted. “Jack wasn’t the only one responsible for going to Texas last night. If you’re going to give someone hell about it, at least include me.”
“Trust me, Jack’s not the only one who’ll pay for this,” McDonough said. “But he was the one who booked the charter and made the trip. You may see a reprimand in your file, Paulsen, but it’s Juarez’s ass in a sling.”
I winced. Jack hadn’t been in a great position before all this, but now I couldn’t imagine how he would be able to save his career. Though based on his actions and some of the things he’d said lately, I wasn’t sure he cared.
The conversation went on like this for a while, going nowhere, until McDonough was the one who finally drew the whole thing to a close. “I’m done fighting. If we’re doing this tonight, let’s get him in here already. First light tomorrow I want search teams out looking for the other end of that tunnel.”
It was almost one a.m.; first light would be in five hours. Bear was spending his second night with Dean and his family. McDonough had told me he’d spoken with both Bear and Ren over Dean’s radio at one point that afternoon, but I hadn’t been in on the conversation. The lack of connection to Bear, that feeling that he was lost and I had no way to reach him, hurt more than my aches and pains from mudslides or collapsing tunnels.
Jack and Rita emerged from the office then, both of them dragging. Paramedics had bandaged Jack’s head, but neither of us had had a chance to get cleaned up yet. He looked like half the dust and debris from the tunnel had saturated his skin by now, seeping down to the bone.
“Everything all right?” I asked him.
McDonough came out before he could answer, saw me, and frowned. “I thought I told you to go back to the room and get some rest,” he said.
“And I told you, I’m not going anywhere until I know what the plan is for tomorrow. The clock is winding down. If we can’t find Ariel by noon, what are you going to do about it?”
“We have a plan in place,” McDonough said. “It’s not your job to worry about that. This is on us.”
I grimaced, but was too tired to come up with a rational argument. “Well, regardless—I’m staying while
you talk to Gordon. He could have information I need to help us find Ariel.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a longshot. He’d been in prison half a country away for years now. Whatever connection he’d had to the case back in 2009, what could he possibly know now?
A few minutes later, two U.S. marshals brought Gordon Redfield in wearing handcuffs and leg irons. He was an attractive man likely in his late forties, short and lean and dark-haired, with thick arms and a muscular chest. His eyes were clear and intelligent, and they lingered on each person in the room by turns. He stayed a beat or two longer on Rita before he moved on. Frowned at McDonough, who glared back at him.
“McDonough,” he said gruffly. The tension in the room was palpable, and I sensed something red, festering, in the air between the two men.
Phantom had been lying peacefully beside me, but she awoke at Gordon’s entrance and was instantly on alert. I couldn’t tell whether her reaction was to Gordon himself, or if she was responding to the tension between him and McDonough.
Gordon nodded to me with a grim smile. “You’re Jamie?”
“I am.”
At the shift in attention, Phantom sat up and watched the man intently. While she wasn’t growling, I could tell she wasn’t comfortable with something.
“Jack told me about what’s happening with your son. I’m sorry about that. Dean doesn’t always make the best decisions under pressure, but this isn’t like him. I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking.”
“I don’t think anyone does,” I said.
Gordon had a brief consultation with one of the marshals who’d brought him in, and they led him to the pew beside me. Once he was seated, he shifted his attention to the others. “So, what are you waiting for? I’m assuming they won’t just let me stay here forever. What have you got?”
Rita was the one who spoke up. She pulled up a folding chair and set it directly opposite Gordon, close enough for the two to touch, which surprised me. “We were hoping you might have something for us, actually.”
“Oh yeah? Well, then I think you’re going to be disappointed. I don’t have any theories.”
“That’s not what you said the last time I was at the prison,” she said. Gordon frowned.
“Damn it, Rita,” he said.
“You really want to rot in prison for the rest of your life for something you didn’t do?” Rita pressed. “Just tell them what you think already—stop trying to protect a man who never deserved your compassion.”
“What man?” McDonough interrupted.
“I don’t have any proof,” Gordon said, his expression darker now. He glared at Rita, the weight of his anger a tangible thing. Phantom sat up beside me, taking in the exchange.
“I’m not looking to convict at the moment, I’m looking for a goddamn theory,” McDonough said.
Gordon didn’t say anything.
“Gordon,” Rita prompted.
“The past eight years thinking about it,” Gordon said slowly, “I’ve narrowed it down to one suspect who could have killed the eight prostitutes around the country, and then had the opportunity to come back and murder Katie and June.”
He kept his gaze on the ground, but there was something calculated about the posture that didn’t sit well with me. As though he were an actor in a play. Rita touched his arm. “You have to tell someone, Gordon.”
A moment of silence passed in the room. The clock read 1:13. Less than eleven hours to find Ariel and figure out who murdered Melanie. Which meant Bear could have less than eleven hours to live.
“Please,” I said when Gordon still didn’t speak. “You know your brother. Can you honestly guarantee my son’s safety if we don’t deliver on our end of the deal? Whatever theory you have or don’t have, now isn’t the time to hold back.”
He scratched his head, the chains on his wrists jangling with every movement, and took a long, deep breath before he began. “Like I said, it’s just a theory. But my brother Barrett was a salesman back then, and he traveled for his job. I haven’t been able to get records on where he was during his entire stint with the company, but I ran into him while I was working in Cleveland. He had regular clients there.”
“Which is where the first murders took place,” Jack told me before he shifted his attention back to Gordon. “But Barrett’s name came up in the original trial. It went nowhere. He had alibis for every murder.”
“Alibis can be bought,” Gordon said shortly. “You know that. All the alibis you’ve got from him are from low-rent women who wouldn’t think twice about lying to the cops for the right man. Barrett can be a charming son of a bitch under the right circumstances.”
“We’ll look into it,” McDonough said. He nodded toward the marshals. “If that’s what you’ve got for us, I think we’re set. You start the long trip back, you can make it back to Texas by morning.”
“That’s not all he has,” Rita said. Gordon’s jaw was so tense I was sure he’d crack a tooth. He shook his head, but she took his arm. I saw her press her nails into the skin there, an urgency about her that was frankly a little unnerving to see. “Tell them, damn it.”
Gordon shifted in his seat. He shook his head. Rita sighed in frustration.
“If you won’t say it, I will,” she said. “There’s someone else who was known to be in the immediate vicinity of two of the prostitutes killed, and there are rumors that he met at least three of the other victims personally. And he was onsite during the investigation at the Redfield homestead in Adams.”
A profound silence had fallen over the room, all eyes on Gordon now. His eyes remained on the floor as Rita continued.
“No one ever knew about your connection to the victims, did they, Gerard?” she asked McDonough.
“You’re not serious,” McDonough said. The shock in his eyes appeared genuine.
“Trust me—I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Rita said.
“Would you excuse us for a minute?” McDonough said. His focus shifted to Gordon, still sitting silent on the pew. “I’d like to have a word with Gordon.”
“Forget it,” Gordon said. He lifted his eyes for the first time. “You’re not leaving me alone with him. You do, and I can all but guarantee I won’t make it out of this place alive.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” McDonough demanded. He stood, but then remained frozen in place, his fury a physical force in the room. “You can’t just come in here and make baseless accusations.” He looked at Rita. “What the hell did he tell you? Before he starts spouting his half-assed theories, just keep in mind what this asshole put you through. You may remember, I was there for the whole thing. I never gave you any reason not to trust me… I know firsthand that you can’t say the same thing about him. The man is playing you.”
I watched Rita’s expression shift, a shadow of doubt in her eyes. She might have changed her tune about Gordon, but she still didn’t trust him completely.
“What did he tell you?” McDonough pressed. “That I was part of the sexcapades Gordon and his crew had going when you two were married? Because I can tell you right now, I never was. Not once. And if he’s trying to feed you that bullshit, think about what else he’s lying to you about.” He shook his head. “You’re so intent on busting him out, so convinced you pinned him wrong all those years ago… I’m telling you, you were right. He’s never been worth a damn.”
The intensity of the exchange between him and Rita surprised me—it felt like we were all horning in on something intimate, a conversation between two people who knew each other better than anyone had ever expected. I certainly hadn’t, until I’d seen the exchange at the motel. Based on the look on Gordon’s face, it was a surprise to him, too.
A beat of tense silence passed before Rita’s gaze shifted to Gordon. “You told me you had proof.”
A pulse in Gordon’s jaw ticked. McDonough stood there, poised for violence, but there was a righteous indignation there that I believed. Gordon, not so much. And for her part, every ounce of Phantom’s e
nergy was fixed on Gordon. Her reaction told me more than any court transcript ever could, about the kind of man we were dealing with.
She didn’t like him. And I sure as hell didn’t trust him.
“Not physical proof,” Gordon said. Backtracking now.
“Because I was never part of it, you son of a bitch,” McDonough ground out.
“What kind of proof, then?” Rita pressed. “You were there, right? All these…trysts the agents had, you were in the room with them. You either saw him there, or you didn’t.”
“I wasn’t there every time,” Gordon said. “There were rumors that other agents were involved. Men who kept a lower profile than we did.” He was grasping at straws, spinning the story even as he sat there. It would have been pathetic, if I didn’t find the whole thing so damned terrifying.
McDonough shook his head, turning his back on the man. “Christ. You’re the same man you always were, Gordon. You open your mouth, and the only thing that comes out are lies.” He nodded toward the U.S. marshals now standing watchful off to the side, then looked at Rita. “Make sure they keep an eye on him. If you still believe any of the horseshit he’s handing you, go over what you think he can tell you about this case tonight. I want him gone tomorrow.”
And with that, McDonough strode down the aisle and out of the church without another word. The heavy double doors slammed shut with a clatter, and the room fell silent.
Rita stood stiffly and went to a folding table at the back of the room lined with files and photos. She gathered them and brought them back to Gordon, setting them on the pew beside him.
“You should take a look at these. See what you make of them.”
“Rita—” Gordon began.
She shook her head quickly. I saw the glint of tears in her eyes. “Don’t.”
He fell silent.
Awkward as the exchange may have been, I pushed past it—aware once more of the minutes flying past. I studied the 8x10s Rita had set down. I hadn’t looked closely at the scene before, too shocked at Dean Redfield’s reaction and the fallout that came after. Now, I watched as Gordon stood, awkward with the shackles around his ankles, and spread them across the old wooden pew.
