Ruckman Road: An Alex Penfield Novel

by Robert W. Stephens

  “Five-thirteen in the morning,” McMahon said, as he looked at the time on the video file.

  The person’s head was down, and the living room was dark. He immediately turned for the stairway and disappeared from the camera’s view. Penfield loaded the other camera from the living room and advanced the video to the same point in time. He saw the person walk through the door again, but he still couldn’t make out the person’s face or any distinguishing characteristics.

  “They just walked right in like they had a key,” Penfield said.

  “Or Talbot left the door unlocked. Is there a camera on the stairway?” McMahon asked.

  “No, but I think I know where they’re headed.”

  Penfield clicked on the master bedroom video file and found the matching time. The person entered the room and walked to the side of the bed. Talbot was still asleep. The camera still didn’t allow Penfield and McMahon to get a good look at the person’s face, but they could see now that the person was wearing a hooded jacket. The jacket was covering most of their head. Penfield couldn’t even tell the person’s hair or skin color.

  “Shorter person,” McMahon said, “judging by their size against the bed.”

  Penfield remembered that the crime scene techs had searched for blood in the master bedroom, living room, kitchen, and den on one of their earlier trips to the house, but they had found nothing. It was extremely hard to get rid of all traces of blood, even if you scrubbed it with bleach, so Penfield doubted the intruder had harmed Talbot in the house.

  Penfield assumed the person had pulled a weapon and forced Talbot out of the house. That didn’t happen, though. The person stood on the side of the bed and watched Talbot sleep for several minutes. Talbot eventually turned over in bed and seemingly woke up on his own. He sat up in bed and looked at the other person. He didn’t appear startled at all by the other person’s presence in the room. Penfield couldn’t tell if they then had a conversation since the video was only recording a few frames at a time.

  Talbot stood and faced the person. He was much taller than they were. They watched each other for a few more minutes.

  “What the hell are they doing?” McMahon asked.

  Talbot then took one of his hands and pushed the person’s hood back. The move looked jerky and forceful due to the nature of the recording. Long, dark hair fell across the back of the open hood. He leaned forward and kissed the person.

  “A woman?” McMahon asked.

  Talbot turned from the woman and walked out of the room. The woman stood still for another moment and then turned toward the door. Penfield got a clear view of the person this time. It was Torres.

  Chapter 22

  William Shackleford

  Penfield stood under the tree across the road from the Talbot house. He recalled looking at it from the attic window the other night. He remembered wondering how many things it had witnessed over the years. It had been there when the house burned down and killed the Shackleford girl. It had also been there the day Talbot walked out of his house and vanished. Now, it was about to see another confrontation. It was one that Penfield had prayed to avoid. A week had passed since Doug McMahon had uncovered the missing video files on Talbot’s computer. It had taken Penfield that long to review each file and gather the necessary information he needed.

  Penfield turned from the tree and walked across the street. He unlocked the door and went inside. Torres arrived an hour later. He’d sent her a text, asking her to meet him at the house. It had just been a few hours since they’d seen each other at work. They were deep into a few new investigations. Neither of them had said anything about the Talbot investigation all week. It had taken everything Penfield had to not confront her on each of those days.

  There had also been the matter of their drunken kiss in his home. Penfield had been certain they were in for an extremely awkward conversation the next morning, but Torres hadn’t brought it up. He’d assumed she needed more time, so he hadn’t said anything either. The silence had now extended to several days. He didn’t know how she felt. He did know that his passion for her, even though it had been restrained, was now a thing of the past after what he’d seen on the recovered video files. In a way, their feelings for each other no longer mattered. What he was about to do would push their romantic encounter far into the background.

  “Why are we here?” Torres asked.

  Penfield stood beside the fireplace, right in front of the first window that had shattered. He suddenly became aware of the fact that his hands were shaking. He tried to command them to stop, but they wouldn’t. He didn’t know if Torres noticed them. He also became aware of the pain in his side. It had come on with no warning. The pain was intense, and he feared he might fall over.

  “Pen, what’s going on?” Torres asked.

  Penfield took a step closer to her. He clenched his hands in tight fists to keep them from continuing to shake.

  “You never told me you’d met Joseph Talbot before,” Penfield said.

  “That’s because I didn’t.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” Penfield said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I heard the 911 call myself. You told me there was no prior police report on Talbot when you knew for a fact he called 911. I believed you. There was no reason for me to second-guess you. You’re my partner, goddamn it.”

  “What 911 call? There was no call. The first call we got was from that jogger,” Torres said.

  “I’m talking about the call where Joseph Talbot reported he’d found a human skull on the beach. He said he thought it had washed ashore from the storm. Maybe you deleted the police report after the fact. Maybe you didn’t even make one, but you couldn’t delete the 911 call. It was in a different department and a different building. You didn’t have access to their database.”

  “The only time I ever saw that skull was with you when we found it in the garage,” Torres said.

  “Stop lying to me, Maria!” Penfield yelled.

  Penfield took a step back. He’d promised himself to remain calm, but he was close to losing control. He squeezed his fists so tight that he thought his palms might tear open and bleed.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to get at, but I’m not going to stick around for this bullshit,” Torres said.

  She turned and walked toward the door. She stopped after a few steps and looked over her shoulder, though, when she heard Penfield following her. His footsteps sounded quick and loud against the wooden floor. He stopped in the middle of the room, reached into his jacket, and removed a blue file folder. He opened it up and pulled out three 8x10 photographs, which he placed on the wooden floor between them. The first photograph depicted a frozen video frame showing Torres with Talbot in the den of the Talbot house. The second photograph was also from the new video files, and it showed Torres leaving Talbot’s bedroom the morning he disappeared. She was facing the camera above the door, and it was the clearest and closest image that he had found of her in the house. The third photograph was another frame from the video. This one was from the living room, and it showed Torres standing just a few feet from Talbot. They were in front of the fireplace, and it had been filmed by the camera above the doorway to the kitchen. They looked like they were having a conversation.

  Penfield had watched each of the videos several times. Then he went through the original files again multiple times. It had pained him beyond belief to see Torres with Talbot. He’d stayed up late into the night for the past several days to complete the work. He’d picked up his cell phone on more than one occasion to call her and demand an explanation. He’d put the phone back down each time, though.

  There had actually been a few days where he’d considered deleting the files again. He’d even contemplated taking a sledgehammer to the computer drive so the files could never be recovered. He owed Torres his life. Wasn’t that worth covering for her? He remembered Hannah, though. He saw her hanging from the bedroom door. He remembered her wei
ght in his arms as he’d tried to lift her and ease the tension on the rope. She had been innocent in all of this. He couldn’t just look the other way, even if it was for Torres.

  Torres glanced at the photographs on the floor, but she made no move to walk closer to examine them.

  “You think that’s me? Some grainy images from a video camera.”

  “You’re actually going to try to deny this?” Penfield asked.

  “There’s nothing to deny. I haven’t done anything,” Torres said.

  “Why the hell would you do this?” Penfield asked.

  Torres heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, and she turned to see who it was. Penfield didn’t turn, though. He already knew.

  “You did this. You’re responsible for this,” Torres said, and she pointed at Atwater as he walked into the room.

  “I somehow put you in the videos? And why would I do that?” Atwater asked.

  Torres turned back to Penfield.

  “Think about what you’re saying. You’re accusing me of killing Talbot. I suppose you’re going to say I killed Hannah, too.”

  Penfield said nothing. He looked down at the photographs on the floor again and then back to Torres.

  “Why would I do that? What did I possibly have to gain by killing them?” Torres asked. “Next you’re going to say I’m somehow responsible for making the girl appear in the basement. You’re not well, Pen. We both know it. I’ve watched you fall apart ever since Dominic Stewart pulled that trigger. You’re seeing things that aren’t there. If there’s anything those videos prove, it’s that. Atwater has only fed your delusions. He’s only made things worse. You’re so desperate to solve this case that you’re looking everywhere for conspiracies and wild theories.”

  “What was your involvement with Talbot? The video shows you came to this house several times after the initial visit. Why? What was going on between you two? I saw him kiss you in his bedroom,” Penfield said.

  “There was nothing going on because I was never here. The first time I set foot in this house was with you. We got the call about the body, and the jogger pointed us this way. That’s it. That’s the first time. You barely made it through the house that day. Remember? You almost passed out several times that day. You needed help. You still do. Don’t do this to us,” Torres said.

  Torres turned to Atwater when she noticed he’d gotten closer to her.

  “What are you doing? Stay away from me,” Torres said.

  “You don’t want me to see you, but I do, William,” Atwater said.

  Torres followed Atwater’s gaze and saw he was looking at the window behind her. She turned back to him.

  “My reflection? Is that what you’re looking at old man? What do you think you see? You’re a lunatic if you think you can actually see someone’s past life in the reflection of a window. He made a big mistake bringing you here. You know what Pen thinks about you, don’t you? He thinks you put him in that box. It’s only a matter of time before he turns on you, too.”

  “What did they do to you, William?” Atwater asked. “What did Sarah do? Who was the man now called Talbot? What did he do to you?”

  “There is no Sarah. She’s a figment of Talbot’s sick mind,” Torres said.

  Atwater’s eyes widened.

  “You started the fire. Didn’t you, William? Was it an accident killing your daughter, or did you do it on purpose? Was that your way of getting back at Sarah for whatever she’d done to you?” Atwater asked.

  All of the windows in the living room exploded at once. Penfield covered his face with his arms, but the glass still cut him. Atwater was slower. He tried to protect himself, too, but the glass cut him deeply, and he was knocked to the floor by the force of the explosion. Torres seemed unhurt. She walked closer to Atwater and looked down at him on the ground.

  “You know nothing,” Torres said.

  Penfield saw her speak. He saw her lips move and form the words “you-know-nothing,” but her voice didn’t belong to her. He’d had thousands of conversations with Torres over the years they’d been partners. This was not her voice. It belonged to a man. It was a voice he thought he’d heard before. Then he remembered the audio recording on Hannah’s phone. He’d only said one word, but Penfield still recognized him.

  “Shackleford!” Penfield yelled.

  Torres turned to him.

  “You let them do this to me. You let them bury me at the bottom of the sea,” Torres said.

  The voice was the man’s again, and its accusation stunned Penfield.

  Torres walked over to Atwater. He struggled to crawl away from her, but he was too injured from the broken glass. Penfield watched as Torres bent over and lifted Atwater off the floor. She squeezed his throat and held him a few inches above the ground with her right arm.

  Penfield charged her, but she threw him back with her other arm. He slid across the room and crashed into the fireplace bricks, injuring his side again. The pain screamed through his entire body, and his vision temporarily blurred. Torres looked back at Atwater and squeezed his throat even tighter. Penfield could hear Atwater gasp for breath.

  Penfield reached into the shoulder holster under his jacket and pulled out his service weapon. He aimed it at Torres.

  “Put him down!” Penfield yelled.

  Torres looked at Penfield, and then she dropped Atwater back to the floor. He clutched at his throat as he tried to suck in precious oxygen.

  “Leave her now,” Penfield said. “She’s done nothing to you.”

  Torres took a step closer to Penfield.

  “You let them do this,” Torres said.

  “Don’t let him near you! He’ll kill you,” Atwater yelled, and he struggled to get to his feet.

  Torres pulled her service weapon, turned, and shot Atwater. The bullet hit him in the shoulder and spun him back to the floor. She aimed a second time, and a shot rang out. A confused look crossed Torres’ face. She touched her side and looked at her hand. It was covered in blood. Torres turned back to Penfield and saw him pointing his gun at her. She aimed her gun at him this time, but Penfield pulled the trigger again. The bullet struck her in her chest, and she fell to the ground.

  Penfield moved to her as fast as he could. Her weapon was just a few inches from her bloody hand. He saw her reach for it, but he grabbed it and tossed it across the floor. Torres was now the one gasping for breath.

  “Maria,” Penfield said.

  She didn’t have the strength to respond, though. For the first time that night, he saw fear and pleading in her eyes. Penfield removed his phone and punched in a number.

  “We have an officer down. 19 Ruckman Road. Fort Monroe. Officer down! I need some fucking help, now!” Penfield yelled.

  He dropped his phone on the floor but kept the line open. Penfield touched the side of her face.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Penfield said, but he knew it was a lie.

  Nothing was ever going to be all right ever again.

  Chapter 23

  The Skull

  Penfield throttled the motor down, and the boat coasted for several feet. The waves in the Chesapeake Bay were choppy from the cold winter wind, and they caused the small boat to rock violently back and forth. Penfield had borrowed the craft from a friend of his. He’d gone fishing with the man over a dozen times in the past few years, so he was familiar with the boat’s controls.

  Penfield looked up at the sky. The sun was low, and he could see the dark clouds moving closer. The storm would be here soon. He pulled his wool hat low across his forehead. He’d put on extra layers since he’d known the bay would be cold, but the wind still cut through him. His hands were already turning numb despite wearing gloves. He turned and looked back at the Fort Monroe coastline in the distance. It was so far away now that he could barely make out the beach near the former officers club.

  Penfield bent over and picked up a gym bag that was at his feet. He placed the bag just above the boat’s control panel and unzipped it. He removed a
n object that was wrapped in a dark cloth. Penfield carefully walked over to the edge of the boat. The rocking from the waves made it difficult for him to keep his balance. He unwrapped the cloth and revealed the skull he’d taken from the police evidence room earlier in the day.

  He stared at it for several long moments, and then he tossed it overboard. He leaned over the side and watched as it quickly sank into the black water. Penfield walked back to the control panel. He pulled back on the throttle, and the boat shot off across the rough waves. Penfield turned the wheel and pointed the boat back toward the marina.

  It took him thirty minutes to drive from the marina to the hospital where Atwater was healing from his gunshot wound. The storm had arrived by then, and the rain drenched Penfield as he walked from the rear of the packed parking lot to the main visitor’s entrance at the hospital.

  Penfield had kept tabs on the old man’s condition for the last few weeks, but he’d yet to visit him. He’d only had one brief phone conversation where Atwater had called his cell phone in the middle of the night. Penfield took the elevator to the third floor and walked down the long white hallway to Atwater’s room. He could hear the various television channels from the different rooms as he walked by them. He took slow, shallow breathes to try to avoid that sickly smell found in all hospitals.

  Atwater’s door was already open. Penfield looked into the room and saw Atwater lying in bed. He was awake but not watching television or reading a book or magazine. Instead, he was staring toward the window, seemingly lost in thought again. Penfield could hear the pounding rain hit the windowpane as the storm blew it sideways toward the building. Penfield didn’t knock on the door or even announce his presence. He just watched Atwater for a few seconds.

  “Did you do as I asked?” Atwater said without turning toward Penfield.