by L. T. Vargus
McAdoo thought about this notion, couldn’t make much sense of it.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“I mean we’re the ones pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, sitting out at damn Burger King at 2:00 am for Christ’s sake. We’re the soldiers, you know? We’re the ones doing the real job. Those FBI people? They’re eggheads. Cracking psychology books. Writing term papers and shit. They mean well — maybe they even help part of the time — but they ain’t the real thing. Bureaucrats won’t stop this monster. All the paperwork in the world won’t stop him. The police will.”
Again he dipped his head and spurted brown juice into the styrofoam spittoon, licked his lips.
A rebuttal tingled on the tip of McAdoo’s tongue. He didn’t agree with his partner. At all. The police around here were in way over their heads with the Doll Parts case, and anyone who wasn’t thankful for the FBI’s help was a fool. He almost said so, but he hesitated a beat too long. The quiet encroached, filled the emptiness. The moment seemed to have passed, and he said nothing.
He finished the Honey Bun and crammed the plastic wrapper into the ashtray.
“I can’t wait until I’m away from all of this,” he said, finally. “Once I get my boat, I’ll just be drinking and fishing. Drinking and fishing. Drinking and fishing. Not worrying about speeding tickets or serial killers or any of this shit.”
Novotny sighed.
“Yep. You and your damn boat.”
They sat in the quiet as the night dragged on and on, staring into the gloom of the parking lot across the way. The killer didn’t show.
Chapter 8
The building at 2926 Susannah Lane was an ugly, squat little duplex. Like most of the homes and apartments in this neighborhood, it was painted an industrial blue. Darger figured it must have been the cheapest paint money could buy at some point, and the slumlords went wild.
A fat man stood on the lawn, overseeing two boys in their late teens or early twenties hauling boxes out of the house and piling them at the curb. His hands rested on his hips, his swollen belly showing his t-shirt absolutely no mercy. It almost looked like he was trying to smuggle a watermelon in there.
A girl with her hair pulled back in a messy bun fluttered next to the pile, hopping toward the man like an angry sparrow.
“You be waiting to hear from my attorney,” she said through clenched teeth. “Expect a lawsuit come Monday morning.”
The girl plucked something from one of the boxes and added it to a separate pile accumulating next to the mailbox.
“Oh, I’m sure that will happen,” the man said, folding his arms over his chest and smirking.
Violet parked the car on the street and got out.
“Miss Peters?”
The girl kept screaming.
“This is how you treat people? Toss their stuff in the street like garbage? I have rights!”
The large man had moved up onto the porch, and he hung over the iron railing to taunt the girl.
“You want to talk to me about rights? Try payin’ your rent once in a while. You were notified of the eviction proceedings by verified letter, each and every step of the way. Hell, you’ve had a whole week to collect your belongings.”
“Sierra Peters?” Violet said, her voice getting lost in the din.
The girl’s finger stabbed the air.
“I have friends, you know. I have friends I can call.”
Violet got within a few steps of her and said more firmly, “Excuse me. Are you Sierra Peters?”
The girl whirled around, and for a beat, Violet thought of a cobra rearing back, poised to strike. She almost stepped away, almost flinched, but stood her ground.
Sierra lifted her chin, clinging to her defiance, but the slightest waver in her voice betrayed her.
“Who’re you?”
Violet held out her badge to the girl and handed her a card with her name and phone number on it.
“My name is Violet Darger. Could we talk for a moment?”
From the stoop, the landlord called out.
“You’re the cops? Good. I was just about to call you. My tenant here — former tenant — is harassing me.”
“I ain’t harassing—”
“Issuing physical threats against my person and my property.”
Sierra spun around to face him again, voice reaching a new shrill pitch.
“Threats! I did not threaten—”
She turned back to Darger, voice flipping back to a more reasonable tone.
“He’s lyin’, officer. He’s making shit up. I did not—”
Violet put her hands out.
“Miss Peters? Sierra? If you can calm down a minute, I’m sure we can get this sorted out.”
Now that she was closer, she noted that Sierra’s chest huffed in and out like she’d just run the Yellow Brick Road training course at Quantico. Beads of water collected in the corners of eyes ringed with black liner. Violet wondered if she had asthma.
“She got a record, you know. Drugs and thievin’ mostly,” the landlord said.
Sierra whirled back around to face the man and hissed, “You shut up.”
“Sir?” Darger said, leaning around Sierra to try to catch his eye.
“In fact, I’d wager you’d find an awful lot of stolen items in them boxes.”
He had one hand rested on the fullness of his belly, rubbing in circles and drumming his fingertips. It reminded Darger of a mannerism a pregnant woman might adopt.
“You’re a liar!”
Sierra’s breath almost whistled in her throat. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Sir! Please go inside.”
Darger advanced, hand raised.
“I didn’t realize it was against the law to stand on my own front lawn.”
Darger felt her fingernails digging into the palm of her hand as she struggled to compose herself. What was this guy’s problem?
“If this situation continues to escalate, you might find both you and the girl arrested. Now please go inside. I’ll be in to talk to you in a moment.”
It was a bluff, but Darger saw a flash of fear in the man’s eyes, which he covered quickly. Pursing his lips, he nodded to himself.
“Within my rights. A hundred percent,” he muttered.
Finally, he went in, the screen door banging closed behind him.
When Darger turned back to Sierra, the girl was busy trying to pick through the belongings piled at the curb. Mascara-tinted tears ran down her cheeks, and her breath was still a rasp. She coughed out a sob as she tipped a box full of coffee mugs into the grass. With the box empty, she began packing up a few things she’d pulled from the jumble — a photo album, a large cosmetics bag, and a stuffed animal in the shape of a giraffe.
“Sierra,” Violet put a hand on her arm, and the girl wrenched away.
“No! I didn’t do nothin’! It’s not fair that he just throws all my shit out, but I’m the one that gets in trouble.”
Her voice trembled again, and fresh tears fell from her eyes. She swiped a hand at her cheek, leaving a black smudge of makeup behind.
“Sierra, I’m not arresting you, OK? I’m not even a police officer. I’m from the FBI. You’re not in trouble.”
Eyelashes thick with clumped mascara blinked together rapid-fire. Her shoulders convulsed with each breath.
“I’m not?”
“No, honey. I only want to talk to you.”
Violet was patting her back now and talking in a soothing tone.
“Sierra, it seems like you’re having trouble breathing. Do you have asthma?”
Sierra’s head bobbed furiously.
“Do you have an inhaler?”
Again the nodding. Her hand flailed in the air, gesturing at the house.
“You think it’s still inside? Can you tell me where?”
“Medicine… cabinet…” Sierra wheezed.
Violet could see beads of sweat forming on her upper lip and at her temples. The wisps of hair at the base of her neck were s
odden.
“OK, Sierra. I’m going to go inside see if I can find it. In the meantime, why don’t you sit in my car? I’ll turn the AC on for you, and I want you to focus on calming down, OK?”
Violet guided her to the passenger side and opened the door, then went around to the driver’s side to turn the key and crank the air on.
“Do you know any centering exercises?”
By the look on her face, Violet might as well have asked her to recite the Pythagorean Theorem from memory.
“That’s OK. It’s easy. I want you to choose five things. Five facts about yourself.”
Sierra looked dubious.
“For example, I would say, ‘My name is Violet Darger. My favorite color is blue.’”
Violet pointed at Sierra, indicating it was her turn.
The girl swallowed, still appearing unsure.
“My name is Sierra Peters,” she croaked. “My favorite color is orange.”
Violet gestured at her, urging her to continue, but Sierra shook her head, still too rattled to come up with her own.
“My birthday is April 13th and my star sign is Aries,” Violet said.
“My birthday is January 4th, and I’m a Capricorn.”
“Got the hang of it?” Violet asked, and Sierra bobbed her head, yes.
“You keep going, and I’m gonna go see if I can find your inhaler.”
Darger paused after opening her door, her foot hovering over the ground. She remembered Deputy Donaldson’s warning about Sierra having sticky fingers. For a brief moment, she considered the wisdom of leaving Sierra in a rental car with the keys in the ignition, but she pushed the thought away. The girl was in the midst of an asthma attack. She wasn’t going to steal the car.
Violet knocked on the door, then stepped to the side as the boys hauled a dresser through. She held the door for them, and then the man welcomed her inside.
“Alright, sir. I’m going to take her in before things go any further,” Darger said, making no attempt to clarify what that meant.
“Good. She been nothin’ but a pain in my sack for two years. Noise violations, domestic incidences, not to mention the drugs—”
“Shouldn’t be a problem for you any longer,” Darger interrupted. “Before I go, could you show me the bathroom?”
She flipped open the mirrored door on the medicine cabinet and began rifling through the makeup and toothpaste and pill bottles.
“Hey, what are you—”
She found the inhaler tucked into one corner and wrapped her fingers around it.
When she turned to leave, the landlord was blocking the door, hands on his hips. He puffed out his chest.
“Technically that belongs to me now,” he said, pressing his lips together. “Everything here does.”
Darger glared at him, the dead look in her eyes speaking loud and clear.
The man’s posture loosened, shoulders twitching and drooping a little.
“But you can take it. Just make sure that girl don’t come back here.”
Back in the car, Violet handed the inhaler to Sierra. Her breathing sounded a little less labored now.
The inhaler let out a hiss as Sierra depressed the button and took the medication into her lungs.
Violet looked at the clock. 9:21 AM. She was going to go out on a limb and guess that with all the excitement going on for Sierra this morning, she probably hadn’t eaten.
“Hungry?” Darger asked.
Sierra nodded without hesitation, her bottom lip still quivering like a powerless child’s.
Chapter 9
Darger put the windows in the Camry down, and the wind whipped their hair around as they made the drive across town to the State Street Diner. The cool air — coupled with the asthma medication doled out by the inhaler — calmed Sierra enough that her breathing had returned to normal by the time Darger slid into a parking space. A good thing, too. It was always easier to talk to a witness when they were breathing.
Inside, Darger chose a corner booth toward the back, hoping for at least the illusion of privacy. The decor had an art deco feel. Red leather seats. Black and white tile floors.
“This is about the killer, huh?” Sierra said.
Darger nodded. She was glad Sierra had broached the subject first. It hopefully meant she’d be willing to talk about it.
“I know everyone thinks I’m a liar.”
A wispy lock of hair had come loose over her ear, and Sierra reached up to tuck it back in place. As she lifted her arm, her sleeve fell down, revealing a crosshatch pattern of white lines from wrist to elbow. Scars. A lot of them.
Violet winced and looked away.
“Who’s everyone?”
“That detective. Janssen. All the cops, really. I seen how they looked at each other. Little secret looks like they think I’m too stupid to figure out they think I’m trash.”
“Well, I don’t think that.”
Sierra shrugged, looking unconvinced.
“I don’t,” Darger repeated.
Damn that Detective Janssen. She was going to have to tread lightly with this one.
“We don’t have to rehash all of it again. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about it. I know I would be.”
The waitress arrived with menus and a carafe of coffee.
“Coffee for you ladies? I got decaf, too.”
“Regular is fine,” Darger said, righting the upside-down cup on the table so the waitress could fill it with the steaming black brew.
Sierra followed suit. Darger drank hers black, but she watched Sierra add four of the small creamer cups and approximately eight teaspoons of sugar to hers.
Darger smiled to herself.
“I like your porcupine,” the girl said.
Darger’s confusion must have registered because Sierra lifted a finger and aimed it at Darger’s lapel.
“Your pin.”
Violet tucked her chin to glance at the little gold brooch.
“Oh! It’s a hedgehog, actually. And thanks.”
The teaspoon in Sierra’s hand tinkled against the ceramic of her mug as she stirred her coffee.
“Is it old? Like a family heirloom or whatever?”
Darger fingered the tiny gold spikes on the hedgehog’s back.
“It’s supposed to be vintage. 1950’s I think. But I haven’t had it long. It belonged to—”
Her voice trembled ever so slightly, and she cleared her throat to cover it.
“—a friend.”
Sierra tapped her spoon against the cup, then laid it to rest on a napkin. Coffee bled over the papery surface.
“I’ve got this ring,” Sierra said, extending her hand. “It was my grandma’s. My dad’s ma. ‘Sposed to be a moonstone, I think.”
The stone was an oval of milky white set in a claw of sterling silver. A simple leaf pattern adorned the band.
“It’s very pretty,” Violet said.
Sierra wiggled her fingers, admiring the stone.
“Supposedly moonstones enhance your psychic abilities. If you believe in that kind of thing.”
“Do you?” Violet asked.
The girl pursed her lips.
“Sometimes.”
“Well then maybe you’ve already guessed…”
Sierra looked up at her.
“There is one thing I wanted to ask you.”
Well, she hadn’t run off yet. Darger took that as a sign to continue.
“I was wondering,” Darger said, then looked down into her coffee. “It’s silly, but I thought we might try it anyway.”
“What?” Sierra’s head tilted to the side. Her expression reminded Darger of a cat whose curiosity has been piqued.
“Well, you have to close your eyes.”
The girl’s chin jutted out.
“I told you it was silly. It’s just, sometimes if you close your eyes and picture being somewhere, you can remember things you thought you’d forgotten.”
She waved her hand, indicating they should forget it.
“But we don’t have to.”
“I’ll do it,” Sierra said.
“You will?”
The coffee was hot enough that it scalded her mouth a little as she took another slug. Just how she liked it.
The girl indicated she would with a nod.
Darger leaned forward slightly, so she could speak softly and still be heard.
“OK. Close your eyes.”
The girl’s eyelids fluttered closed. Darger could still see her eyes moving back and forth behind the thin layer of skin.
“Breathe in slowly, counting up to three, and clear your mind.”
Sierra inhaled, nostrils flaring slightly as she did so.
“Now hold that breath, and then let it out of your mouth all at once. Feel the tension leaving your shoulders and your chest and your neck.”
Darger watched as Sierra’s torso deflated.
“Your mind is a blank canvas. Endless black.”
Sierra’s head bobbed almost imperceptibly.
“You mentioned something about a pool. Near where you escaped.”
Again the girl nodded.
“Did you see it? Maybe the lights people sometimes have in them at night?”
Sierra shook her head.
“What then? How do you know about the pool?”
There was a pause, and Darger thought she might not answer.
“I smelled it. I smelled the chlorine!”
A tingle of excitement spread through Darger’s chest. Now they were getting somewhere.
“Good. OK. Let’s go back. Back to when he first took you. It’s late. 2 AM. It’s dark except for the streetlights. There aren’t many people out. You’re walking down Vine Street. Are you heading toward the university or away from it?”
Darger held her breath.
“Away,” Sierra said.
Darger bit her lip, forcing herself to continue.
“When do you notice the car? Do you see the lights first?”
“No,” Sierra said, shaking her head. “I hear the engine.”
“Is it loud? A broken muffler?”
There was a clatter of dishes and silverware as their waitress cleared away the dishes from a nearby table. Darger watched her slip the cash tip into her apron pocket and move on. Luckily, the distraction hadn’t seemed to rattle Sierra, who still sat with her eyes closed.
