by Sean Platt
“Yeah, you can guarantee that, can you? Listen, Jasper, you’re a soldier. You know the risks and have decided they’re worth it. You can help those who can’t help themselves. You have the talents, and she has an incredible gift to assist you. But she’s your daughter. And practically a kid. She’s trying to please you. Be part of something with you. But she doesn’t really understand the risks. It only takes one screw-up, Jasper. Are you ready to risk her entire life over one mistake?”
“I don’t make mistakes. I’m very thorough.”
Barnes dismissed him with a snort. “Bullshit. You can’t be very thorough when you’ve got Jordyn with you. No matter your level of supposed perfection, or how separate you think you’re keeping things, it’s impossible to juggle everything you need to do and account for her.”
“So, what do you want me to do, tell her no?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to do. Be her father, not her friend.”
“She won’t be happy.”
“Show me a teenager who is.”
“Get your house in order, son,” Barnes said, then turned around and headed back down the path.
Jasper watched his old friend walk away, considering his words and wondering if Barnes might be right.
He wasn’t sure why the hell he ever said yes to Jordyn. It didn’t make sense. He was putting her life in danger. They could never account for every variable — the bad guy escaping, a neighbor spotting them, law enforcement showing up. There were too many risks, and having Jordyn along increased the odds that something would go wrong.
It somehow felt right with her by his side.
He was also passing on valuable skills to his daughter: he taught her how to get the drop on people, how to break into homes, how to fight, and how to kill them. In many ways, it was like a father teaching his kid to hunt. They just happened to be hunting bad guys. And make no mistake, these people deserved to be hunted. Every one of them deserved to die.
But Jordyn had yet to kill anyone.
That was a line he wasn’t ready for her to cross.
But she could at least know how in case she ever had to.
That couldn’t be a bad thing.
But Lenny was right. If they got caught, they’d both end up in jail. Maybe even get the death penalty.
And that thought was a knife through his heart.
What the hell have I done?
Even if they didn’t get caught, how could Jordyn ever have a normal life after being a part of this? He’d already given up on ever having a normal life for himself, and that was his decision, but she didn’t have to take this path. She could still have a life … he hoped.
But how? How do you go from killing people with your father to getting a job, getting married, having kids, and raising a family?
How could this not ruin her forever?
Jasper wished he’d never involved her.
Wished he’d never asked her about her visions.
Wished he’d never brought her along.
He stood on the path for a long time feeling the weight of his shame like a smothering blanket. Lenny, as usual, was right.
Jasper needed to find a way to get his house in order.
He looked at the path ahead.
His body was aching, with two laps to go.
Jasper gritted his teeth and got back to work.
* * * *
CHAPTER 17 - MALLORY BLACK
Mal bought a new laptop and a brand-new phone — she couldn’t be sure if the killer had tampered with or cloned her old one.
She had to start fresh.
On the way to her car, Mal spotted the two deputies waiting in a parked across from her in the unmarked sedan.
One of the officers, Bill Wilson, had been on the force for five years or so. He was a good cop, even if he was a chronic smart ass. The other officer was a young guy who looked greener than Mal’s last salad.
She approached them.
Wilson rolled down the driver’s side window. “Hey, Mal.”
“Listen,” she said, “I don’t need an escort everywhere I go.”
“Just doing our jobs.”
“Yeah, you and Hitler Youth.”
Wilson laughed. “Still busting balls, eh?”
She relaxed a bit, and wondered if she had overreacted. “I don’t know why she put you on my house, but whatever. Thanks, I guess.”
Wilson smiled. “Was that so hard?”
She flipped him off, went to her car and stowed the new computer beneath the passenger seat, then drove to the library.
**
She found a desk in back, opened her computer, set it up, and logged into the website for her security camera. She entered her account details and found the last ten IP addresses to log in. There was the library’s IP, her own, then another, logged in four times during the last week.
“Gotcha,” she said, copying and pasting the number then sending it to her phone.
She did a reverse lookup of the IP address and found that it was in town, but she didn’t have an address. She’d need to reach out to her contact at the cable company.
Mal went into her old phone, which she kept active so as not to alert the killer if he was keeping tabs, and copied all of her contact info.
She found the number for Diana Trembly, who worked at the cable company, and dialed.
“Mal! How are you?”
“Not so good. Was hoping you could help me.”
Mal filled her in with just enough to get Diana overlooking the rules. Mal had worked with her enough in the past to build trust. Additionally, she’d helped Diana with a slight stalker issue, so the woman was more than happy to help by sharing customer information, even if she shouldn’t have.
She gave Mal an address on the other side of town — Cuppees, a local coffee shop.
Shit.
“No way to tell who it was, though, right?”
“Not unless you got a time and can get security footage or something. Even then, if your guy was in the parking lot, you might not have much to go on, unless they’ve got CCTV out there, too.”
“Thanks, Diana. I appreciate it.”
“Good luck.”
Mal hung up wishing she’d landed an easier lead.
But at least she had something.
**
Mal went into Cuppees, asked for the manager, and was greeted by Nadine, a short, stocky woman with a severe crew cut, lots of tattoos, and large dark framed glasses. Mal wasn’t sure why, but the woman was borderline hostile from word one.
Maybe she’d busted Nadine at some point, but didn’t remember her.
Mal explained the relevant parts of her situation.
Nadine said, “You’re not a cop now, right?”
“No.”
“Sorry,” she said, looking anything but sorry, “can’t help you then.”
“So, if I were a cop, you could help me?”
“Yes, we’re happy to work with the authorities.”
Mal smiled, said, “Hold on right there,” and went outside.
She knocked on the unmarked car and waited for Wilson to roll down his window.
“Wanna be useful?”
**
They sat in the back of Cuppees, watching Nadine reluctantly scroll through video for the only day with a recording to match the log-in time.
The shop was small but busy. There were at least two dozen people using the wifi. Most were women, which Mal ruled out.
They found a handful of men using either a tablet or laptop.
“Can you get me names on those?”
Nadine ignored Mal and turned to Wilson. “Are you asking, or is she?”
Wilson, not missing a beat, said, “Can you get the info or not?”
“Give me a day.”
“A day?” Mal asked.
Nadine, still not looking at her, said, “Yeah, I need to match records to the time and pull the sales, assuming they used a credit card.”
Mal said, “Can we also g
et pictures of these men?”
Nadine looked at Wilson. He nodded.
“Yes, I’ll get them both to you by tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Mal said, giving Nadine the most artificial smile in her arsenal. The one she used when trying not to call someone a fucking asshole.
Wilson laughed on his way out of Cuppees. “What’d you do to piss her off?”
“Hell if I know. She was a bitch from the get go.”
“You know I have to call this in to Gloria, right?”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“What’s going on?”
Mal explained how she was pretty certain that her investigation would lead to Ashley’s killer. How the man had very likely logged into her security camera footage to spy on her.
“I wouldn’t have said anything if you didn’t involve me, but now that the Coffee Nazi is sending me this info, it’s official police business. I’ve gotta pass it onto whoever’s working the case.”
“Fine,” Mal sighed, walking away.
She got in her car and stared at the steering wheel, wishing for more answers. She hated waiting. And police work often required waiting on other people who may or may not provide what she needed. Most cops chased other leads while waiting, but Mal didn’t have anything else to go on. This case was dark, and every trail cold.
She could try talking to registered sex offenders in the area just to see if something rattled loose, but since she was no longer a cop, no one had to talk. She was a citizen conducting an inquiry without any leverage.
She thought back on Mike suggesting that she ask for her job back.
Times like this, Mal wished she’d stayed on. Gloria wouldn’t let her near a case involving a break-in at her house or her daughter’s murder, but at least she could conduct her own investigation. People would see the badge and be more likely to help.
Mal’s old cell phone buzzed.
She picked it up, looked at the name on the Caller ID. Presley Jennings, a reporter for Channel 4 who did the anniversary feature on Mal last week, the one where she broke down on camera.
Mal hated that interview. Hated breaking down. Hated that the station used that footage. She’d thought Presley was better than other reporters. Thought she could trust her given their past off-the-record dealings when Mal was still a detective. She’d called and asked why they used the footage, and Presley said it wasn’t her call. Still, Mal felt burned. And it only reinforced Mike’s constant refrain, “Never trust a reporter.”
Mal let the call go to voicemail, waited a minute, then played it.
“Hey, Mal. It’s Presley Jennings. I was reaching out hoping you could talk to me about a story I’m working on. I’m on a tight deadline, so I’d love it if you have a few minutes to spare.”
Mal thought about calling her back, then decided against it. She put the phone on the seat beside her and backed out of the library’s lot.
She watched the officers follow in her rearview mirror.
* * * *
CHAPTER 18 - MALLORY BLACK
Mal sat in her living room watching the news and getting progressively drunker.
She turned on Channel 4 to see if there were any updates on Jessi Price, but according to the news anchors, there was nothing new. People were still being urged to call if they’d seen either Jessi or her father. After less than two minutes, the anchors moved on to a reporter standing in front of the county commission building discussing a vote regarding a land use change.
Two minutes, then on with the show.
That was one of the sad things about missing children. A lot of times they barely got coverage, unless they were white and/or came from a relatively well-off neighborhood. Once they did get coverage, it only lasted until the killer was caught, while talking heads tried to analyze a sick bastard or find someone to blame. The killer was the star of the show, and the child vanished from the headlines. The world went on as if the kid had never existed.
Mal tried to forget that her daughter’s killer might be watching her. She’d been careful not to let him see her new phone or laptop. The new computer stayed in her trunk. The phone was in her bathroom, tucked in the vanity drawer. She had to maintain things as they were. She’d briefly considered changing her password so he couldn’t spy on her, but decided against it for now. Maybe she could use his perceived advantage against him, lure the fucker into a trap.
Yeah, if I don’t pass out again.
She took another drink, got up, went to the window, and opened the blinds a bit to see who was out there now.
Wilson and the rookie went home for the night, replaced by another pair of officers sitting in an unmarked car. She couldn’t tell who they were from this distance, nor did she care.
Mal closed the blinds and went back to the couch.
Her cell phone rang: Gloria Bell.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she fished out her new phone, dialed Gloria’s number, and walked outside to make the call.
“Hello?” Gloria answered, confused.
“It’s Mal. I got a second phone. Can’t trust that the other one isn’t bugged or something.”
“Um, okay. So, I talked to Wilson, and he told me about today. What’re you doing?”
“Following up on leads to find the fucker who broke into my house.”
“What leads?”
Mal told Gloria about the other IP address logging into her security site.
“You want to conduct an investigation, fine. But you can’t be using our resources to do so.”
“What are you saying? You’re not going to share whatever info you get with me?”
“No, we’re investigating the matter, and we will handle it. I don’t need you getting yourself into any more shit.”
“Yeah, well my case didn’t exactly seem like a priority.”
“I said we’re working on it.”
“And what about Jessi Price?”
“We’re also working on that.”
“Yeah? Then why isn’t the news talking about the latest developments?”
“There are no new developments.”
Mal laughed. “I can’t decide if you believe that or if this is political.”
“What?”
“Well, you’re up for re-election, and a second missing child doesn’t look good, does it? Better to play it off like the dad took her.”
Mal could hear Gloria breathing out through her nostrils.
“I don’t know if you’re drunk or if you honestly believe that, but for both our cases, I’m hoping it’s the former. I’m going to go before you piss me off and make me forget my manners.”
Gloria hung up.
Mal stared at the phone, seething.
She dropped her phone in the sink, headed back into the living room, plopped on the couch, unscrewed the bottle of Jack, and took a deep swig. She looked at the pill bottle on the coffee table. She’d resisted its siren song so far, wanting to be alert if her enemy returned. But hell if she couldn’t use something to ease her mind.
She got her new phone and called Mike.
He answered, sounding exhausted, or like he’d just woken up.
“That bitch!” Mal yelled into the phone.
“What? Who is this?”
“It’s Mal. I got a new phone. Long story. Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay. Hold on a sec.”
She heard him get up, telling his wife that it was Mal on the phone, then heard him shuffle away from the bed, likely heading to his office down the hall. After a long moment, she heard him sit.
“Okay, who’s a bitch now?”
“Gloria.”
She filled him on her day and the call she just had with her old boss, then said, “Can you believe that shit?”
“Did she say she’s not working on your case?”
“No. But she sure as shit doesn’t want me working on it.”
“I hate to say this, but you really should let us handle this, Mal. We will find this guy.�
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“Before Friday? How? She doesn’t even think the cases are linked! Hell, she’s too damned afraid to admit what’s happening here.”
“What you think is happening.”
“Really, Mike? Did they force you to drink the Kool-Aid or are you chugging it all on your own?”
“I’m not saying that they’re not connected. But right now, we can only follow the leads we have. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I trust you. But I don’t trust her. And I think she’s pushing the investigation somewhere it shouldn’t be going.”
“I like the father for it, too. I think you’re too close to this to see clearly.”
“Yeah?” Mal said, itching for a fight. If she couldn’t yell at Gloria, she’d yell at Mike. “And I think you’ve got your head so far up your ass that you all can’t see what you need to be seeing.”
“You’re drunk, Mal. Go to bed before—”
“Before I say something I’ll regret? Jesus, do you two get together and script these things out?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Mal said.
She hung up, clutching the phone, wishing it was Mike’s neck.
How the hell can nobody see what’s so fucking obvious?
Mal tried removing herself from the equation, to see if maybe she was too close. She didn’t think so. Yes, there wasn’t much linking the Price case to her daughter’s. And really, there wasn’t any evidence to go on, or any leads they were ignoring. But she still couldn’t shake the idea that they weren’t considering every angle, doing more interviews, or putting a fire under that fucking coffee shop Nazi to get shit quicker.
If Mal were working this case, she’d exhaust every lead no matter how likely. She’d pour in the hours, do everything possible to find Jessi Price before Friday, chase every lead, no matter how unlikely it was to bear fruit.
Because that’s what a good cop did.
“Fuck these people,” she said, picking up her old phone and finding Presley’s number. She copied the contact into her new phone.
