by James Hunt
“Suspect in custody. House secure.”
Once the all-clear was echoed through the radio waves, Susan was the first one out of the squad car and sprinted toward the house.
The lights were turned on before Susan entered, and she walked in to find the old pharmacist sitting in a living room chair with his wrists cuffed behind his back. He was in his pajamas, what little hair he had left on top of his head disheveled and wispy.
“Where is she?” Susan asked, ignoring the sergeant on her way into the house. “Where’s Allie?”
The old man said nothing as he hung his head, his jowls hanging loosely from his neck, wiggling back and forth. Susan wasn’t sure if he was trembling from anger or fear.
“Allie!” Susan shouted.
“There isn’t anyone in the house.” The SWAT Sergeant’s voice was muffled through the cloth that covered his mouth. “We’ve cleared it—”
“Hey, Sarge? You wanna come to take a look at this?”
The voice came from down the hall near the back of the house where the second team had entered. The sergeant followed, and so did Susan, praying that Allie was still alive.
In one of the bedrooms they a hidden door in the floor, almost like a cellar. The officer lifted it up and shone a light down the stairs.
Susan took a step forward, but the sergeant held her back. “We’ll clear the area first.” She stayed off to the side as the SWAT team descended into the darkness. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited to hear from them downstairs.
“Officer Quinton?”
By the time Susan made it to the stairs, Palmer had entered the house and joined her in the spare bedroom, and the pair descended the hidden staircase together.
Susan was the first one down, mindful of the steps in the darkness and watching her footing. The staircase was steep and provided no guard rails. The wood was old, and she was afraid that it would snap in half.
Light flooded the bottom of the stairs, and the silence that filled the small room was noticeable as Susan's eyes adjusted to the fluorescent bulbs that had been turned on.
Susan stood next to the sergeant, both of their jaws slack as they scanned the room. It wasn’t until Palmer joined them at the bottom that anyone spoke.
“Jesus Christ,” Palmer said, then quickly covered his mouth.
The set up was simple. A bed had been pushed in the far corner of the room. The mattress had a single sheet laid over the top, and there were no pillows in the vicinity. The sheet that covered the head was stained with different bodily fluids.
A camera was on a tripod aimed at the bed, and there was another light kit that could be used to highlight the mattress if the camera needed more light. There was also a desk with a computer tower next to it that was hooked up to a monitor on the counter along with a mouse and keyboard.
But what was more disturbing about the set up wasn’t the fact that there was a camera, or lights, or a bed where there was clearly something sexual being filmed, but it was what lay on the opposite corner of the room, away from the camera and bed, tucked away in the darkness.
Toys.
Three boxes lined the ground filled with dolls, cars, playhouses, and other games. Every eye in the room was focused on those boxes, the shock of what they’d found slowly transforming into anger the longer that they stared at it.
And above the boxes of toys, all along the back wall, were photographs. Polaroids. But they were not young women from the streets. They were children. Boys. Girls. None of them over the age of twelve. They were all topless, some of them completely nude. Each of their expressions was a blank stare, their eyes lifeless at the moment, their childhood was stolen from them by the worst scum the earth has to offer.
But as Susan studied the wall, forcing herself to confront the product of evil, she saw none of the girls that had been killed. Only who had their innocence defiled by a monster.
It was Susan that finally broke from the group first, heading back up the stairs with a focused authority. She knew exactly where she was going. And she knew exactly what she was going to do when she got to the top.
If the others had tried to call out to her to stop her, Susan didn’t hear them. The blind rage coursing through her veins had also made her deaf to the world. She only listened to the beat of her own heart as she moved toward the front of the house, finding Jerry Winger still in that chair, slumped forward in his pajamas.
Without realizing it, Susan had her hand on the butt of her pistol. She squeezed the handle so hard that her knuckles flushed white against the black composite.
“Where’s Allie?” Susan asked.
The old man said nothing.
Susan stepped closer, her breathing accelerated. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and the rage made her cheeks flush, her skin burning hot beneath her street clothes. “Hey!” She barked the order, and the rest of the house fell silent. “Where’s the girl?”
“There are no girls here tonight,” Jerry answered, keeping his head down.
Susan's nostrils flared. “I know you took her. I know you’re the one who put her picture in my apartment. I know you’re the one who killed the other girls. Just go ahead and confess now, because your life is already over, and it might offer you a hint of absolution, you sick fuck.”
Jerry Winger, the sixty-something-year-old man, was still and silent for a moment. There wasn’t a single person in the house that wasn’t focused on the unfolding scene between Susan and the pharmacist. He finally lifted his eyes and showed his face.
But unlike Foster and Marsh, there was no remorse in Winger’s eyes, and the shadow of a smile appeared. He knew what he had done. But Susan also knew that he wouldn’t admit it.
“I want my lawyer,” Winger said.
The words left his lips with such a small demand that when Susan aimed the pistol at him, she hadn’t even realized she’d done it until a pair of officers restrained her. She was held back as the pharmacist was whisked away, leaving Susan to wallow in her own anger as the rest of the house returned to their duties of cataloging evidence and making sure that everything was ready for the court battle that would follow.
33
Three different detective pairs were working the suspects in the interrogation room back at the precinct. All of them now had their lawyers present, and because of the overwhelmingly damning evidence, the Assistant State Attorney General had also arrived to get ahead of this before the press caught wind of it.
The viewing room was crowded. It was the high-profile nature of the case and the fact that everyone wanted to witness the suspects crack under pressure. Foster and Marsh rolled on one another before Palmer and Winterguard asked their first question, which was probably a good thing considering that Winterguard looked about as interested in the case as he was in losing weight. Winterguard remainedin his chair, looking at the floor, while Palmer led the efforts to pull a confession.
Susan had wanted to be in that room. She had wanted to sit across the table from each of those smug bastards, but she knew that she was lucky to even be able to watch. She stood off to the side, keeping away from Lieutenant Williams, Captain Hart, and Chief Pierfoy, who had come all the way down from command. It was a regular who’s who of essential authority figures within the department.
After Susan’s initial quick sweep of the house, they found stashes of kiddie porn in the boxes that were in the spare bedroom. Hundreds of photos and videos of children who shouldn’t have had to endure what they went through. It was one of the most disgusting things that Susan had ever seen.
After Marsh and Foster folded, Palmer and Winterguard pressed Winger hard on the connections to the two murders and Allie’s disappearance. But aside from the Polaroids on the wall, he admitted to nothing, and there was no further evidence found at his house that suggested that he was lying.
Both Marsh and Foster had met Winger years ago through a mutual friend who was looking to get rid of a bunch of drugs. Winger had long been selling confiscated medica
tions on the black market for cash to fuel his child pornography addiction, but when he met Marsh and Foster, he decided to make an arrangement with the two.
Because Winger was limited in the number of drugs that he could sell without getting picked up by the FDA, the dirty cash that he was able to obtain was also limited. He’d been looking for an opportunity to work with shelters to dispose of old narcotics and, in return, the shelter would look the other way when cataloging what exactly had been turned in.
Most shelters had to keep records of all the medications that they collected in case they were robbed. But because of the arrangement made with Winger, Foster and Marsh didn’t keep accurate bookings of what was collected, and what little records they did have were in no way reliable.
In exchange for their cooperation, Winger provided both Foster and Marsh with cash from his dealer on the black market, a man that Susan had never heard of, had never dealt with during her time on the streets.
Winger wouldn’t divulge the name, not even at the urging of his attorney, and for the first time since Susan had seen him since the arrest, the man was genuinely terrified.
“I’ll give you any names you want,” Winger said. “People I sold the pictures and videos, the places where I know others like me exist, where people meet, other distributors, methods… But I won’t tell you where I sold the drugs.”
Winterguard and Palmer had tried to their best to press him, but they also had strict instructions to get as much about the child pornography as they could. That was right in front of them, and the Attorney General’s office didn’t want to miss their chance to nail him on it and build a case against other kiddie porn pushers and buyers.
And while Susan was glad that they managed to stop all of this, to catch some evil men, it was a hollow victory. Because Allie was still out there. The killer was still out there.
The buzz on the precinct floor was electric. Congratulations were thrown Susan’s way, but the bulk of the feedback went to Winterguard and Palmer, along with Captain Hart and Lieutenant Williams.
But Susan didn’t care about the praise. She still just wanted to nail the guy who had done all of this. And now that they had reached a dead end with the three main suspects, Susan had to go back to the drawing board, and she walked to the conference room that had acted as their central hub for catching the killer.
No one was in the room when Susan entered, everyone too busy still watching the interrogations. She knew that some of the evidence in here would be used in their prosecution, the rest would remain up, at least for a little while longer, until the killer was either caught or the bodies stopped appearing.
“I can’t remember if I suspended you or not.”
Susan turned around and saw Williams by the door. “I’m having a hard time remembering myself, sir.”
Williams drew in a breath and nodded. “Well, since I still haven’t officially filed any paperwork, I suppose we can leave it where it lies.”
Silence lingered between them for a moment, neither sure of what to say next. Finally, Williams just walked toward the door, but Susan couldn’t let the moment pass without anything said.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Susan said.
Williams paused at the door and then turned around. “You’re a good cop, Susan, and you’re going to make a great detective one day. Hell, you’ll probably sit in my seat before you’re thirty. But if you can’t remember to do things by the book, if you can’t check yourself out of the job when you need to and detach, you won’t just lose the badge, you’ll lose your life.” He bowed his head, studying the grey carpet as if there were answers hidden among the dirt and stains. “You’re young. You’ve got a lot of things that you can look forward to. Just make sure you stay whole enough to enjoy them. And while you might think you don’t want them now, you might change your mind about the kind of life you wished you could have had when it’s already too late.”
Williams didn’t look at her again after he left the room, and once he was gone, Susan ran her thumb across the shield, unable to grasp all of the lieutenant’s words of wisdom. But she understood the general theme of what Williams said. That was something to worry about down the road. Now, she needed to focus on what was in front of her.
Susan didn’t understand how she could have been so wrong about the killer, about who had been behind it. Winger and the others were the perfect suspects for the crime. And it wasn’t a coincidence that both Katy and Ginny had been killed and both of them had attended the same program at the same shelter. But then again, Allie had been the anomaly. And the girl was still missing.
Staring at the evidence now only gave Susan a pounding headache. The adrenaline that she had been running on for the past several hours had finally run its course. Her mind was fried, her nerves were shot, and she could barely keep herself upright.
“You all right?”
Susan turned to find Palmer standing in the doorway. He had his jacket off, his tie undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. From the looks of him, Susan figured that the interrogation was over. It had been a long day for everyone.
“I’m fine,” Susan answered, and then rubbed her eyes, hoping that she’d stay awake long enough for the ride home.
“Hard to believe that all of this led to what we found.” Palmer joined Susan’s side, gesturing to all of the evidence that they’d collected. “I still can’t believe that all of this happened. Doesn’t seem real.”
“It’s real,” Susan said. “More real than we want it to be. But the killer is still out there, Palmer. Allie’s still—” She looked away, shutting her eyes. She kept her face away from Palmer until the moment passed, then took a breath as she opened her eyes. “She was taken because of me.”
“Don’t do that,” Palmer said, then placed his hand on her shoulder and spun her around. “Hey. We’re still going to catch him.”
But not in time to save Allie. Susan had wanted to say that aloud but kept the comment to herself. The chances of Allie still being alive were close to zero.
“You need to head home,” Palmer said. “Get some sleep.”
“No, I’m—”
“You’re the walking dead right now,” Palmer said. “And you’re not going to do anyone any good if you can’t keep your eyes open. Go home. Get some sleep. Even if it’s only for a few hours. I’ll still be here working. Why don’t you let me carry the torch for a while?”
“He’s right.” Winterguard stood in the doorway. Though he hadn’t undressed like Palmer had, he leaned against the door frame as if he were exhausted. “You go home and rest.”
Winterguard didn’t mock her or follow the line up with anything meant to be cruel, and Susan took it as a sign of an apology. Or at least, as much of an apology as the old detective could muster.
Either way, Susan knew that both men were right. She was in no condition to do anything but catch a nap. She collected her weapon and then headed home.
It was a short ride from the precinct to her apartment, and she rated the Uber driver five stars for keeping quiet while she nodded off in the backseat.
The world started to fade as Susan entered the building and then rode the elevator to the third floor. She rode up alone, and again dozed off, awoken by the ding of the elevator as it lurched to a stop. She stepped off into the hallway and fished her keys out of her pocket.
Her mind struggled to stay awake, part of her still going over aspects of the case, thinking about Allie, wondering where she was and if she was alive, and between the fatigue and the distraction of her own thoughts, she didn’t notice that the door was open until she went to place the key into the lock.
Susan froze, her sluggish mind unable to make the connection of the door being unlocked, but when the neurons finally connected, she dropped the keys and pulled out her weapon. She aimed the pistol into the crack of the door, and then slowly pushed it open.
It was dark inside. Whoever had opened the door had left the lights off, but there was no guarantee that whoev
er had been here had already left. She waited until the door was all the way open, and then paused, gazing into her apartment. She expected to find a mess, or a dark figure standing inside and waiting for her, but it looked untouched.
Susan entered, gun still raised, finger poised to shoot. A kick of adrenaline jumpstarted her heart, and it pounded wildly in her chest, pulsating in her brain. She knew who had been here, and as she made her way to the bedroom, she knew what she would find before she saw it.
Once the bedroom was in view, Susan lowered her weapon. Because it was so dark, it was hard to make out the shape on the bed, but Susan knew it was a body. Allie wore the same floral dress as Katy and Ginny. Susan dropped to her knees as a blood-curdling scream crawled out of her throat.
34
Susan wasn’t sure how long she stared at Allie’s body before she called the police, but she knew that she had stood there for a long time. Staring at the lifeless girl on top of her neatly-made bed was a surreal moment.
It didn’t take long for the police to show up. Officers went from door to door to question neighbors to see if they heard anything or saw anyone. No one heard anything.
Susan waited in the living room as the forensic team went about their business. She knew that she technically wasn’t supposed to hang around, but she wasn’t in the mood to walk out of her own apartment. She didn’t have anywhere else she could go, anyone else she could call.
Palmer and Winterguard arrived on the scene, both of them staying in the bedroom for a long time. They didn’t say much when they entered, only asking how she was doing.
It was a question that Susan didn’t know how to answer. Because the truth was she wasn’t doing well at all. Three girls were dead. And Allie had been targeted because Susan was involved. The people that she thought were behind the deaths had no affiliation to them, and they were no closer to catching the guy that had done this than they were when they received the first body.
