Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  “Casey’s not there, but her car is?” He sounded scared now, too. “You’re sure she’s not somewhere in the house? Maybe in the yard?”

  “I know when my daughter is here and when she’s not,” Ed snapped. Freckles and Jayne were always saying he was grumpy. How could a man not be grumpy always being asked questions like this? “She’s not here.”

  “I’m coming over, Ed. Stay where you are. Do you understand, Ed? I’ll be right there.”

  “I can’t find my socks.” Ed hung the cell phone up and closed the door to the garage. He still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but he was glad the car was there. It would have been a long walk if he’d had to borrow Kate’s Mercedes.

  Ed finally found the brown argyles. He had his socks and shoes on by the time the doorbell rang. He shoved the pistol under his pillow and went out into the living room. Frazier danced around Ed’s feet as Ed peered out the window. If it was Ronald Reagan, he wasn’t letting him in.

  It wasn’t the president. Ed opened the door.

  “Casey?” He brushed past Ed.

  “I told you she wasn’t here.”

  “Casey?” He frantically checked the kitchen, the garage, down the hall, and then he hollered up the steps before he returned to the living room. He came back carrying her cell phone, which Ed had left on the dining room table. “She’s not here.”

  “Nope.”

  “She’s gone, but she didn’t take her cell phone and she didn’t take her car.” He grabbed Ed’s arm. “Did she tell you she was going somewhere? You said something about an iPod.”

  Ed looked at his arm where Lincoln was touching him. He looked hard.

  Lincoln let go.

  “She didn’t tell me she was going anywhere.” Ed hesitated. Then he remembered the front door opening while he was watching Rooster and Eula. Ed had been expecting Lincoln, but it had been Nixon. “I thought maybe she went to get an iPod.” He spoke slowly as he thought out loud. “But I’m not so sure.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Lincoln stood in the middle of the living room floor, hands in the pockets of his black coat. He looked warm. Nixon had been wearing only a sweatshirt. He had looked cold.

  Ed thought hard. He didn’t believe Freckles had gone for the iPod. He just couldn’t quite think why. “Why don’t you sit down, Ed?” Lincoln suggested, walking into the dining room. He pulled out a chair.

  Ed sat down.

  “Ed, you have to think. You said Casey didn’t go to the store. What makes you think that if she didn’t tell you where she was going?”

  Ed was quiet for a second. Thinking. Then he looked up. “Because Richard Nixon was here.”

  Lincoln made a loud groaning sound, walked away, and then came back.

  “I know you think I’m crazy,” Ed said, remembering more clearly now. It was like TV used to be when there was an antenna. Sometimes the picture was clear, sometimes it wasn’t. Certain pictures in his mind were getting clearer. “Sometimes, maybe I am confused,” he continued, “but I’m sure Nixon came in the house and he walked right into the kitchen where Freckles was making tea.”

  “You’re sure there was a man here?” Lincoln questioned.

  Ed nodded, relating the events in order as he remembered them. “Freckles was packing up Christmas tree ornaments.” He pointed to the box on the table. “Then her phone rang and she told him he could come over. She went to make tea and I looked up when he came in the door. I thought it was you. I thought you were coming over to have sex with Freckles.”

  Lincoln made a face that Ed couldn’t interpret.

  “But it was Nixon,” Ed continued. “And he went into the kitchen.”

  Lincoln looked at Casey’s cell in his hand and pushed some buttons. It beeped. “Someone called her around seven-thirty?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what time. I’m not so good with time,” Ed confessed. “I have Alzheimer’s. I would think you people could remember that.”

  Lincoln grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, then slid the chair closer. “I know remembering is hard for you, but this is important. I’m afraid Casey could be in danger. Someone did call her, but according to her phone, it wasn’t someone she knew. See, Ed, you can check the number that calls in. Her phone says someone dialed from an ‘unavailable’ number. It was someone she didn’t know.”

  “She doesn’t know Nixon,” Ed explained.

  Lincoln took a deep breath, the same way Freckles did sometimes when she was talking to him. Ed knew people got frustrated with him, but there was no reason to huff and puff. Didn’t they know he got frustrated with himself?

  “But…I’m sure she knew the person who called her,” Ed said. “She told him he could come over. She doesn’t invite strangers into our home. Freckles is very safe. You’re not supposed to invite strangers over.” He looked at Lincoln. “Should we call the police?”

  Lincoln looked at him. His face was sad. Scared and sad.

  Ed lowered his gaze, embarrassed. Ashamed. “No one will believe me because the man was Nixon. No one will believe there was a man because that’s crazy. I sound crazy.”

  Lincoln pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Ed,” he said in a kind voice, “I believe you. I believe there was a man. Casey thought someone was following her. She thought it was a man she knew through work, but it couldn’t have been him because he’s in jail tonight.”

  “My Freckles,” Ed said quietly. “Someone has kidnapped my Freckles. It happened before, you know.” His voice cracked.

  “Casey was kidnapped before?”

  “I can’t let this happen again.” Ed gripped Lincoln’s hand. His own hand looked so old and wrinkled on the younger man’s. “Do you understand?”

  Lincoln was quiet for a second. “Is there anything you can tell me about the man who came in who looked like Richard Nixon? What he was wearing? What he sounded like?”

  “He didn’t speak to me,” Ed explained. “I didn’t hear him and Freckles because I went to my room.” He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them. “He was wearing a sweatshirt like the kids wear, with a hood. Black, I think.” He shook his head. “That’s all I remember.”

  Lincoln exhaled. “It’s okay.” He patted Ed’s hand.

  “Oh,” Ed said suddenly. “I do remember something else about him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He smelled good.”

  Chapter 35

  Casey stared out the window as they sped down the road. He had snapped the seat belt around her, trapping her in the rear passenger seat of a car she didn’t recognize. He had made a point of warning her that the child safety locks had been activated, so even if she could manage the door handle in the handcuffs, there was no way for her to escape.

  Tears stung her eyes. Her stomach flip-flopped and she feared she might get sick. How could this be happening?

  Cars sped by in the opposite lanes, headlights flashing. She knew where they were, but not where they were headed. She wondered if a police car might pass them on the highway, which was busy even this time of night.

  Memories of that night with Billy flashed in her head. The car on the highway. The headlights. The images were in black and white. Why were they always in black and white?

  The white car. The black dashboard. Her naked skin had looked so pale in the backseat of the car. His hands, his silhouette.

  That night when Billy had refused to take her home, she had prayed for a police car. Billy hadn’t handcuffed her or activated childproof locks. Her pride, then her shame, had kept her from attempting to flee.

  “Why are you doing this, Adam?” she said when, at last, she found her voice. “What are you doing?”

  He was silent.

  She made herself look at him. He didn’t appear as if he belonged here, in a blue Honda with a cardboard air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Wearing the black hooded sweatshirt. He looked so out of place that she was having a difficult time connecting t
his man with the man she had met at the attorney general’s office three months ago. The man she had flirted with. Gone on a date with. Trusted.

  The bastard.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, he held up his finger as if she were a naughty child. “You’re not speaking.”

  Her cheeks flushed with anger. She leaned forward. “Yes, I am speaking, Adam. I’m asking—no—demanding to know—”

  She saw the flash of his arm. She felt the impact of his fist as it connected with her chin and the side of her face. Her head snapped, her jaw exploding in pain. Tears filled her eyes as she choked down the bile that rose in her throat.

  “You’re not speaking,” he repeated.

  “You did it,” she said through her tears as she leaned back against the rear seat, as far away from him as she could possibly get. “You killed Linda and Angel and you tried to frame Gaitlin. That’s why you’re doing this—because I’m his alibi. You killed them both.”

  “I didn’t kill them both.”

  I grip the wheel of the stolen car, hesitant to speak, but wanting to. I don’t know if I want to explain myself to justify what I have done. What I will do. Or if I just want to brag.

  Bragging is dangerous.

  In the backseat, she makes a little whimpering sound and I feel the smallest inkling of guilt. This isn’t what I had thought would happen between me and Casey. I had fantasized that we would date and she would fall in love with me. I had imagined what it would be like to marry her, have a reception at the DuPont Hotel in the Golden Ballroom, and bring her home to my house in Bethany Beach to bear my children. I had even put thought into which spare room we could make her father most comfortable in. After seeing my own grandfather in a nursing home, I could never do that again to a family member.

  Had Ed become my father-in-law, I would have killed him with my own loving hands before I would have put him in a nursing home. I would have made it appear as if someone else had done it, should anyone look too closely, as I had done with my dear grandfather. There had been no investigation with my grandfather. I had reattached the vent properly. But had there been any suspicions, they would have led to the man who had hanged himself in his girlfriend’s garage. Poor, tortured soul, James Gaitlin.

  I glance at Casey in the rearview mirror. Street lamps illuminate her beautiful face, her red-blond hair. Her lower lip is bleeding. It runs to the corner of her mouth. My heart softens. “It’s complicated,” I say.

  She stares at me coldly.

  “You may not believe me, but I didn’t kill Linda. Charlie did it. His brother told me he did it. Charlie admitted it to James. In a drunken rage he stabbed her to death.”

  “You knew James?” she asks softly. I can tell she is caught between her fear and her curiosity. Humans are always so curious.

  “Because of the case?” she asks.

  “No, it was purely coincidence that I knew James and was later called on to prosecute his brother. I caught James attempting to rob my house last summer and learned that his girlfriend was my maid. He was using her to case homes in my neighborhood, so it was easy enough to convince him to work for me. I allowed him to continue his petty thievery as long as he did my bidding when I asked him.”

  “So he followed me, in Angel’s car, not Charles? He sent me the drawings?”

  “He followed you.” I smile, feeling a boyish flush of pleasure. “But I sent the drawings. I thought it would be funny if you thought Charlie was stalking you.”

  When she says nothing, I go on. I see no harm in filling her in. It actually feels good to talk about it. It makes me flush with pride.

  “Charles knew nothing about his brother’s relationship with me,” I explain. “I insisted it had to be that way. With me still handling Linda Truman’s case, you understand?” I signal and turn off Route 113 in Dagsboro. My car is home in my garage. I will lose the stolen car later.

  “James was my errand boy,” I say.

  She stares straight ahead.

  I offer her a tissue from a box on the floor. “You have blood here,” I say, looking in the rearview mirror at her, touching the corner of my mouth.

  She cautiously lifts her handcuffed hands and takes the tissue. She awkwardly blots her mouth. “You…said Charles killed Linda. But you killed Angel?”

  “When Charlie got the backing of the Rights for the People, I started to get nervous. They play dirty. Charlie killed Linda and he deserves to die. He may have had a chance to get off on a technicality once, but I will not let it happen again. I intend to manipulate the case so that Charlie will end up on death row for Angel’s murder.”

  “But the RFP was supporting him because I thought he was stalking me. You were stalking me. You’re the one who was responsible for making me think it was Charlie. You were the one who caused the activists to come to his aid,” she says.

  “I told you it was complicated. I think on multilevels. I like the way the events overlap sometimes, but it makes them tricky. It makes my task more difficult.”

  “Your task?”

  “To keep from getting caught. For the robberies, the B&Es…other things.”

  She’s quiet for a minute, staring ahead. When she speaks, her voice is dull. Reality is setting in. She’s beginning to lose hope that she will escape. “You’ve been committing all these crimes I’ve been reading about in the paper and no one has any idea?”

  “I don’t commit all of them. I am very selective, so that I fit into other criminals’ MOs.”

  “Other people go to jail for the crimes you’ve committed.”

  “Not really. What’s the difference if a criminal goes to jail for committing two mini-mart robberies or three?”

  “And what about this crime? If James is dead, you’re taking a chance in kidnapping me yourself.”

  “Well, I did have a little help from a friend,” I say, glowing with pride when I remember my meeting with Maury. “He was unable to make it, though. Not that he didn’t want to be here…”

  I see, by the light from the dashboard, that her lower lip is trembling. She is quite pretty, even frightened as she is. Her hair is silky. Her complexion is smooth. Two spots of color circle the apples of her cheeks.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” she asks in a shaky voice.

  I grip the wheel. There is sadness in my voice when I speak. And I truly am sad. “You know why I’m telling you, Casey. I’m telling you because in a very short time, it won’t matter what you know.”

  “Because I’ll be dead,” she whispers in the smallest voice.

  I make the turn onto the road to Roxana. It is deserted, as I knew it would be. “Because you’ll be dead,” I confirm.

  “What are we going to do?” Ed asked Lincoln.

  Lincoln sat in the dining room, still wearing his coat, staring at the wall. Trying to think. He was so scared for Casey that his thoughts were bouncing around in his skull, crisscrossing, rebounding.

  Adam Preston has kidnapped Casey.

  It made absolutely no sense.

  Yet, in his gut, Lincoln knew it to be true. The moment Ed had mentioned that the intruder smelled good, Lincoln had made the connection. He didn’t know why Adam had done it or what he intended to do with her, but he knew he had her.

  Which was all the more reason why he couldn’t call the police. They’d be more likely to believe Ed’s story about Richard Nixon than the fact that Assistant Deputy Attorney Adam Preston III had stalked and kidnapped a woman. Lincoln didn’t have time for any long explanations or interviews; he didn’t have time to justify his wild hunch with law enforcement officers. Casey didn’t have the time.

  So Lincoln figured he was on his own. At least for now.

  He rose out of his chair and began to pace.

  “We have to do something,” Casey’s father said.

  Lincoln’s heart went out to Ed. He didn’t know exactly what had happened to Casey in the past. Ed said she had been kidnapped. She had allu
ded to Lincoln that someone she had trusted had harmed her. Whatever had happened, Ed obviously felt at least partially responsible. The poor man was worried to death. Scared to death.

  Probably not any more scared than Lincoln was right now, though.

  “We’re going to do something. I’m going to do something,” Lincoln told Ed. “Just give me a minute. Where would he take her?” he thought out loud. “Where would a man of prominence like Adam take a woman if he kidnapped her?”

  “To his house,” Ed said. He stroked his dog’s head. “Billy took her to his house.”

  Lincoln halted beside the table. He looked down at the glass ornaments, placed carefully on a stack of wrinkled Christmas paper. If Adam harmed Casey, Lincoln would never forgive himself. He had been suspicious of the man, but he hadn’t listened to his own instincts. He had just assumed he was jealous of Adam, of his model good looks, his wealthy family, his career, his relationship with Casey.

  “You think he’d take her to his house?” Lincoln said doubtfully.

  “Don’t know,” Ed grunted. “Good place to start.”

  It was as good an idea as any right now. Only Lincoln didn’t know where Adam lived, and he knew very well that he wouldn’t be able to get a phone number or address from Directory Assistance.

  “I’m going to make some phone calls, Ed, and I’m going to find Casey.”

  Ed pressed his hands on the table and got to his feet. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “No. You stay here.” He put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “You and Frazier stay here and wait in case Casey comes back, or she calls or something.”

  “I don’t think Nixon is going to bring her back,” Ed said.

  “Please, Ed. Just stay here and wait for me.” He squeezed the old man’s shoulder and headed for the door. “Lock up behind me.”

  Ed didn’t even wait for Lincoln to get out of the driveway. He went down the hallway, retrieved the gun from under his pillow, and grabbed his coat on his way out of his room. “Come on, Frazier,” he called. “Let’s go get Freckles.”