The Girls On Poppy Drive: A Detective London McKenna Novel

by Alex Gates

  James squeezed my knee, prepared to hold me back. But the guilt slammed me instead. I nodded.

  “Oh. You’re right.”

  Even Vienna looked shocked. “I’m what?”

  “I don’t want you doing anything that could jeopardize...” My voice softened. I pretended to check my phone before the words cracked. “You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be worrying about anything. It’s fine. Mom and I will work it out.”

  She gave her belly a condescending pat. “Thank you.”

  Mom scooted closer, dropping the chair on my toe. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it, London. We’ll work on Christmas together. Plus…” She winked at James. “We can get started on all that wedding planning!”

  The only thing that pleased a mother more than one grandbaby and a second on the way was marrying off the other daughter.

  Wedding plans excited my mother…and the South Park fire hall where, inevitably, we’d hold the bridal shower, reception, and all other future family functions. Why break the tradition held by every family in the South Hills for the past fifty years?

  Mom clucked with excitement. Maybe she had found some alcohol stashed in the museum’s craft supplies?

  “Most of the family will be in town next week. We can put save the date cards on the Christmas presents.” Mom pulled a spiral notebook from her purse—despite carrying a perfectly good iPhone, Kindle, and iPad. “It’s too late for a printer to work anything up, but I’ve been taking classes at the library, and I can make something in Word.”

  “Mom.” I shook my head. “I don’t need help.”

  “And what about that big major case you’re working on, hmm? No, we’re here now. Let’s just throw something together super quick. Most important….forget the date for a minute.”

  Didn’t have one picked. That was easy enough.

  “What colors are you planning?” she asked.

  My phone buzzed again. Adamski texted this time.

  FBI wants a meeting tomorrow at 9 – Tracking some of the downloads

  “London.” Mom sounded pissed. Unless I wanted a meeting with Ben, the FBI consultant, and my mother, it was best to answer her now. “What color for the Save-The-Date cards?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Well, the notes should be in your wedding colors.”

  “…Why?”

  Mom huffed. “Because that’s the way it’s done.”

  No wonder people eloped. “Will anyone even remember what color the Save-The-Date cards were?”

  Mom didn’t blink. “I will.”

  And there we had it. I nudged James.

  “Any input?”

  “Up to the bride.” The scoundrel was enjoying this too much. “It’s gotta match a lot of things. Bridesmaids dresses. Flowers. Decorations.”

  Damn it. Mom’s mouth dropped open.

  “I knew it!” She pointed at me. “You haven’t done a thing! London, it’s been six months since your engagement.” She huffed and started an entirely new list. “I have no idea when you expect this affair to take place, young lady, but I hope you at least remember to attend your own wedding.”

  I cleared my throat. “Blue. I like blue. Let’s have a blue wedding.”

  Vienna had hovered until I made a decision she didn’t like. “Blue? You’re going to depress everyone. You can’t have a blue wedding.”

  O-kay. “Red.”

  “Red!”

  The kids turned to stare. Mom hummed.

  “Oh, Vienna can’t stand red.”

  My phone buzzed again, shredding the last bit of my patience. “Fine. Why doesn’t Vienna pick my wedding colors? Apparently, every decision needs her stamp of approval.”

  Vienna crossed her arms. “At least I care about the wedding.”

  James swooped in—hero that he was. “Look, we have some time yet to pick the finer details. In fact, I’ve already talked to my parents. They’ve offered their farm in Greene County. We could have a nice wedding outdoors. Pick some sunshiney yellow color, and we’ll work around that. And, Vienna…” He smiled. “You’d look lovely in a yellow bridesmaid dress.”

  What a suck-up. Vienna practically giggled.

  Mom saved her biggest smiles for James. Always had, ever since he was the first to tell her that I’d been found—safe, sound, and in one piece. She squeezed him close for a hug.

  “Oh, I love that idea,” she said. “Married in June—babies by March!”

  The cake threatened to come back up. A quiet anxiety prickled over me.

  “Mom, honestly.”

  James winked. “No pressure, huh?”

  Mom wasn’t deterred. “London, you’re thirty-one years old. It’s time to start thinking about these things. And James…” She had the tact to not mention his age, even if he’d carried himself to forty with enviable grace. “Well, it would just be a tragedy to not bring one of James’ babies into this world.”

  My heart stilled.

  Yes. It was a tragedy.

  And just the sort of thought and fear and emptiness that kept me up in the middle of the night.

  The wedding planning didn’t help. My chest squeezed a little tighter. I’d thought I’d be better by now.

  My phone buzzed again. I cursed ever giving Ben my number. Fortunately, a red-shirted Children’s Museum attendant gathered the party together.

  She clapped her hands. “Who wants to go see the rest of the museum?”

  The kids answered in a frenzy—twenty-one munchkins screaming in unison. I’d counted. Obsessively.

  I offered James my hand. It only half-heartedly apologized for my lackluster wedding enthusiasm. At least it guided him through an unfamiliar stairwell and to the ground level of the museum as we followed the party.

  The Children’s Museum was a fantastic space for kids—loaded with children of all ages. They sprinted through exhibits featuring hands-on crafts, bright pastel halls, and a variety of entertaining noise-makers, glitter spreaders, and tantrum spawners.

  The party loved it, but every child scattered as soon as we hit the main level. I’d never bothered me before, but after a week of watching those videos…any shrill sound terrified me.

  “London?” Vienna called to me from inside the art exhibit. Clementine had already sprawled out on the floor, dragging crayons, markers, and colored pencils over a piece of paper the same size as her. “Do you know that man?”

  I growled at James. “I swear to God, if Ben followed me here, I’m tossing his ass in the holding cell when we get back—”

  I turned.

  My guts froze to ice.

  It wasn’t just the kids shouting now. Two men in blue jackets raced from the lobby, chasing the man who’d jumped line, metal detectors, and over a ramp to launch himself at me.

  I no longer had to search for Eddie Kirwin.

  Sophia Carter had sent him to me.

  With a knife.

  Eddie sprinted across the tiled floor, knocking kids and parents from his path. He leapt into the air, a butcher’s knife thrust out before him.

  I shouted. So did James.

  A split second. A heart beat. A gasp.

  I twisted just in time, avoiding the slice of the blade. I fell to the floor. James bashed into Kirwin’s ribs with a driving shoulder. The knife dropped. They both collapsed.

  I dove, but Eddie was quicker. He spotted the security officers behind him and gave a panicked squeal. With a grunt, he flailed to his feet, catching my chin. The pain blinded me, and I lost a precious moment in stunned agony.

  He dashed away. I forced myself up, shouting to the security guards.

  “Call the police! Ask for Detective Bennett!”

  James sprinted to my side. The ramp through the main hall funneled into a second exhibit, but the crowds had parted in the commotion. Mothers screamed. Children cried. The door to the stairwell slammed closed.

  I hesitated, staring between the hall to the next exhibit and the stairs. James answered for me.

  “I’ll go up. Yo
u check the hall.”

  He didn’t waste time, crashing into the stairwell door and rushing to the stairs. I followed the dizzying confusion cascading through the visitors of the museum.

  What the hell was Kirwin doing here?

  How had he survived the fall from the bridge?

  And where had he gone?

  I ducked further into the next exhibit, a dizzying maze of children and art, slides and mock dollhouses. A cluster of kids shouted as a red-skirted museum aid scrambled them into the corner.

  One dollhouse rocked onto its side. Miniature furniture and toys scattered over the floor. A painting followed, but I dodged the cracked frame.

  I rounded a corner. A frantic young mother clutching her baby pointed at a new room.

  “In there!” She screeched. “He went in there!”

  I stared at the exhibit and swore.

  They’d build a goddamned fun house in the museum!

  A metal stairwell led upwards, funneling me into a new-age art project—a twenty-five-degree tilted monstrosity of a house turned onto its axis. A red and black checkerboard print twisted and bent in a spiral along every wall. The optical illusion was blinding, and the railing only dizzied my steps more. My brain didn’t want to comprehend the house’s setup. I lost my footing and stumbled onto the floor. Or was it the ceiling now?

  The punch to my ribs wasn’t unexpected, just a stupid mistake.

  I blocked as Kirwin reared back once more, overextending his form to leave a delicate area open for a swift and devastating kick. The tilted room swirled against my strike. I missed, catching his hip instead. He fell and lashed out at my bad leg.

  Both fists were balled as he brought down his entire weight on my shin.

  Bile rose in my throat. I spun with vertigo, or was that the room? The fake couch and coffee table stapled to the wall suddenly blurred.

  Kirwin ran once more. I couldn’t let him escape. I rose to my feet and tested the leg with an uneasy limp.

  Not broken. Just sore.

  But how did he know exactly where to hit?

  …What else did he know about me? How much did every pervert and degenerate in the world now know about me?

  Strengths, weaknesses, addresses, phone numbers.

  Family.

  I clutched the walls and hobbled out of the display, crashing down the stairs to chase Eddie through a hallway cluttered with tossed art and tipped velvet ropes.

  The screams led me to him.

  The exhibit was called The Garage. Kids tested the cars on display, played at the pretend refueling station, sat in the original Mr. Rodgers trolley, and hid in the giant monster truck tires. Dozens of kids ran through the room.

  It made it all too easy for Kirwin to pick the one he’d wanted.

  A little blonde girl cried out for her mother. Five, maybe six years old. Pretty and slim, just like the girls from Poppy Drive.

  Kirwin clutched her to his chest. A pen knife slipped from his pocket. It silenced the hysterical parents circling the room.

  “Just be good.” He whispered, rubbing his cheek against her head. “Just be a good girl. It’s okay. I like girls. I won’t hurt you.” His eyes widened, crazed and bloodshot. He pointed at me. “But she might. She might hurt all the little girls. Can’t have that. Can’t let her hurt the pretty little girls.”

  “Eddie.” I held a hand out. The knife twisted. I knew better than to push in on him, so I turned instead. He followed my movements, facing me and not the exit. I waved a hand, and a half-dozen children and their mothers sprinted from the exhibit. “Eddie, put the girl down. Let’s just talk, okay? No one’s going to get hurt.”

  “You won’t hurt her!” Eddie yelled. The child wailed. He followed suit, tears streaking down his cheeks. He wiped them in her hair, inhaling a deep breath of her scent. “Don’t hurt her!”

  “You have the knife.” I didn’t move and kept my hands clear. “You’re the one who could hurt her, Eddie. This is dangerous. Just set her down, and we’ll talk.”

  “No. No, no, no. She told me to kill you.”

  Eddie wasn’t a large man or particularly strong, but he was terrified. That made him even more dangerous. He trembled, clutching the girl as if he’d rescued her from the horror of his own making. He stepped away. Stumbled. The knife nearly scraped her soft throat.

  “Eddie.” I took a single step forward. Then another. He stared at me, eyes flickering to all angles, far too fast to focus. He twitched. Meth? Had to be. Some sort of amphetamine. “I promise. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m here to help. I want to help her. I want to help you.”

  A shadow skirted the hall. Movement from the corner of my eye.

  I inched closer.

  “I want to help save Kaitlyn,” I said.

  The knife trembled. “Kaitlyn? What did you do to Kaitlyn?”

  “I can’t find her,” I said. “I need your help. Can you help me?”

  “You’ll kill her.”

  “No.” Another step. The shadow mimicked my movements. “I want to take her home. To her family. They miss her.”

  He shook his head. “Kaitlyn belongs with me.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No one can have her! She’s mine! Kaitlyn is mine!”

  I dove first. On my signal, James surged from behind and crashed into Kirwin.

  The knife clattered to the ground. I batted it away and seized the girl. We tumbled across the floor while James fought Kirwin. I covered her with my body, protecting her fragile form in case the lunatic miraculously escaped James’s expert hold and aimed for her once more.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Eddie bawled from the ground, his words muffled in the tiles. “Don’t hurt the pretty little girl!”

  He choked as James dug his knee into his back and kept him still. The girl’s mother collapsed, sweeping her daughter into her arms. I limped to my feet, keeping my distance from the sobbing, tantruming pervert.

  “You can’t take her away from me.” Kirwin seethed with rage, spitting as he stared up at me. “They’re my girls. They need me!”

  “Where are they?” I hadn’t yet caught my breath, or maybe the sheer adrenaline yielded into terror. “Where are the girls, Eddie?”

  “You stole them!”

  “You know that’s not true. Tell me. Where are Alyssa, Kaitlyn, and Sophia?”

  His sobbing morphed into a crazed laugher. His tears fell once more.

  Relief?

  “If you don’t have her, she must be safe. She’s with him.”

  “Who? Eddie, who has Kaitlyn?”

  “He’ll never let you take them away.” Eddie closed his eyes and fell limp. “You’re already dead.”

  11

  Tell me your secrets…

  And I might tell you mine.

  -Him

  Evil came in many forms—cruelty, ignorance, complacency.

  But Eddie Kirwin wasn’t evil.

  Just insane.

  Riley and Falconi warned that we should have padded the interrogation room. I hadn’t believed him until Ben and I both entered, an audience of colleagues watching through the cameras.

  Were they watching for the show…?

  Or were they my backup for when Eddie checked in from his catatonic state?

  The door clicked behind us. Ben elected to stand. I always fared better sitting with my interviewees. Most times, I got a good read on their thoughts and emotions at eye level.

  Not this time.

  Eddie Kirwin wasn’t strong or weak. Not old or young. Not ugly or handsome.

  Just average.

  The kind of man who never earned a second thought until you realized that he didn’t quite understand a proper amount of personal space. Then you saw it. How he didn’t look anyone in the eyes. How his words were a jumble of excitement and anxiety. How he seemed to gravitate toward kids.

  Maybe because they were on the same mental level.

  The interrogation room’s notepad usually captured confessio
ns and signatures. Eddie used the lined sheets to draw little doodles. Pictures and awkward approximations of people. The sort of drawings a kindergartener might bring home from school.

  But our presence disturbed him. He clutched the pen in his fist. Ben motioned for me to retreat, but I refused, studying how Eddie slammed the pen into the paper, furiously scribbling over the images again and again while tears rolled down his chin.

  When the paper finally tore, he began to yell.

  “I want to see her!”

  Kirwin reared out of the chair. The cuffs securing him to the table gave a jingle. He jerked his hands, but he wasn’t going anywhere. The pen tipped from his fingers and rolled under the table.

  This devastated him.

  He screamed, inconsolable, crashing into his chair to thrash against the handcuffs.

  “Let me see her! I know you have her!”

  Holy moly. The interview would end with his hospitalization if we weren’t careful.

  Ben was ready to grab him. I tried talking instead.

  “Eddie, who?” I asked. “Who do you want to see?”

  “I don’t understand! Is she mad at me? Let me see her. Let me tell her I’m sorry.”

  “Who, Eddie?” I gestured towards the door. “There’s a lot of people out there. Who do you want?”

  He snarled the name. “Kaitlyn!”

  A shiver rolled over me. Ben shared my disgust. He wasn’t even ashamed to be asking for a child. He called to her as if she were a loved one, a spouse, an obsession. His tears weren’t remorse, only frustration.

  He thought we had the girl.

  Ben had less patience for insanity than me. He leaned over Kirwin, getting low to face the sicko directly.

  “You’re not gonna see her.” Ben smiled as he said it. “Know why? She’s a kid, you pervert. You’re crushing on a twelve-year-old girl.”

  The words meant nothing to him. Kirwin shuddered with pure anxiety. He shifted to the end of the chair, extending his hands to Ben.

  “Please. She’s worried about me. I just want to make sure she’s okay. Haven’t seen her in so long. Please. Please, please, please.” He turned to me. “Why would you take her from me?”

  Ben kicked his chair, regaining Eddie’s attention. “Why don’t you try telling us where they are? Where the hell is Kaitlyn Gibson? Where’ve you been keeping and her friends? Alyssa. Sophia?” He kicked the chair once more, jostling Eddie into tears. “Where the hell are you holding the girls!”