by Alex Gates
Ben was bad enough to deal with after midnight. Riley and Falconi were worse. I collapsed at the first seat I could find and rubbed my eyes.
“Rough night?” Falconi grinned.
I eyed him. In one arm he carried a newly opened homicide file—never a good sign—and the other held a box of diapers.
“I don’t even want to know what you and Riley have planned for tonight,” I said.
“House rule. Never come home after a call-out without diapers. The bloodier the night, the more surplus the Falconi house has.”
“Is that Trish Desmond?” Riley wasn’t a night owl. Or morning person. Or pleasant in the afternoon. “What’s that crazy bitch want?”
“Trish Desmond believes her husband was murdered. She wants you to take a second look.”
“Great,” he said. “And why does she think he was murdered?”
“Apparently, Mr. Desmond was shacking-up with Amy Wicker on the side.”
Falconi hummed. “No shit?”
“And Trish thinks David learned about the affair and murdered Todd.”
Riley mocked dusting off his hands. “Case closed then.”
“By Jove, I think we cracked it.” Falconi laughed.
I shrugged. “What?”
“As relieved as I am that Miss Co-Dependent did our work for us…” Riley snorted. “David Wicker wasn’t on that camping trip. Todd went to the Wickers’ cabin with Jason Carter and Tim Gibson. Only the three of them stayed that weekend.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“Don’t tell me you believe her? She’s a couple Valium short of a pharmacy.”
Falconi disagreed. “Christ, it doesn’t matter. If anything bizarre is going to happen, it’ll be on that street.” He shuddered. “Something is fucked up on Poppy Drive, and I got too many kids to get mixed up in that insanity.”
My headache wasn’t fake anymore. “There’s a lot of weird secrets on Poppy Drive. Jeremy Gibson might have been sexually assaulted. Amy Wicker is having an affair with a dead man…”
“What are you thinking?” Riley asked.
“Someone isn’t telling me the whole truth.” I hated this part. “And I’m not going to find those girls until I figure out what else everyone is hiding.”
“You’re not gonna make friends doing that,” Falconi warned.
I didn’t have many left, and I’d earned too many enemies already.
Either they’d be the death of me…
Or the secrets plaguing Poppy Drive would drown us in blood.
18
You can’t get away.
I can smell your blood.
-Him
Amy Wicker’s depression consumed her life.
I studied her from across the living room. The way she stared into the fireplace. How her fingers tangled in the fringe of the decorative pillow hugged to her lap. Had she showered today? Done her laundry? Changed her clothes?
Was it her daughter’s kidnapping that left her so despondent…
Or did she now weep for Todd Desmond?
The silence fueled the tension. Amy had yet to speak, to answer the question that David begged of her.
Was it true?
How early was too early for revelations that would crack the foundation of a marriage? Then again, was there ever a good time to break a heart? Eight AM? Nine?
Did it matter when the truth was that painful?
David reserved his anger for us. I expected it, sitting in his living room, under his roof, demanding answers that should have been discussed in the privacy of their own misery.
“I’m not here to jeopardize a marriage,” I said. No one believed it.
David held his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of the easy chair. He hadn’t looked at his wife since we’d arrived.
“Can’t you…” He exhaled. “This is personal, Detective. Not pertinent to the investigation. You can’t possibly need to know…after all we’ve been through.”
He was right, and he was wrong, and it was terrible.
“I know you want us to find Alyssa, but we need the truth,” I said. “I need a recounting of exactly what happened on the day of her disappearance. From the minute both of you woke up until the moment you realized she was missing.”
“We’ve told you,” David said. “Again and again. And you’ve done nothing with it. For seven years, you’ve done nothing.”
Only because we had the wrong information.
David had a right to be angry. He just didn’t know it yet.
Ben handed Amy a box of tissues though she wasn’t crying. He worked her, playing it soft. Protective.
“You were home that day, right?” he asked. “Weren’t working then?”
Amy shook her head. “I was…I stayed at home to raise my baby.”
That left me to handle David. “And you were at work? Left at seven AM?”
He surrendered, heaving a frustrated sigh. “Yeah. I had a big case and a court date the next week. Was spending a lot of time preparing for it.”
Ben pieced the rest together, rubbing Amy’s shoulder. “You waited for Alyssa to come home from school and fell asleep on the couch. When did you wake up?”
“When David called…” Amy’s monotone worried me. Too practiced. Like she’d said the story over and over so many times she couldn’t even pretend to believe it. “At four-thirty. He said he’d be home at five, so I got up to make dinner. Called for Alyssa, but she usually wore headphones and did her homework…I assumed…”
“Where was Todd Desmond?” I asked.
The question surprised her. It shouldn’t have. She knew exactly where he had been. “I don’t…why does that matter?”
Ben’s suave charm no longer worked on her, not when she sat rigid and unblinking. “We’re trying to reassess the whereabouts of those in the neighborhood. Double-check alibis.”
I read from my list. “David was at work. The Gibsons were at work and home. The Carters on vacation. Across the street the Adams were at work, an elderly couple lived two houses up the road, though they’re both deceased now. Work. Work. Shopping. Home with verifiable witnesses. Everyone checks out…” I glanced at her. “But Todd has no alibi.”
David rubbed his temples. “No. You can’t think that Todd did this. For Christ’s sake, he’s Alyssa’s godfather!”
“And unless someone can verify his whereabouts, we need to consider that he might be a person of interest.”
“He was my best fucking friend!”
Amy began to weep. She refused a tissue, bowed her head, and pitched the pillow aside.
“No. Leave Todd out of this. It’s my fault.” Her whisper bled pain. “It’s all my fault.”
David stared at his wife. He shook his head. Short, tiny bobs at first, then a frantic plead.
“No. It’s not true.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her hand trembled as she covered her mouth. “I lied. I’m sorry, but I lied! I lied! I wasn’t at home!”
I expected as much. “Where were you?”
“I was with Todd.” She cried his name with a grieving gasp. “I was at his house. We were together when it happened. I lost track of time, and I didn’t know. I…I hurried home when David called, but I didn’t see Alyssa. I didn’t think…she always played with her friends down the way. I thought she’d gone to visit her friend. I didn’t know!”
David shook. Fury propelled him to his feet, but hatred rendered him still.
His words growled in a shocked, terrible whisper.
“You were fucking Todd when our daughter was kidnapped?”
“Oh God.” Amy bent forward, gasping for air. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. David…I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry!”
“How could you do this to me? To us?” He roared, overturning his chair. But he only lashed out at himself, tearing at his hair, his clothes. “Our little girl is gone because of you!”
“David—”
“Was anything the truth? Any part of it? Did she make it off th
e bus? Did she get inside the house?”
“I don’t know.”
And neither did I. That complicated everything, including the approximated time when she was taken. Any number of alibis could have changed. A neighbor might have seen something different. Another face. A strange car. Anything.
David swore. Ben guided him to a chair before he hurt himself.
Or Amy.
“Think,” I told her. “I need you to remember anything else about that day. Anything you never told us. Everything’s changed. The timeline. The potential witnesses. Everything.”
“Everything else is right,” Amy whispered. “But I wasn’t at home. I…I don’t know anything else. I left Todd’s, and everything seemed so normal.”
“Normal?” David rasped. “How normal could it be? You were having an affair.”
Amy shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”
“How long?”
The answer would only cause more heartache. David demanded it though. Stared at her. Clenched his teeth as if the truth were a punch to his stomach that he could muscle through.
“It wasn’t all the time…” Amy closed her eyes.
“How long?”
“David—”
“How many times did you sleep with him? How many days did you sneak over to be with him? How long did it take you to destroy everything we had together?”
“Please. Don’t.”
David rubbed his face, his words broken. “Were you still sleeping with him? After Alyssa was gone? Until he died?”
She looked away. “I needed comfort, David.”
“You lying bitch.”
“You were distant! You wouldn’t talk. You wouldn’t hold me. When we were together, you acted so angry. I needed him. I needed tenderness and compassion. And you were so lost. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not sleep with my best friend!” He paced the living room. “Not whore around while our daughter gets kidnapped by some sick pedophile! Not forsaking every vow we made to each other so you could feel comforted!”
“And why not?” Amy stood, pitching the box of tissues at her husband. “Oh. Now you’re hurt? Now you’re crying? And here I thought your goddamned heart was stone. You never acted this upset when Alyssa was taken! You never cared. You never came to me. Never asked how I was. Never acted like anything was even wrong! You shut down first. What I was supposed to do?”
“You weren’t supposed to do my best friend!”
“At least he was a man of heart and soul. Not some brute made of stone and hate.” Amy shrieked at her husband, nearly breaking down completely. “And now Todd is dead. And I’m left with you. What I wouldn’t give for it to have been you six feet under—”
The screech of tires shrieked in the cul-de-sac.
Ben yelled first, diving over Amy.
The living room window exploded into a mist of pulverized glass and steel.
I fell to the floor, but David was too slow.
The spray of bullets flashed through the living room. The scatter punctured the walls, imbedding slugs of metal into everything. The bullets tore through a family portrait, a once smiling mother, father, and daughter. The lamp shattered as it crashed to the floor, and the television toppled, the screen cracking in a flurry of sparks.
And in the midst of the chaos, David writhed in agony.
The car squealed in the street and sped away.Only Amy’s screams followed in its wake.
I clutched the carpet, waiting for a sharp stab of pain, ache of bone, or crush of breath. Nothing. I was unharmed.
And it was the worst realization.
David bled on his carpets, clutching a wound to his gut. The drive-by wasn’t meant for me.
He’d wanted David dead.
19
I hate death.
Tastes wretched.
-Him
It would be a bloody Christmas Eve.
I felt it. Tasted the iron in the air. Let the prickle of apprehension tease the back of my neck. The only question was who would face the end of the barrel.
Lies led to blood. Secrets ready to explode.
And Poppy Drive had lit a fuse.
We parked near the victims’ houses, hidden from the streetlight and dark, engine off. I huddled under a coat and blanket, gripping a useless thermos to my chest. Ben was too much of a man for the blanket. He suffered in bored silence, occasionally bitching because he couldn’t use his phone.
“Who would you even call?” I sipped my coffee. Stale, even though I’d made it before coming to the street. It had been daylight then. “Hot date on Christmas Eve?”
Ben stared at the light that popped on in the Gibson’s kitchen. “Usually I bang Mrs. Claus while her husband’s out. Such a ho, ho, ho.”
I regretted initiating conversation. “What about your family?”
“Don’t really have one.”
“No?”
“Dad’s in jail. Mom’s dead.”
“Siblings?”
He shrugged. “Probably dreaming of sugarplums and X-Boxes tonight.” His breath puffed. He warmed his hands before reaching for his Mountain Dew. “You?”
“Three kidnapped girls was the only reason I could miss Midnight Mass with my mother. Two wouldn’t have been enough.”
“At least the case is good for something.”
“Yeah. Here’s hoping we don’t solve it until after the Easter services.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
No kidding. I checked the time again. Half-past nothing happening. Better than I could have hoped.
“What about James?” he asked.
“What about him?”
“He at home?”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t actually sure. “He had to work today too.”
“Christ, are you two ever in the same room?”
Good question. “When we sleep.”
“At least you’re together for the good parts.”
“Yeah.” I counted the days—weeks—months now?—since the last good part. The number suffocated me in guilt. “He works as hard as I do.”
“What’s his deal?”
“What?”
Ben shrugged. “Working as much as you? What’s he running from?”
I’d have argued if it wasn’t so cold. “His sight.”
“Getting bad?”
“It was bad six months ago.” I mimicked the motions he made when describing the blind spots. “Peripheral, gone. Top, cloudy. Bottom a streak. The middle…”
That was the final mystery. His left eye was worse. Could he even see anything out of it now? Would he tell me if he couldn’t?
Ben nodded. “He’ll go completely blind?”
“Eventually.”
“Rough.”
“Yeah.”
“What will you do?”
A stupid question. “Nothing. The same as now. Help him once he accepts it.”
“What will it do to him?”
The real question. “I don’t know yet.”
“Guess.”
That line of thinking scared me. “He’ll be okay. No stakeouts like this. No field work. Keeps him safer at least.”
“Well, no one could get in as much trouble as you, hotshot.”
I wasn’t so sure anymore. Neither was Ben.
“You really think someone’s after the families?” He sat on his hands, trying to warm them up.
“Yeah.”
“Even though you had the pedo army busting down your door? Those shots could have been aimed for you.”
“Then he would have got me at home. They all know where I live.”
“Doesn’t send the same message that it would on Poppy.”
“No way he knew we were there. It was too early in the morning. We hadn’t even planned it until we left the station. Unless he’s bugged my car, that drive-by wasn’t meant for me. He wanted someone to kill David.”
“Why?”
I sipped my coffee. The Mountain Dew would have tasted better. “Becau
se David knows something.”
“You think? He had no idea his wife was banging his best friend in his own bed.”
“The families on this street are hiding things. Secrets. Lies. They’re all holding back.”
Ben was quiet. “What would they know that we don’t?”
I’d wondered that all night. “Maybe they’ve had contact with the kidnapper.”
“Then why the hell wouldn’t they say something?”
I pointed to the houses on the street most decorated for Christmas. “110 Poppy Drive—two kids. 112 Poppy Drive—newborn baby. 114 Poppy Drive—three kids.” I nodded towards the Carter’s place. “Three boys under the age of fourteen.”
“Kids everywhere.”
“The kidnapper knows it too.”
“Maybe they’re trying to protect the other families?” Ben rubbed his neck. “Then answer me this. Tim Gibson.”
“Yeah?”
“Did he kill his son?”
“What do you think?”
“I asked you first.”
And I hated accusing a father of something so terrible. “Might have been an accident.”
“Or intentional.”
“Why don’t we ask him?” I shifted, trying to get some feeling into my legs. Ben followed my gaze, his frown deepening as a man slipped from the back door of the Gibson house and darted through the shadows to his car. “Where’s he going?”
“Last minute Christmas present for Heather?”
All was calm in the Gibson house. A quiet Christmas for a silent, childless home. I doubted Heather was awake. She probably wouldn’t get out of bed until the New Year.
Tim snuck to his car, turning the engine and backing out of his driveway without flipping on the lights. He rolled through the stop sign at the end of the street and headed into the darkness.
“Spreading some Christmas cheer?” Ben asked. “Think you’re right, hotshot. Where the hell is he going?”
A dozen scenarios popped into my head. None of them good.
A threat against his life?
A meeting in the dark with the kidnapper?
A ransom?
Nothing that would help us and everything that would screw up the investigation and put him and the girls in greater danger. I started the car and followed, careful to keep a steady distance on the cheery streets surrounded by blinking Christmas lights and a picture-perfect snowy night.
