The Girls On Poppy Drive: A Detective London McKenna Novel

by Alex Gates

  Unless a sicko like Jason Carter had wanted them close.

  My headlights flashed over a layer of dingy snow and fresh sleet coating the subdivision’s playground. A teeter-totter marked the edge of a yet-to-be developed area. Shadowing the parkette, fifteen hundred acres of wild woods stretched to the west and north.

  This was insane.

  I parked the car.

  We’d have known.

  I cut the engine.

  Nothing was out there.

  I slipped from the driver’s seat.

  What the hell did I think I’d find in these woods? And why couldn’t I go home and sleep until I proved Sunshine wrong?

  My phone buzzed, and I checked Ben’s text. He was not a happy camper, heading out of his warm bed in the middle of the night to travel to Moon Township to pick up a cam model from one of the airport hotels.

  You sure this girl wants to be found

  She didn’t have much of a choice. Sunshine was obviously under-aged, addicted to every drug she could stuff in her veins, and had been abused since she was the appropriate age to play with Barbies. No way was I letting her stay hidden. One late-night favor to the only judge still willing to take my calls, and I had a subpoena for Sunshine’s ISP records as well as a location to give to Ben.

  She needs help. It was half-true. And if she’s telling the truth, we’ll need to talk to her.

  Ben wasn’t much for optimism. You’re wasting your time

  At least I’ll know.

  Adamski and Esposto will be pissed - There’s a quarter inch of ice on the street and you want to go wading through the woods -you fighting with James or something

  Ben was equal parts perceptive and a pain in my ass. I want to check this out.

  And he wasn’t done pissing with me. Wait for me I’m outside her hotel be there in an hour and a half

  I’m just checking it out.

  DON’T go in alone

  Okay.

  A long delay. Take your cane

  No sense in both of us getting frostbite. Besides, the answers I needed were in Jason Carter’s living room, not out in the middle of the woods half a mile from Poppy Drive.

  My boots crunched over dreary snow—the after Christmas greyish slush that coated everything in a film of disappointment. The flashlight didn’t do much. I scanned the playground. No footsteps. I doubted anyone ever came here, certainly no parents would risk their children so close to Poppy Drive.

  …But what if she was right?

  How would she even know? Most likely Sunshine was screwing with me, just trying to weasel another couple hundred dollars from my wallet while she could. It was a long-shot that Eddie had even talked to her, and even less likely she’d know to link his gibberish to the Poppy Drive girls, no matter the news reports and publicity.

  But I had to check it out, just so I wouldn’t be staring at my ceiling all night, wondering the what ifs that had plagued me these past weeks.

  No path into the woods. I had to make my own. Shining sleet coated the brush peeking along the grasses. Tree limbs hung low, laden with the weight of the ice. The light pierced a still woods, broken only by my visible puff of air. I picked my steps carefully, leaning on the cane. I avoided the lower branches and drifting snow that inevitably soaked through the bottoms of my slacks. Nothing worse than the cold slush getting into my shoes.

  Well, except wasting my time in deserted woods.

  But my skin prickled. A pit gnawed through my stomach, and I stared into the trees. Just a few hundred feet inside the wooded area, and I could no longer see the parkette at the end of the cul-de-sac. The ground had sloped, descending into thicker brush as it led away from the street. The subdivision didn’t have streetlights, preferring a smaller, decorative lamppost outside of each home. As a result, the roads and woods stayed dark.

  Almost instantly, the area felt isolated.

  Dangerous.

  Trees leaned precariously against a strong sloping hillside, roots exposed and ice crackling over hollows with decaying leaves. This wasn’t a place kids would explore even if their parents had let them out of their sight. This ground threatened ankles and muddied jeans. I dug the cane into the soft dirt and descended.

  A half-frozen creek meandered around trees and rocks at the bottom of the hill. The orangish tint splashed against the snow, staining it a rusted beige. Iron deposits in the water, the acid runoff from a mine. Not a great place for kids to play, and probably the reason they hadn’t developed the property yet.

  The creek trickled, hardly enough of a tributary to link with the larger watersheds in the area. Only the falling sleet popped in the night. The quiet descended through the trees. Oppressive.

  Goose bumps scoured my arms, but it wasn’t from the cold. I stared through the bare trunks, studying shadows and searching for paths. Nothing downstream that I could see.

  But maybe…

  I crossed the creek, boot sinking into a puddle. It shocked me, but I stayed standing. The cane dropped. I considered leaving it in the icy water but the last thing I needed was a bum leg and a sharp embankment.

  The creek seemed safe enough to follow. The bubbling water leeched from an underground pipe, half-buried with roots, rocks, and sticks. I swung the light. Nothing was disturbed in the woods, not even a discarded pop bottle or plastic bag tangled in the weeds. The trees grew tall and untouched, and the brush had thickened in this area. New growth. A rambling brush of thorn-ridden berry bushes suddenly sliced through the trees.

  A little too thick.

  A little too close.

  A little too much like…

  A wall?

  I needed to sleep. The cold air wasn’t doing me any favors, and imagining invisible fences created from weeds was probably a hallmark of insanity.

  The thorns thickened, and I avoided the jaggers. The ground sloped up once more, too steep for the cane. I grabbed a slick root to help pull me up. One foot. Then the other. My boot dug into the soft snow.

  My fingers slipped.

  I lost my grip and tumbled, slamming onto the ground and rolling over the snow. I caught my balance before humiliating myself in the creek.

  I landed on the cane, nearly breaking my tailbone on the stupid thing. I rubbed my behind.

  “That’ll bruise.”

  The flashlight had tumbled too. The light spun, came to a stop wedged between two rocks, and pointed off into the distance before flickering out.

  “Fantastic.”

  A quick thwap of the flashlight against the rock didn’t summon it back to life. I tucked it into my jacket and removed my cell phone. It wasn’t as bright but even it could get me of the hollow and back to the warmth of the car.

  But I stopped. A glint of silver flashed inside the snow.

  Thick branches and tree roots extended over a gully near the creek. I nudged closer. Another flash. A nail?

  What was this?

  The brush was in my way. I reached for the thickest branch and yanked, nearly crashing to the ground.

  Everything moved. The roots. The brush.

  And the face of the gully itself.

  “What in the hell…”

  A door! An impossible door made of brush, wooden planks, and stuffed with dirt! It swung wide. Easily. As if someone had built it to be functional but hidden.

  What had they kept inside?

  A tunnel extended deep into the earth. Aged wooden timbers braced the narrow walls and low ceilings. Darkness swallowed the interior. I stepped away.

  Shoot. The mine.

  My stomach fluttered. Was this it?

  Why would a person build a concealed entrance to an abandoned mine? Why even go into a mine? They were dangerous places—rotten wood, deep pits, and filled with an undetectable concoction of gases that could kill any curious visitor.

  No one in their right mind would willingly venture into an abandoned mine.

  Well. Not without protection…

  A gun was as good as a ventilator, right? I clutched
the weapon against my phone. The light wasn’t bright enough. I held my breath.

  A low hum vibrated through the wood. Mechanical, not natural. A constant, whirling rumble.

  A generator?

  Kirwin had mentioned delivering gasoline. What if it was diesel for a generator instead?

  Jesus.

  I flipped the phone and texted Ben.

  Found something. Get over here ASAP.

  I didn’t bother reading the return message—knew what it’d say. Wait.

  I scanned the ground. No footsteps in the snow. The layer had fallen two nights ago. No one had entered the mine for a few days.

  As far as I knew, Jason Carter went home every night to his wife and sons. If I was right, and he was my kidnapper, then he wasn’t staying inside the mine with his captives.

  Even his own daughter.

  Now was my chance.

  I breathed three deep, hyperventilating breaths before holding my last gasp. Enough breath to take a peek, to sneak inside a bit farther and find…

  What?

  What the hell did I think I’d find? The only image flashing in my head had haunted me since Christmas Eve. The cold, still body of Kaitlyn Gibson.

  But she had been alive. Living and breathing until that very night.

  And Sophia…

  Jason wouldn’t kill his own flesh and blood…

  Would he?

  I swept the light inside. Piles of dirt, mud, and rock scattered over an uneven ground. Timbers had fallen on the left side of the shaft, and the wall bulged inward. Tempered with age, it appeared mostly stable, but it offered only a few feet of clearance for me to head deeper into the darkness.

  The ground sloped down.

  I figured it would, but that didn’t mean I’d eagerly dive into the mine. Enough of my life had been spent beneath the earth, hidden by stone and dirt walls. The deeper the hole, the worse the secrets. But I’d stayed only two weeks with my tormentor. Sophia Carter had lived the last five months of her life trapped under the ground.

  How the hell did Sunshine know?

  My chest ached within a minute of holding my breath. How far did I dare go, especially in uneven terrain with a leg still aching from the tumble down the hill?

  Another step. Water dripped in an echo, the sloshing of ice. The hum reverberated in the timbers, and the darkness swept across the path. Twenty yards was too far for me. I’d have to retreat and come back. I couldn’t save the kids if I poisoned myself first.

  I turned, but a thin strip of pale light slipped from between a gap in the timber.

  Electricity! A lamp!

  My lungs screamed, but they’d been through worse. I dipped deeper into the shaft, hurrying my steps as a junction separated the mine into three paths. I took the turn to the right, wrapping around where the light peeked through the cracks.

  Bingo.

  A thick metal door—aged and weatherworn—looked promising. My hands trembled, and I tried to listen for anything over the rush of blood and frantic pumping of my heart. My hand tightened on the gun. I reached for the handle and pushed.

  The door easily opened. A wash of golden light flooded the shaft.

  I sucked in a breath only to lose it again.

  The room was clean.

  What was once a former antechamber in the mine—maybe where the men stored equipment or their belongings—was transformed into a livable space. White tile floors inched as close to the door as it could get without being detected from the outside. The room was drywalled—white and neat. Shelves lined the wall, but the contents were bare. The overwhelming scent of bleach plumed in the air.

  He’d cleaned.

  Thoroughly.

  The floors. The counter. The shelves. It was a kitchenette, and yet even the grooves in the floor were scrubbed of dirt and grime.

  Jesus Christ. Jason Carter must have immediately left the station and sterilized his makeshift lair.

  But if the kitchen was empty…

  A closed door waited on the opposite wall.

  Where was Sophia?

  I inched closer, gun somehow rock steady despite my trembling heart, hands, vision. I steadied my breathing and nudged the door with my foot. It opened without protest.

  And I entered a child’s nightmare.

  The electricity still worked. The florescent light had always done its job in the videos—illuminating every corner of the pink room. A mural stretched across the wall. Painted castles, flowers, and a beautiful sunset framed the king-sized bed. He’d stripped it of everything. No mattress. No sheets. No blankets.

  The room reeked of bleach, and my steps echoed into the emptiness.

  Everything was gone.

  The stuffed animals. The games. The clothing.

  The pornography. The sex toys. The restraints.

  The girl.

  I spun, searching for any clue, any sort of indication that someone was here. Nothing. If Sophia was dead, the blood had been cleaned.

  But this was the room—the hell that Alyssa, Kaitlyn, and Sophia had endured for years.

  Right under Poppy Drive.

  My heart nearly stopped.

  How the hell did Sunshine know? How could she have predicted that this was where he’d kept the girls? This practically invisible, hidden room buried in an abandoned mine and forgotten under the expansion of the local subdivision. How did she know exactly where this was?

  Unless…

  I was nearly sick. I stumbled backward, too terrified to touch anything, to ruin anything that hadn’t already been burned away in the Clorox.

  My phone trembled in my hand. I dialed Ben.

  He answered on the fourth ring. I didn’t let him speak.

  “I found it.” I rambled, the words stumbling from my lips. “Ben, I found the room where he kept them. It’s in an abandoned mine that runs under the subdivision.”

  “London.”

  “He’s gone. Sophia isn’t there. I don’t know where she is or if he’s taken her—”

  “London, stop—”

  “But she was here. Recently. The generator is still running! We’re close!” I spun, hand in my hair. My stomach heaved. Weeks upon weeks of stress and panic unleashed on me at once. “Ben, the girl. Sunshine. She knew. She pointed me here.”

  I didn’t let him speak. A quick and furious rage welled within me.

  He’d ruined her.

  Tossed her aside.

  Hidden her away.

  And she suffered those abuses alone.

  For the past four years, she’d been alone.

  “Ben, Sunshine knew exactly where he was holding the girls. There’s only one way she could have known. She was held here too! Ben…the cam model! She’s Alyssa Wicker!”

  His profanity snapped through the phone. A ragged breath. Another curse.

  Anger?

  No.

  Sorrow.

  “London…” Ben’s baritone rasped, harsh and unforgiving. “I found the girl, but we have a problem.”

  “What? Where are you?”

  “I’m at the hospital.” His pause turned the acid in my stomach to ice. “Before I got here, Alyssa…she slit her wrists.”

  No, no, no.

  “Is she alive?”

  “Not for long.” Ben’s voice hollowed. “She was unresponsive when I found her. London, she’s not gonna survive the night.”

  26

  Oh, it’ll only get worse.

  But you knew that.

  -Him

  I crashed into the emergency room doors.

  She couldn’t be dying.

  The security guard manning the hospital’s metal detector yelled as I barged into the waiting room. My gun set off the alarm. I tossed my badge at him and kept running. He could keep the muddy cane.

  The ER had only a few clusters of people. The usual injuries and illnesses. They huddled near the check-in and waited for the chit-chatty nurse to take them to triage. They had the sense to stare at the black-and-white tile floors or mess ab
out on their phones. No one approached the family huddled in quiet, weeping silence—the ones not waiting for a thermometer or stitches, but desperate news.

  The Wickers waited together in the far corner of the waiting room, shielded from the others by rows of plastic chairs and tables bearing pamphlets on medical procedures.

  David folded his hands, leaning over in the chair. Almost praying, but he seemed to have lost any faith years ago. He fared better than his wife, managing to dress in jeans and a thick flannel shirt.

  Amy hadn’t brushed her hair. She’d pulled on a pair of sweats with her nightgown and still shivered in the wool jacket covering her frame. She wore two different shoes, but she wasn’t hysterical. She stared forward, eyes sharp, murmuring to her husband about plans, therapists, doctors…

  How to arrange Alyssa’s room when she made it home.

  She’d never make it home.

  I stepped too close. David stood, believing I was a doctor, nurse, or someone with information.

  “You…” The rage twisted him into absolute hatred. He bolted, aiming a balled fist for my face. “You little cunt!”

  Amy screamed, but Ben was quicker than my frostbitten feet. He collided with David, tossing his muscle over the man’s weight. David slammed into the table. Pamphlets fluttered to the ground as he lashed out. Ben had a better hold. He pinned his arm and held him still.

  “Settle down!” Ben yelled. Blood stained his clothes, under his nails, on his neck. He restrained a mourning father while doused in the blood of his only child. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “What is she doing here?” David’s words broke in heart-rending sobs. “I’ll kill you!”

  Ben tightened his grip. “Stop. This won’t help Alyssa.”

  “David, please!” Amy rushed to his side, but she tugged on Ben’s arm. Her hands slipped, and she stared at the blood coating her hands. “David…”

  She sunk to the floor. David stilled, and a moment of understanding passed between him and Ben. I braced myself as he was released. David reached only for his wife. His eyes narrowed on me, but he didn’t attack.

  A good thing.

  If he had grabbed me…I had no doubt I’d be dead.

  Mourning did strange things to men. But murder? The hair on my neck prickled.