“There’s a police detective here, Matt. He wants to talk to you.”
Matt’s nerves jangled. Police made him edgy. Surely, it’s a mistake. “What’s he want?”
“He didn’t say.”
Matt brushed by Jason, toward the front door. A bald, bespectacled man stood in the doorway, holding a notepad.
“Matt Strothers?” His caterpillar-like eyebrows lifted.
“That’s right. And you are?”
“I’m Detective Brian Sidarski with the Barton Police Department.” He offered his hand to Matt.
“What’s this about, Detective?”
“I’m afraid your daughter…” he paused, while checking his notepad, “Shannon Wolters…is missing.”
Matt fell back against the wall, jarring the hanging mirror. Matt hadn’t seen his daughter in seven years. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice in the matter. Cheryl, his ex-wife, had made it impossible. She found a homophobic, sympathetic judge who took away Matt’s visitation rights, even slapping him with a restraining order. But Matt had been thinking about Shannon a lot lately. She turned eighteen in a few months. He’d legally be able to see her. If she agreed to it, that was.
“Maybe we’d better sit down?” offered the detective.
Matt nodded and led the detective into the living room.
“What makes you think she’s missing?” Matt’s mind raced, unable to grasp the situation. He hoped—prayed—for a logical explanation. Surely, God wouldn’t be so cruel as to take his daughter from him when he was so close to seeing her again. But a growing knot of despair in his stomach told him differently. Unhappy endings seemed to be the norm in his life these days.
“Here’s what we know,” said the detective. “Shannon Wolters, along with her friend, Lindsay Bellowes, were last seen after school—Barton High—driving off together. We found Miss Bellowes’s car in front of her house with the doors open. I’m afraid there was blood found on the front seat, matching Miss Bellowes’s blood type.”
“Oh, God. And they’re both missing?”
“That’s correct. Neighbors reported hearing some screaming in the neighborhood earlier, but they thought it was kids playing.” The detective sighed and shook his head. “Now, Mr. Strothers, I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily. The blood could be from a simple cut. There wasn’t a large amount.”
“Were they…kidnapped?”
Detective Sidarski took his time before answering. “We really don’t know at this time. Are you able to account for your whereabouts today between three and four p.m.?”
“Wait, you don’t think I did this?”
“Well, your ex-wife certainly thinks it’s likely.”
“For God’s sake! Cheryl’s been on the warpath with me since I left her. Of course I didn’t do it. I was working at my video shop all day.”
“That would be ‘Village Video’? In Olathe?”
“Yes.”
“Can any of your customers corroborate this?”
Matt thought for a moment. There hadn’t been many customers. But a few of the regulars could back him up. “Yeah, I think so. If necessary, I can call them.”
“Mr. Strothers, I understand you had your name legally changed when you were nineteen? From…Quail?”
Matt felt his world spiraling madly out of control. He didn’t like where this was headed. “That’s right. I took my mother’s surname. As did my sister.”
“Why’d you do it? Change your name?”
“Because I hated my father. What does this have to do with my daughter, Detective?”
“Probably nothing.” Sidarski tossed off a casual shrug. “I just like to know who I’m dealing with. And, your sister, Mary Strothers…”
“Yes?”
“She’d been sexually abused. It looks like during your divorce proceedings, your ex-wife accused you of doing it.”
Matt shot to his feet, his fists clenched. “That’s all bullshit! Cheryl said those things to gain leverage in keeping me away from my daughter.” Jason gripped Matt’s arm, attempting to calm him—the last thing Matt wanted right now. He felt a need to work through his anger, his life, such as it was, bubbling to a boiling point.
“There’s no need to get angry, Mr. Strothers. All of this is probably unrelated.” Sidarski gave Matt a firm look, condescending and full of judgment. “I’m just trying to understand everything in case it can help us find your daughter.”
“I did not take my daughter.”
After a lengthy silence, Sidarski said, “I believe you, Mr. Strothers. Please get me the names of your customers by tomorrow, if you would.” He stood up and strolled back to the hallway, business as usual.
“Detective, what do you think happened?” asked Matt, his voice cracking. “Do you think she’s alive?”
“I’d like to believe she is, Mr. Strothers. As for what happened, they’re both good girls, so I doubt they’re out joy riding or what have you. Since both purses were left behind, money and credit cards still intact, it doesn’t look like a robbery. Unfortunately, I think they’ve been abducted.”
Matt sat down again and shut his eyes. “Who would do this?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. I’ll do my best and keep you posted. Should you hear anything, do contact me.” He dropped a business card onto the living room table. “Oh, one last thing, Mr. Strothers. A boy at their school—Gavin Hensen—said he saw an old Ford pick-up truck following the girls after they left the parking lot. He described it as dark blue with large orange rust spots on the body. Probably about twenty years or so old. Do you know anyone who has a vehicle like this?”
Matt sat in stunned silence. Yes, he did indeed know someone with a truck like that. But, surely, there were lots of old trucks matching this description. Even his sick bastard of a father wouldn’t go this far. Would he? Could he?
“Mr. Strothers?” asked the detective. “Do you know of anyone who owns a vehicle like this?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Matt made the decision, there and then, to return to Godland.
Chapter Six
That little girl sure was a persevering young thing. She’d been caterwauling from the truckbed for the last two hours. A tighter, stronger gag might shut her up, Edwin thought.
He exited the highway at Cantor and followed a small dirt road for several miles. Parking in a heavily wooded area, he flipped back the tarp. Miss Lindsay Bellowes groaned; a good sign. He didn’t want to risk any of his cash reward by supplying damaged goods.
When Edwin loosened the rag from the blonde girl’s mouth, she snapped at him.
“Why, you little vixen,” said Edwin, grinning. He slapped her. It felt good to be in control. Been some time since he’d felt that way. “That’ll teach you to try and bite me. You and your friend both need to learn some respect.” He secured a new rag over her mouth and bound her hands to her feet.
Too bad Edwin couldn’t use the chloroform to shut the girl’s pie-hole. But it had lost its potency and hadn’t worked earlier. No matter, no how. By the grace of God, everything would work out.
“Let’s go, boy.”
Joshua smiled, rocking on the truck-bench.
Edwin studied the map of Kansas, charting the rest of their journey. On the way down, he took I-35 the entire route. Now, smaller back-road highways suited his needs better. It’d take an extra hour, but it would be well worth it. No sense in borrowing trouble, as his momma used to say.
After another fifty miles, the blonde girl finally stopped screaming. Best thing for her. She’d need all the strength and energy she could muster later.
And he needed his energy to spend Peter’s money.
It had been a heavensent miracle as to how Edwin located Peter, no doubt about it. Several months ago, a day like any other, Edwin sat astride his tractor in the cornfields. He spotted a discarded magazine in the ditch. Thinking nothing of it at first, something called to Edwin, a celestial voice from the heavens. He thumbed through the
sporting magazine. When he saw the photo of Peter, he had damn near keeled over. A short interview with him lay buried in a hunting article. They quoted Peter saying, “Killing a deer is the thrill of a lifetime,” or some such snooty nonsense. No surprise there. As a child, Peter always volunteered to slaughter the livestock, gleefully relishing the task. Back when he showed promise.
The month before, when Edwin called his ingrate of a son, he had planned to ask for money. Nothing more. Edwin did, after all, raise him, feed him, and teach him everything he knew. But the little bastard showed no gratitude.
After Peter rudely rejected Edwin’s request, divine inspiration struck. Edwin played to the boy’s sadistic nature. After he suggested a human hunt, Edwin knew his son would bite on the hook.
Just a matter of hours now…
Dusk set in. Edwin drove through Puckett, Kansas, an eyesore of a ghost town. A once-prosperous mining town, God saw fit to punish Puckett’s denizens by ravaging it to the ground with a tornado. Driving past what remained of the abandoned houses and ransacked stores, Edwin shook his head in disgust. He didn’t know what the townspeople’s sins had been, couldn’t even imagine. God’s punishment was just, though. Edwin drove past the last dilapidated building—tellingly, a funeral home—and entered the flatlands.
Red flashing lights appeared in his rear-view mirror, followed by a heart-squeezing whoop. Joshua whipped around, whimpering at the sight.
“Shut up, boy, you’re not helping matters none.” Edwin pulled onto the graveled shoulder. As he watched in his mirror, a tall lanky figure exited the police car. The man ambled slowly toward them, straightening his hat. Joshua, squirming in his seat, moaned again. “I said shut up, boy!” Edwin listened carefully for any noise from the truckbed. Just the typical tics from the engine settling. The girls remained quiet.
He rolled down his window in anticipation of the officer. As an afterthought, he reached under his seat, snagging his hunting knife and sliding it underneath his thigh.
“Good evening, sir.” A young fellow, nothing more than a pup, with a deputy’s badge pinned on his shirt.
“Good evening, officer. I believe I was doing the speed limit.”
The deputy glanced over at Joshua and produced a slight, but visible grimace. “The reason I pulled you over is you have mud covering your license plate. If your plate’s not visible, it’s a ticketable offense. Are you aware of this?”
“Why, no sir. I didn’t know it was covered up.” Edwin squeezed the steering wheel tight, holding on for dear, sweet life.
“How’d you get the mud on there if you don’t mind my asking?” The officer smiled. Encouraging.
“Well, I took the boy out hunting today.” Edwin inclined his head toward Joshua. “I thought I’d show him how to do it.” The deputy, both hands on the windowsill, leaned in slightly. He studied the contents of the truck, but mostly, Joshua. Edwin gave the policeman a knowing wink, the kind that said “feel my burden” and added in a low voice, “You see, the boy ain’t right.”
“I see.” The deputy cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Where’d you go hunting?”
“Back at Devon, down the road a ways.”
“Any luck?”
“We got us a couple rabbits, not much.”
“And I assume you have a hunting permit?”
“Oh, yes sir. It’s around here somewhere.” Edwin fumbled through his shirt and pants pockets, knowing full well he had no such permit.
“That’s all right. Tell you what, when you get to the next town, pull over, and clean the mud off your plate. Do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Y’all have a nice night and drive carefully.” He straightened and turned. Edwin let out a quiet sigh of relief.
A brief, but loud, thump arose from the truckbed. Edwin’s heart fluttered like an irate bird. He craned his head, daring a look back. The deputy stood at the back of the truck, staring at the cracked tarp tied across it.
“Sir?” called the deputy. “Sir! Please step out of the truck!” With one hand on the tarp, he held the other over his holstered pistol.
“Be ready to help me,” Edwin whispered to Joshua. Joshua stared vacantly then nodded. Edwin cupped the knife in his right hand and hopped out of the truck.
“What’s the matter, officer?” Edwin attempted to smile, but his twitching lips didn’t cooperate.
“What’s in the truckbed?”
“Just the rabbits…some hunting equipment.” Edwin approached the officer slowly. He waved to announce his harmlessness.
Another hollow thump. Edwin felt it all the way up to his rotting teeth.
“Maybe one of them rabbits ain’t dead,” said Edwin, forcing a chuckle.
The deputy took a few steps back. “Open it. Now, please.”
Edwin hesitated. The officer glared at him, his fingers unsnapping his holster.
“Sure, not a problem.” Edwin walked toward the truckbed. Facing the truck, he carefully slid the knife into his belt above his crotch. The deputy moved in closer behind him. Edwin fiddled with the knots, feigning awkwardness. “I’m sorry, officer, but…arthritis…old age and all.” Edwin wiggled his fingers in the air. “What say you give me a hand?”
The officer paused, and then stepped toward the tarp. He tugged at the rope.
Edwin yanked the hunting knife out of his belt. He lunged at the deputy, jamming it into his throat. Blood gushed, the torrential spray soaking Edwin. Edwin pulled the knife out, quickly slashing it across the deputy’s throat. Geysers of blood blurred Edwin’s vision. He heard the policeman stumble back and fall against the truck. Managing one eye open, Edwin watched the deputy grasp his throat, trying to stall his life force from leaving.
“Joshua! Help me, boy!” Edwin dragged a shirtsleeve across his face, wiping the blood away.
Joshua bounded out of the truck. He threw himself against the deputy, his weight carrying them both down onto the pavement.
“Grab his gun, boy, his gun!”
Joshua jumped to his feet, pleased with himself and brandishing the gun in the air like a newfound toy.
“Pick him up and put him in the bed,” ordered Edwin. He could see clearly enough now to unhitch the tarp. The girls stared at him underneath the moonlight, their eyes round with horror. He slapped the blonde girl again because he knew—he just knew—she made him kill the county deputy.
After a while, Shannon gave up screaming through the rag, a futile effort. The sound of other traffic had long ceased. The ropes held tight, cutting into her wrists. Barely able to move, she listened for Lindsay’s breathing. Lindsay had to be alive. It helped knowing she wasn’t alone.
She couldn’t understand anything. A waking nightmare, nothing made sense. Her mother had no money and Lindsay’s family didn’t either, so that ruled out kidnapping. She shut her eyes tight, struggling to bring order to her new world. She thought of Gavin, how she might never see him again. She had never experienced anything like romance before. She prayed it wouldn’t end just as it had begun.
Shannon bit down on the inside of her cheeks, bringing painful awareness to the forefront. Time to get her head straight. Stop thinking about Gavin. Only one thing mattered. Survival.
It all happened so fast. From being the Queen of Cuckoo Burger to being chased through the streets by some inhuman…monster. The only way to describe her pursuer. She had worked with special needs people in the past on a voluntary basis; she thought she’d seen it all. But this man didn’t even look human.
The truck rolled to a stop. She waited, hyperventilating through her nose, the sound deafening in her ears. She heard several voices. She recognized the old man, but the other—someone new? She squirmed, inch by inch, repositioning her back against the truck’s side. Lack of circulation numbed her hands, useless leaden weights. Ignoring the prickling sensation, she flapped her hand up against the truck’s side. Thump. The conversation outside stopped. She hit the truck again, this time harder. A voice distinctly call
ed out “Sir!” Shannon’s heart jumped, throbbing with hope and fear. The truck door creaked open. More voices spoke, almost jovial sounding. The ropes binding the tarp tugged. The old man cried out “Joshua!” She listened to what sounded like scuffling and a struggle.
The tarp tore back. The old man’s face was dark and wet, his eyes starkly white in contrast. Covered in blood. His slap bit into her cheek. She closed her eyes, waiting for another strike. A heavy weight fell on her. Something large. Before the tarp enveloped her in darkness again, she nudged her shoulders against the object. She shifted the weight away, wedging it against the truck’s side. She rolled over and stared into the panicked eyes of a man. His lips quivered, gasping for air. Blood trickled out of several gashes in his throat.
Shannon screamed, the sound muffled, yet explosive in her head. Lindsay, now awake, did the same. The tarp rolled back over, shutting out the light. Mercifully so. She wouldn’t have to watch the man next to her die slowly.
The deputy’s blood seeped underneath her, soaking her back. Before she passed out, she felt warm liquid splashing against her ear. A good night kiss.
The sounds of the tarp rolling away jolted her back into consciousness. A hand worked the knots. She stared into the sky, noting the position of the full moon. She’d been out for at least two hours.
She avoided looking at the man next to her. His death gasps had stilled, his life vacated. Cold and wet, the chill of the spring night wracked her body with shivers. Suddenly, the big man’s head poked into view. He stared at Shannon with dead eyes. His mouth gaped open, exposing broken shards of teeth. Drool dripped down onto Shannon’s face.
“Just pick him up and don’t dither around,” yelled the now familiar voice.
The behemoth grabbed the dead man, hefting him out. Shannon caught a glimpse of a police badge. A small radio attached to his shoulder passed in front of her eyes—a tease—so close, yet so far.
“Carry him out as far past the field as you can, boy,” ordered the man. “And try and bury him in that wooded area.”
Oh my God! If they killed a cop, they’re capable of anything.
Godland Page 7
