The Dark Age: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller (Marlowe Gentry Thriller Series Book 2)

by Dallas Mullican

  “I knew I liked your mom.” Spence wiped his mouth with a napkin, sat back, and patted his stomach. “I may not be able to walk for a while though.”

  “Take your wine and go have a seat on the balcony. I’ll clean the table and be right out.” Tamara stood and grabbed for his plate.

  “No way. I’m a gentleman, ya know? I’ll help. We’ll have them washed and put away in no time.”

  “Some girls might want a rich guy. Me? I’ll take a guy who does the dishes.” She laughed as they cleared the table.

  Once done, they sat beneath the stars, content with the silence and each other’s company for a long time. A cool breeze out of the north hinted at autumn, and though the heat would not relent its afternoon oppression for a couple more months, nights were becoming bearable, even pleasant.

  “Although I came completely for your company tonight, I do have a small favor to ask.” Spence glanced over with his most charming grin.

  “Huh uh, I knew you had ulterior motives with the price of this wine. Had to be a week’s pay. And here I thought you were trying to get in my pants.”

  Spence almost snorted wine out his nose. He attempted to regain composure and say something suave, but only managed a series of unintelligible grunts. Tamara laughed herself silly as Spence covered his face with a hand.

  “So, what’s this favor? And remember, you’ll owe me one.”

  He cleared his throat and tried to turn his thoughts away from the images Tamara’s comment had elicited. “Nothing big. I need to talk to Laticia Gibbs. Her husband’s a real piece of work. Need to get her away from him. She won’t say anything with him around.”

  “You think she’s the woman Charlie was seeing?” Her tone left no doubt she found the idea doubtful.

  “I think so, but not like an affair. That’s what I wanna find out. Why did she visit Charlie late at night? What’s the deal?”

  “Laticia’s trailer trash for sure, but not entirely her fault. Jake wasn’t always the lowlife he is now. I think he works out at Tyson, hanging chickens or some shit. Yuck.” Tamara scrunched her face as if she got a whiff of a foul odor. “I’ll find out what shift he works. We can head over while he’s out.”

  “We?” Spence arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m not letting you around some skank alone.” She grinned.

  “You said she’s trailer trash. You really think that’s my speed?”

  Tamara squinted at him. “With looks like yours, I think every woman would give it a try.”

  “Are you trying to get into my pants?” Spence enjoyed the turnaround. He felt much more suited to flirter than flirtee.

  “I wouldn’t have to try.” Tamara gave him a seductive pose, sliding her skirt up on her thigh.

  “I’m not going to win this. And I don’t think I want to.”

  They flirted and laughed late into the night. The wine relaxed them, and in many ways, it seemed not a day had passed since their teenage love affair. All those times parking at the lake, strolling the halls at school arm in arm came flooding back and filled Spence with simultaneous fondness and loneliness.

  “You never married?” asked Tamara.

  “Sorta. I married the job. Sank into it and tried not to leave much time for anything else.” His tone carried more glumness than intended.

  “I bet you’re a serious playa,” she said with a snicker.

  “Maybe…a little. In my younger days.” Spence didn’t want this line of discussion to continue. “What about you? Ever marry?”

  “For a year. We had nothing in common. Just got hitched ‘cause I thought I was supposed to. Pressure from friends and family. You know my mom and sisters.” She laughed, but it lacked any humor.

  Maybe the wine affected him more than he knew, but the words leapt out unbidden. “I don’t think I ever got over you.”

  Tamara smiled, sadness in the curve of her mouth and her eyes. “We were so young. Everyone would say it was only puppy love, but not a day goes by I don’t think of what might have been. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of you, wanted to find you and slap some sense into you.”

  “You should’ve. I thought about coming back for you, too.” She glanced over at him. Spence didn’t shy from her gaze. “I did. A lot.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Figured it best to let you move on. At first, I had nothing to offer, then the life of a cop. Not easy to deal with the hours and dangers. I guess I thought I was doing the best thing for you.”

  “You didn’t think to give me a vote?” Her grin attempted sarcasm, but the words nipped nonetheless.

  “I should’ve. Always a day late and a dollar short.”

  “Is it? Too late?”

  Spence pushed out of his chair, took Tamara’s hand, and pulled her close. “I hope not.”

  Their first kiss, after so long apart, escalated from coy tenderness to ravenous need. Spence lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. They stripped each other in a frenzy amidst the silver glow of moonlight flooding in through open balcony doors, a cool breeze tickling their skin. Spence crouched to his knees and kissed her thighs and stomach, one hand reaching up to cup her breast, the other on her buttocks, pulling her to him. Tamara shuddered and let out a faint moan. He stood and leaned her back onto the bed. Her hands caressed his shoulders and biceps, gliding down on his chest. When he entered her, she screamed in ecstasy as he whispered her name into her ear over and over. Tamara wrapped her legs around him, her heels on his ass, urging each thrust. They made love deep into the night, feeding a hunger difficult to sate, and fell asleep entwined in each other’s arms.

  * * *

  “Her husband works second shift—two p.m. ‘til eleven p.m.,” Tamara called out from the other room.

  Spence pulled on his shirt and laced up his boots. The sun shining through the door lit on his face and woke him shortly after dawn. Unable to fall back to sleep, he sat out on the balcony with a mixture of conflicting emotions swirling through him. His apprehension over Charlie had not let up, but the warmth of Tamara’s body, the rekindling of their feelings for each other, stood in stark contrast to the worry and left him off balance.

  “Sure you don’t mind tagging along? I think she’ll feel more comfortable and talk if you’re there.” Spence stepped behind her and laced his arms around her.

  Tamara smiled and brought his hand up to kiss it. “I told you, I’m not letting you go alone. Laticia is poor and strung out, but she’s still pretty.”

  “You have no competition.” He nibbled gently at her neck.

  Strange how quickly they fell back into their old affections. Fifteen years, and in many ways nothing had changed between them. For now, they lived in the past, the memories dictating actions and feelings. But a lot had changed. They were different people now, and eventually those differences would push to the surface.

  Don’t skip the relationship and head straight for the break-up. Enjoy it while it lasts.

  Spence, an eternal optimist, surprised himself with the “inevitable end” pondering. He was never one to anticipate the worst. He expected the best and planned for the worst, riding it out until which way something would fall became crystal clear. Sometimes he waited too long, and those times left scars he tried hard to ignore.

  They drove to Fulton Hill with Tamara snuggled up against him like two teens on their way to the drive-in. Of course, the drive-in closed down shortly after Spence was born, but the image came to mind nonetheless. He found himself dreaming of a future with Tamara, thinking about where they would live, how she would handle his life as a cop. The more he tried to rein it in, the further afield the fantasy flew. He smiled to himself and gripped her hand tighter.

  “What’s that for? What’s going on that beautiful head of yours?” she said, gazing up at him.

  “Nothing. Enjoying the day’s all.”

  “Yeah…right.” Tamara nudged him with her shoulder.

  Spence slowed near Lot #12 and scanned ahead
to make sure Jake’s old pickup didn’t appear in the drive. All clear. He halted the Explorer close to the trailer’s small porch. The front was open, a screen door, the mesh peeled back from the top right corner, dangling like a loose scab, allowed a peek inside. Tamara took the lead and rapped on the aluminum frame. After a moment, Laticia stepped into view, her eyes glazed and red.

  “What ya want?” She took a drag from a cigarette burned down to the filter and pressed against blackened knuckles, and glared out at them. “Tamara…dat you?”

  “Hi, Laticia. Mind if we come in? My friend wants to talk to you.” Tamara thumbed over her shoulder to Spence, who flashed his pearly whites, trying to appear his most dashing.

  Laticia squinted at him and shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I seen him ‘fore. Jake wouldn’t like it.”

  “It’ll only take a minute. Please? It’s important,” said Tamara.

  “O-Okay. But only fo’ a minute.” Laticia opened the door and waved them toward an old, but surprisingly clean sofa.

  Once seated, Spence stealthily lifted a crocheted cover on the armrest to find stains and cigarette burns. A blanket over the back of the couch likely hid an array of similar markings. Everything in the house appeared purchased from Dollar General and Walmart. White plastic shelving held a plethora of trinkets—glass figures of animals, model sports cars—and a handful of books and magazines on hunting, fishing, and Auburn football. Obviously, Jake controlled the interior decorating, but Laticia kept a tidy home. Jake insisted on it, if Spence had his guess. He had seen Jake’s type all his life—a bully who blamed the world for things not going his way. Back on the beat, he spent time on calls to one domestic abuse after another. Some woman throttled by her husband for being late with dinner or not cleaning the house.

  “Get ya anything? Got some sweet tea.” Laticia paced in the small kitchen like a nervous cat looking for a safe place to hide.

  “No thanks. Laticia, this is Reverend Murray’s brother, Spencer. He needs to ask you a few questions, okay?” Tamara sounded as if she spoke to a child.

  Laticia shied, but a guilty expression hinted she had known the reason for this visit. “So sad what happened to the reverend.”

  “I understand you were seeing him. Can you tell me what about?” asked Spence.

  “I weren’t seeing the reverend.” She lit another cigarette, her hands shaking.

  “I know you were, Laticia. People saw you.”

  “Uh uh, weren’t me. Jake wouldn’t like it.” Laticia took a drag off the cigarette and held it a long time before finally blowing smoke out both her nose and mouth.

  Spence sighed. He had hoped not to need to play the cop card, but… “I’m a detective, Laticia.” The badge he produced made her pale. “I can take you in and ask my questions there. I’d rather do it here, though.”

  Tamara’s hand went to her mouth to hide a grin.

  “No. No, I can’t do that.” She took another drag and dug the toes of her shoes into thick charcoal carpet. “O-okay. I seen the reverend once or twice. Weren’t nothing.”

  “About Jake hitting you?” Spence watched for her reaction, but it wasn’t subtle; she almost fell out of her chair. “No need to lie. I can see the bruise on your face. It’s pretty obvious what’s going on here.”

  “Please, don’t do nothing.” Laticia snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray shaped like a paw and lit another.

  “I won’t. I promise. Charlie counseled you about Jake?”

  “He wanted me to leave him. Said he knew a place in Birmingham. Not one of them shelters, but a house where I could have my own space and get my shit together. Said he’d take me.” Laticia snuffed out her third cigarette in five minutes. Spence suspected the speed at which she sucked down the things must have been some sort of record.

  “Why now? I’m betting this isn’t anything new.” Tamara had remained silent, but it seemed her curiosity got the better of her.

  “I-I’m pregnant. Only a couple months. Ain’t showin’ yet, so Jake don’t know. Thank God.” She gulped down her tea, the ice cubes rattling against the glass as she trembled. “I got pregnant ‘fore. Jake made me get an abortion. I don’t wanna lose this baby.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

  “Did Jake know you were talking to my brother?”

  “No. Least I don’t think so. He’d beat me good if’’n he’d found out.”

  Spence nodded. “We’re going to help you. As soon as I find Charlie, I’m going to make it my mission in life to get you free of this bastard. You hear me?”

  The look she gave him broke his heart, and the sorrowful, yet appreciative smile melted it. He and Tamara left Laticia’s near dark and sped toward the sheriff’s department. He wasn’t certain Blatty would buy into the theory, but he had to try.

  “So, you think Jake might’ve had something to do with Charlie’s disappearance?” asked Tamara.

  “It’s the best lead I’ve had so far. I’ll chase it to its end and see where it leads.”

  Spence’s phone buzzed from the dashboard. “Yeah, Murray”

  “Spencer, it’s Sheriff Blatty.”

  “Sheriff. I was just coming to see you. I found—”

  “Spencer, listen to me. W-we found Charlie’s body.”

  Spence swerved, throwing up gravel on the road’s shoulder. “What? Where?”

  “I need you to come in. I’ll explain when you get here.” The tenor of Blatty’s voice sent cold chills racing up Spence’s spine to complement the growing knot in this stomach.

  “Sheriff, goddammit, tell me what happened to my brother.” He pounded the syllables out on the steering wheel.

  “H-he…Charlie was torn apart.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  “He did this to her after she was dead? This guy’s one sick puppy.” Bateman stood near the door, looking ready to hurl.

  “She died from a blow to the head, here.” Koop used his penlight to edge the woman’s hair back and expose a large purple contusion, split down the middle and caked with blood. “I estimate she died a good hour before he placed her in the chair. The lividity suggests she expired no more than forty-eight hours ago.”

  Marlowe received the call before breakfast, putting a damper on his appetite, along with all hope this case had reached an end. After a two-hour drive to Redwine, they arrived to find reporters blocking the narrow trail that led into the forest, requiring another thirty minutes for the team to make their way to the shack. As Marlowe strolled through the high grass, two local police stood with a group of teens.

  “What you got, officers?” asked Marlowe.

  One looked up with a surly expression that morphed as soon as she noticed the state lieutenant’s badge attached to Marlowe’s lapel.

  “These kids found the victim.” She was a short, dumpy woman, late thirties, her nose appearing flattened by a clothes iron, pits sunken deep into her cheeks.

  Marlowe eyed one teen. “What were you kids doing out here? Don’t lie to me, I see the cans.” He nodded to a clutter of beer empties near the front porch.

  The tallest, and seemingly oldest of the group, a boy of maybe fifteen with thick, black hair he needed to move out of his eyes with a constant sling of his head, shuffled his feet. “We come sometimes. Just hang out, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I get it. I was your age once too, believe it or not,” Marlowe said with a smirk. “Tell me what happened.”

  “We wasn’t doing nothing. Hanging out, like I said. Well, this old truck pulls up, so’s we high tail it out of here,” said the boy.

  “And…”

  “We came back the next night. Truck was gone, so we stayed around. Cory noticed the windows and the lock.”

  “What about them?” asked Marlowe.

  “Windows all blacked out, weren’t that way before. The lock’s busted.”

  “I see. So you went inside?”

  The boy nodded. “Yeah, the others dared me too. Scared the shit outta me, man. I ain’t never goin’
back in there. Sally ain’t stopped blubbering since.”

  Marlowe glanced at a thin rail of a girl standing in the back of the group, red-eyed and nosed. Quivering lips suggested she was on the verge of another break down.

  “Thanks for your help.”

  The boy seemed eager to get away and pivoted to his friends.

  “And guys.”

  They all looked back.

  “No more drinking in the woods. Good way to break your neck. Next time it might be one of your corpses we’re out here for.” A touch gruesome, but Marlowe wanted to drive the point home.

  He knew it would do no good. Oh, they would stay away for a time, but eventually, the fear would fade and temptation would call. Not easy to give up a good hang out spot far from the prying eyes of adults. Marlowe grinned in spite of current circumstances, remembering his own illicit youthful adventures. He and his friends had tied on more than one drunk in places much like this.

  The old shack made the perfect kill room. If not for the kids, it would have taken complete luck for anyone to find it. Bateman, still having a hard time with these scenes, stood near the door, peaked and wobbly. He nodded Marlowe through with a hand on his stomach. Marlowe couldn’t be too hard on him; it took some time to get used to these things, and if Bateman was lucky, he never would. No one should find the sight of an old woman’s body bound to a ghastly, torturous chair commonplace, or anything other than ghoulish. She sat with a series of straps at her arms, legs, thighs, and chest, holding her in place. Her mouth slacked open in a silent moan. The U-shape of the chair gave a glimpse of something metallic thrust between her legs, the inside of her thighs painted black with dried blood.

  Marlowe gritted his teeth and nodded. “Get her off that thing.”

  The sounds that accompanied extricating her body from the chair—squishing, crunching, like walking on a swarm of beetles—roiled the meager breakfast in his belly. Crimson-tipped nails protruded two inches through the wood, and the corresponding puncture wounds on the woman’s back and legs as they laid her on the floor didn’t help matters. Marlowe had seen more than his share of horror, but it never failed to bewilder him how a mind could construct such depravity. In his darkest hours, when he felt closest to madness, he had never contemplated anything near the sick acts of these twisted minds. For that, at least, he was grateful.