by Dan Padavona
He climbed out of the Chrysler and stepped into the McDonald’s parking lot. The busy fast-food restaurant sat two blocks from Anthony’s apartment. The Kings would recognize his vehicle if he parked too close to his quarry, but he blended into the crowd here. Sweet scents of baked apple pies mingled with greasy fries and burgers as LeVar glanced around the lot. Nobody paid him attention, despite the dress clothes, expensive shoes, and look of wary apprehension. His paranoia heightened as he studied the hidden shadows between the vehicles.
Someone squealed. LeVar dropped below the hood and wiped the sweat off his forehead. It was just a girl skipping across the blacktop and holding her father’s hand, a boxed happy meal swinging from her arm. The father eyed LeVar as he rose out of his crouch. LeVar feigned retrieving a dropped coin and walked toward the restaurant.
When the father looked away, LeVar swerved in the opposite direction and cut down a side street lined with bars, dingy-lit restaurants, and consignment shops. He hadn’t set foot in Harmon since spring. The streets he ran in April seemed foreign to him, as if entire generations had passed while he was away. He kept his pace to a brisk walk, not wanting to draw attention. He might not recognize the faces on the street. But he bet they recognized his.
He dialed Anthony’s number again and pressed the phone to his ear as he jogged through an alley. A block ahead, the boy’s brownstone apartment grew out of the pavement like a post-apocalyptic fortress. The call went to Anthony’s message. LeVar cursed and shoved the phone into his pocket.
He needed to be careful now. The Kings had to be close.
Stopping beside a family run grocery market, he cocked his head around the corner and pulled back. Kilo and Lawson milled outside Anthony’s apartment building. LeVar had considered Lawson a friend while he ran with the Kings. But the muscular boy with the shaved head would put a bullet in LeVar’s skull without blinking, if they caught him in Kings territory.
LeVar glanced up and down the street. There had to be more gang members around, but he only saw Kilo and Lawson. Something wasn’t right. Why would the two boys hang out in front of the apartment if they’d already killed Anthony?
He ran to a parked car and knelt beside the bumper. Traffic buzzed past, the wind from passing vehicles whipping his dreadlocks. He’d forgotten Harmon’s smells—fuel, garbage, concrete, and fetid hopelessness. Maybe he’d never noticed it before. Four months of living beside a lake changed his perception of normal.
LeVar wished he’d brought a gun. Conceding to Thomas’s wishes, LeVar got rid of his weapons before he moved into the guest house. He still owned a hunting knife, which he concealed beneath his mattress. Four months of luxury hadn’t stopped LeVar from sleeping with his eyes open, a survival tactic for anyone who’d lived inside Harmon’s ganglands.
Where were the other members? Rev should be here. Not that LeVar was sorry not to see the leader of the Harmon Kings. Rev was volatile, prone to crazy decisions. LeVar recalled the time Rev’s psychotic delusions got the best of him. The Kings recruited a former college football linebacker named Derek. Rev got the crazy idea Derek was an undercover cop and pummeled the recruit behind the strip club on Fifth. Derek was a big guy. But nobody was tougher than Rev. By the time Rev finished with Derek—the other members were too scared to stop Rev—the guy’s face looked like raw meat. LeVar always wondered what became of Derek. Rev’s enemies had a funny way of disappearing.
A police officer walking his beat moved down the sidewalk, drawing Kilo’s attention. Kilo swatted Lawson’s arm and lifted his chin at the cop. Then the boys meandered down the sidewalk with their hands in their pockets until the officer passed. LeVar took advantage of the opportunity. With Kilo’s back turned, LeVar hurried around the brownstone apartment. He didn’t trust the front doors. The Kings would post someone inside. But a shattered window behind the complex allowed access to the basement.
He swung his head left and right. When he didn’t see anyone, he kicked a shard off the pane and slipped through the window, dropping hard to the concrete floor. The dress shoes did little to comfort his fall, the impact reverberating through his knees. Thick chemical cleaner scents filled the basement. A laundry room stood at the end of the hall, a dryer grinding away. He ran in the opposite direction and scrambled up the stairs, his breath held every time he moved past a blind corner. A heavy steel door opened below. Footsteps. Someone coming.
LeVar found Anthony’s floor and edged the door open. Peeked down the dimly lit corridor. Music thumped from behind a closed door, loud enough to cover his steps. His heart pounded as he approached Anthony’s apartment. He tried again to call the boy. This time Anthony picked up.
“Why the hell don’t you answer?”
“I had to hide,” Anthony said, his voice trembling. “They came through the window, so I hid in the crawlspace.”
“Who was it?”
“Dunno. Kilo and Lawson, I think.”
“They’re outside. You’re cool now. I’m coming in, aight?”
LeVar turned the knob. The idiot kid had left the door unlocked. That thought played through his head as the apartment revealed itself. Was this a setup?
Not taking any chances, he locked the door behind him and bolted it. A cluttered living room with a chipped, wooden coffee table dominated the room’s center. A green upholstered couch with tears in the fabric stood on the far side of the coffee table, large enough to hide someone with a gun.
“Anthony?”
No answer.
He crept through the living room and swiveled his gaze toward the kitchen. Saw the shadow on the wall a second before the gun barrel pressed against his temple. Anthony grinned.
“Hands in the air. Don’t make me pull the trigger, LeVar.”
LeVar complied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Saturday, August 14th
2:20 p.m.
County Line Road might have lurked a million miles from Wolf Lake. Nothing but an expanse of wilderness, interrupted by the occasional farmhouse. Thomas peered at Aguilar over the cruiser, feeling the same dread his partner did.
Cathy Webb owned a sagging, gray two-story home with a broken step leading up to the porch. An ancient swing sat in the corner, swaying ghostly when the wind blew. The grass grew past their shins, and the shrubberies circling the yard threw gangling branches toward the sky, as though praying to a malevolent god.
“Are you sure someone lives here?” Aguilar asked, angling toward the stairs.
Thomas glanced at the empty driveway. The stone path led to a tilted garage behind the house. No way to determine if the closed door hid a vehicle. Stuffed with catalogs and coupons, the mailbox hung askew beside the door. Scattered pieces of mail fluttered through the overgrown grass.
The hair stood on the back of his neck when Thomas ascended the steps, careful not to crash through the broken plank. He checked the curtained windows, certain someone watched from inside. Aguilar’s hand hovered over her gun as Thomas knocked on the door. After thirty seconds passed, he knocked again, straining his ears when a thump came from deep inside the house.
“I don’t like this,” Aguilar said.
Thomas nodded.
“Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department,” he called before banging his knuckles on the door for a third time. “Anybody home?”
The wind whistled around the eaves, a mournful sound.
“What should we do?”
“Maybe she’s out back,” Thomas said, though he doubted it. He wanted an excuse to search the backyard and peek inside the garage. “Keep your eyes open.”
Thomas and Aguilar circled the house. He used blackout curtains in his bedroom so the sun didn’t wake him after he worked overnight shifts, and the same style of curtain concealed every window on Cathy Webb’s house. There was something blocking the cellar windows.
“See that?” Aguilar pointed at the basement window.
“Looks like foam insulation. Ms. Webb is pretty secretive for a single woman living in the
boonies.”
A warped picnic table stood behind the residence. Sitting on its benches would leave the unsuspecting victim with dozens of splinters piercing his backside. No garden, no shed. It was the garage that commanded Thomas’s attention.
“Watch my back,” he said. “I’m checking for a van.”
Aguilar eyed the windows as Thomas moved toward the garage. The garage door didn’t have windows. He tugged the handle but found it locked. Next, he searched for a murder weapon. Dr. Stone had been convinced the killer murdered their Jane Doe with a pick ax. As he rounded the building, the back door opened on the decrepit two-story.
“What are you doing back there?”
Thomas and Aguilar raised their eyes. A large shouldered woman filled the doorway. Thomas couldn’t see her hands or determine if she held a gun. She stood in the shadows, beady eyes burning holes through Thomas. His heart pounded as he remembered the gangland shooting in Los Angeles, the attack that nearly killed him. The bullet had missed his spine by a hair.
“You Cathy Webb?”
“I’m Webb. Why are you on my property?”
“Sheriff Shephard, Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. This is my partner, Deputy Aguilar. We knocked first.”
“Get away from my garage. There’s nothing back there for you.”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What about?”
“Your cousin, Alec Samson.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. There was something wrong with her blocky, angular face. Despite the afternoon heat, she wore a bulky sweatshirt, rugged blue jeans, work boots, and a knit cap over her head. He swore he’d met her before, though he couldn’t imagine when.
“Alec doesn’t live here anymore.”
Thomas shared a glance with Aguilar as they approached the back stoop. The woman edged deeper into the shadow, ready to slam the door in their faces.
“I’d like to speak with you about Alec, all the same.”
Webb moved her eyes from Thomas to Aguilar. He still couldn’t see her hands. The air grew tense, the sensation one experienced before lightning struck. Thomas breathed again when Webb strode out of the house. Her callused hands weren’t strangers to yard work. She didn’t hold a gun.
“What’s Alec gone and done now? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
Thomas and Aguilar approached the woman. Her eyes darted to the garage, a giveaway there was something she didn’t want them to see.
“We want to speak with Alec.”
She scoffed.
“Good luck with that. I haven’t seen my cousin in years.”
“Our records state this is Alec Samson’s last known address,” Aguilar said.
“That’s right. Alec moved in with me after high school. Had to get away from his parents. The living situation wasn’t good for him. His family packed up and left last year. Moved to Michigan, I believe.”
“How long did Alec live with you?”
She furrowed her brow.
“A few years. Alec left three or four years ago.”
“Where is he now?” asked Thomas, peering over the woman’s shoulder at the curtained windows.
“Last I heard, he was working on one of those oil rigs off the Alaskan coast. Doubt he kept that job for long. Alec never could keep a job.”
“You haven’t spoken to him since?”
“Not a peep. But if you find my deadbeat cousin, tell him he owes me four-hundred dollars. Alec has a way of disappearing whenever he owes someone money. Knew I shouldn’t have trusted him.”
The woman scratched her scalp, wisps of short, black hair spilling from beneath the cap.
“When did you move into your house?” asked Aguilar.
“Six years ago. A year after Dawn died. I grew up in Syracuse.”
“What made you choose this area?”
Cathy Webb scowled.
“With all that was happening, I was the only family Alec had.” Her eyes glistened. “After Dawn committed suicide…the poor girl…Alec was lost. Someone needed to care for the boy.”
“Dawn’s suicide must have come as a tremendous shock to everyone,” said Thomas, softening his eyes. “Did Dawn leave a suicide note?”
“Didn’t need to. Those girls at Wolf Lake High drove her to it. Vultures, both of them.”
“Which girls, Ms. Webb?”
“Paige Sutton and Justine Adkins. They terrorized our Dawn for years, and the school did nothing to stop it. They murdered Dawn and should pay for their crimes.”
“Are you familiar with the Wolf Lake High alumni forum?”
A vein pulsed inside Webb’s neck.
“Why do you ask?”
“Ms. Webb, we saw your messages on the forum.” Webb shuffled her feet. “You’re quite upset with Paige and Justine.”
“So? Wouldn’t you be, if Paige and Justine drove your cousin to suicide?”
“But you grew up in Syracuse,” Aguilar said, setting a hand on her hip. “Your profile name is Webb-WLHS, as in Wolf Lake High School.”
Webb shrugged.
“Nothing illegal about snooping around a forum. Those girls never show their faces on the forum, anyhow. They’re guilty.”
“What can you tell us about Skye Feron, Ms. Webb?” asked Thomas. “She disappeared six years ago, around the same time you moved in.”
“If you’re implying I had anything to do with Skye’s disappearance, you’re wrong.”
“I noticed you didn’t include Skye’s name when you implicated Paige and Justine.”
The woman’s eyes bounced between the house and the garage.
“Alec didn’t mention Skye, only Paige and Justine. So I assumed they were the girls torturing our Dawn.”
“And yet Skye vanished. How would you describe your cousin? Was he ever violent while he lived with you?”
“Never. Alec wouldn’t hurt Skye.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my cousin isn’t a killer. He had a tough upbringing, and the boy went through hell with his parents and sister. But he’s not crazy.”
“How did Alec feel about Paige and Justine? He ever talk about revenge for what the girls did to Dawn?”
Webb puffed out her chest and lifted her chin.
“Alec didn’t hurt anyone, Sheriff. But I wouldn’t blame him for hating those girls. I have no regrets for calling them out on a public forum. Everyone needs to hear what they did to Dawn. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. The next time you set foot on my property, bring a warrant.”
Before Thomas or Aguilar replied, the woman turned and stomped inside the house, slamming the door in their faces.
Aguilar glanced at Thomas.
“She’s hiding something. What do you make of her story about Alec moving to Alaska and working offshore on an oil rig.”
“It makes sense. Alaska is a great place to hide, if you’re on the run. The questions I have are, what did Alec do that made him run, and did he return to Wolf Lake?”
“As much as I detest the woman, I admit I’m worried about Paige Sutton.”
“She’ll have State Trooper surveillance until we find enough bodies to monitor her house. But I agree. Paige Sutton is the only friend who hasn’t disappeared yet.”
The curtain swung shut when Thomas glanced over his shoulder. Someone was watching them from the window.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Saturday, August 14th
2:25 p.m.
“I got the fool. Get up here.”
Anthony ended the call and pushed the gun barrel against the back of LeVar’s head.
“Have a seat,” Anthony said, gesturing at the chair beside the kitchen table. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”
LeVar glared over his shoulder at Anthony.
“You sound like a cop. Why are you doing this?”
“It’s like Rev says. Nobody leaves the Kings.”
“I helped you, Anthony. I saved your ass from Rev after you mailed that pa
ckage to the press.”
During April’s murders, serial killer Jeremy Hyde approached Anthony and paid him to mail a cardboard box to the newspaper. The box contained the severed head of Hyde’s victim.
“Things changed after you abandoned us to live beside the lake. I moved up the ladder.” Anthony chuckled. “Who knows? I might have your old position before long.”
Right. Soaking wet, Anthony was half LeVar’s weight. And by the way he handled the weapon, he wasn’t good with guns. No way Rev would promote an idiot like Anthony to be his enforcer. But Anthony held all the cards now. One wrong move by LeVar, and Anthony would end his life.
Or would he?
Gunfire attracted attention in a crowded apartment building. Even if Anthony escaped unseen, he’d forever be on the run after the police investigated the murder scene. He’d never see his mother again. Despite the kid’s brash demeanor, he loved his mother and wouldn’t put her at risk by murdering a former gang member inside her kitchen.
He had to think fast. Kilo and Lawson were on the way, and Rev was probably with them. They’d lead LeVar down the stairs and take him out through the basement to avoid attention. Then they’d drive him to a remote location outside Harmon and put a bullet in his head.
LeVar stared at Anthony, focusing on the kid’s trembling hand.
“Rev won’t promote you, fool. Don’t you get it? He’s using you to get to me. As soon as this is over, he’ll get rid of you. You seen too much.”
“Shut up.”
“I ain’t bullshitting you. You know how crazy Rev is. He’s taken out smaller threats than you over the years.”
“Rev wouldn’t do me like that. After we put you down, we might take a ride over to that pretty lake house of yours. Blow holes through that pig sheriff and the pathetic crippled girl next door.”
LeVar’s muscles twitched. How dare the Kings threaten his friends? He wanted to punch the smile off Anthony’s face.
“Rev would’ve buried you four months ago over the Jeremy Hyde nonsense, if I hadn’t talked him out of it.”
“Don’t try to change my mind, LeVar. No more talking.”
