The Deepest Dark

by Joan Hall Hovey

  “Roach probably intends to use her online account, which is why he sent his errand boy out to get a laptop earlier last night,” O’Malley said.

  They’d learned from the prison warden that Ken Roach had access to a computer in prison. He was taking some college courses so he had special permission, with certain restrictions. So he was definitely computer literate.

  Al agreed. “Now that he’s figured out his toady isn’t going to be bringing one back to him— not ever — he’ll be looking at other options.”

  “Makes sense,” O’Malley said. “They have to be holed up somewhere. They’d be afraid to show their faces in the open since they’ve been plastered on TV, and those flyers are posted on utility poles and in store front windows across the country.”

  Surveillance on Karen Rawling’s movements was crucial right now, Al thought. They had a car watching her house. Those animals were set on getting their hands on the money and if the computer idea didn’t work out, it was a good bet she’d be hearing from them, if she hadn’t already. They’d put a tracking device on her car. He didn’t trust her to let him know if she got the call. Al looked at his watch. They’d already put the bank manager in the loop and everything was set. He would call them as soon as she got there to let them know the amount of the ransom demand. The money would be handed over to Karen’s sister, without alerting her that anything was out of the ordinary. Now it was just a matter of waiting to see how things went down.

  “Doesn’t sound too good for Abby Miller,” O’Malley said.

  Al said nothing. There was really no reason to even believe she was still alive, but he prayed she was. Prayed that Karen Rawling had insisted on talking to her. More victims on a steel slab they didn’t need. He thought about Sally and wondered how Betty was coping now that there was just the two of them in the house.

  The sun had come out, foiling the weather man yet again. He absently glanced over at O’Malley’s hands on the wheel and made the observation that the fine hairs on the backs of O’Malley’s hands, were red, glistening in the sun like fine copper wires. Al put his sunglasses on. He hoped it was a good omen.

  Chapter 27

  Sally sat at Betty Clair’s kitchen table sipping the herbal tea Betty had made her— her own favorite— ginger with a touch of lemon. She stroked the Siamese cat curled up on her lap. “Her name is Rita Joe,” she told Sally, “after a famous Mi’kmaq poet.” “I’ve heard of her,” Sally said. “I don’t think I’ve read her work though.” She told her about her own pet, Tara, her only family now that her parents were gone. Betty said she would be a great comfort to her. It seemed a trite remark hearing it out loud, and she wished she could take it back. But Sally seemed to have no issue with it, and gave a thin smile of agreement.

  Having paid their respects, and after pressing hugs and offers of condolence on Sally last night, the last of the other guests had left. Betty had persuaded Sally to stay over. It was a rough two days. At one point today, Sally spotted the flyer with the three escapees sitting on the counter and broke down at the sight of those monsters. Betty cursed herself for forgetting it was there. It took a while to calm her down. But it wasn’t just the flyer. Sally would be relatively composed for a while, even sharing warm memories of her parents with Betty, and then she would dissolve into tears again. Right now, Sally appeared composed, but Betty knew she was fragile, not so surprising. She knew what Sally was going to say even before she said it. She was leaving.

  “I really appreciate your letting me stay with you, Betty,” she said. “We are practically strangers but you made me feel less alone. You made me welcome in your home. Thank you for that. But I have to go now. I hope you understand. I need to go — back home.”

  “But there’s no need.” She stretched an arm across the table and covered Sally’s hand with her own. “Why do you need to go now? You said your neighbor is taking care of Tara.”

  “Yes. But I have to get to work,” she told Betty. “But please know that I’m grateful for your kindness. I just...”

  “Why don’t you give yourself a little time, Sally,” she cut in, hoping to persuade her. “A few more days just to rest, to gain some strength. I know how difficult — well, I don’t really, but I can imagine. Stay here. Treat this as your own home.” She gave a wave of her hand, taking in the warm kitchen with its high ceiling beams, wooden cabinets, hanging green plants, various native artifacts, like the mask of the Indian Chief on the wall, the wall-hanging of the deer leaping through a misty forest. “There’s lots of room.”

  “No. You’ve done enough. You have your own life, your work.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You can stay here as long as you want. Al’s working hard on this case and not in the office much, so I do have to get back to work. I’ve got someone taking over dispatch, but I try not to take advantage. But you don’t have to leave. Maybe some time alone here will help you.”

  “No. I need to go home now.”

  “Look, it’s nearly ten o’clock at night, not a good time to be on the road. Go in the morning if you still want to. Like I said, you’ll have the place to yourself, no one to bother you...”

  But Sally would not be dissuaded. “Thank you, but no. You’ve been more than kind to me, Betty, and I appreciate it more than you know. But the sooner I get back to Halifax and pick up what’s left of my life, the better. Work will be good for me.” She carried her mug to the sink and rinsed it under the hot water tap. Her back to Betty, who had followed her, she said, “And I kind of like driving at night. Not as much traffic on the road.”

  Betty didn’t push. The girl was at loose ends, couldn’t sit still. She understood. She looked so fragile, so emotionally battered. Maybe she was right about getting back to work. Work was often the answer. It had been so in her own case. She hugged Sally goodbye and wished her strength in the coming days and weeks and months. “Stay in touch. And if there’s anything you need, anything I can do for you, anytime...”

  “Thank you. And please thank Al for me. I don’t know what I would have done without you both. Mom and dad would thank you too — if they could.”

  Betty lay gentle hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “They’re with you, Sally. I believe that, with all that’s in me. They will never leave you.”

  Sally only nodded sadly, tears trembling on her lashes. Five minutes later, her car pulled out of the yard.

  Chapter 28

  The night light was on when Al turned into the drive. He sat for a few minutes before getting out of the car. He shouldn’t be bothering her this time of night. Maybe she was asleep.

  The door opened before he got to it. “Hey. You look beat.”

  “I’m okay. Just needed...”

  “Come on in, Al.” She stepped back from the door. She was still wearing her jeans and a loose sweatshirt. The braid hung over one shoulder. Man, she was a sight for sore eyes.

  “You want a drink?”

  “A beer if you’ve got it. Sally’s gone, eh? Didn’t see her car in the drive.”

  “She needed to go. I couldn’t talk her out of it. She won’t ever be coming back here, Al.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. She took two beers out of the fridge and handed him one. The bottle was frosty cold.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Al loved the sound of her voice. It had a rich, dusky quality, like one of those movie actresses of the 1940’s. “Me, too.”

  “Give me your jacket.”

  He did. “Betty, I...”

  “Relax, Al. Let me get into something more comfortable.” With that, she left him. Al sat on the couch in the living room, nursing his beer and fighting off a swarm of anxiety bugs in his gut. He didn’t know if he was ready for this. But he wanted to hold her in his arms, to be close. No question of that. But he...

  Suddenly she was standing in the doorway, and he had to grin, all the anxiety seeping out of him. She was wearing a red flannel bathrobe and doggie slippers, tongues lolling out. She g
rinned back at him. “So, you were expecting maybe Victoria’s Secret?”

  He shook his head. “Come, sit by me.”

  She did. He put an arm around her shoulders. She smelled nice. She’d brushed her hair loose. It was thick and shiny black, but for the few white streaks in front, wavy from the braid. He studied the bottle in his hand, then met her eyes. “Betty, I like you — a lot. I do. Maybe more than that. But I...”

  “I don’t need more than that, Al. Nights I fantasized about you, it was always you just holding me close. Kissing me.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  He drew her into his arms and they stayed like that for a long time. No one would ever take Emily’s place, he knew that. But he realized Betty was carving out her own place in his heart.

  They were in Betty’s queen-size bed, sleeping the sleep of the contented, when his phone rang. Al reached for his pants on the floor and dug his phone out of his pocket. Betty sat up and touched his shoulder, kissed the back of his neck. He reached back and laid a possessive hand on her bare, smooth thigh as he answered.

  It was O’Malley.

  They had another body.

  Chapter 29

  Big Jim Ellison, torturer and murderer of little girls, wouldn’t be hurting anyone else. There was blood spatter just about everywhere in the vicinity of the bed. Al walked around it, careful not to touch anything or walk on any blood spots. But he could see that the blood on the sheets and blankets was already stiffening. Like Ellison. He’d been dead for approximately four or five hours. The medical examiner could give a more accurate time.

  The owner of the motel was standing in the doorway, her hand over her mouth, her face damn near as white as her hair.

  Forensics hadn’t arrived yet. Good.

  “What made you check out the room, ma’am?” Al asked her.

  “I got a complaint from one of the guests. A young fella plays guitar and sings. Billy’s performing at Kelly’s bar this week; he stays here when he’s in town. He said it sounded like there was more than just two guests in here. I checked a man and his wife into this room. The man signed them in as Mr. and Mrs. Jake Lenihan.” She let out a big sigh and hugged herself. Probably to keep from shaking. “Anyway, Billy knocked on their door earlier after hearing what sounded to him like someone getting beat up. The guy apologized through the door and said his wife had had a nightmare. Then later Billy — that’s Billy Watkins — said he had a feeling something had gone wrong. It got quiet all of a sudden. Then he heard a woman scream. The scream had got cut off.”

  Al had already talked with Billy Watkins and the story was pretty much as he’d said.

  A few of the guests were hovering around in the hallway in robes and pajamas. Some had already checked out, thinking a murderer was breaking into rooms and killing people. Two of the couples, his cop’s instinct told him, were hookers and their Johns — one very nervous John who Al figured had a wife — but Al had more important things on his plate. Al interviewed each one and took names and addresses, but didn’t detain them; he was pretty certain he knew who Jim Ellison’s killer was.

  “This sure isn’t good for business,” Dolly Andrews said. “I know it isn’t the Ritz, but it’s a living, you know? A widow has to make a living.”

  He nodded and patted her shoulder.

  “People forget,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”

  Though if it were indeed the Ritz, it might not be all right.

  Al had already bagged the pills, drops and cotton balls that were sitting on the back of the toilet which he concluded were for Ellison’s eye. Donnie Leaman had purchased them from the Malcolm Barry at the drugstore. He picked up a bloody towel in the corner and dropped it into a brown paper bag. Then he plucked swatches of coffee brown hair he assumed were Abby Miller’s, out of the waste can and bagged them. There’d be some good prints on the cups and the glass, but dusting for other prints would be a waste of time, considering all the people who stayed here over time.

  “Did anyone see the couple who booked this room, leaving?”

  “No. I must have been in the washroom when they took off, or I would have seen them. One of the guests — you already talked to her I think — mentioned a couple who passed her in the hall, but she didn’t get a look at them.”

  ~*~

  Driving in the direction of Erinville Mall, Abby kept an eye out for Karen’s silver Toyota even knowing there wouldn’t be any chance whatever of her getting here this fast. They’d put in the night parked in some vacant lot in a car he stole from the motel parking lot. Apparently no stranger to hot-wiring cars, himself.

  They stopped at a McDonald’s drive-through and he ordered Egg McMuffins and coffees. She managed only a couple bites of hers, but welcomed the hot coffee. Other cars moved in behind them, gave their orders. She imagined herself hitting the horn, screaming, trying to run, but simply sat. She’d made the call to Karen; now she had to see it through.

  As for Ken Roach, there was a new boldness in him. He’d talked himself into believing everything was going his way now. And maybe it was, though she couldn’t see how. Or it could be he was just losing what little rationality he had left. Right now he was calm, almost cheerful as he enjoyed his breakfast, giving anyone who happened to look in their direction the impression they were just an ordinary couple having a friendly meal at McDonalds.

  Finished eating he told her to pull up close to a garbage bin, then tossed the phone into it through the open window.

  They drove on.

  Pedestrians were hurrying along the sidewalk in both directions, heading for work or perhaps going shopping. Stores were opening. One cotton-candy haired woman in a peppermint pink uniform was just unlocking a door to a hair salon, casting a long shadow across the sidewalk. The sun was rising. It would be a nice day. Karen had promised to be at the back of the mall parking lot, where they had abandoned the Honda, but over a knoll and nearer the tracks. She would have the money with her. Where in hell does she plan to get it? Abby wondered, as she eased up on the gas and came to a stop behind a yellow school bus. Two little girls got on, and she immediately thought of Ellie and her heart contracted. Seconds later, she slowed for an elderly woman crossing on the crosswalk, with a walker.

  As she waited for her to cross, a sleek black cat padded up a narrow alleyway on her right, between a dry-cleaners and a bakery. A police car sped past her, soon disappearing from her rear view mirror.

  Ken Roach looked over at her and grinned. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll soon have my money and you’ll be on your way home with your sister. I expect you’ll even get your car returned to you in a day or two. It’s all good.”

  She heard a trace of mockery in his voice. He had no intention of letting her live. She knew where he was going once he had the money. She even knew the name of the bank In Mexico where he had his account. So no way he could leave her behind with that kind of damning information.

  Chapter 30

  “No, we’re not going to the police,” Karen said adamantly. “I’m going to go to the bank and get the money. And then I’ll take it to him.”

  “How in hell are you going to do that?” Pete replied, incredulous. “Mortgage the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is crazy, Karen. I’m calling the police.”

  She grew very solemn and in a tone that left no doubt she meant every word, she said, “If you do that, Pete, and anything happens to Abby, we’re done.”

  Pete heaved a sigh of defeat. “Shit. Okay, I’ll go to the bank with you.” He put on his jacket.

  “Good. I’ll need you to sign the papers.”

  ~*~

  The Rawlings were ushered into the bank manager’s office.

  “Please, sit down, Mrs. Rawling, Mr. Rawling,” Gordon W. Henderson said, half-rising from his chair, gesturing to the black leather chairs angled in front of his desk.

  Mr. Henderson was an older man, always perfectly turned out in a suit and tie. Today the suit was a pin-stri
pe grey, charcoal and red tie, matching handkerchief peaking from his breast pocket. His grey hair grew in a semi-circle on his head, nothing on top, wire-rimmed glasses. He smiled at her. “On the phone you mentioned you were interested in a mortgage.”

  “Yes,” she said, aware of Pete sitting quietly beside her, hands folded in his lap. “Five-hundred thousand dollars.” She sat ramrod straight in the chair, her hands clutching the strap of the purse, in her lap. I will demand, beg, whatever I have to do. Abby’s coming home.

  “Five hundred thousand,” he repeated, seeming not at all taken aback by the amount. He removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then put the glasses back on and glanced down at the folder. “Your house is assessed at $325,000.00 ...”

  The phone on his desk rang. He picked up, listened, hung up. “Will you excuse me just for a moment.”

  Neither Karen nor Pete spoke while he was gone.

  He was back quickly. “Sorry. Just something I had to attend to. Now, let’s see about this mortgage.”

  Back behind his desk, he smiled again. “I understand you’ve done quite a bit of work on the house.”

  “Yes,” Pete now offered eagerly, leaning slightly forward in his chair, but with some bewilderment. “New wiring, new roof. Some other...”

  The bank manager listened and nodded. When Pete finished listing all the improvements on the property, he said. “I’ll approve the mortgage.”

  There was silence in the office.

  “Thank you,” Karen said, struggling not to burst into tears with the tide of relief that washed through her. But it wasn’t over yet. “I need the money in cash,” she said. “And I — I need it now.”