Kill Tide

by Timothy Fagan

  Pepper had to lie, right? If he got caught, would his own dad have him arrested for obstruction of justice? For giving a false statement?

  What was the alternative? Admit he’d been nosing around the investigation and spilling confidential info?

  Then he probably wouldn’t get arrested—his dad would just kill him.

  For better or worse, Pepper lied in his official statement. Not entirely. He told Eisenhower more than he’d told his dad. He told about meeting Dennis Cole at the Beachcomber on Thursday night. How he’d offered to help Pepper and the others get to the next level with their music. That he’d said he had industry contacts.

  He admitted talking with Cole about the Greenhead Snatcher investigation, at a high level. That Cole was intent on the need for someone to catch the kidnapper soon. And that he had his own theories about the case.

  Pepper didn’t admit he’d looked at Dad’s files and told Cole the names and addresses of current suspects in New Albion. He didn’t mention the list of local Emmas he’d been planning to hand over to Cole. And he left out that Cole thought he knew who the Snatcher was.

  Yep, he skipped all the terrible stuff.

  Eisenhower didn’t ask too many questions. He just recorded Pepper’s statement and said they would transcribe it. Later, Pepper would need to make any corrections, then sign it.

  Pepper left the police station. Once he reached his truck, he began shaking.

  He had just screwed himself, but what else could he have done?

  Pepper wondered what the hell he had been thinking. The girls getting snatched, the hunt for the Greenhead Killer, this was not a game. He had been messing with life and death.

  And Pepper believed, even if the police didn’t yet, that the Greenhead Snatcher wasn’t just a kidnapper. He was probably a killer now too. Dennis Cole’s killer. Pepper felt a cold grip on his spine.

  Whoever the Snatcher was, he must have believed Cole was closing in on him, or already had him cornered, so he’d attacked Cole at his home. It was the only thing which made sense. No way was it was a coincidence.

  Thank God that Cole hadn’t sent Pepper too many detailed texts. Would Eisenhower or Detective Musto demand Pepper’s texts? He pulled out his phone and reviewed his texts back and forth with Cole. They were pretty mild. Nothing that said aha, Pepper was a liar.

  Nothing that was evidence of how he felt deep down—that Dennis Cole’s disappearance and probable death was his fault.

  Absolutely his fucking fault.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Emma Bailey’s mouth was so dry. Her empty stomach was clenched up like a fist. Time was drifting, like in a dark, bad dream.

  Because of the ball gag in her mouth, she had to breathe through her nose. She focused on her breathing, in and out, trying not to cry. Trying to think of what she could do to help her situation.

  It was probably the next evening when Shrek came back. He took off their eye and mouth coverings and switched them from the short bike chains to the long bike chains. The man was still wearing his stupid mask, and in the light of his lantern he looked somewhere between ridiculous and terrifying.

  Emma said nothing to the man. It was one of the other few things she could control. Screw him.

  After a bathroom break, Shrek came back to where they stood by their spots and said to Emma, “Are you done being silly? You ready to eat and drink?”

  She was fairly low energy at that point. She tried to spit at him, but her mouth was too dry. “You suck!” she croaked at him.

  New Emma began eating and drinking, her head down low. Trying to stay out of it.

  Whatever. “Maybe we haven’t been fair,” Emma said to New Emma. “So what if Shrek seems like a smelly, socially backward, capital L loser? Maybe he’s so much more than that.”

  New Emma didn’t even slow her eating to answer.

  “Hey, you think his circus left town and he got left behind?” asked Emma.

  Neither of them responded.

  Emma’s stomach cramped at the sight of the food. She clenched her teeth. Was she being stupid, holding out? Was she doing anything other than weakening and hurting herself? Her original idea, that she was taking back power by not eating and drinking, now seemed dumb.

  “I have a little job for you both today,” Shrek said. “Behave yourselves and I’ll show you my appreciation.”

  Emma didn’t want him showing her anything, the perv. “I’m not helping you with jack!”

  Shrek gave her leash a hard shake. “Aren’t you worried about your families, how sad they are? That they’re wondering if you’re even alive? Well, good news—I’m letting you write notes to your families.”

  Emma was suddenly excited. She knew her parents would be beyond desperate, and a note from her would be pure gold.

  He gave them each a stubby little pencil and a piece of paper with a chunk of cardboard to use as a desk.

  “Start your note by saying, ‘I love you, Mom! I love you, Dad!’ Then you need to add something which makes it clear the note is from you. Something only you and your family would know.”

  “You should just let us text them,” Emma suggested. “That’s, like, how I always talk to them. You still have my phone?”

  Shrek laughed through his mask. “No phones.”

  So Emma did what he said. She put the first stuff like he said, which she would have wanted to say, anyway. Then she wrote: “I miss Mason. I miss Sunshine and if she could climb down in my arms, I would wrap her in such an iron hug. I am okay but am super PMS, so watch out, haha. Love, Emma”

  Emma handed the note to Shrek, and he read it slowly.

  “You have a dog named Sunshine?”

  Emma was trying to send a clue to her parents in the cops or whatever that she was somewhere with no sunlight. She had actually decided to pretend “Sunshine” was a dog, but in that split second she wondered if Shrek had been watching her house for a bunch of days before he grabbed her. If yes, he’d know they didn’t have a dog.

  “Sunshine’s my stuffed bear. I’ve had her since I was two.” Would Shrek fall for it?

  The man grunted and took New Emma’s note from her hand. He read hers too, but asked no questions.

  Emma tucked the stub of pencil into the waistband of her skinny jeans. Could she use it as a weapon? It was better than nothing. If he didn’t remember to take it back… “So what’s our reward?” Emma asked Shrek.

  He took something out of a bag. It was a small chocolate cake. New Emma squealed.

  Oh my God. Emma’s stomach lurched and a little saliva flooded her mouth.

  “See?” asked Shrek. “You cooperate and good things happen for you.”

  “Thanks, I’m all set.” Emma barely got the words out.

  Shrek didn’t fight her on it. He just watched as New Emma ate and drank. He calmly returned them to their short bike chains and zip-tied their hands and feet again.

  Then Shrek squeezed the corners of Emma’s jaw, forcing her mouth open a bit, and slowly poured the chalky water into her mouth. He held her head in place so she couldn’t avoid it. She wanted to spit it out but found herself swallowing. Cold, delicious chalky water. It tasted amazing.

  Shrek patted her cheek. “This may sound sudden, since we only just met,” he said. “But I’m kind of already in love with both of you.”

  Oh my God. “Seriously?” answered Emma, not thinking. “I think I love you too! Crazy, right? I love bad breath and creepy old guys with b.o. We’re, like, perfect together!” And she laughed as cruel and harsh as she could.

  Shrek pointed his finger at her face, up close. “I hope your bitchiness is a PMS thing, because we won’t put up with that attitude much longer.”

  She looked her captor in the eye. “Put your finger near my face again—you won’t be able to count to ten anymore.”

  The man shoved into place Emma’s eye covering and her mouth gag. “Your daddies better love you,” he said, his voice a pissed-off growl, close above her. “They’re ge
tting a chance to pay a ransom tonight, and they better hand over the cash with no trouble. Or this Shrek mask’ll be the last thing you ever see.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Later that night, Pepper sat at home in his bedroom, noodling on his guitar. Not playing anything more than random chord progressions and not playing very well. His conscience was eating at him like acid.

  He’d lied to his dad. He’d lied in an official police statement.

  He’d broken the law.

  And he’d helped get Dennis Cole killed. Assuming he was dead. Which was a pretty damn safe assumption, he thought, based on all the blood he’d seen…

  Brad St. John had called Pepper earlier, completely freaking out. He’d said he didn’t know if it was Cole’s blood or if Cole had killed someone, but either way Brad was heading home to New Jersey to visit his folks. Maybe permanently. Brad and the Pitts was officially going on hiatus, Brad had announced somberly. Pepper had listened and mostly commiserated, playing dumb. And feeling horrible.

  By 9:30, Pepper couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to tell his dad the truth. How Cole was trying to get info from Pepper—but he hadn’t given too much yet… And how Cole had been investigating the Greenhead Snatcher and might have gotten close enough that the criminal killed him. Pepper needed to come clean because the guilt of lying to his dad was eating him up.

  He checked downstairs. As he expected, his dad wasn’t home. Neither was Jake.

  He called his dad’s cell phone. No answer.

  He called the police station. The night desk sergeant said his dad was at the Addisons’ house.

  Pepper couldn’t wait. He had to talk to him now, spill his guts completely. He couldn’t take it anymore.

  On the way, he stopped at Daggs Deli and picked up two turkey subs. As if he was just a good son trying to make sure his father was getting enough food. Completely innocent. Pepper could pull his dad aside for fifteen minutes while he ate and tell him everything. Ask for forgiveness. Get his ass kicked. Whatever. This had to end tonight.

  He arrived at the Addisons’ house a little after 10:30. As luck would have it, Officer Randy Larch was stationed at the front door.

  Larch greeted Pepper, but said, “Kid, you don’t want to bug your old man right now, no way. It’s ground zero in there.”

  “What’s up?”

  Larch looked over his shoulder at the closed door. “The Snatcher’s going to call any minute to set up the ransom drop. It’s a full house—both Emma families, local, state and federal officers, the whole nine yards. A real shitshow.”

  Pepper gave his most disappointed face and showed his turkey subs. “I just brought these for Dad. He didn’t get dinner. Probably missed lunch too.”

  “From Daggs? I haven’t had dinner yet either,” said Larch, swallowing.

  Hmm… “I bet my dad doesn’t really need both subs. One for him and how about you take this one? You mind extra mayo?”

  Larch’s hand was shaking as he snatched the turkey sub from Pepper’s hand, and without another word Pepper was quickly through the front door.

  Okay. Now he had to find his dad quickly. He just needed a few minutes to get everything off his chest. Was that too much to ask?

  The living room was full of Bailey and Addison family members and some law enforcement officers. Pepper’s dad wasn’t there, so Pepper kept moving, acting confident, like he belonged.

  He found his dad in the kitchen, talking with a pair of men in suits that screamed FBI. The first agent was taller and dark-haired. The second was shorter with blond hair. They were both thick with muscles, and their square jaws were blue with five o’clock shadows. Together they looked like those old cartoon characters, Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble, but Pepper didn’t share that sharp observation out loud. Not situationally appropriate.

  “No, no…” his dad said when he noticed Pepper. He looked exhausted from the long hours and the stress. The FBI agents ignored Pepper and his dad didn’t introduce him.

  “I heard you missed lunch and dinner,” said Pepper, trying to sound innocent. Holding up the turkey sub.

  His dad gave him a heavy glare. “You came here to feed me? You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s turkey, extra mayo, just like you like it.”

  His dad took the sub. “Okay, thanks. Now you need to go.”

  “No problem. I was hoping to talk to you first. Real quick?”

  “Not now,” said his dad through clenched teeth. “Pepper, I swear to God, I’ll—”

  So, this was not the time for a full confession. Damn. He thought his dad might pull out his handcuffs any second.

  Pepper backed out of the kitchen. He was walking back toward the front door when voices in the living room got louder. Curiosity won out, and he poked his head in.

  He saw the Bailey parents sitting with their boy, Mason, who had crayons spread out on the coffee table and was drawing something while ignoring all the adults. The Addison parents were sitting nearby. Pepper recognized a deputy sheriff and possibly a state policeman.

  “Pepper Ryan?” asked Mrs. Addison, sounding like a hostess at a party that’d gotten out of her control.

  He said hello to her with a little wave, also making eye contact with the other Emma parents. He really felt like he was intruding now.

  “I’m sorry, you should probably go,” whispered Mrs. Addison. “We’re waiting for—”

  “Nancy!” interrupted Mr. Addison as the two FBI officers came into the living room.

  “We need to open the box early,” said the taller agent. The one Pepper thought of as Agent Flintstone. “It’ll give us a tactical advantage. There’s no way the kidnapper will know.”

  Pepper processed all of this, standing silent. The Snatcher must have sent a box to the families, something related to the ransom drop.

  Questions and comments broke out among the Emma parents, but shortly they all agreed.

  “We’ve already scanned the box for explosives,” said Agent Rubble, the shorter guy. “But as an extra precaution…” The two agents moved past Pepper into the front hall, and he slid into the living room to get out of their way. He watched the agents carry the box into the dining room and set it on the floor. Agent Flintstone took out a small knife, not much bigger than the silly little knife Delaney won for Pepper on their mini-golf date. Had that only been yesterday? Unreal.

  The agents delicately opened the box, then brought it back into the living room and took out the contents.

  A red duffel bag first. Then a cheap burner cellphone.

  “Do your thing,” Agent Rubble instructed a technician. “Location tracking and call tracing.”

  Agent Flintstone also pulled out two pieces of paper from the box. “Notes,” he said. “Maybe from the girls.”

  “Oh my God!” said Mrs. Bailey, reaching for them.

  “Hold on, hold on,” said Agent Flintstone. He took a pair of tweezers and held up one note. “Don’t touch them, we have to scan for fingerprints and DNA. Do you recognize the writing?”

  The two notes were written in pencil on small pieces of paper. “This is from our Emma,” said Mrs. Addison.

  Flintstone laid the letter on the table and everyone gathered around. Pepper saw his dad on the other side of the group—he didn’t seem to notice his son was still there.

  The printed note from Emma Addison said she loved her parents and sister and she just wanted to be home. That she even missed her work at Sandy’s.

  “You’re sure it’s her writing and sounds like her?” asked Agent Flintstone.

  The Addisons were sure.

  The Baileys were studying the second note and Pepper saw they both began crying. The little boy, Mason, didn’t cry—he just kept coloring.

  “It’s definitely from our Emma, but she sounds kind of weird,” said Mr. Bailey.

  “Weird how?” asked Rubble.

  “This bit about Sunshine. Like it’s a pet, but we don’t have one.”

  “A friend’s ni
ckname? A stuffed animal?”

  Both of Emma Bailey’s parents shook their heads.

  “And the PMS thing?” added Mrs. Bailey. “It’s strange she’d mention that. She’s never complained about PMS to me.”

  Another of the FBI technicians took the red duffel bag and began sewing a micro tracking device in the bag’s seam.

  Pepper’s pulse raced. The FBI would grab the bastard at the money drop and they’d recover the Emmas soon after. He felt it in his gut.

  “Maybe your daughter’s trying to send us clues about where she’s being held. We’ll get our analysts on it.”

  Pepper was leaning against a wall, trying to stay invisible, when Mason Bailey came over to him. “Hey, I did what you said. I told the detectives everything I remembered later about the greenhead guy.”

  “Good job!” said Pepper, and he meant it. Hopefully it would make the boy feel a little better that he’d helped.

  “This is the best I could do,” said Mason. He handed Pepper a piece of paper. It was a drawing of what had to be the moment the Greenhead Snatcher kidnapped his sister Emma. A basic van. A smaller person on the ground, Emma. A creature with a green head looming over her.

  It was not much more detailed than a stick figure drawing, but it somehow captured the energy of the moment. The violence and panic.

  “That’s great,” Pepper told the boy.

  “You keep it,” Mason said. “And don’t forget what you promised!”

  Shit. Obviously the boy remembered.

  “Promised what?” asked Mr. Addison, who was leaning against the wall nearby.

  Pepper gave the boy a hug and whispered, “Let’s keep that promise a secret, okay?”

  At that moment the burner phone rang on the living room table where the technician was working on it.

  Agent Flintstone told Mr. Addison to wait until the fifth ring, to help sell the fiction they hadn’t opened the box until it rang.