Kill Tide

by Timothy Fagan

  Pepper was finished poking his nose into the Greenhead Snatcher investigation.

  Well, almost finished. He walked to his desk and took thirty minutes to do a brain dump of every development in the case.

  Everything he’d learned about the local lead suspects—Casper Yelle and Scooter McCord.

  The notes he’d made from the Bailey family and Addison family interviews. The bloody scene at Dennis Cole’s house, noting he didn’t know whether it was connected to the Snatcher case. And everything that’d gone down on the ransom drop.

  Pepper included everything he’d learned along the way, no matter how irrelevant. That was something his grandfather, Papa Ryan, had taught them about police work, growing up. You’re just trying to figure out what happened. The more info you get, the better your chances.

  He also made a long note about Fester Timmins. He got it all out of his system.

  He was completing the case file because he was closing it out. He was done. And it was just for himself, so what difference did it make?

  When he finished, Pepper took a bathroom break and bumped into Officer Randy Larch, who was washing his hands.

  “Hey, young Ryan! Got any money you can loan me?” The man slapped the counter, doubled over by his own lame humor.

  So everyone knew about Pepper getting mowed down by the Greenhead Snatcher? He must be the laughingstock of…well, Cape Cod.

  “Hey, you hear we brought in Scooter McCord and Fester Timmins for questioning about why they were at the shopping center during the ransom drop?”

  “No! What’d they say?” There was no way those two guys were there by coincidence last night…

  Larch chuckled. “They both had the same story. They’d gotten an anonymous call. Someone promised to meet them there at that time to tell them valuable info about the Greenhead Snatcher. McCord said he was hoping to clear his name. Timmins claimed he’s investigating for a client whose name he can’t disclose for ethical reasons. We sweated him and he admitted he didn’t know his client’s name—someone hired him anonymously over the phone.”

  “So that was it? Do we believe them?”

  “So far we can’t prove they’re lying, but we’ll investigate further. And we picked up one other piece of info from Timmins. The mystery caller supposedly told him the location of Casper Yelle’s white van—as a show of good faith to get Timmins off his couch. And the tip was actually good. We found Yelle’s van in the employee parking area behind the Stop & Shop.”

  Pepper got excited. “Did it have any evidence connected to the Emmas?”

  “Not sure yet. Forensics is going over it right now. His parole officer, Charlie Brown, found a laptop computer with hundreds of porn pictures and videos. Some of them including underage girls. Yelle’s toast—that’s an automatic parole violation.”

  “So he’s the Snatcher!”

  Larch grunted. “Maybe. We’re looking for him right now. Sweeney and Brown went to his apartment to take him in. They found Yelle’s ankle monitor there, but no Yelle. He cut it off! But we’ve got a BOLO out for him.”

  Pepper slipped out of work for a lunch date with Delaney Lynn at his favorite place, Broken Dreams Pizza and Antiques. It had only opened last year, but it was already a local classic. Great pizza, and the entire place was full of antique furniture and other items that were all for sale.

  He made the mistake of driving the short distance to the pizza place and had to circle the block three times before he scored a parking spot. Cape Cod in July. People would pretty much kill for a parking spot on Main Street of New Albion. Pepper reminded himself to check his database when he got back to work to see whether anyone had literally killed someone over a parking spot in town…

  Delaney looked spectacular despite being dressed to go to work at Sandy’s Restaurant this afternoon. Her eyes and smile were like a one-two punch to Pepper’s chest. When she laughed, he had no choice but to grin back.

  Imagine being the guy who gets to make her smile for the rest of her life?

  “Tell me about your family,” she asked.

  So Pepper told her about his mom dying when he was not much more than a toddler. How his dad had raised him and Jake.

  Then he found himself talking about the Ryan tradition of becoming a police officer. He told her about his grandfather, Papa Ryan, and some funny stories from his long career as a Boston cop. Just to entertain her.

  “I’d love to meet him sometime,” she said.

  “He would have loved you. But he passed away three years ago.”

  Delaney reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. About him and your mother. It must have been really tough.”

  After they finished and were walking to Pepper’s truck, Delaney took his hand.

  “Too bad about the end of Brad and the Pitts, huh?” she asked. “The shortest-lived cover band in history.”

  Pepper laughed. “Maybe Brad’ll come back after all the craziness dies down.”

  “Maybe. But if I go on the road, really try to take my shot at music in Nashville, any chance you’ll come with me?” she asked, then smiled. “You could even bring Angel, if you need a comfort animal.”

  Her question momentarily stunned Pepper. He didn’t immediately say yes, but he didn’t say no. “That’s…wow. Are you really going to do it?”

  “I want to, if I can work up the guts to take the leap.”

  Pepper’s head was reeling with the idea. It was crazy, right? He could never…

  He’d committed to Harvard and hockey. Harvard! Most people would give their left nut to go there. It was the best of the best. And hopefully, Pepper would show everyone—especially the jerks like Coach Gus Bullard—that he deserved his spot.

  But he’d heard of lots of super successful people who dropped out of Harvard. Like the Facebook guy, Zuckerberg. They had bigger and better things to do.

  What if this was his bigger and better opportunity? His own path to success, with Delaney at his side. No fighting to survive at Harvard, maybe flaming out. No expectation that after college he’d enter the police academy, like Jake.

  No, Pepper could start his own future, right now.

  Nashville.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When he got back to work, Pepper stopped by the officers’ bullpen, looking for Detective Sweeney. He wanted to give him a recap of the phone conversations he’d had with the Greenhead Snatcher during the ransom drop, in case hearing it straight from Pepper helped Sweeney on his part of the overall investigation.

  Sweeney wasn’t around, but he seemed to be working out of the same cubicle as before. The watercolor painting given to Pepper yesterday morning by the upset woman was still leaning against the back wall of the cubicle desk where Sweeney had placed it.

  Had it just been yesterday?

  Between Mason Bailey’s crayon drawings last night and this woman’s watercolor, we could open a Greenhead Snatcher art exhibit, he thought.

  Then Pepper remembered he must have left Mason’s crayon drawing at the Addison house in all the chaos of the ransom drop. Which triggered another thought—had Sweeney or anyone else shown Mason the woman’s watercolor painting? Maybe Pepper could confirm whether the “roofing” man who’d pulled into the woman’s driveway on Thursday night was the Snatcher. If it was the same man, wouldn’t that give Sweeney a new line of investigation?

  And maybe the watercolor painting would trigger the boy to remember some other details about the kidnapping he’d forgotten. Some info Pepper could give to Sweeney when he told the detective he would not be getting in the way on the case anymore. A parting gift before Pepper finally stepped aside.

  “What’re you working on now?” asked a voice from over his shoulder.

  Crap!

  But it was just Zula Eisenhower. The teen had snuck up behind him and made him jump. For a split second he’d thought she was Sergeant Weisner, catching him screwing around.

  “Damn, Little Ike! You can’t be sneaking up on peopl
e!”

  “I wasn’t. I’m waiting for my dad.” She studied the watercolor painting. “It’s kind of ugly and beautiful at the same time,” she said. “Who is it?”

  “Maybe the Greenhead Snatcher. Or maybe just a roofer.”

  Zula sighed. “So you have no idea?”

  “Pretty much. But I’ve got to go.” Pepper stood.

  “Too bad. I’m so bored… Do you have any more work for me?”

  Pepper could set her up with another stack of cases to enter into the database, but he had an idea about something he hadn’t had time yet to research. “Are you good with other computer stuff?” he asked her.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Research. It might be too complicated for you.”

  Zula sighed. “Skip the reverse psychology and tell me what it is.”

  So Pepper did. He explained he wanted her to research Alistair “Scooter” McCord and the alternative name on his UK passport: Harris Ross. To pull any public records in Massachusetts for either of those names.

  “Huh,” Zula said. “Is this going to help you beat me on our bet?”

  She meant the dumb one dollar bet he’d find the two Emmas before the police. He’d forgotten about that.

  “Maybe. Do it anyway, please?”

  Zula studied Pepper for a few seconds, then smiled and pushed up her glasses on her nose. “Whatever. You obviously need all the help you can get. How do you spell the names?”

  Pepper wrote them on a sticky note for her. It would probably lead to nothing, but McCord’s dual name thing, and his passport and plane ticket for next week, itched at Pepper.

  “I’ll use your office,” Zula announced, and held out a fist for a bump. So he gave her one, playing along, and she disappeared toward his office.

  Then Pepper picked up the woman’s watercolor painting and headed for the side door.

  Pepper arrived at the Bailey home twenty minutes later. He saw a county deputy vehicle parked at the curb, so he parked two houses short of his destination.

  The officer inside the car looked a lot like Deputy Tammaro, the deputy he’d met at the roadblock when all this started. One of the few county deputies who knew him by sight. That would make it harder for Pepper to claim he was a family friend, coming over to console the family.

  As Pepper walked along the sidewalk toward the Baileys’ house, carrying the woman’s watercolor painting of the man with brown eyes, his phone buzzed.

  It was a text from Delaney: WTF??? ASSHOLE

  What? What the hell had happened?

  He texted back to her: what? Call you soon.

  She replied immediately. DON’T BOTHER! HARVARD DOUCHEBAG!!

  Crap!

  How the hell had Delaney found out about Harvard? He was going to tell her! Now he looked like an asshole. And probably he’d been one. He was planning to fix that, and now, how the heck could he? And he hadn’t lied about heading off to college. He just hadn’t mentioned it…

  Pepper tried calling her, but she didn’t answer her phone.

  Maybe he could still fix things. Go to Sandy’s Restaurant and talk to her face-to-face, right after he talked to Mason Bailey. Absolutely.

  As he approached the front door, he heard Deputy Tammaro’s voice behind him, “Hey! Hey, Ryan? Pepper Ryan?”

  But Pepper was in a grumpy mood now and he didn’t turn, he just kept walking.

  The Bailey house was a medium-sized ranch home. Broad and low. As Pepper walked up the front walk, he could see the big living room window the boy had looked out and witnessed his sister being abducted.

  Jesus, the poor kids. Both of them.

  Both of the Bailey parents answered the door.

  “We’re surprised to see you again so soon,” said Mrs. Bailey. But not actually mentioning the botched ransom drop.

  “Can I just come in for a minute?” he pleaded.

  Deputy Tammaro stood outside her vehicle with her arms crossed, watching as the Baileys let Pepper into their house.

  Okay, step one.

  They sat with Pepper in the cozy living room and treated him like a visitor. Even offered him something to drink.

  So Pepper spent a few minutes being polite too. How were they holding up? How was Mason? The family seemed to appreciate his questions.

  Then Pepper got to the point. He explained he needed to show Mason a painting in case the man in it was the kidnapper. Would they mind if he talked to the boy briefly?

  They said Mason was in his bedroom down the hall, doing some summer studies. Mainly to keep him busy and distract him from thinking about what he’d seen. Did Pepper really need to talk to him? Dredge it all up again? Mason had told the police everything, multiple times. And the ransom drop failure—that made things worse for all of them, including Mason.

  Pepper begged for just a minute. “It might help locate Emma,” he tried.

  The parents relented.

  The three of them walked down the hallway to Mason’s room. The mother knocked gently, but the boy didn’t respond. She knocked louder.

  Then she opened the door and screamed.

  Mason wasn’t in his room. A variety of toys, clothes and other kid stuff were on the floor beside the bed. And the window was half open.

  Pepper heard banging at the front door and ran down the hall to answer it.

  Deputy Tammaro stood there, handgun drawn. She pointed it at Pepper.

  He slowly put his hands up. “The boy’s gone! He was in his bedroom but it’s empty now. He might have climbed out the window and ran away. Or maybe he’s been kidnapped too.”

  Tammaro charged up the hall to the boy’s room. Pepper followed.

  The mother stood in the bedroom, crying.

  The father came jogging back down the hall. “I checked the bathroom, all the other bedrooms. I thought maybe—” He didn’t finish.

  The hair on Pepper’s neck was prickling up. Had the kidnapper grabbed Mason to eliminate the only witness? “If it was the Snatcher, he might not have gotten very far away yet,” he suggested to Tammaro.

  Tammaro lifted her shoulder radio and called in the situation to the sheriff’s office. All law enforcement in the Lower Cape would respond.

  “Now we need to search the whole house,” the deputy said, in her nearly calm voice.

  They quickly checked every room on the main floor, yelling his name, their voices overlapping.

  No sign of Mason.

  Then they thundered down the wooden stairs into the basement.

  And there, curled up on an old sofa, was Mason. He was playing video games and his eyes were glued to the TV. He had headphones on and didn’t react immediately to the sudden appearance of his parents, Pepper and Deputy Tammaro.

  The mother swept him into her arms, sobbing.

  “You scared the hell out of us,” the dad yelled at Mason. Then he hugged his son and his wife.

  Deputy Tammaro looked somewhere between relieved and humiliated. She’d called in a major emergency and it was a false alarm.

  “What’re you doing here?” Mason asked Pepper. “Did you find Emma like you promised?” The boy’s eyes lit up with hope.

  Pepper’s face was hot with shame, but he didn’t answer the boy. Even the Bailey parents looked embarrassed for him.

  “Pepper Ryan, you’re bad news,” said Tammaro, holstering her weapon. She got on her radio again, alerting Dispatch it had been a false alarm. Calling off the help. She sounded sheepish. She was relatively junior and would probably take a lot of heat for this incident.

  Pepper didn’t want her to get in trouble. It was absolutely his bad. He would take all the heat again. And no one would care that he’d screwed up because he was afraid for the boy’s safety.

  The air conditioning system kicked on in the basement with a heavy shake and groan. It sounded like the Baileys had skipped getting an annual tune-up. Blessedly, Pepper was standing directly under a vent. The cool air washed across his face, making him feel a bit better.

  For a m
oment.

  Then he remembered Mason’s bedroom. The boy’s window had been half open. Who did that if you had air conditioning?

  The Ryans didn’t have central air—his dad had always considered it a waste of money. They just opened windows and prayed for a breeze.

  “Mason, did you open your bedroom window before you came down here?” he asked gently.

  “I think you should leave now, Ryan,” said Tammaro. “You’ve caused enough chaos for one week.”

  “No way,” Mason scoffed at Pepper. “Mom says we can’t cool off the whole Cape…”

  Mason didn’t open the window?

  Pepper looked at Tammaro, then raced for the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Pepper burst into Mason’s room. The window was still halfway open, the curtains rippling in the light breeze. He looked around the bedroom. No one was there.

  Pepper saw a kid-sized bed. A small desk. Posters of Harry Potter characters all over the walls. A closet with its door open an inch. Some toys, a soccer ball, and a half-completed White Mountain puzzle which appeared to be a collage of breakfast cereals. Some clothes scattered on the floor.

  Deputy Tammaro reached the bedroom a second later. “Ryan! Get your ass out of this house now or I swear I’ll arrest you!”

  Pepper ignored her. He dropped to the floor and checked under the bed. A few socks and some comic books. And dust balls.

  “Ryan!” repeated Deputy Tammaro, louder.

  Pepper saw the Bailey parents had reached the bedroom, pausing in the doorway behind the deputy. The parents looked panicked.

  Pepper scrambled to his feet, looked around, then headed toward the closet.

  Deputy Tammaro was turning red. “Ryan, I—”

  Pepper was two feet away from the closet door, his hand coming up to grab the knob, when the door whipped open. It was a solid door, and it hit Pepper hard, knocking him backward. He stepped on the White Mountain puzzle box, which crushed and slid under his foot, almost causing him to fall.