Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  She glanced at his feet.

  “They aren’t that big.”

  “They get in my way all the time,” he said.

  They glanced up at the same time. Their gazes met and held. He wanted to help her. Because his gut said she was worth helping.

  “Maybe you should tell me how it feels to walk in your shoes.”

  “If I did, would you…” She looked down.

  “I would do everything I could to—”

  The lawyer walked back in and glared at Adam and then JoAnne. “I told you not to speak to him without me!”

  * * *

  At noon, Mark’s headache was still hanging on. He’d given the homicide detectives a few leads to follow.

  He’d spoken to Connor twice. The Reeds’ lawyer had attended the interviews and stepped all over his questions. Doris Roberts showed up drunk and hit on Connor. And JoAnne Lakes appeared willing to talk before the lawyer intervened.

  Mark wondered if he should try to speak to her on Annie’s behalf, but Brown would flip.

  He had stopped by Officer Ruffin’s place twice. The man still wasn’t there. He left his number and a message for Ruffin to call him.

  Roger Duncan and two cadaver dogs were waiting when he got to the parking lot.

  “You’re early.” Mark approached the forty-year-old lab tech.

  “It’s a bad habit of mine,” Roger said. His two dogs, one a mixed-breed German shepherd and the other a Lab-and-poodle mix, sat perfectly still, bracketing him. His passion was working his dogs. Mark thought he probably should see if Roger couldn’t help him train Bacon.

  He’d used Roger’s dogs twice. The last time had been a wash, but the time before hadn’t. Considering it’d been twenty-four years since Jenny went missing, Mark wasn’t holding his breath. But Roger swore the dogs smelled bones, not just decomp.

  “Are we doing just a few grids or are we doing the whole park?” Roger wiped a cloth over his forehead.

  “I have a grid.” The muggy heat dampened Mark’s brow. This wasn’t going to be fun.

  An hour later, drenched in sweat, they’d walked Mark’s grid and the dogs hadn’t found anything. The thick trees seemed to hold in the heat and humidity, making it feel like a sauna.

  “Let’s call it a day,” Mark said.

  “Why don’t we head north of your parameter for a few minutes?”

  Mark had forgotten how obsessed Roger was to make a find. “Sure,” he said.

  Ten minutes later both dogs barked and marked the same spot.

  Had they really found Jenny?

  Chapter Thirty

  Mark called in the cavalry. Within an hour, Stone and his team were there digging.

  Only a few feet into the dig, Mark, sipping the cold water Stone had brought, heard footsteps. Connor walked down the trail.

  “We got anything?”

  “Not yet,” Mark said.

  “How did the last interviews go?”

  “Each one worse than the other. Sam and George Reed are bastards.”

  “The sheriff pretty much told me that,” Mark said.

  “They are all hiding something,” Connor said. “But they’d practiced their stories. Not one word differed between them.”

  “Did you talk to them all?”

  “All but Karen Reed and Jenny’s mother, Sarah. The lawyer insisted she was disabled and it’d upset her too much.” Connor frowned. “What makes a whole family like that so messed up? The most normal one is Annie’s mom.”

  Mark ran a hand through his hair, soaked with sweat. “I don’t know.”

  A clunk echoed from the hole. Stone called for the shoveling to stop. He got on his knees, took what looked like a small broom and swished at the dirt.

  Roger, beaming with pride, came to stand by Mark. “My dogs are good.”

  Stone kept brushing. The low swish swish filled an unnatural silence. Even the wind stopped, as if in reverence for what was about to be unearthed.

  The air in Mark’s lungs grew heavy. It would just be bones after all these years, but he didn’t want to see it.

  Stone leaned down to see what he’d uncovered. Shaking his head, he got to his feet and met Mark’s gaze. “It’s an alligator snapping turtle.”

  “Damn,” Roger said. “Turtle and human bones smell alike.”

  * * *

  Annie, book in hand, sat down at her favorite Tex-Mex place. She was thrilled Isabella had reconnected with Jose, but she missed their dinners together. She missed her mom. Missed her father.

  She missed Mark.

  But she had a book. A good book. She loved this author.

  Opening it, she read one page then set it down. She couldn’t read. Couldn’t concentrate. She’d barely eaten in three days. She was a mess.

  She’d come so close to calling Mark. Wanting to be held by him, comforted by him. Wanting to hold him, to comfort him. She no longer felt anger. She felt hurt and lonely. And her gut said he was feeling the same thing. She also remembered something he’d said about proving she wasn’t crazy. Had that been the booze talking?

  Reaching for a chip, she scooped up a big dollop of guacamole and put it in her mouth. It actually tasted good. As she was working on her second chip, her phone rang.

  Hoping it was Mark, she snagged her phone.

  It wasn’t Mark’s number on the screen. She didn’t recognize it.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Hello,” she answered.

  “Annie…” The line kept going in and out. “You…” The voice was female, but Annie hadn’t gotten enough of it to recognize it.

  “Hello?” Static filled the line and her head. “Who is this?”

  The call went silent. Dead silent.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. Fear curled up in the pit of her stomach. She looked at the number again. She didn’t recognize it. But the caller had used her name. Who was it?

  She started to call Mark, but to say what? She’d gotten a call with static. It could be nothing.

  Or it could be a murderer.

  Chills pooled at the base of her neck, then scattered down her spine and across her shoulders.

  Setting her phone down, staring at the device, she waited for it to ring again. But why wait?

  She hit redial. The phone rang. No one answered.

  What the hell?

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she looked around, feeling watched.

  * * *

  Disappointed, frustrated and hungry, Mark headed home around eight, planning on picking up a burger. But when he saw the turnoff to the senior community, he drove in.

  He parked in front of Ruffin’s unit. Light spilled out the windows. Maybe today wouldn’t be a complete wash.

  Walking to the door, he recalled the questions he wanted to ask. He knocked. A television echoed from inside. No one came to the door.

  He knocked again.

  Still nothing.

  He knocked harder.

  “Not taking visitors,” a voice called out.

  “Yes, you are!” Mark called back.

  The door swung open. Two things hit Mark at once. One: Marijuana. Two: The old man wasn’t a stranger.

  His eyes widened with recognition. “What the hell do you want?”

  Mark tried to grasp the situation. “You’re Officer Ruffin?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’ve been at the coffee shop all this time?” He moved inside.

  Fred frowned. “I didn’t ask you in.”

  Mark took another sniff. “You’re smoking weed?”

  “I suggest you don’t hurt that sweet woman, and now you’re going to come harass my ass?”

  “No. I’m not here about Annie. Well, I am, but…” He shook his head. “You’re really smoking weed.” Mark’s gaze hit on all the pill bottles on the coffee table. He looked back at the man’s bloodshot eyes. “Cancer?”

  The old man stiffened. “Maybe I just like weed.”

  “Sorry,” Mark said.

  R
uffin frowned. “Arrest me if you want to, but keep your pity, boy.”

  Mark exhaled. “The reason I’m here is because of an old case.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Reed case. I know it’s been a long time, but…”

  The old man held up a finger. “Give me a minute.” He scratched his head. “This stuff does affect your brain cells.”

  Mark almost chuckled.

  “Reed?” Fred repeated. “Let me look at my files.” He started into a small dining room that held a table and metal file cabinets.

  “You kept all your files?”

  “It was a part of my life for so long.” He moved in front of the cases. “What year was it?”

  “Ninety-three.”

  “What kind of case?”

  “A missing kid.”

  Fred held up a finger. “At the park, right. It’s coming back. That one bugged the shit out of me.”

  “How so?”

  He opened a middle drawer.

  “I have a copy of the file,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, but after I retired I went through every unsolved case and made more notes. Looked for things I missed.” He rummaged through the files. “I helped solve three of those cases by doing it, too. When Gertrude died, I went through them again. It kept my mind off the grief.”

  “You think you missed something on the Reed case?”

  He pulled out a file and opened it. “Yeah, here it is. The mother of the missing child. She was handicapped. I spoke with her briefly and she said some strange things. The brother insisted she didn’t know what she was saying, that she wasn’t all there. I spoke with my sergeant before I wrote up the file, I suggested we look into it. He said it sounded like nonsense.”

  Mark recalled his brief conversation with Sarah Reed. “What did she say?”

  “She said it was her fault. That she’d shot him.”

  “‘Him’? Shot him?”

  “Yeah. I asked her, ‘You mean you shot her.’ She didn’t answer. But when we spoke to the neighboring campers, none of them heard a gunshot. I ended up not putting it in my report, but I noted it in my files later.”

  Mark recalled Connor saying the lawyer refused to let Sarah Reed be interviewed.

  Fred’s brow wrinkled. “Wait, you said this had to do with Annie.”

  Mark nodded. “Annie was the kid who’d been taken to the hospital for stitches. Recently she remembered seeing someone burying her cousin.”

  “You found a body?”

  “No. But the Reeds appear to be hiding something.”

  “I put that in my file, too.” Fred scratched his head. “Poor Annie. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “I know,” Mark said.

  The old man grabbed ahold of the back of a chair as if his knees were giving. “You and Annie had a falling-out, didn’t you?”

  Mark debated answering, but…“You’re right. I don’t deserve her.”

  Fred pulled out the chair and sat down. Mark saw pain flash across his face.

  “How long do you have?”

  Fred frowned. “Three to twelve months. Depends if this last round of chemo slowed it down.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mark said.

  “I’m not. I’ll be with Gertrude.”

  Mark wondered if he had any family, kids, anyone to help. “Do you need anything?”

  “Nope.”

  Mark nodded. “If I need you to speak to a judge about the case, would you?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Mark dropped his hands into his pockets. “Be careful where you buy your smoke. It can come laced with things you don’t want.”

  “I know. Things haven’t changed that much since I worked the streets.”

  Mark nodded. “I’ll see myself out.” He started for the door.

  “Do you care?” The old man’s question had him turning around.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You care about Annie?”

  Mark stared at his shoes. “More than I should.”

  “You could change. I did.”

  “Yeah.” He got to the door. He reached the knob, then stopped. He didn’t even turn around. “How?”

  “You tell her everything. You forgive yourself and others. That bitterness, it can kill you. You accept that you can’t make this world right. Even with that badge. But you can try to make it right for those you love. I had to park my ass on a shrink’s sofa once a week for a year.”

  Mark stayed silent, but faced the old man.

  Fred continued. “You work damn hard to live up to the man she thinks you are. To this day, I don’t think I was as good as Gertrude believed me to be, but I was a better man for trying.”

  Mark swallowed. “That’s a hell of a lot to ask of someone.”

  “Yeah. But here’s two questions to consider. One: Is she worth it? Two: Are you happy the way you are?”

  * * *

  That night Annie made a trip to the grocery store. Pirate needed food. So did she. Her jeans were getting looser. She needed to start eating.

  She drove to her parking spot at the apartment and moaned when she found it was taken. Visitors didn’t know it was designated parking. Normally she didn’t mind, but with groceries? She drove around until she found a spot in visitors’ parking.

  About to get out, she remembered Mark’s warning to be careful. She looked around. It seemed extra dark. Then a car pulled into the lot. Another car one row over had its lights on. She wasn’t alone.

  She was safe. So why didn’t she feel safe?

  Telling herself she was overreacting, she got out and grabbed all her bags, determined not to have to come back.

  Weighted down, she started walking. Feeling darkness again, she now noticed that the lights on two of the poles were out. Another kept hissing as if threatening to blow.

  She got about twenty steps when she saw a figure stand up between a row of cars.

  Then she saw the shadow lift its arm. A pop exploded in the darkness. She felt the pain in her arm and fell backward. Now the pain exploded in her head. Had she been…shot?

  She lay there, air locked in her chest, fear scratching at her mind. She turned her head and saw a pool of her own blood.

  * * *

  Mark, holding his cell between his shoulder and ear, unlocked his front door while Bacon barked and whined behind it.

  “Talk to a judge,” Mark said.

  “With her being mentally challenged, I’m not sure what she says will hold water,” Connor said.

  “We have to try.” Mark walked into his house.

  “The lawyer seemed adamant.”

  “Then get a warrant,” Mark bit out. “Ruffin thinks she’s the key to this and I agree.”

  “Okay, I’ll contact a judge in the morning.”

  Five minutes later, making Bacon happy, Mark sat on the floor playing tug-of-war with his sock while his thoughts played tug-of-war in his mind.

  Is she worth it? Are you happy the way you are?

  Yes. And no.

  But forgive himself? That seemed impossible. Forgive his piece-of-shit stepfather? Fucking impossible.

  His gaze went to the saxophone sitting there like a trophy, a reminder of what he’d once loved. With vivid detail, he could remember how the instrument felt in his hands. How it felt to play it. How when he played, his world seemed so damn right. Even during the time when his life had kinda sucked.

  His mom’s marriage had gone downhill. His stepfather had started drinking again, losing one job after another. The money Mark made playing in bands went to the bills. Mark didn’t care. He loved making music.

  With his size, everyone had wanted him to play ball. But he loved music. And as odd as it sounded, he’d felt music loved him back. It fed his soul. Made him feel…complete. Sort of like being with Annie did.

  Odd was the fact that the only other thing that came naturally to him was police work. And instead of feeding his soul, that took it away.

  His phone rang. Thinking of Annie, he ma
de a mad dash into the kitchen where he’d left it.

  When her number flashed on the screen, his chest widened with something akin to hope. Damn, he needed her back in his life.

  “Hey,” he answered, emotion leaking out in that one word.

  “Mark…?” The voice shook with emotion. His head spun. It wasn’t Annie’s voice. It wasn’t Annie crying.

  “This is Isabella. Annie’s been shot!”

  That huge space in his chest where hope had just existed became a vise grip and threatened not to just take another piece of his soul, but to kill it.

  “What? Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. When I got to the parking lot they had her in the ambulance. They drove off. Someone said they’re taking her to the Regional Hospital.”

  * * *

  Regional Hospital was thirty minutes away. Mark made it in twenty. Annie’s apartment was only five minutes from the hospital, so she should already be getting treatment.

  The ambulance was still parked in the circled drive.

  He parked, hauled ass out of his car and ran into the emergency room. He slammed his badge against the glass separating him from the desk person. “Where’s Annie Lakes?”

  The clerk’s eyes went to his badge. “Who?”

  “The woman who just came in that ambulance,” he spit out, no patience.

  “She’s being treated.”

  “What room?” He hit the glass with his badge again.

  The clerk jumped. “Seven. But you can’t—the doctors are working on her.”

  “How bad is it?”

  She didn’t answer, but the expression did.

  Right then someone walked out and Mark flew through the door. His gaze shot left, right, scanning, looking, then finding room seven.

  Two doctors walked out.

  “Is she okay?”

  They both looked at him with the same look as the desk clerk.

  “Mark?” He turned around and saw Isabella walking down the hall. She’d been crying. A man had his arm around her.

  “I can’t accept this,” Mark growled.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Accept what?” Isabella asked, sounding scared.