The Darkness We Hide

by Debra Webb

  Billy removed his hat and shoved his fingers through his hair as he surveyed the darkening sky. “They still saying we’ll get high winds?”

  Lincoln nodded. “With that unseasonable warm front moving in, conditions will be ripe for tornadic weather.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Billy settled his hat back into place. It had been a while since a tornado had hit the area, but when one came, lives were nearly always lost. Sometimes because the storms were particularly bad, other times because people didn’t pay attention.

  Ledbetter and his assistant rolled the gurney loaded with the bagged victim out of the cemetery. Beyond the yellow tape Billy spotted Audrey Anderson speaking to one of the officers guarding the perimeter. Audrey was the owner of the Winchester Gazette. She had folks who monitored the police scanners to ensure she didn’t miss out on a breaking story. She was a nice lady and a good newswoman, but Billy wasn’t giving her anything right now. Not until he had more about this bearded man and his connection to Rowan.

  He moved back to the DuPont family plot. DuPonts had been buried here for a century and a half. The name was engraved in white marble beneath a towering angel statue. If Addington or his minion had been searching for the right place it wasn’t difficult to find.

  “Chief.”

  Billy turned to find Lincoln hustling to catch up to him. “You heard back on the prints?” That would be a record. If Saunders could work this fast, Billy might need to give her a promotion ASAP.

  Lincoln grinned. “Saunders is good. Our vic is Crash Layton, sixty years old, retired army.”

  Billy frowned. “Is that his real name? The Crash part, I mean?”

  “That’s what’s in the system. If there’s any other name, it’s not documented.”

  “Criminal record?”

  “Assault and battery when he was thirty. Nothing before or since.”

  “Anything else we might find useful? Last known address? Next of kin?”

  “That’s the really weird part, Chief. His address is listed as Tullahoma.”

  “Tennessee?” Of course it was, but Billy had to ask.

  “The one and only.”

  Frankly, Billy didn’t know why he was so surprised. Just when he thought he had a handle on what was going on in his town he was tossed another curveball. “So this guy has been living fifteen or so miles away all this time?”

  Lincoln nodded. “That’s the only address in the system.”

  “First the Santos guy with all those crazy tattoos right here in Winchester and now the bearded man right down the road in Tullahoma.” Billy shook his head. This case was getting stranger all the time.

  “It’s weird for sure,” Lincoln agreed.

  The trouble was, how many more of these guys were hanging around, watching Rowan, waiting for whatever it was they needed to do?

  And who the hell was giving the orders?

  “See what you can dig up on this Crash Layton from his neighbors.”

  Lincoln nodded. “Will do.”

  Billy moved through the cemetery again, going over all the entrances and exits. Hoping for a missed tire impression or anything out of the ordinary. His officers had scoured the area and were canvassing all those who lived nearby or who had businesses across the street.

  There were plenty of streetlights, but folks weren’t usually outside on the colder evenings and last night had been fairly chilly. The chances that anyone saw who came into the cemetery and dropped off a body were fairly slim, but they had to ask.

  Cover all bases. That was Billy’s motto, no matter how tedious or seemingly pointless. Sometimes you had to dig through a lot of haystacks to find the one needle that made the difference.

  “Chief!”

  Billy paused and waited for Officer Gordon Sails to catch up with him. Maybe they had gotten lucky and discovered a witness.

  “A lady across the street,” he explained between pants for breath, “says she saw a man in the cemetery last night. She claims she got a good look.”

  “Take me to her,” Billy said. This could be the break he’d been hoping for.

  The small house with its plate glass–front living room that had served as a beauty parlor for going on thirty-five years sat directly across the street from the main cemetery entrance. Shoehorned between the monument warehouse and a floral shop. Delilah Dixon, the current owner, had inherited the live-work shop combo from her mother, the beautician, who passed away a few months back. But Delilah had decided the salon business was not for her and she’d transformed the place into a fortune-telling shop. Shelves filled with potions and charms now lined the walls of the space where hair dryers and styling chairs had once held court. The new owner intended to get her license this very week, she hastened to add.

  “I’m not concerned about your lack of a license, ma’am,” Billy assured the young woman, who was suddenly nervous. Since Lincoln hadn’t left for Tullahoma yet, both he and Sails had showed up at her door with him. “I’d just like you to tell me about last night.”

  “My dog, Scooter—he’s at the groomer right now—is a beagle and you know they get on a scent and they just take off.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I let him out back last night to do his business and he took off across the street. I called and called but he didn’t come back so I had to go after him.” She shuddered. “It was really cold so I wasn’t exactly expecting to run into anyone. I grew up in this house. Folks don’t generally loiter around in the cemetery after dark. Kids mess around sometimes but, like I said, it was pretty cold so I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Her cheeks reddened. “I had my nightgown and housecoat on. It was kind of embarrassing.”

  Billy offered her a smile. “Been caught that way myself a time or two.”

  She laughed nervously. “Yeah. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the guy hadn’t been so hot.”

  “Guy?” Billy asked.

  She nodded. “Anyway, I spotted Scooter at the DuPont plot barking like a fool. That’s where I saw the man. I figured he was some friend or member of the family. Or just curious since that woman—the undertaker—has been all over the news for months.”

  “What time was this?”

  Her brow lined in thought. “Gosh, probably around eight or eight thirty. I wanted to hurry up and get back to the house because my favorite show was coming on at nine.”

  “Can you describe the man? Did you speak to him?”

  “I didn’t really get to talk to him and it was kinda dark. There’s the streetlights but it was still pretty dark,” she said. “He was tall. Lighter hair. I think his eyes might have been blue but I can’t say for sure. When I walked up, he just looked at me like he was as surprised to see me as I was him.” She shrugged. “All I said was hello and he walked away. It was kinda creepy.”

  “Was there anyone else with him? Maybe nearby. Maybe injured.”

  She shook her head. “No. There was no body lying around when I was there. Not where you could see it anyway. Just that cute guy.”

  Anticipation seared through Billy. “But you got a pretty good look at him?”

  She nodded. “Pretty good, I guess. Like I said, he was hot. A regular pinup guy like Liam Hemsworth.”

  “Hemsworth?” Billy figured the name was some celebrity but not one he recognized.

  “Yeah. You know, that movie actor.”

  Billy must have looked as confused as he felt. Lincoln shoved his cell phone in front of Billy and said, “This is the guy she means.”

  Billy stared at the screen and recognition clicked. He pulled out his own phone and did an internet search. Several images populated the screen based on the search results. He selected the most recent of the bunch and showed it to Dixon. “Is this the guy you saw?”

  She took the phone from Billy’s hand and stared at the image a moment. “Yeah, yeah. That’s him. He was out there.” She thrust the phone
at Billy. “It was totally weird. Especially the part where he just walked off without saying a word.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Dixon.” He started to turn away, but hesitated. He said to her, “See Joe Wheeler about the business license. Tell him I sent you.”

  A big thanks followed Billy out the door. When he was on the street, he stood there, hands on hips, for a moment trying to come to terms with what the woman’s identification meant.

  Lincoln waited close by, his expression guarded. “Should I not ask who she ID’d as the guy she saw?”

  Billy passed him his phone. Lincoln stared at the screen; his jaw sagged in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” Billy said. “She ID’d Special Agent Josh Dressler, who is currently missing in action.”

  Billy’s cell rang with an incoming call. Lincoln passed it to him. Billy didn’t recognize the number. He answered with, “Chief Brannigan.”

  “Chief, this is Special Agent in Charge Luke Pryor.”

  Billy had a feeling this day was not going to get any better. “What can I do for you, Agent Pryor?”

  “You’re aware that Agent Josh Dressler is missing and we’re growing more concerned by the minute.”

  Fate had a twisted sense of humor when it came to timing. “Still no word from him?”

  “Unfortunately not, but we have had a development.”

  Billy braced for the bad news.

  “We finally received Dressler’s phone records and it seems his final contact was an incoming call from your area.”

  “Do you have a name or number for the caller?”

  “I do, Chief. The caller was Dr. Rowan DuPont.”

  Billy wasn’t sure he heard right. What the man said was impossible. Before he could demand a more detailed accounting, Pryor was talking again.

  “We’re going to reopen a temporary field office in Winchester. My team and I will be there before close of business today. I’ll need to interview Dr. DuPont as soon as I arrive.”

  “I’m no expert,” Billy countered, “but I’m sure you’re aware there are ways to mirror a number. There’s no way Dr. DuPont made that call.”

  “We are aware of the technology, Chief, but I assure you, the call originated from Dr. DuPont’s cell phone and from a tower in your city. If she didn’t make the call, the real question is who had access to her phone?”

  The call ended but the conversation was far from over.

  Before Billy could call Rowan his phone rang again. This time it was Ledbetter.

  “Brannigan.”

  “Chief, you’re going to want to see this.”

  Ice speared through Billy’s veins. “What’d you find, Ledbetter?”

  “I removed and bagged his clothes and the man’s body is covered in tattoos. Some are crazy creepy. But the creepiest part is the one on his back. It’s one we’ve seen before. The same rose vine tattoo that circles the name Norah.”

  * * *

  Rowan pushed the key into the door and gave it a twist. The knob turned and she opened the door. Burt’s home was a neat bungalow on High Street. Inside, the house smelled of his aftershave. She smiled. His office manager at the Winchester Vet Clinic had already come by and picked up his two dogs. She wanted to keep them at the clinic where the staff could feel Burt’s presence. Rowan could only imagine how devastated the staff was by his sudden death.

  Burt’s sister, Sally, had called and asked Rowan to pick out a suit for Burt. She’d said no tie and Rowan agreed. Burt wasn’t the tie type. She considered for the first time that she needed to leave instructions on how she wanted to be dressed upon her death as well as a list of her other send-off wishes. One would think that since she’d grown up in a funeral home she would have thought to do this ages ago. But taking care of others always seemed to get in the way of taking care of herself.

  Pushing the depressing thought aside, she wondered why she hadn’t heard from April Jones this morning. Hopefully Dressler had been found, alive and well. If not and if his disappearance had anything to do with Addington, she hoped he wasn’t dead already. Dressler had made it a point this past year to go after Julian with a vengeance. Julian had noticed. He wouldn’t take Dressler’s personal vendetta well. Like Billy, Dressler had a large target on his back.

  Burt’s living room was reasonably neat for a man who lived alone. His wife’s touches were everywhere. The doilies on the backs of upholstered chairs. The many potted plants and the stack of magazines about decorating, gardening and design. Glass-front cabinets stored all sorts of glassware and china. The lady had liked collecting china and none of it matched. Rowan smiled. She liked the quirkiness of the mismatched patterns. Maybe one day she would start a hobby that involved something that had nothing to do with work.

  From the rugs on the wood floors to the wallpaper on the walls, the home was reminiscent of a bygone era. All that wallpaper was coming back in style. Rowan saw it in the magazines Charlotte brought to work.

  Burt’s home was charming with big windows that allowed in the light. To the right beyond the living room was the dining room and the kitchen. Like the living room, the rooms were clean and neat if a little out-of-date. She passed two bedrooms—one of which had been turned into a sewing room, the other an office—and a bathroom. At the end of the hall she came to the final bedroom. This was Burt and his wife’s room. There were two small closets. His wife’s remained jam-packed. Reminded Rowan of her parents’ bedroom. Her father hadn’t had the heart to part with her mother’s things and Rowan hadn’t managed to part with his. One day, maybe, when the whole Addington mystery was solved, she would undertake that massive and painful endeavor.

  After riffling through the offerings, Rowan selected a blue suit and white shirt. A quick prowl through a couple of drawers provided the rest of the things she needed. She tucked all except the shirt and suit into the bag she’d brought. The shirt and suit she kept on the hangers. On second thought she added a pair of dress shoes. As she moved back down the narrow hall, she passed the office again and something on the bulletin board caught her eye. She paused at the door and flipped on the light for a better look.

  At the center of the bulletin board was a photo of the funeral home. Rowan sat down the bag and the hanging clothes and walked into the bedroom turned office. Unlike the rest of the house the office was cluttered and dark. There were two large windows but both were closed tight with heavy drapes that blocked all light. Bookshelves lined most of the wall. But it was the bulletin board spanning the better part of one wall that drew her like a moth to a flame.

  Around the photo of the funeral home were smaller photos. Photos of her parents, of her and even of Raven. There was Herman and Woody, a former assistant at the funeral home. A photo of Billy was just beneath Rowan’s. And there was a duplicate of the photo with Santos and the unidentified man. There was even a photo of Julian.

  “What in the world?”

  Rowan moved closer still. Read over the handwritten lists Burt had posted. One list was nothing but names, most of which Rowan recognized. The victims in Winchester that Julian had murdered were on the list. Any close associates of her father’s—of hers—were listed. There was another list. This one of things, not names. But not all the items made sense. Bones. Faces. Skins. Necklace. Those things she understood. But other things like three different cars, none of which she recognized. There was a photo of a house she couldn’t place. A couple she couldn’t identify. And dozens of names, none of which she recognized.

  “What in the world were you doing, Burt?”

  Her first thought was that he was conducting his own investigation. She walked to his desk and sank down into the chair he had used. The blotter on his desk was filled with handwritten notes. She skimmed through them looking for anything related to her family or Julian.

  She has no idea.

  Rowan leaned forward and peered at the words. Definitely Burt’s handwrit
ing. Still scanning the words—some written hastily, almost desperately—she dug her cell from her pocket. Billy needed to see this...this whatever it was. Apprehension swelled in her chest.

  Before she touched the screen to call Billy, it vibrated with an incoming call.

  Billy.

  “I was just about to call you.” She surveyed the room, shuddering at the bizarre find. Why hadn’t Burt told her about this?

  He had been trying to text her when he died. Maybe he’d come to the point in his research that he’d been ready to tell her.

  “Where are you?”

  She frowned. Billy sounded worried or troubled. “I’m at Burt’s. I came for a suit but...” She shook her head. “You’re not going to believe—”

  “Stay right there,” Billy urged. “I’m on my way.”

  Five

  Rowan was still seated at Burt’s desk when Billy arrived.

  “Ro?” he shouted from the front door.

  She grimaced. Evidently she’d forgotten to lock it. “Back here,” she answered. “Down the hall, second door on the right.”

  She stood as Billy made his way to her. She’d expected him to show up with the cavalry in tow. Forensic techs, at least one detective. But he was alone.

  “You didn’t lock the door.”

  “Sorry. I was...” Her words trailed off as his focus settled on the bulletin board. For a long moment he stood in the center of the room, his hat in his hand, and stared at the bulletin board with all its notes and photos.

  “Well, Jesus Christ.”

  “That’s what I thought when I first saw it.” Rowan moved to his side. “Maybe this was what he wanted to show me.”

  “Guess so.” Billy stepped closer to the bulletin board. “You know all these people?”

  “Not all of them.” She joined him at the board she’d reviewed over and over since finding it. “This one.” She pointed to a photo that was partially tucked beneath another. “I think he’s the man in the photo with Norah and Santos.” She turned to Billy. “I wonder if Burt got this photo from Herman somehow or if he actually did know the man.”