“I’ll make him say it.” Snatching the hook from my hand, my father opens the shed door and drops the gopher snake into the grass. When he returns, he dips the hook into an old plastic bucket. “You think a couple shots to the kneecap and a little gopher snake was all I got planned?”
He lifts the hook slowly, teasing Wendall. At its end, a fighting mad rattlesnake. “This one here’s the real deal. Yes siree.”
Wendall screams again, twisting and squirming against the ropes that bind him. His teeth chatter as my father stretches the hook toward his face. So close, the snake’s black tongue flicks against his cheek. Once, twice, three times.
“Alright!” Wendall shouts. “I didn’t plan on hurting her. I thought I was done with all that mess. Cured. Damn if she wasn’t just like the both of you and that loser Chewie. Stickin’ her nose where it didn’t belong. I figured one last time for the road, ya know. I ain’t got that many years ahead of me.”
“So you knew she and Boyd were onto something? Or should I say DocSherlock knew? Who else did you pretend to be? MQKlinger? Jojo?”
“I never pretended to be anybody. Those fools trusted me. That’s on them.”
Even now, bloodied and wincing and strung up like a ham in Crazy Krandel’s shed, Wendall thinks he’s getting one over.
“Your arrogance,” I say, the snake’s rattle chattering behind me. “That’s your weakness. You came to me. Laid it all out. Did you really think you’d pin this on my dad and get away with it?”
“I didn’t need to pin a damn thing. I expected more from ya, quite frankly. I expected a worthy opponent. A bit of a challenge at least. Somethin’ to get my blood pumpin’. Turns out you were just as gullible as the next fella. Come to think of it, your girl was a helluva lot smarter than you are. You would’ve bought whatever I sold about ole Crazy Krandel.”
My father drops the snake into the bucket and retrieves his rifle. “You deserve somethin’ slower, Grady, but it’s all I got.”
“Wait, Dad.”
I push the barrel of his rifle aside and slide the bayonet from my waist, where I’d tucked it that afternoon before we’d left for Wendall’s house. I walk toward him, calm as I’ve ever been. When I hear the shed’s door creak open behind me, I don’t even glance over my shoulder. Cops, Sawyer, God himself, whoever it is, I don’t care who sees this.
“Kill, kill, kill. Kill without mercy,” I whisper to Wendall, the blade at his throat. “C’mon, you know this one.”
“Do it,” he hisses back. “Go on now. Just be careful you don’t like it too much.”
A hand joins mine on the knife’s battle-worn handle. It’s a hand I recognize, though it’s scratched and muddy. A hand that’s clawed its way up from somewhere dark, dirt beneath the fingernails. A hand that had once placed a gold band on my own. That had once held our daughter with reverence.
My father had said war hones you to a sharpened point. Grief is a kind of war, the kind you fight alone. It hones you too. Sharper than the finest blade.
Together, Cole and I step behind Wendall and guide the knife across his throat, from one hinge of the jaw to the other, his blood pooling onto the dirt floor.
That’s the spirit of the bayonet.
****
Sirens wail. Or is it me?
“C’mon, Mol,” my dad says, coaxing me from the ground, where I’ve fallen, the bayonet shaking in my hand. “We gotta hurry. I know what to do.”
Crazy Krandel’s in charge now.
Cole and I don’t look at each other. We follow orders and move with purpose—covering our hands with our shirts to transfer the collars to the infamous black duffel, then hiding it in the footlocker’s secret compartment. Hoisting Wendall’s body onto my father’s tarp, as he rakes up the dirt floor, concealing the blood we’d let. Dragging the tarp through the sycamore grove and across the fence line.
My father trails behind us with Wendall’s rucksack. Inside it, the bayonet, the ropes, and a can of gasoline.
“You remember that abandoned well I told you about?”
I feel myself nod, numbly. For an entire year, he’d been convinced Charlie lived inside it, crawling out and wreaking havoc when the sun went down. Finally, we’d secured it with a slab of cement. Too bad Charlie couldn’t be kept down by a concrete block.
“Up and over,” Dad says, after we slide the cover to one side, grunting with the effort of it. “Down he goes. Where he stops, only Satan knows.”
I turn away when Dad lights the match. But Cole won’t let me.
“It’s for Dakota,” he tells me. “For our girl.”
But I know better. This is for us.
****
My hands are clean.
I washed Wendall’s blood away in the deer trough my father built. Before the smoke began to billow, Cole and I re-covered the well, sealing Wendall inside to burn forever. Though I don’t think of him as Wendall now, but Shadow Man. Only fitting he should be buried in darkness.
“Hey, Mollie!” Sawyer’s voice carries through the sycamores, and I wave my father’s lantern, signaling from the front of the shed. Detective Sharpe leads the cavalry behind him. “Are you alright?”
“We’re okay,” I answer as my father lays down his rifle and proudly points out his booby traps, steering the officers safely toward us.
I collapse against Sawyer, and he holds me there, cupping my head to his chest.
“Your dad had that trailer rigged with a trip wire and dynamite,” he whispers. “I nearly ended up as No-Arm-Jack.”
Detective Sharpe leaps the last punji pit, shaking his head at it, marveling. He eyes my father with the same kind of fearful wonder as I do.
“What happened out here, Mr. Krandel?”
My father steps forward, shoulders back like he’s ready to salute. “Grady came after me, that’s what. He said it was my fault he’d been court-martialed. Wanted me to change my story. I’ve got a lot of faults, sir. I’m sure Mol told you that. But I ain’t no liar. When I refused, he lunged at me. We tussled at bit, and he got away.”
“And the gunshots?”
“My trusty twenty-two. I won’t deny I tried to put him down like an ole dog. But some dogs are damn hard to kill, if you know what I mean.”
With a kiss to the forehead, Sawyer releases me and wanders off toward the shed. He disappears inside.
“Mollie? Cole? Did you two see anything?”
I shake my head. “Cole fell into that pit over there. It took a while to get him out. And then Dad came running up. Told us the same story. That he’d lost Wendall.”
“Which way did he go?”
My father points to the house with a steely-eyed glare. “We were on our way back there. I was hopin’ my trip wire might blow him to smithereens.”
“He’s probably heading to his car,” I add, widening my eyes at my father. Crazy Krandel never did know when to quit. “We saw it parked in the trees out front.”
“You’re right, Mol. A rat bastard like that would run off with his tail between his legs.”
Sawyer emerges from the shed and levels me with a look. It feels as if I’ve slipped right out of my skin again. All of it—muscle, bone, blood, truth—there for only him to see.
“All clear in here,” he shouts.
Detective Sharpe waves the troops onward, the same way they’d come, directing his flashlight into the sycamore grove. “He couldn’t have gotten too far with his pneumonia, his COPD . . .”
Cole and I exchange a glance. No mention of lung cancer. God, I had been a fool. Had been. But no longer.
“Let’s check the house one more time.” Detective Sharpe takes a few steps, then stutters to a stop.
I go cold, thinking he must know. That I’m about to be pinned to the ground, a knee in my back. Handcuffed and carted away. Locked in a box with other women like me. Women capable
of ending life. Surely, there’s something backwards about that.
“Mr. Krandel, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to leave here with all my limbs intact. You lead the way.”
They walk on ahead, my father in front. Cole and the others following carefully in his footsteps. I lag behind in the darkness, waiting for Sawyer to catch up.
“Forget something?” he whispers, holding Wendall’s black hat out to me.
I take it from him and crush it like a bug beneath my foot.
BEFORE
Chapter
Thirty-Five
(Wednesday, August 17, 2016)
Dakota played out the scene in her mind as she pumped the pedals up the hill toward Ridgecrest, Gus trailing on her right.
For starters, she’d have to apologize.
She’d tell her mom everything. Like she used to. About Hannah and Tyler and the photos. About Grandpa Krandel. Boyd too. Maybe if she hadn’t deserted her mom on the battlefield, she wouldn’t have stopped trusting Dakota. Wouldn’t have started drinking. Wouldn’t have ever hit her at all.
She’d leave for Starry Sky today, if that’s what they wanted.
And she’d go back to pretending she’d never seen her dad that night. Because no good had come from her telling the truth. Only bad, bad, and worse.
Dakota felt the sudden heat of an engine behind her. It seemed to come from nowhere.
She waved it past. It didn’t move.
She pedaled harder. It matched her speed.
She moved left. It moved with her.
The car accelerated; its tire aimed straight at Gus’s hind legs. That she couldn’t bear.
“Gus! Watch out!”
The dog ducked into the ditch.
Dakota swerved—too late.
A last panicked glance over her shoulder. The car’s long silver jaw jutted out toward her, ready to crunch her between its teeth.
It nipped her back tire and she went down.
****
Dakota lay on the ground, her left side throbbing. Her backpack had fallen from her shoulders and tumbled into the ditch. The blue sky spun above her; the sun, an orb of fire at the center of it all. It was too bright to keep her eyes open, so she shut them tight and listened.
To the soft purring of the car’s engine.
A door yawning open.
A swingy song—sax and trumpet and a chorus of men’s voices singing about watching girls go by.
Footfalls on the pavement. Someone was coming.
Then a sound she’d never heard. Not even at the dog park when Frankie the Great Dane had postured with raised hackles and a curled lip.
Gus growled. And she had to look, if only for a moment, afraid he’d been hit. She called to him, but his eyes were fixed beyond her, behind her. To the someone.
The quiet someone who made kissing noises to summon Gus. His tail low and barely waving, he whined a little but walked past her.
“Is he okay?” she asked, hoping the someone would answer.
“Right as rain, aren’t ya, boy? Crackers make it all better. Now you get on home. Go on now. I’ve got some nasty business to take care of. You don’t want to see it.”
Dakota watched the fine hairs on her arms raise. She rolled onto her right side, planning to run, but found herself frozen. Fear could do that.
“Don’t ya be thinkin’ about runnin’. I got a bullet with your goldie’s name on it. Gus, ain’t it?”
Grandpa Krandel’s soapstone clover had skittered from her pocket. It sat on the hot pavement, bright as a penny. It seemed essential not to lose it.
“Now what do we have here?” the someone asked, calmly unzipping her backpack, rifling through its contents. “Shadow Man Investigation. Ain’t that a hoot?”
She realized then. She knew this someone.
“Oh. And a collar for a doggie. Roscoe. How sweet.”
She called for Gus again, her voice barely a whisper, and reached for the clover, ignoring the sharp twinge in her shoulder. Her fingers touched it, wrapped around it, cradled its warmth in her palm as a shadow, long and dark as a knife’s blade, blocked the sun.
****
Dakota steeled herself. She thought of her mom and dad. Of Grandpa Krandel. And Gus. She wore their love like armor. Surely, it would protect her. Love could do that.
She waited until he knelt beside her. Too long, she realized. Because he had something in his hand. A rag that smelled sickly sweet and made her woozy even before it reached her mouth.
She did the only thing she could as his old man’s face drew nearer. She bit down hard, first on his fingers beneath the foul-tasting rag. And then, as her whole world slipped beneath the horizon, she sunk her teeth into the dark heart of him, leaving a perfect sickle on the brim of his black hat.
AFTER
Chapter
Thirty-Six
(Monday, October 22, 2018)
I fidget with the sterling silver heart around my neck, tracing the engraved letters beneath my thumb. M-O-M. I almost wish Cole could see me wear it again, but he swam for Seattle this morning. Both of us free fish now.
I watch the group members file in from the safety of the Jeep. It’s the first time I feel nervous. But I don’t blast the radio to lose myself in a screaming guitar. Instead, I read.
Manhunt For Shadow Man Wendall Grady Enters Tenth Day
The Napa County Sheriff’s Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation announced yesterday that disgraced military officer Wendall Grady has been officially identified as the prime suspect in the Shadow Man killings, which began decades ago and terrorized the Bay Area. After the Shadow Man Task Force received an anonymous tip last week, their search of Grady’s house revealed human remains in a soundproof underground bunker, as well as numerous dog collars hidden beneath his bed, many of which belonged to the dogs of Shadow Man’s known victims. Given the number of mementos found, authorities speculated there could be more than five additional unknown victims. It is believed that Grady selected his victims while volunteering for several local animal shelters, because nearly all identified victims had either adopted a pet or visited a shelter prior to their abductions.
Grady also founded a website, Shadow Seekers, where he maintained several fictitious profiles in order to closely monitor any developments in his case. Police now suspect that victim seventeen, Dakota Roark, encountered Grady on the site and was targeted due to her investigatory efforts, as well as Grady’s long-standing feud with her grandfather, Victor Krandel. Forensic computer analysts believe Grady pinpointed the girl’s location by using IP-tracking software.
Grady was last seen on Friday evening, October 12, at Krandel’s compound, Mol’s Junkyard. Grady reportedly made criminal threats against Krandel, who police had previously suspected in the killing of Dakota Roark. Consistent with his elusive moniker, Shadow Man abandoned his vehicle and disappeared into a heavily wooded area outside the compound.
Napa PD spokeswoman Helen Yi issued a statement indicating the department has devoted all available resources to finding the serial killer, including relying upon special checkpoint procedures developed in 2016, after Clive Cullen successfully escaped from San Quentin State Prison and went on a violent rampage. Like Cullen, Wendall Grady is considered armed and highly dangerous, though police will not rule out the possibility Grady may be injured.
According to Peter Jacoby, Chief Psychologist at Napa State Hospital, Grady fits the profile developed by Napa psychologist in the mid-1980s. “By all accounts, Grady blended seamlessly into the fabric of society. He was happily married for twenty-three years. Until recently, he was a decorated military veteran. He even volunteered in the community, donating a good portion of his veteran’s benefits to the SPCA. Wherever he is, he’s unlikely to stand out. He may even be your next-door neighbor.
Luciana parks Bolu
do in the spot next to mine. She knocks on the window, frowning at the paper in my hand.
“Any news?”
“Nada.”
“He’ll get what’s coming to him. Se siega lo que se siembra.” I smile, because I know this one. It’s about reaping what you sow.
I think of the well. I’ll go there one day, when all the hoopla blows over. Push the cover aside myself. Toss in the last remnants of the Shadow Man, the treatment agreement he’d signed on our first day of therapy. Then I’ll get Dad to help me fill it in with concrete, and I’ll walk away forever. Leave his soul in the exact opposite of peace to reap all the rotten seeds he’d planted.
Luciana and I walk into the break room, arm in arm. When I spot Debbie with three packages of M&Ms on her lap, a gift from the vending machine gods, I’m certain it’s a good day.
I take the seat that’s been saved for me next to Sawyer. He’s dressed in jeans and a clean T-shirt, and I inhale the earthy scent of him. Later tonight, I fully intend to shove my tongue down his throat. Again. If he’ll let me. But only after we’ve had our first dinner date. Only after I’ve gotten to the bottom of that story about how he really broke his jaw.
“Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Grieving Parents Group. I’m sure all of you are aware of the developments in my daughter’s case in the last week and a half, and I’m eager to tell you all about it. But first, I want to share an announcement. After careful consideration, I’ve decided to take over as group facilitator on a permanent basis. If you’ll have me.”
I listen to their applause. Feel the warmth of Sawyer’s hand on my knee.
It turns out being the Lead Basket Case suits me after all.
****
I’m not ready to go inside yet. I’m still giddy from our first real date, from truths told. Turns out Sawyer had jumped from the roof of his high school on a dare with a bedsheet as a makeshift parachute. That’s when I knew I wanted to be a Ranger, he’d said, laughing.
I let Gus run in the yard, watching him frolic from the porch steps. When his tongue is hanging, we walk together to my real office.
Shadows Among Us Page 36
