If She Saw

by Blake Pierce

  “You don’t look very surprised,” DeMarco said.

  “Is it about my stupid fucking nephew?” he asked.

  “It is, actually,” Kate said. “What made you go there so quickly?”

  “Because the boy is an accident waiting to happen. A fuck-up of massive proportions. I’m surprised I haven’t been visited by the feds before now.” He then chuckled and waved his hand at the glass and pitcher in front of him. “Like I have any room to speak. But, you know, he’s the reason I drink so damned much.”

  Kate and DeMarco sat down on the other end of the booth. “Can you explain that, please?” Kate asked.

  “Well, I guess you know he was bounced around in foster care for most of his childhood, right?” When the agents nodded, he nodded right back and then continued. “Well, I was a mess myself for a while. I drank a lot. Got fired from a few jobs because of it. Had three affairs on my wife before she wised up and left me. So yeah…I was a train wreck even before I met him. And then one day, I get this call from Social Services. They say they’ve got my nephew and they are looking for a home for him. Apparently, my idiot brother, God rest his miserable soul, skipped town and left his kid behind when he was just a baby—I didn’t have a clue because we weren’t in touch. He’d been bounced around in foster care until they finally found me. I didn’t have him for very long, though, before he was put back in foster care.”

  “Why did they remove him from your care?” Kate asked.

  Traylor pointed to the pint glass in front of him. “I didn’t know they do surprise visits. Child Protective Services came by one evening to check on us and I was pretty drunk. Left him playing out in the front yard by himself.”

  “How old was he at this time?” DeMarco asked.

  “Eight or nine. I don’t really remember.”

  “And did he eventually get back into your care?”

  “Yes,” Traylor said. “I realized that I had wrecked my life, you know. So I cleaned up. Got almost sober. Got a steady job. I took the classes for foster care services and everything after I learned that he was just being passed around. There was a rumor that one of the families had been abusing him. So I asked for him back. I passed every class and course they threw at me and he seemed happy enough to be back with me. He lived with me for about a year before he ran away the first time. The cops brought him back three weeks later and he stayed with me again for a few months before he skipped out on me again.”

  “How was the relationship between the two of you?” Kate asked.

  “Shitty at first. But we got to like one another, you know. We watched football on Sundays. Went fishing from time to time…which he hated, but he liked to be outdoors. I asked him, after that first time, why he ran away. He told me he got bored. I asked him where he went and he would never tell me. He got very shady about it.”

  “After he left the second time, was that the end of it?” Kate asked.

  “Oh no. He showed up again when he was sixteen. Scrawny and long grungy hair. Had a girl with him this time. He asked if they could stay with me for a while and I said they could. I’d smell pot coming from his room from time to time. Heard loud sex noises, things like that. I had a talk with him about the girl having to find her own place and that did not go well. He blew up at me but he stayed, you know? He seemed different. Like…he knew how to use people. He was only with me this time for a safe place to stay. I knew that…but…”

  He stopped here and took another gulp from his glass. He licked his lips and then continued. “They went out one night and I snooped through his stuff. I wanted to know what he into, where he had been, you know? And there was some dark stuff. Satanic stuff. Violent porn. Things like that. I confronted him about it because, quite frankly, some of the porn had some models that couldn’t have been any older than fifteen or sixteen. Needless to say, he went nuts. Pulled a fucking knife on me. I think he would have actually stabbed me if I hadn’t punched him first. He stormed out, told me to go to hell.”

  “Any idea where he went?” Kate asked.

  “No. But, because I guess he thought I was a sucker, he came back on Christmas Eve two years after that. He was strung out on something. High as hell, you know? He asked if he could stay and I let him—but only through the New Year. He was doing coke in my house, smoking pot, bringing these fucking creepy people over to hang out, and God knows what else. I gave him until the middle of January to find a job. After he hadn’t even tried, I sent him packing. And that’s the last time I saw him.”

  “How long ago was that?” DeMarco asked.

  “That’s been about three years ago.”

  “Do you have any idea where we might find him?” Kate asked. “His last listed address is a dead end.”

  Traylor chuckled. “Oh, I bet it is. And his name probably wouldn’t come up under any current address anyway. The moron changed his name. And I found that out when I got a letter in the mail last year. Said he had moved, changed his name, and was starting over. He asked for money in the letter—just to get back on his feet. I crumpled it up and threw it away. But yeah, I have his address…and his new name: Chester Black, and he lives in a trailer out in Whip Springs, back in the woods somewhere.”

  “You say he pulled a knife on you at one time,” Kate said. “Do you think that was him acting out of anger or being high…or do you think that sort of reaction is just in his nature?”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Do you think he’d be capable of murder?”

  Traylor didn’t waste time thinking. He nodded and downed his glass, filling it again from the pitcher right away. “Probably. It was like a gradual decline, you know? He was quiet and brooding when I first had him and then when he came back, there was something darker about him. And then the third time, he’d gone way the hell off the rails. I actually watched him fall apart in stages, you know? That’s why I guess I wasn’t too surprised to hear from the FBI,” he said. “In the back of my head, I’ve been expecting something to come up concerning Chester for quite some time now. That he was either dead or had gotten involved in some shit. I guess he finally snapped completely, huh? Did he actually kill someone?”

  “We can’t say yet,” Kate said, getting to her feet.

  “Just as well,” Traylor said. “The less I know about him, the better.”

  As if on cue, he turned his attention back to the televisions behind the bar. He did not look sad, but certainly not upset, either. Kate thought he looked emotionless—as if he had long ago given up on his nephew.

  And maybe that’s why he ended up the way he did, Kate thought. Foster families gave up on him, as did his own father and uncle. All of that can build and build until something just flat out snaps…

  Thinking that, she thought maybe Al Traylor didn’t quite look emotionless. Instead, he looked like a man who considered it a defeat that he had not been strong enough to save someone he once cared about—especially now that the someone in question could very well be convicted of multiple murders.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Because Whip Springs was less than half an hour from the bar that Al Traylor had chosen, Kate decided to pay Chester Black a visit despite the time. It was 9:47 when they came to the dirt road that led back to a small cluster of mobile homes. DeMarco had put a call in to Palmetto to get the address, only to hear Palmetto laughing. He wasn’t able to give an actual address, but plenty of detail in his directions.

  “He says if you fall off the face of the Earth, we’ve gone too far,” DeMarco commented as Kate turned the car onto the dirt road.

  Several feet down the road, they came to a small iron square sitting up on a post. The box contained six smaller boxes inside of it, each listed with a last name. It was a crude little PO box of sorts, apparently so the mail carrier didn’t have to go all the way down the extremely poorly paved road. Using the flashlight on her phone, Kate saw that Box #4 was adorned with C. Black.

  It took about another minute or so before the mobile homes came into
view. They were derelict structures, one of which was missing a window and was covered instead with a tattered blue tarp. In one yard, two men sat around a small charcoal grill, drinking beer and eating burgers.

  Kate parked the car in front of the fourth trailer. She pulled in behind a very old Chevy Cavalier. The back window was adorned with band logos and a pentagram. Given the stories Al Traylor had just told them, as well as the darkened night and isolated locale, Kate was slightly on edge when she and DeMarco got out of the car. She saw that DeMarco was also looking around cautiously, her hand resting by her side where her Glock was concealed beneath her jacket.

  The steps leading up to Chester Black’s rickety wooden porch were nothing more than concrete blocks that had been strategically stacked to make a crude set of stairs. As they neared them, DeMarco took two quick strides, taking the lead. Several years ago, this might have offended Kate. But now it seemed almost polite—a way to get in front of any potential danger to assist a partner who was twenty-seven years her senior.

  When they took the steps, Kate caught a pungent odor. Something rotting…maybe a dead cat or a deer that had died out in the woods. She wrinkled her nose at it and continued up the wobbly stairs.

  The two agents gave one another a nod of readiness before DeMarco knocked on the aluminum screen door.

  “Yeah!” a male voice yelled from inside. “Who is it?”

  Not wanting to yell, particularly not to be overheard by the men in the yard two trailers back, Kate leaned in as close to the screen door as she could. “Mr. Black, it’s the FBI. We need to speak with you, please.”

  “Bullshit,” came the reply, layered with a laugh.

  This was followed by footsteps storming toward the door. The door was opened and a pale, thin man looked out at them. His hair was jet black, as was his shirt. His nose was pierced, as was his bottom lip. A tattoo peeked out of the collar of his shirt, running up his neck to the underside of his chin. A tentacle, from the looks of it.

  It was clear that Chester Black had thought someone was playing a joke on him. While he stared at them in confusion, DeMarco took the opportunity to show him her badge. “Like my partner said,” DeMarco remarked, “we’re with the FBI. We’d like to ask you some questions about recent activity in the area.”

  “What kind of activity?” he asked, vigilant.

  He tried staring them down but his eyes were glassy and distant. Kate was pretty sure he was on something. He had the look of someone coming down off of a pretty strong high.

  “We’d really prefer to come inside,” Kate said.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Fine. Then we can talk out here and I can raise my voice a bit so those gentlemen in the yard two trailers up can hear what we need to ask you.”

  “You think I care what those rednecks think of me?”

  “I don’t know,” DeMarco said. “But I know what you’re going to think of me if you make me go all the way back to the PD and get a warrant to come into this pigsty. Make it easy on everyone, Chester. And we know that’s not your real name. We know your real name. We can broadcast that during our conversation on the porch, too.”

  Black looked at odds, torn in his decision. “Shit,” he said. “Fine. Come in. But I clearly wasn’t expecting company. Especially not the fucking FBI.”

  “You high on something right now?” Kate asked.

  He only sneered at her as they passed through the doorway.

  When they walked inside, the first thing Kate noticed was the smell. It was the same thing she had smelled outside, only stronger. She could not decide if Chester Black simply needed to empty his trash or if some woodland creature had found its way under the trailer and died.

  “So what do you want?” Black asked. He was still standing by the door, basically trapping them inside. Or making sure he has a clear path to escape, Kate thought, bringing Davey Armstrong to mind.

  “You live about fifteen miles away from the Langley family,” Kate said. “They fostered you when you were a kid, right?”

  “Yeah. For like three months, before they shipped me off to another family.”

  “Did you know they had been killed?”

  Black nodded. “I heard it from one of my neighbors. Murdered, right?” After a short pause, he rolled his eyes and laughed. “Ah, shit. You think I did it?”

  “There’s no accusation here,” DeMarco said. “We’re just trying to get as much information as we can. For instance, did you know the Nashes had been murdered, too?”

  The look on his face was one of pure shock. But something about it did not sit well with Kate. It didn’t seem like he was shocked at the news. It was almost as if someone had discovered some secret and he had not expected it to be revealed.

  “No, I hadn’t.”

  “On top of that,” Kate said, “a woman named Monica Knight was murdered within the last thirty-six hours.”

  “You stayed with her for a bit, too, correct?” DeMarco said.

  Now there was bewilderment in his eyes. “What the hell? And you’re here…why, exactly?”

  “You stayed with all three of them at some point in time. And based on some of the things we’ve gathered from your family members…”

  “My uncle, you mean?”

  Kate ignored this and went on. “Mr. Black, could you provide your whereabouts for each night over the last week or so?”

  “I’ve been all over the place. Roanoke one night. I was at a friend’s place last night in Vinton.”

  “Can you provide proof?”

  “Other than word of mouth?”

  “That will do for now,” DeMarco said. “But we’d eventually need more.”

  “If you are claiming that you are not the person behind the murders,” Kate said, “would you care to tell me what you know about the victims? Is there anything else that might possibly connect them?”

  “Other than the fact that I was too much for them to handle?” Black said. “And that Bethany Langley knew how to throw a right-handed slap like a fucking MMA fighter? Yeah, I’m sorry they’re dead and all. But fuck them. They gave up on me a long time ago. And the Nashes in particular were so holier-than-thou, it was sickening. Looks to me like it was karma; looks like they got what they deserved.”

  “That seems a little harsh,” DeMarco said.

  “Harsh? Harsh! How about that bitch Monica…dumping me back with DSS after she found out that I had been sexually abused by one of my foster dads. Too much for her too handle. And the Nashes…when I told them I might be interested in boys…another family just dumping me off. Getting slapped every time I dared to question the Langleys. Loving homes my ass…”

  While Black went on his little tirade, Kate started to slowly study the trailer. There was a small steak knife sitting on the scarred end table by the couch. At the sight of the knife, the smell of the place grew all the more alarming.

  “You may want to put a lid on that kind of talk if you want us to believe that you had nothing to do with the murders,” DeMarco said. “You could be one hundred percent innocent, and that sort of talk will get you a nice spot in an interrogation room.”

  “You going to arrest me for talking bad about someone?” Black yelled.

  But Kate barely registered this. Instead, she was looking at part of something white under the couch. She walked over to it and saw that it was the corner of a towel. She reached down and grabbed it.

  “What are you doing?” Black asked.

  Kate pulled it out and took a quick step back. The towel was crumpled, filthy, and matted with blood.

  Fresh blood.

  “What’s this?” Kate asked.

  “I hurt myself earlier,” Black said. “Nasty cut. That towel was the first thing I grabbed.”

  “And why is it shoved under the couch?” DeMarco asked.

  “Let me see the cut,” Kate said. She felt her right hand inching toward her sidearm.

  “It’s in an area I’d rather not show some random ass FBI a
gent,” Black said. “And I know my rights. You can’t demand that I remove my clothing to show you a wound.”

  “Then explain yourself,” DeMarco said. She was doing a little less to hide the fact that she was thinking of going for her gun.

  “Get out of my house,” he spat. “Go get that warrant.”

  “Explain the blood,” Kate said. She kept looking back at it. It was a lot of blood, but not too much to automatically make her assume the worst.

  “I’m not explaining anything. I said get the fuck out of my house!”

  Kate fought her instincts and acted. She was going to lie but she figured that was okay. Black had claimed to know his rights. But for someone dumb enough to quickly shove a blood-soaked towel under his couch, she had to wonder. She figured she could test it just enough to stay out of any legal trouble.

  “Apparently, you don’t know your rights,” she said. “That much fresh blood being present at a location where we are questioning someone in an active murder investigation trumps your rights. In fact,” she said, showing him her gun but not yet drawing it, “it could be considered threatening materials. Enough for us to draw our weapons and bring you in. Now…explain yourself!”

  The way his eyes darted in worry made it very apparent that he had bought her dishonesty. He shook his head nervously and then shrugged. “Fine…”

  And then he threw an elbow hard into DeMarco’s chest.

  She coughed and stumbled back into the kitchen. She slipped on the linoleum and banged into the fridge. Black then made a mistake in gauging Kate’s actions; he took a split second to see how she was going to follow up before he moved. Had he instantly gone for the door and into the night, he might have escaped. But he hesitated, toying with the idea of attacking Kate as well.

  Before he could take a single step forward, Kate was rushing at him. It was all too familiar to the scene at Davey Armstrong’s apartment. Black’s mistake, though, was that in seeing her coming forward, he decided to defend himself.

  He reached for the knife on the end table in one deft move. But as his hand fell on it, Kate brought her elbow down on his forearm. Black screamed and went to the floor like a sack of rocks. DeMarco was there with her in an instant, throwing her arms around Black’s torso as he tried to fight them off.