The Dark Places

by R. S. Whitfield

  Parker leaned in closer to have a look, squinting his eyes. “So, this year he has escalated majorly. It’s only been twelve months, give or take, since Jessica Moroe and already three others since?”

  Surin nodded, not liking the thoughts that were building in her head. “Whatever his game is,” she added, “it’s approaching its finale.”

  They both stared at each other for a beat. Parker broke eye contact first, abruptly grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

  “You going?” Surin asked, rubbing her neck, trying not to sound disappointed.

  “Yeah, I think I’d better.” He smiled. “I can’t remember the last time I was in bed at a decent hour.”

  “Yeah,” she added, standing up and reaching for her tote bag as well. “You’re right. A good night’s sleep may be just what the doctor ordered.”

  Parker smiled, and they walked together to the elevator. “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Tomorrow.” Surin smiled, then remembered. “I’m going to run Isabelle’s things over to her mum tonight,” she added. The elevator beeped as they reached the ground floor.

  “Did you want me to come along?” Parker asked.

  “I can manage, thanks,” she said with a smile. “See ya,”

  He watched her walk to her car, head high, hand resting on her bag. He walked around to the rear parking lot and sidled into the Crown Vic, sitting behind the wheel he paused before firing up the engine. All those girls, he thought and shook his head. All those girls and no one even noticed.

  ***

  The drive to the Cresthyme Hotel was long but peaceful. Surin tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a tune playing on the radio. It was late, and the Golden Oldies program had begun.

  The soulful voice of Louis Armstrong singing ‘What a Wonderful World’ filled her car. She shook her head and flicked it off.

  “Wonderful world? Really?” she said aloud. The names of all six girls filled her mind. So young, so beautiful, so much time left.

  “You’re a real son of a bitch,” Surin said, to no one, “but we see you now.” Smiling in the dark, as the hotel sign flashed up ahead. Surin exited the freeway and parked out front. She reached into the back seat and grabbed the ziplock bag filled with Isabelle’s personal effects.

  Surin made her way to Bethany Lacross’s room and knocked on the door gently, praying that she wasn’t going to wake the poor woman.

  She waited as the chain lock rattled and the door bolt slid back to reveal Bethany’s face.

  Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the skin under her nose was raw from being constantly wiped. Surin’s heart went out to her.

  “Detective?” she said. “How nice to see you?” She smiled with a sniff and opened the door wider to let her in. Surin followed her as she perched on the edge of the couch, drawing her robe tightly around her frail body. Surin sat stiffly on the hotel sofa beside her.

  “Do you have any news?”

  “No, I’m sorry I don’t, Mrs Lacross,” Surin said, casting her eyes downwards. “I’m working on it though, I can promise you that.”

  Bethany reached over and touched Surin’s shoulder. “It’s OK, love, I know you are.”

  Surin looked up at her, this woman who had lost her child, who was feeling pain that few would understand and she was comforting her. She felt a lump rise in her throat. “I have Isabelle’s things,” she said, standing up and passing the bag over.

  “Thank you.” Bethany sniffed, holding the bag tightly to her chest.

  Surin nodded and turned to leave. “When are you leaving?” she asked, on the way towards the door.

  “I don’t know,” Bethany mumbled, opening the bag and fingering the items inside. “If I go, then she really is gone,” she added.

  Surin nodded. “I will contact you the minute I know anything,” Surin said, now desperate to leave.

  “Thank you again, Detective.”

  Surin closed the door behind her and let out a long breath. Worst part of the job, she thought, but also the most important. Detectives often live amongst a sea of dead bodies; a victim is just a victim, another day’s work, and sometimes the line between empathy and indifference can start to blur. Dealing with a victim’s loved ones reminds them that the latest dead body was, in fact, a person — someone’s daughter, sister, lover. It’s a dose of reality all cops need to remind them of why they do what they do. Surin walked back to her car, deciding on Chinese takeaway for dinner when a voice from behind startled her.

  “Detective!” Surin spun around, hand automatically resting on her gun. She also noticed how strangely jumpy she was. Bethany Lacross was making her way quickly across the parking lot towards her.

  “Is everything OK, Mrs Lacross?” Surin asked, concerned as she picked up her pace to walk over to meet her.

  “Oh yes, sorry to yell out at you like that.” She smiled sadly. “I was going through Isabelle’s things, the ones you just gave me.” Her eyes watered up involuntarily. “There’s been a mistake,” she added.

  Surin stared at her, confused. “A mistake?”

  Bethany reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pressed an object into Surin’s palm. “This doesn’t belong to Isabelle.”

  Surin slowly looked down at her hand, and in that instant, the blood in her veins turned to ice, and her entire world collapsed around her as she sunk to the sidewalk onto her knees. She barely registered Bethany’s concerned voice. It felt as if she were floating underwater; time had stopped.

  The sound of everything and everyone was distant, muffled and distorted. She reluctantly opened her trembling hand again and stared at the delicate silver chain. This is not happening, she thought, closing her eyes tightly and then reopening them. It’s impossible, she continued to tell herself.

  Regaining a small grasp back on reality, she started to stand up on her very shaky legs, the sound of Bethany’s concerned voice rushed back to her like a wave.

  “Are you OK?” she asked incessantly.

  Surin nodded. “Yes, sorry, I, um, I skipped lunch and have low blood sugar,” she lied. “I’ll be fine.” Mrs Lacross was watching her closely. “Thanks for bringing me this,” she said, gesturing to her closed fist. “I’ll return it to the medical examiner,” she added with a weak smile.

  “OK then, please go and get something to eat,” Bethany replied and smiled, placing her hand gently on Surin’s shoulder.

  “I will,” Surin said and turned back towards her car.

  She watched as Bethany walked back into the lobby of the hotel and out of sight, then she opened her hand again. She held the necklace up to the light and stared at the little pendant that twirled slowly in the air. “E,” she breathed, reading aloud the pendant’s single engraved letter, closing her eyes as again she fought the wave of nausea that rose up her throat. Fighting to reassemble some of her composure, she placed the necklace into the centre console. “What the fuck is going on?”

  19

  The crowd let out a final deafening roar as the full-time siren blew. An overexcited voice from the loudspeaker confirmed the Baltimore Ravens’ victory over the New England Patriots.

  “Great game.” Lucy smiled as she reached for his hand.

  “Super,” he replied coldly.

  She let her hand drop to her side and felt her lower lip start to pout as they slowly made their way out of the stadium. He had been distant tonight, distant and angry. She felt panic start to build in her chest; he’s going to break up with me she thought as her eyes welled up.

  “Why don’t we get a cab to Little Italy and have something delicious for dinner?” she asked, turning to face him.

  He instantly recognised the desperation in her voice. Stopping still, he took her by the shoulders gently. “I’m beat, honey. I think I’m going to turn in early tonight.” He looked at her, and she smiled weakly.

  “Oh, OK,” she replied, adding, “I could do with an early night too actually, I’ve been so busy at work.”

  He rolled h
is eyes and cut her off quickly. “Lucy, I want to be alone tonight, do you understand?” He realised his voice was laced with anger and impatience, but he was past caring. Her face dropped, and for an agonising second he thought she was going to cry. Don’t you fucking dare, he thought.

  Regaining his composure, he took a deep breath. “Truth is, I’m not feeling too well, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I got you sick, especially with your big presentation coming up.” He smiled at her.

  “You remember my meeting?” she squealed.

  “Of course,” he answered. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he replied. The lie rolled out of his mouth effortlessly; it was all he could do not to gag.

  She grabbed him by the sleeves and planted a wet kiss on his lips.

  “I thought you were breaking up with me,” she said, quietly looking up at him through her lashes.

  He looked at her strangely. “Because I wanted a night to myself?” he asked. What the fuck is wrong with you women!

  “Yes, that,” she said, looking down at her feet, embarrassed, “and you haven’t been yourself tonight.”

  I hate to break it to you, honey, but I haven’t been myself with you, ever, he thought, and it made him smile.

  “I know,” he replied, sighing dramatically for effect, “and I’m sorry. I’m just going to grab a cab home, OK?” He quickly kissed her cheek and jumped into the waiting taxi before she could object.

  “I’ll call you,” he yelled, leaving her standing alone on the sidewalk. He watched her deflated figure fade into the distance and sighed. It was getting harder and harder to be in her company. This was true, but the thought of starting again with another one was far worse.

  He paid the cab driver without uttering a word and strode purposefully up to his building. His body was racked with tension; he could feel the need coiled inside him like a snake ready to strike. The last one had proved very disappointing, which only confirmed what he already knew — that the years of using surrogates were over. He needed the true object of his obsession — only then would he finally fulfil his desire.

  He had watched her today. The years had definitely been kind. She looked just the same as she had all that time ago. Beautiful, confident, strong. Only he knew the real her. He closed his eyes briefly to recall the sweet sound of her cries as tears had trickled down her face, staining those perfect cheeks. The time for them to be together was fast approaching, but now more than ever, he had to be careful. He wouldn’t let the anticipation of it all overwhelm him. He had to remain stoic, sensible, and above all, he had to remain in control. There was absolutely no margin for error. Unlocking the door to his apartment, he let the darkness inside envelop him. Walking over to his closet, he pulled down an old black briefcase from the top shelf. Clicking the locks open, he took out the yearbook and flipped to the well-worn, dog-eared page.

  Her face stared back at him with that all-American-girl-next-door smile. Tenderly, he rubbed his thumb over her picture, imagining the feel of her soft skin. He took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his chest slowly dissipate. When he opened his eyes, he stared at her again. Reading the comment below her picture for the millionth time, he grinned. “I want to make a difference,” he said out loud. Shutting the book, it was returned to its hiding place.

  “Oh, I promise you will,” he said, smirking, switching on his lamp and saturating the bedroom with warm light. “Your name will be remembered forever.”

  ***

  Fell’s Point, Baltimore, was Madison’s hometown and her absolute favourite place in the world. The little waterfront community nestled comfortably on the Northwest Branch of the Patapsco River. Antique stores, coffee shops and restaurants littered the historical sidewalks. Comprising of a large immigrant population, the town retained a rich heritage that paid homage to its Irish, German and Polish founders. It also had the prestigious title, ‘Greatest concentration of drinking establishments in Baltimore,” boasting over one hundred and twenty pubs and taverns. Madison made the trip back to Fell’s Point in April each year to see her family and celebrate the Fell's Point Privateer Festival. The annual weekend-long festival commemorated the privateer and maritime history of Fell's Point, culminating with The Pirate’s Ball, her single favourite night of the year.

  She sat still, staring out the window of the much-loved restaurant, Eat Bertha’s Mussels, and tried to piece together what she had discovered. She was finding herself in a precarious position, and to be honest, not one she had ever been in before. Run the story — her personal motto — collateral damage was inconsequential. This time, however, it felt different. She looked over her notes, over the names of the poor girls who had been murdered and let her head fall into her hands. Since when do you have a conscience, she asked herself for the hundredth time that day. Standing, she pushed her laptop and notebook back into her satchel. At that moment, her cell phone began vibrating in her jacket pocket.

  “Madison speaking,” she answered, not recognising the number.

  “Did you get the files?” the voice asked, not introducing itself.

  “Yes, yes, I did, thank you again,” she replied.

  “Don’t thank me, you gave me no choice, and you know it.” There was bitterness in the retort.

  “Yes, I know,” Madison replied, feeling shame creep up her neck.

  “I will not print the article, as promised. It’s already destroyed, and no one else caught it,” she added.

  “I won’t hear from you ever again then,” the voice asked desperately.

  “You have my word,” she replied.

  A deep laugh resonated down the line. “Yeah, like that means anything.”

  Madison was going to reply, but the line went dead. Don’t feel bad, she told herself. Information is power, and nobody got hurt. She was about to leave when her phone rang again, this time it was her boss from the paper.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “Have you finished that ‘baby born in car’ story yet?” he asked.

  Madison rolled her eyes. “It’s in your email,” she replied sighing, and in that moment, she decided what she was going to do.

  “Excellent,” he replied, adding, “are you coming in today?”

  “No, actually, you’ll have to manage without me.” She smiled and walked out the door. The little bell above it dinged as she left. “There are two people I really need to talk to.”

  ***

  The mood at Siesta’s was upbeat as always. Out of the corner of his eye, Parker was watching Surin eat nachos. Something was very wrong.

  “So, what’s our next step?” he asked her, trying to sound normal. Surin shrugged her shoulders and took a swig of Corona.

  “How about another beer?” she replied, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

  Parker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Leaning forward, he grabbed the bottle out of Surin’s hand and placed it on the table.

  “Hey!” she protested, grabbing it back.

  “What is going on, Elliott?” he asked, his tone serious.

  Surin’s face immediately lost all its colour, but she sat back and tried to look nonchalant. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, her voice steady and measured.

  “Bullshit,” he said, leaning back into the padded booth. “You haven’t been yourself since leaving the station last night.” He ran his hand through his hair then tucked a wild strand behind his ear. “We are partners, Elliott, what’s the point of that if there’s no trust between us?”

  Surin stared into his eyes, and could not only see frustration but concern, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to tell him everything, which made lying to him even harder. “Nothing’s wrong.” She shrugged. “I dropped the bag off to the hotel and went home, stuffed my face with Chinese and the rest, as they say, is history.” She plastered a fake smile across her face hoping it came across as mildly convincing.

  “To be honest, I just don’t feel a hundred per cent. This whole
case is taking its toll,” she lied. Parker was watching her intently, trying to work out if she was playing him.

  “OK,” he finally said, deciding that it was not the right time to press her. “Sorry, I just, well, you can tell me anything, you know that, right?” he replied.

  Surin nodded, telling herself she was doing the right thing. “Same goes with you,” she added.

  They both started eating again, this time in comfortable silence. The tension surrounding Surin was slowly dissolving, but her mind drifted back to the chain stored safely inside her car. A coincidence, that’s all, she told herself. Isabelle could have received that from anyone. Her mother is not going to know every piece of jewellery her daughter had ever owned, not to mention the fact that no one in their right mind would tell their parents if they were casually hooking up with someone. She immediately started feeling better. A coincidence, she repeated to herself. She looked up at Parker to apologise for her mood when the smile playing on her lips immediately dissolved.

  Madison Brooke was walking over to their booth, a cautious smirk on her face. Surin continued to watch her approach, every sense in her body starting to tingle.

  “Detectives,” Madison said carefully, as she reached where they were sitting. Parker leaned back, a look of alarm crossing his features.

  “I’ll give it to you, Madison,” Surin said, shaking her head in disbelief, “you’ve got balls.” Parker nodded in agreement.

  “I know this is awkward in every sense of the word,” Madison replied, straightening her jacket hem compulsively, “but I do need to talk to you both and believe me you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”

  Surin took a deep breath and looked over to Parker, who she was sure was waiting for a good old-fashioned catfight to break out.

  “Is no place sacred, Madison?” Surin added, gesturing to the nearly empty restaurant. “This was my favourite place in town, and now that you’re here it feels, well, to be honest, it feels violated.” She shook her head again in disbelief. “Did you follow us here?” she asked quietly. Madison looked nervous and glanced at Parker; he held his hands up in mock surrender.