The Dark Places

by R. S. Whitfield

  Surin picked up her bag and walked down the path, waving at him over her shoulder, trying to paste a believable smile onto her face. The creaking sound of an ancient screen door opening drew her attention to her left.

  “Hi, Mrs Dellion,” she said as Eamon’s neighbour came out onto her front porch. The woman was tall and stocky, with harsh features, and she wore a soft purple patterned housedress that hung from her body like a tent.

  “Surin Elliott, you best be getting home, it’s late,” she said sternly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, hearing Eamon chuckling from behind her, and with that, she picked up her pace and headed towards the shortcut home through the pines.

  31

  Baltimore, Maryland, Present day

  The static crackle of the police scanner forced Madison’s gritty, mascara-crusted eyes to open.

  “What the…” she muttered, clicking her tongue over her furry, cotton wool mouth. She sat up slowly and swung her legs over the side of the couch. She cringed when her feet unintentionally collided with several empty wine bottles, sending them clanging together loudly. The sound met her ears like a dagger of pain and made a beeline to her instantly throbbing head. “Fuck!” she cursed and reached for the Tylenol and water bottle on the coffee table. Thank God she had been prepared, she thought to herself, taking a large swig of the fluid to chase down two tablets. Last night had been a one-woman party. What was initially intended to be wine, chocolate, and Bridget Jones’s Diary had ended up becoming wine, chocolate, scotch, ice-cream and Titanic. She shook her head. Exciting life you lead, she thought.

  Before checking the scanner, Madison flipped open her laptop and logged onto her email. She squinted at the blank screen that read no new messages. Nothing from Toby yet, she sighed. Maybe nothing would ever come, she thought as she reached over to the scanner.

  Turning up the volume, she heard the ominous tone of police dispatch. “Unit four-one-two, please advise your ten-eighty-four on scene, over.”

  “Unit four-one-two, we are ten-twenty-three, over.”

  “Ten-four, four-one-two, over.” Static continued to crackle loudly.

  Madison knew the codes by heart. Police officers had just arrived at a scene. She leaned forward, waiting for the next transmission.

  “Dispatch, this is four-one-two, we have a ten-thirty-five, over.”

  “Ten-four, four-one-two, ten-sixty in progress.”

  She jumped up from the couch, clumsily, and reached for her phone, pressing five on her speed dial, she grabbed her pen and notebook before flopping back down on to the cushions.

  “Yeah?” The person at the other end of the phone answered casually.

  “It’s me,” she said, feeling a small swell of shame wash over her.

  “I thought we were done,” the man on the other end said through gritted teeth.

  “We are, we are, relax,” she replied calmly. “I just have one last question.” She shifted and pulled her leg underneath her and cradled the phone on her shoulder.

  “I heard there was a ten-thirty-five tonight.” Madison knew this code was mainly used when a body had been found.

  “And?” her reluctant source replied with a sour tone.

  “I need to know the details, not for print,” she stressed quickly, “for me, it will go nowhere, you have my word.”

  There was a sarcastic laugh on the other end of the line, followed by a long sigh. “Your word? Well, that’s a joke if ever I heard one,” he stated venomously. “Give me ten.” He hung up sharply in her ear.

  She rubbed her eyes, telling herself she was doing the right thing. This would be the last time she would play this card. The scanner continued its coded transcription.

  “That’s ten-four on J6 dispatch, over.”

  “Ten-sixty-nine, four-one-two.”

  Madison was reaching for her water bottle when her phone began ringing loudly. “What have you got?” she said, without introduction, after one ring.

  “Young woman’s body found dumped downtown,” he replied in a hushed tone.

  Madison’s heart started racing. “Raped?” she asked, mimicking his quiet voice unintentionally.

  “Doesn’t appear so. Forensics are on scene now. First indicators are strangulation.”

  “OK, not what I’m after then,” she replied and sighed.

  “Are we done?” her caller asked impatiently.

  She smiled, replying, “Yes, we are done.”

  “Lose my fucking number, Madison,” he said with an edge of desperation in his voice.

  “Consider it lost,” she said, hanging up without a goodbye.

  True to her word, she flicked through her phone and deleted her source’s code name from her contacts. Pity, she thought to herself, Detective Dennis Palmer was going to be an irreplaceable asset.

  ***

  The drive to Eamon Sutherland’s home was a quiet one. Surin sat behind the wheel, and her anxiety seemed to grow as each minute passed. She finally pulled up out front of a large home that was much the same as her parents’ house and turned off the ignition. She glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror.

  “God, it’s been a long time since I have been here,” she said aloud, flicking a stray lock of hair back from in front of her eyes.

  “Good memories?” Parker asked.

  Surin smiled sadly. “Mostly, yes,” she replied, then cleared her throat and mentally pulled herself together.

  “Right,” she said, getting back into detective mode. “Mr and Mrs Sutherland really are wonderful people.” Parker nodded. “Both of them are school teachers at the primary school here, they go to church on Sunday, and Wendy used to bake a mean pecan pie.”

  “Siblings?” Parker asked, taking out his notebook.

  “No,” Surin replied with a shake of her head. “Eamon is the apple of their eye, physically perfect, a star football player and smart too.”

  “Wow,” said Parker sarcastically, “can this guy do anything wrong?”

  Surin looked down at her hands. Parker glanced out the window. He wasn’t used to seeing her vulnerable side — he was pretty sure not many people ever had.

  “No one is perfect, Rhodes,” she replied and opened the car door, stepping out onto the path. Parker walked around to join her.

  “Now, from what I remember, Eamon was in line for a football scholarship to UM.”

  Parker interrupted, “He was a Terrapin?”

  Surin shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so, can’t say I followed a lot of college ball.”

  Parker nodded.

  “He may not even live in town, but even so, I think this is the best place to start.” Surin gestured to Parker’s notebook. “Did you find any info on him at all?” she asked.

  “Not much at all, and not for a long time,” he replied.

  “Weird,” she said quietly, as they approached the front door. “I thought he would be married with two point five kids by now, living next door to his folks and coaching North East High football.”

  Parker knocked on the front door loudly. “Was that his plan or yours?”

  Surin looked up at him. “My only plan was to get out.”

  Before Parker could reply, the front door swung inward and a petite brunette stood wiping her hands on a lemon curd-coloured apron.

  “Can I help you folks?” she asked, her voice soft but inviting. Then, as her eyes left Parker and focused on Surin, she gasped, hands covering her mouth. “Surin Elliott! As I live and breathe!” Reaching out, she pulled Surin into a familiar warm embrace.

  “Mrs Sutherland,” Surin mumbled, returning the hug briefly then looking down at her feet like a scolded teen.

  “Now Surin, surely you can call me Wendy after all this time.” She smiled and ushered them inside.

  Before Parker had the chance to take in the comfortable surroundings, he was eye to eye with an almost life-size framed picture of Eamon Sutherland. Surin was right — this boy was blessed. Strong chiselled jaw, creamy, tanned skin with
a set of dimples that would make most movie stars jealous. In the photo, he wore his football jersey and smiled naturally, revealing perfect teeth. Parker shook his head and laughed quietly under his breath. Surin was watching and reached forward quickly grabbing his elbow.

  “What?” she whispered as they continued to follow Wendy into the sitting room.

  “You two would have been one hell of a pair,” he said. Surin didn’t reply, but as she glanced at the picture of Eamon, Parker saw a look of utter sadness brush across her features, fleeting, but present.

  “Please, have a seat,” Wendy announced, gesturing towards a large whimsical floral three-seater sofa. Surin sat first, followed by Parker, who pulled out his notebook and smiled reassuringly in her direction.

  “Mrs Sutherland,” Surin began.

  “Please, it’s Wendy,” she corrected, sitting in the single chair to the right of them.

  “Wendy,” Surin continued. “You are aware that I’m a detective from Baltimore?”

  Wendy smiled. “Well, of course I am!” She laughed. “Can’t get your mother and father to quit boasting about you.”

  Surin smiled — she could only imagine her mother going on about it. “I do apologise for that,” she joked.

  Wendy smiled — it was a solemn smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t be,” she replied, placing her hands together, “it’s what proud parents do.”

  Surin shifted in her seat. Something wasn’t quite right here.

  As quickly as the mood had turned sombre, it transitioned again.

  “Where are my manners?” Wendy erupted with a nervous laugh. “Can I get you some tea or coffee?”

  Parker lent forward. “Tea would be wonderful if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  He smiled as Wendy shot off the chair and walked into the adjoining kitchen. Surin looked at Parker. He shrugged his shoulders, wondering what she was edgy about. It had been a long time since she had walked through the front door of the Sutherland’s, but it felt like nothing had changed. Actually, she was pretty sure absolutely nothing had changed, including the furniture and settings, even down to the entryway picture of Eamon at the beginning of senior year. Is that weird, she asked herself, but before she could voice her feelings to Parker, Wendy was making her way back into the room carrying a silver serving tray with a teapot and cups. Placing it down gently on the coffee table, Surin noticed that her hands were trembling slightly.

  “Wendy,” she said gently, “is everything OK?”

  Wendy smiled again, but this time there was no mistaking the depth of the sadness in her eyes. “It’s just that seeing you, it brings back so many memories.”

  Surin was confused. “Memories of me?” she asked.

  “Of you and Eamon, I guess,” she replied. “He was very much in love with you,” she began with a smile. “Not that he admitted it for a long time!”

  Surin blushed.

  “He constantly talked about you, ‘Surin is so smart, Surin is so strong,’” she continued in a sing-song manner. “His father and I knew that he had finally found a girl who wasn’t with him because he was a quarterback, and believe me, there were a lot!” She smiled again. “It was such a shock when you two broke up.”

  Surin watched as Wendy actually teared up. She reached over and touched her hand, briefly but tenderly.

  “We were kids, Mrs Sutherland,” she replied, not quite believing the emotional response to a decade-old high school break up.

  “Oh, I know that, dear, but he was just so lost after that. He was even going to go to Baltimore to try to win you back, but we convinced him to let you go.”

  Surin sat back, stunned.

  Parker asked, “He never got over her?”

  Wendy looked at him sadly. “I’m afraid not, still had her prom picture in his room.”

  Surin sat forward suddenly. This was ridiculous. “I’m sorry, I find it hard to believe that Mr Perfect, Eamon Sutherland, is still pining after me after all these years. Are you kidding!” she said abruptly.

  “Surin,” Parker cautioned, but she continued with her outburst.

  “I saw him two days after I broke up with him, kissing Jenny Blackwater — he seemed just fine.”

  Parker and Wendy were staring at her, a smile playing on Parker’s lips. She instantly realised how immature she sounded. Really, Surin, Jenny Blackwater?

  “Mrs Sutherland,” she said quietly, shaking her head, “I am so sorry, that was inappropriate and frankly juvenile of me.” She chuckled. “For a moment there, I felt like I was eighteen all over again.”

  Wendy leaned forward and clasped Surin’s hand tightly. “We know what all men do when they are hurt. They try to hurt back.”

  Surin smiled. It was the truth. “Wendy, we need to speak to Eamon.” The seriousness in her tone was unmistakable. “It’s a police matter, and it’s urgent.”

  Wendy didn’t move. Her mouth kind of fell open in a silent gasp.

  Surin glanced at Parker. “Mrs Sutherland?” she said again and gently touched the back of her hand.

  Wendy sat back slowly. “Surin, I thought you knew?” she whispered, looking directly at her for the first time.

  Surin couldn’t move as everything suddenly came into focus. No photos of grandchildren, no college graduation, no contact information or employment details.

  “Eamon is dead.”

  32

  Wendy held Surin in one last embrace on the steps of her home.

  “It really was wonderful to see you, Surin,” she said, dabbing her eye with a tissue.

  Surin nodded. “I am truly sorry for your loss, Mrs Sutherland,” Surin replied genuinely. “Eamon was a wonderful person,” she added.

  Parker couldn’t help but sense an undertone in her parting comment.

  Wendy waved at them as they walked to the car, then turned and walked back inside. Parker sat in the driver’s seat and turned to Surin as she slumped down beside him.

  “I’m sorry, Elliott,” he said. “I should have dug deeper.”

  Surin brushed her hair out of her face. “It’s not your fault,” she replied quietly. “I can’t understand why my parents didn’t mention anything,” she added and reached over to her seatbelt.

  “You were starting college. Maybe they didn’t want to upset you?” Parker said.

  “Maybe,” Surin mumbled. “Can you bring the details up?” Surin asked.

  Parker nodded, bringing the laptop onto his lap. Surin stared out the window, listening to the monotonous tapping sound of computer keys. Eamon’s house used to look so big to her. There was a time she would never admit to when she did dream of being Mrs Surin Sutherland, a stupid schoolgirl fantasy akin to practising your new signature and secretly thinking of names for your children. That time had faded along with every other good memory of Eamon. She sat there for a moment and decided to let the beautiful moments rush over her for one last time.

  Their first kiss, the feeling of butterflies she got whenever he entered the room, the jealous looks from the other girls that used to make them laugh, the heated way he used to look at her. She shook her head.

  Parker found what he was looking for. “I have it here,” he said quietly, watching her as she gazed out the window.

  “Go ahead,” she answered robotically.

  He cleared his throat and began. “Single-vehicle accident, Markman’s Road, driver pronounced at scene.” He hesitated at the coldness of the report.

  “It’s fine, Parker. Is there anything else?” Surin asked.

  “Blood alcohol was three times the legal limit,” he finished.

  “Idiot,” Surin mumbled. “Well, where the hell does all this leave our investigation?” she asked, looking at Parker, who folded the laptop away and started the car.

  “Back at the beginning, I guess,” he said, and Surin glanced back out the window at Eamon’s house as they pulled away, a niggling feeling that they had missed something nested in the very pit of her stomach.

  ***


  The phone on his desk rang incessantly. He tried to ignore the grating sound and looked out the window at his fortieth-floor view. A tentative knock on the office door drew his attention.

  “Sir?” a meek voice asked.

  He swivelled in his chair and stared at his assistant. “What?” he said, not intending his tone to sound so harsh.

  “There’s a call for you,” she replied. “She won’t leave a message and keeps calling,” she continued.

  He sighed loudly. “Right.” He sat forward in his chair and pressed his temples. “OK, put it through,” he added and watched her scuttle out of the room as quickly as possible. Almost immediately, the phone began its shrill song. He closed his eyes as he picked up the receiver. “Hello?” he said, already knowing full well who it was.

  “Why haven’t you called me?” the voice on the other end of the line whined.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “I have told you repeatedly not to call me here, Mother,” he snarled.

  “I know, I know,” she continued, disregarding his tone. “I just thought you would like to know who I saw today,” she said in a sing-song voice that transported him back to his childhood.

  “I’m not even remotely interested,” he muttered and stood up, stretching his back.

  “Oh, but I bet you will be,” she replied.

  He could feel her sneer even on the phone. “Enlighten me then,” he said dismissively.

  She paused for dramatic effect. “The ever-lovely Surin Elliott.”

  ***

  Surin decided to take Parker the scenic route back to her parents’ house. They finished by driving past her old high school on Irishtown Road.

  “And this is the home of the Indians,” she smiled. Parker nodded. “The best varsity football team for miles,” she continued jokingly.

  Parker glanced out his side window at the towering pine trees that bordered the school oval. “A school on the edge of the woods,” he commented. “How many lessons did you skip exploring in there?”