by Jonas Saul
“I’m inclined to believe that, too.”
Parkman’s brake lights came on. DeOcampo slowed, then stopped. They jumped out as soon as the car was parked.
Parkman met them by the hood, pointing to the side. “That’s his car. Last I saw, he was checking those doors—”
“Sarah,” Hunter called. “Over here.”
They all turned toward the voice. Detective Hunter was jogging their way.
“I just met with security,” he said, gasping for breath. “They haven’t seen anyone or anything specific.” He stopped five feet away and bent over to rest his hands on his thighs. “I’m still waiting for my guy to call me back”—deep breath, in and out—“with more information on the last place Beverly’s cell phone pinged.”
“Then we should head back to the Doyles’ place,” DeOcampo said. “We shouldn’t leave it so exposed.”
“No,” Hunter said too fast. He stepped closer. “We need to find Beverly. Why would someone be following her? I mean, with everything that’s happening, whoever is following her has to be connected to the case.”
Sarah nodded. “That would make sense, but why her specifically? Why not Brent Doyle, or you?”
He shrugged and raised his hands to the side. “I have no idea.” Anger filtered into his tone. “When I spoke with her, she was afraid. Whispering, but afraid. This isn’t a joke. I think whoever’s behind the recent murders was following Beverly and might have made their move.” He dropped his fist into the open palm of his other hand.
“Tell us something else,” Parkman said, crossing his arms. “Where were you tonight?”
Hunter glanced at Parkman, an empty expression on his face. “At home. I met with them”—he gestured at Sarah and DeOcampo—“and we discussed the surveillance of the Doyles’ house.”
“Which you have now called them away from.”
“Yeah,” he shouted, leaning forward in an antagonistic way. “To help find the perp who killed my friends.”
“You don’t know that. It could be a random mugger following your ex.”
“What is this?” Hunter asked, glancing at each one of them in turn. “You don’t believe me or something? I just got off the phone with her before coming here. She’s hurt and in danger. Look,” he held his hands out in front of him. “If you don’t want to be here, go home. I’ll deal with this on my own then.”
“Hunter,” Sarah said. “Calm the fuck down. You’re starting to sound like a hurt school boy. We are here to help. But you’re not being entirely truthful with us, are you?”
Hands on his hips now. “How’s that?”
“Where did you go after we left your house?” she asked.
His eyes told her everything she needed to know. He was debating the truth over a lie.
“I went to Beverly’s friend’s place to see if she was there.”
Was he telling the truth? If so, did he choose truth because of his integrity or because he thought Sarah already knew where he was.
In order to not out Parkman in front of Hunter, she added. “I’m hearing there was a scuffle of some sort.” She caught a smirk forming at the side of Parkman’s mouth. DeOcampo remained deadpan.
“We argued, sure. What’s that got to do with someone going after my ex-girlfriend?”
“Why did you fight with Beverly’s friend?”
“None of your business, unless you already know, and if so, why don’t you tell us?”
It was time to push Detective Hunter. She needed to know if he was innocent or involved.
“I think you’re looking for Beverly for personal reasons and enlisting us to help in that endeavor.”
“Fuck you.” Hunter stormed away.
“Detective Hunter,” DeOcampo shouted.
The homicide detective stopped and turned back.
“Believe it or not, we’re on your side,” she added. “But if you’re not being honest with us, how can we help you?”
He took a couple of quick steps back toward them. Parkman moved closer to Sarah.
“You want the truth?” he shouted, one hand in the air, spittle flying from his mouth.
An image of Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men popped into Sarah’s head, and Sarah almost shouted back, you can’t handle the truth, but decided on a nod instead.
“Yes, I’m looking for my ex-girlfriend because she stole my life savings from a safe in my house. She also stole a personal weapon that I had in a case, locked away. I never gave her the combination to the lock, so she either picked the lock or figured it out somehow. I’m also looking for her because of the propensity of this murderer to kill the women connected to the four of us from the barn that night in the late nineties. So, yeah, I’m looking for her, and I could sure use some help.”
“Then tell us what happened in that house tonight,” Sarah said. “Why were you fighting with them? I see a woman and a man.”
“That’s amazing,” he said, momentarily stunned. “If you can see all that, why don’t you just tell us where Beverly is? Better yet, tell us who and where the killer is. I can go and arrest him and be done with it.”
Sarah shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. Wish it did, though. I’d grab lottery numbers while I was at it, hit several jackpots and sit on a beach somewhere in the Mediterranean long before I’d go after murderers. So,” she took a breath, “you were going to tell us about the fight?”
“Okay, Anna wasn’t very forthcoming.”
“So you stole her cell phone?” Parkman asked.
Hunter frowned, looking from Parkman to Sarah, then back to Parkman. “What, you’re psychic, too?”
“I spoke with Parkman on the way over here,” Sarah said, which was basically true.
“No, I didn’t steal Anna’s cell phone. I borrowed it and she can have it back when this is over. Beverly wasn’t picking up when I called her, but she picked up when I called her on Anna’s phone.”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to frown. “I thought you said Beverly called you in a panic?”
All three of them were staring at Hunter as his face revealed the embarrassment of being caught in a lie. He let out a short laugh, his face reddening enough to be noticed in the little light cast by the parking lot overheads.
“Okay, so what? I called her, she called me—it doesn’t matter. The point is, we were on the phone when someone was chasing her, and—”
“You lied to us and pulled us from our stakeout.”
Thoughts of Alex came to her. What if Hunter had him killed? How big was this? How deep were the lies?
“What have you done?” Sarah shouted.
His cell phone rang—Anna’s or his, Sarah didn’t know. Hunter yanked it out to answer it.
In his attempt at openness, he turned on the speaker option and held the phone out for everyone to hear.
“Hey Rick, got anything?” he asked.
“Yeah, we were able to ping it to five minutes ago.”
“Okay, great.” Hunter sounded excited. “Where is she?”
Rick spoke an address over the speaker. At the sound of the number and street name, Sarah’s stomach dropped.
It was just as she thought.
Alex was in trouble.
Rick kept talking as all four of them stared at one another. “The phone has been at that address for at least an hour, Hunter. It was there when you were talking to her and it hasn’t moved since. She probably lives there or something. At this late hour, you’ll most likely get there and find her sleeping.” Rick laughed. “That help any, my friend?”
Hunter clicked off without answering.
“Call it in,” Parkman said, moving toward his car. “Call it in.” He shouted it this time.
“No fucking way,” Hunter shouted back, a rising fury coming out of those three words. “Whoever’s at that address is behind this entire mess.” He turned and ran for his car. “And I’m going to end this right the fuck now.”
“We have to beat him there,” DeOcampo said, already bolting for her
car door.
Sarah ran for the passenger side.
“Why is that address important?” Parkman yelled.
“Follow us. Alex may be in trouble.”
“Where are we going?”
“That address is where the Doyles live. If Beverly still has her phone, then she’s inside that house, too, and has been since we were there.”
Parkman shouted several cuss words and ran for his car as DeOcampo hit the gas.
Chapter 21
They pulled up to the Doyles’ house, the car’s tires squealing in protest. Since the caller was inside the house, there didn’t seem to be a need for stealth.
Hunter’s car squealed to a stop as well.
Sarah stayed on DeOcampo’s heels as she ran at Hunter. Parkman’s car door shut behind them as DeOcampo grabbed Hunter’s sleeve.
“Detective Hunter,” DeOcampo gasped. “You can’t run in there all pell mell. Calm the fuck down and let us go up, knock on the door.”
The front window of the Doyle house still had the reflections of the TV in the bay window. Everything looked normal, just as they’d left it about thirty minutes before.
Someone materialized beside them.
Sarah jumped and spun to see Alex five feet away.
“We cool?” he asked. “You want me to calm this guy down?”
Sarah raised a hand. “It’s okay, Alex,” she said loudly so Hunter would stop staring at the house and turn to the group. “Agent DeOcampo has Detective Hunter under control, isn’t that correct, Hunter?”
Everyone stared at Hunter, who slowly turned around. “Where did you come from?” he asked Alex.
Alex didn’t respond. He just watched Hunter, expressionless.
“I told you, he won’t talk much. But you’re going to have to calm down.”
“Beverly is in there,” he said, jamming an arm toward the house.
Alex moved another foot closer to him.
“Look, Detective Hunter, Alex was here the whole time.” She turned to Alex. “Any movement whatsoever?”
Alex shook his head, his eyes on Hunter. “Nothing, Sarah. Nothing inside or outside. I was able to keep an eye on the rear as well. I set up notifications, too. Nothing.”
“Notifications?” Hunter said. “What the hell does that mean?”
Parkman cleared his throat. “We carry clear tape with us in situations like this. It’s used to tape a piece of hair across a door or gate. If that gate or door is opened, the hair snaps out of the tape and we know someone accessed that area.”
Alex stepped closer to the group. “And no one has moved a single exterior door or gate at this house since I arrived.”
Hunter checked his watch. “When did you get here?”
“Around eleven this evening. Almost two hours ago.”
“And I spoke with Beverly an hour ago.” He stared at Sarah. “So, whoever is doing this was probably already in that house.”
“Are you armed?” Sarah asked Hunter.
He nodded.
“Anyone else?”
“I am,” DeOcampo said.
“Then I suggest Hunter takes the back door, DeOcampo goes in the front, each leading person is the armed one. Parkman will assist in the back, Alex and myself with DeOcampo.”
Everyone nodded.
“Let’s go,” Sarah said.
All five of them approached the house, this time with more stealth than their arrival by car.
“Wait for me to knock and gain access, Hunter,” DeOcampo said. “We don’t break in without probable cause.”
Then Hunter and Parkman were lost to the darkness at the side of the house.
“You’ve seen nothing?” Sarah asked Alex. “Not even someone getting up off the couch for a bathroom break?”
He shook his head. “No one has been in the living room this whole time. No movement inside the house at all from any of the windows.”
“That’s eerie.” She caught DeOcampo’s gaze over her shoulder. “You think we’re walking into something here, Agent?”
She nodded. “I do, unfortunately. And I’m not sure it has anything to do with Hunter.”
“Meaning what?”
DeOcampo knocked hard on the front door of the Doyles’ house, then shouted, “Police. Open up.”
She turned to Sarah and Alex. “I’m not psychic, but I think the Doyles’ are dead inside, alongside Beverly’s body, leaving Hunter to go mad, knowing he’s the last one alive from that night.”
“You may be right.”
DeOcampo knocked, then shouted again.
The sound of something breaking inside the house emanated out to them, followed by a loud thump. Sarah leaned over the iron railing on the front porch and peeked in through the window.
“Fuck, Hunter just broke in the back door.” She turned to Alex. “Can you get us inside.”
He nodded and stepped forward without hesitation.
DeOcampo tried the knob. It turned in her hand.
“Got it,” she said.
Alex stopped, then eased back.
Sarah followed DeOcampo inside. The FBI agent had her weapon out and aimed at the floor, her index finger resting outside the trigger guard.
Hunter met them in the hallway.
“No one in the kitchen, no one in the living room.”
“What the hell was that?” DeOcampo whispered. “Why did you smash in their back door?”
“Because of the blood.”
“What blood?”
Hunter moved back several steps and pointed. Sarah and DeOcampo leaned into the kitchen.
Blood was splattered on the cupboards below the sink area. It wouldn’t have been easy to see unless someone stood right at the back window and stared inside.
“Before we attempt to clear this place,” DeOcampo said, “call Beverly’s number again. See if the phone is back on.”
Hunter slipped his gun in his pants and pulled out the phone. He hit the button for Beverly, his hands shaking.
Alex stood by the base of the stairs, staring up, Parkman in the kitchen by what Sarah thought were stairs to the basement.
A phone rang somewhere in the house.
“Where’s that coming from?” Sarah asked in a forced whisper.
“The basement,” Parkman said.
“Fuck,” DeOcampo mumbled. “I hate basements.”
“I’ll go first.” Hunter ended the call. The phone in the basement stopped ringing.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Parkman added. He gestured at the basement door. “I mean, you’re armed.”
Hunter shoved the phone away and placed his weapon back in his hand. Sarah wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but whatever they found in this house, she had a feeling he didn’t do it personally. He’d been tied up most of the day, and he had Parkman following him for the rest of it.
Hunter knocked on the wall at the top of the stairs. “Anyone down there?” When there was no answer, he edged around the corner and glanced down the stairs. Sarah watched him, knowing Alex was behind her and watching their flank.
“It’s the police. We’re coming down now.”
Hunter flicked on the light at the top of the stairs and started down. DeOcampo was right behind him.
Sarah hustled over to the opening at the top of the stairs to look down in time to see Hunter and DeOcampo stop at the halfway mark.
DeOcampo covered her mouth with a hand.
It took several more moments, but then Sarah noticed the smell wafting up from the basement.
The smell of blood, death.
DeOcampo started back up the stairs. At the top, she slipped her weapon out of sight and shouted at Hunter. “Come back up. Don’t go down there. The rest of you, stay upstairs.”
Sarah grabbed her arms and turned her until they were facing each other.
“What was down there? What did you see?”
“A nightmare.”
Hunter moved back into the kitchen.
“Brent Doyle and his wife are
no longer with us.” Hunter looked dejected. He dropped at the kitchen table and placed his face in his hands.
“Any sign of Beverly?” Sarah asked.
Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t go all the way down,” he mumbled through his hands.
“What if she’s hurt, or needs help?”
DeOcampo had pulled out her phone and was dialing a number. She placed the phone to her ear.
“Beverly probably isn’t down there.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because there was a note left on the body,” Hunter said, exhaling on the last word. The detective looked close to losing his mind. Even his eyes were rolling like he couldn’t focus on anything.
“What did the note say?” Sarah asked as she moved around DeOcampo. The agent was explaining what they found in the basement and was asking for units to respond to two dead bodies.
“It said, that Bev is dead unless I turn myself in.”
“You could read all that from the stairs?”
Hunter glanced up, his eyes glazed over, rimmed in red. “Black magic marker over three large pieces of paper. It said, Bev is dead, on one page, unless you turn, on another, and yourself in, on the third.”
“Well, then, I guess you have your answer.”
“Well, then,” Hunter mimicked. “I disagree. I’m not turning myself in. For what?” He stood up, the gun still in his hand. “No fucking way. Not until I find who’s doing this.”
Hunter only made one step toward the broken back door before Alex was beside him, a soft whoosh of air passing Sarah’s cheek as Alex slipped by her.
Hunter’s wrist and elbow were jammed backwards, the gun lost to the air. Even as he spun the man around to hold him, Alex grunted at Parkman, who nodded. Alex had kicked the gun upward with his right foot before it hit the ground. The gun sailed toward Parkman, who leaned forward and to the right to catch it.
