Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (71 page)

He reached the porch and assessed the woman.
African American. Late fifties. Iron-gray hair pulled back severely from a
gaunt face. “May I come in?”

She stood in the doorway, one hand still
clutching handle. “Do you have identification?”

He pulled out his badge.

Her gaze flicked across the ID, then returned
to his face. “Why are you here?”

No invitation to come inside. “It’s about your
son.”

She stepped back. The door resumed its closing
movement. “I have no son.”

Robbins raised a hand, caught the door.
“Ma’am, you have a twenty-eight year-old son named Tyrell. I need to talk to
him. That’s all. Just talk.”

“Who is it, Beatrice?” A male voice, raspy
with a smoker’s cough, came from somewhere inside the house.

She turned her head, spoke over her shoulder.
“No one.”

She pivoted back to Robbins, her dark eyes as
hard as her tone. “My son’s dead.”

“He was in the army, but he isn’t dead. He –”

“When he went to jail, he was dead to me. The
day they locked him up, I told him he wasn’t my son any longer.”

Oh crap, one of
those
parents. “Ma’am,
Tyrell made a mistake. He just got out of the brig. Surely you want to see
him.”

“You want to talk about mistakes? Bringing
that sinner into the world was my mistake.”

“What did he do?” What was so bad they’d
disowned their son? Robbins’ concern for Beason nudged up a notch.

“You’re a policeman. You’ve seen how these
hoodlums get started. First it was the vandalism.”

“Graffiti?” They kicked him out for that?

“Destructive. My husband and I tried to put
the fear of God into him, but he defied us and defied us. The law finally put
him in jail for stealing. They turned him loose when he turned eighteen.
According to the state, he was an adult. Fine. An adult.”

She looked ready to spit on the porch. Or her
son’s memory.

“He didn’t want to bide by our rules when he
was a child. Honor thy father and mother.” A grimace twisted her face. “He
didn’t pay any more attention to that commandment than he did, thou shalt not
steal. His clothes were packed and waiting when he walked up those stairs. He
picked up the bag and left. I haven’t seen his worthless hide since.”

Heavy steps sounded behind the woman.

“I want you to leave.” She again pushed on the
door.

“Please call me if Tyrell contacts you.”
Robbins wedged a card into the doorframe.

Voices came through the closed door. Robbins
hesitated at the top of the steps. Maybe the son wasn’t so dead to the stepdad.

He turned and rang the bell. The voices
stopped but no one answered. “Mrs. Munson? Mr. Munson? Tyrell may have taken an
old man hostage. We need to know where to find them. Where would Tyrell go if
he didn’t come here?”

The door wrenched open and a heavyset man with
cold eyes said, “That boy’s headed straight to hell. Do the world a favor and
shoot the dog when you find him.”

The door shut with a resounding slam.

Okay. Robbins rocked back on his heels. Now he
knew why Tyrell joined the army.

And he doubted the guy would come back here
unless it was to dance on one of his parents’ graves.

Robbins gave the unforgiving house one last
look.

He shook the dirt from his shoes before he
climbed into his car.

Robbins thought about his own kids on the
drive back to Newberry. Neither one was an angel. And he knew it could be tough
on a teenager when your dad was a cop.

Of course, he’d worried about them. About dumb
things they did. About things they might do. About things that could happen to
them.

But kicking them out had never crossed his
mind.

The somber mood followed him back to Newberry,
all the way inside to his desk. After twenty years in law enforcement, he
thought he’d seen it all—gotten too cynical to believe any sob story. But
instead of a young punk, he kept seeing a confused kid. Angry his dad died,
chafing against the arbitrary hypocrisy of his mom and stepfather.

Lashing out.

That was where Robbins’ empathy stopped.

And Beason… What was he supposed to think
about him? According to his neighbors and most of his family, Beason was a good
guy. The last guy to go on a joy ride with a criminal.

Robbins sat and stared at the whiteboard. He
was fresh out of ideas on where to look for George Beason or Tyrell Hayes.

With a sigh, he turned back to paperwork for
other cases he had going.

Time passed. He updated the chief and filled
out reports. First one, then another of the parole officers checked in,
confirming their charges weren’t running around Greenville with George Beason.
He handled paperwork on some cases and updated the chief. The chief had the
same question he asked himself. Was Hayes their guy?

Jordan finally called at 3:12. “Hayes was
court-martialed for stealing while he was in Iraq.”

Robbins didn’t ask how Jordan got the
information. He felt an unexpected surge of pride that the kid had extracted it
from a prison guard. “What did he take?”

“I haven’t found out yet. They wouldn’t let me
see his file. But get this. His
last visitor was Gloria Beason
Washington.”

Robbins nearly dropped the phone. “The daughter?”

“None other. The guards’ description matches her, too.

“You’re shitting me. What was she doing down there?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t just walk in down there and ask to see somebody.”

“Hayes put her on his mailing and visitor list.”

Robbins ran a hand over his face. “Putting a non-relative on
those lists taking planning.”

“I was surprised the brig let her in, period.”

“The court-martial’s conducted under army rules, but
incarceration is run by the feds. They’re all about criminal rights. When was
Washington down there?”

“March 23rd. Right before Hayes was released.”

“And a week later Hayes showed up at her father’s house.”

“Think she hired Hayes to take out her dad?” Jordan asked.

“The thought crossed my mind. One of the many questions I
have for her. Starting with how’d she even know the guy? And why was she lying
through her teeth when I talked to her yesterday?”

“We didn’t ask her about Hayes.”

“She knew about him. Mighty interesting coincidence he just
happened to show up at her dad’s.”

“Too big a coincidence,” Jordan said. “Anything else you
want me to do while I’m here?”

“You talk to his friends down there?”

“According to the guards, Hayes kept to himself. Worked out.
Spent time in the library. I got a list of the books.”

“Okay. Get copies of the visitor ledger and anything else
they’ll let you copy. Then head back up here. I’ll have another talk with Mrs.
Washington.”

Robbins hung up and immediately dialed Washington’s number.
He listened to the phone ring. After six blaring tones, her answering machine
picked up. “This is Detective Robbins. Please call me as soon as you get this
message.”

He pulled over the Beason file and found the phone number
for the dentist office where Washington worked.

He poked in the digits and asked for the office manager. A
minute later he was speaking with a pleasant-sounding woman. He identified
himself, then said, “I’m looking for one of your employees. Gloria Washington.”

“Join the crowd, Detective.” The tone was wry. “I’m looking
for her, too. She didn’t show up for work today. She hasn’t called in, either.
Has she done something I should know about?”

Interesting that her thoughts went first to dishonesty by
Washington. From his previous checking, he knew Washington didn’t have a
record. “Has she missed work before?”

“No,” the manager admitted. “But she has an attitude. Did
something happen to her?”

“I’m trying to locate her. If she comes into the office, or
calls, please let me know. It’s extremely important.”

He gave the woman his contact information and hung up.

Where was Washington?

What was her role in all this? She was connected to both
Beason and Hayes, but Robbins didn’t know enough about either relationship.
Angry with her father, she’d reached out to Hayes…why?

Things could go in too many different directions. He needed
more information. More facts.

If Hayes and Beason were planning something, was Washington
an innocent bystander or part of the crazy business up in Greenville? Did she
take off because she knew what the men were up to and didn’t want to be
involved? Or was she the mastermind behind the plan?

Had events gone sideways, with the missing seals and the
botched picture theft? When Jordan and he came around asking questions, had she
taken off, afraid she’d get caught?

If Beason didn’t go with Hayes willingly—Robbins flashed on
the dog. He couldn’t shake the gut instinct that said Beason was a victim in
the whole mess—then Washington could’ve set her father up. Her disappearing
could be an attempt to distance herself from events. She might have an alibi
for her father’s disappearance, but the visit to the Charleston brig screamed
conspiracy.

Robbins leaned against the seatback and stared at the notes
on the whiteboard. There was a third possibility. Washington could’ve learned
something about Hayes from the phone calls and visit to the brig. Something
that sent her running—away from Hayes.

Something that made her hide.

Where the hell was she?

Robbins tapped his fingers on his desk, stalling. He stared
at the final contact listing for Gloria Washington. He’d run through family,
neighbors, anybody who might know where Washington had gone. The last person he
wanted to talk to was Dr. McKinley, aka the Cat Woman.

With a deep sigh, figuring it was probably futile, he
punched in the digits for her office. “Doctor’s office. Please hold,” a
well-modulated voice answered.

Why did medical staff always immediately put you on hold? He
listened to the syrupy new age music for a moment, then the receptionist
returned. “How may I help you?”

He introduced himself. “I’d like to speak with Dr. McKinley
please.”

“Dr. McKinley is with a patient. I’ll be glad to take a
message.”

Robbins hesitated, not wanting to filter the information
through the receptionist. “Please have her call me,” he said. “It could be a
matter of life and death.”

There was a short pause, He wondered if she thought he was
being over-dramatic, but there could be a life at stake—George Beason’s life.

The receptionist said, “The doctor’s session is about to
wrap up if you’d like to hold.”

He turned his wrist, glanced at his watch. Nearly five.
“Sure. I can wait a few minutes.”

Was this McKinley’s last appointment for the day or did she
conduct evening sessions for people who had day jobs? He’d only have a moment
of her time if she had another patient scheduled.

He picked up his pen and tapped it against the Beason file.
McKinley didn’t seem the type to put herself out to accommodate anybody. He’d
have to play to her professional responsibility rather than personal feelings.

There was more of the new age music crap, then the Cat
Woman’s voice filled his ear. “How may I help you, Detective?”

“I’m calling about Gloria Washington.”

“I cannot reveal any patient information. It’s highly
confidential.”

“I’m aware of the confidentiality requirements in your
field, but Mrs. Washington is missing under unusual circumstances. I know
you’re aware her father is also missing.”

“Do you think the same person kidnapped both of them?” A
touch of concern filtered into the doctor’s voice.

“Do you know anyone who might want to harm either of them,”
he countered.

“I can’t help you with that. I can’t reveal whether Mrs.
Washington is a patient, much less anything a patient might disclose during one
of our sessions.”

“Even if her life is in danger?” As long as Washington
wasn’t with Hayes and her father, there was no reason to think she might be in
trouble. Even if she was with the two men, odds were she was there by her own
choice. The trouble was going to start when he caught up with her and started
asking questions about her relationship with Tyrell Hayes.

But if expressing concern—raising the possibility—was what
it took to get the doctor talking, he’d be happy to go down that path.
“Anything you tell me could help her. Help us find her.”

There was a long pause, thankfully without the new age
music, then the doctor said, “I won’t address specifics, but in estranged
family situations, I often suggest the patient reach out to the rest of the
family, to reconnect. Often a conflict with one family member will lead to
tension among the extended family, which can exacerbate the patient’s sense of
loss, abandonment or isolation.”

He’d already run through the in-state family. Washington
wasn’t with them. “You never discuss contingency plans? A safe haven?”

“Those discussions are standard in a domestic violence or
stalking situation, but I was not aware that was your concern today.”

It wasn’t, as far as he knew. “If Mrs. Washington were to
reach out to you, if she indicated she was in danger, please let me know and
ask her to contact me as well.”