Authors: Nathan Field
“Such as what? What qualifies as concrete?”
Virgil shrugged. “A photograph of Leach. Proof that he’s in town.”
“And how am I supposed to get that?”
“You could follow Maxine.”
“But I have to work. And she’s bound to be more careful now she knows I’m onto her.” Karl paused, looking hopefully at Virgil.
Virgil sighed. “You have more money?”
“Yes. Soon…”
“–
Soon
doesn’t help my cash flow situation. As you might have noticed, business isn’t exactly booming.”
“But you can't just walk away, knowing what you know. What if another girl dies?”
The heat was flushing Virgil’s cheeks. He bent down to snap off the heater. “Don’t lay the guilt trip on me, alright? I’ve already gone beyond the call of duty. Professor Leach wasn't part of the mandate, but I investigated anyway – chasing up past crimes, making inquiries at the hospital. Three and a half days work for four hundred measly bucks.
“That's more than I earn in a week,” Karl grumbled.
“Yeah, and how much alimony do you pay?”
Karl lowered his eyes. He was angry but deep down, he understood-- Virgil wasn’t working out of Chinatown for the view. “So what do you suggest?” Karl said, ready to make nice.
“Be creative.” He pointed to the printout on Karl's lap. “Maybe there's something in there you can use.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, places or names you can chase up.” He checked his watch, getting to his feet. “Shit, I’m supposed to be across town in five minutes. We’ve got to wrap this up.”
“Okay. And hey, I’m sorry if I offended you before. You’re a professional – I understand. You’ve got no moral obligation to help me.”
Virgil stared at him. “Jesus, do you even know you’re doing it?”
“What?”
“The passive aggressive bullshit. Honestly, Karl. You’re worse than my ex-wife.”
14
Tap, tap, tap.
Dawn's eyes flipped open, alerted by the sound. Had she even been asleep? She couldn’t tell anymore; she slept so lightly.
She’d come to loathe the nighttime. Ever since Maxine’s thinly veiled threat, she was panicked by the slightest noise outside her bedroom window. Footsteps on the sidewalk. Car doors being slammed. Branches bending in the wind. She knew they were just the ordinary sounds of suburbia at night, but she couldn’t help tensing at each scrape and thud.
Tap, tap.
Dawn sat bolt upright, staring into the dark.
The noise had come from inside the house.
Dawn slowly peeled back her comforter and placed her bare feet on the carpet. She held her breath, listening to the dark. The tapping had stopped for now. There was only the distant hum of the refrigerator.
She wondered if it was a rat. They’d had a big one last winter and it made all sorts of strange noises in the middle of the night. Jumping into the trash. Scrambling up the wall cavities and into the roof. They'd eventually found its flattened body in a trap they'd set under the kitchen sink. Dawn had refused to touch it, running to her bedroom while Isobel disposed of the body.
Rats that big and ugly could make a lot of noise, Dawn reasoned. It could be clawing at the pantry door, or sharpening its teeth on a piece of wood.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Fuck,” Dawn whispered, her pulse quickening. There was a metallic ring to the tapping. If she had to guess, it was coming from the kitchen, or maybe the downstairs bathroom. Had a rat climbed into the tub? It was possible – its hard claws tapping on the porcelain.
Christ, she hoped that's what it was. Dawn would take a rat in the bathroom over just about everything else she was imagining.
She tiptoed to her bedroom doorway, peering down at the foot of the stairs where light pooled in from the living room. Since she’d been home alone, Dawn made a habit of leaving the table lamp on at night. She couldn't stand for the house to be completely dark.
Tap, tap…tap, tap.
Okay, Dawn thought, so it wasn’t a rat. The tapping was too even, too deliberate. A man-made sound.
Her mind was made up. Whoever it was, even if it
was
Maxine, she had to fucking know. Besides, there was no escape route upstairs. She’d be safer moving closer to an exit.
She started down the stairs, wincing with each step for fear of a loud creak. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Dawn paused to listen. Once she moved into the living room she'd be bathed in light and visible from the kitchen. She wanted to hear the tapping again before going any further. Hoping for one more clue as to its source.
She counted out a minute; then two. The tapping had stopped. The only sound was her heart vibrating in her ears.
Steeling herself, she poked her head around the living room doorway.
Empty.
The furniture looked quietly menacing in the muted lamplight but at least there were no strange figures lurking in the shadows.
She braved a step inside the living room, looking ahead to the kitchen. But the lamplight didn’t reach beyond the first foot of tiling, and Dawn had an uncomfortable feeling that someone was staring out at her from the darkness. She froze for a moment, trying to blend in with the furniture. But no one rushed out at her. The kitchen was empty, too.
Tap, tap, tap....tap, tap.
Dawn ears followed the sound. She was definitely getting warmer. She tiptoed up to the kitchen and turned towards the short hallway to her right. A rectangle of white light bordered the closed door.
The late night visitor was in her bathroom.
But what to do now? Part of her was tempted to run outside and call 911 from her neighbor's house. But if Maxine or some other intruder wished her harm, why would they have shut themselves in the bathroom? It didn’t make sense.
A bigger part of her wanted to look.
Tap, tap, tap.
Dawn moved closer and put her ear to the door. She could hear a dull scraping sound; a sound she couldn’t place.
Dawn took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
A strange woman was standing in front of the mirror, bathed in the intensity of the bathroom lights. Clumps of dark hair covered the bathroom floor. The sink was full of bloody water. A pair of scissors lay on the countertop.
Dawn’s fear shifted to repulsion.
The strange woman was Isobel.
Isobel drew a razor over her head, removing the final layer of bristle. Cutting so close she was peeling the top of her scalp. Blood was dripping down her neck and soaking the back of her white housedress.
When she’d completed a long, slow stroke, she dunked the razor in the sink and tapped it on the porcelain rim, shaking off the bloody water
.
She was about to repeat the procedure when Dawn snapped out of her shock.
“
Isobel, stop it!
You’re bleeding.”
Isobel’s eyes found her in the bathroom mirror. She stared blankly for a second and then slowly turned around.
Dawn gasped at her mother’s close-up appearance. She was almost unrecognizable without her signature frizzy hair. She looked lifeless and bare; like a department store mannequin.
“Jesus,” Dawn said, edging back into the hallway. “Oh, Jesus. What are you doing to yourself?”
“I’m removing my hair.”
“But why? Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s dirty. I’m dirty all over.” She reached out with her free hand, and Dawn took another step back.
“See?” Isobel said with a sad smile. “Even you can’t stand to touch me.”
“I’m just scared,” Dawn said. “It’s the middle of the night and there’s blood everywhere. If you put down the razor, I’ll give you the biggest hug ever.”
“I don’t want a hug. I don’t deserve one.”
“What do you mean?” Dawn said, her voice starting to thicken. “You’re not making any sense….”
“I don’t know myself anymore. There are things I’ve done. Horrible things…”
“Things were done to
you!
” Dawn screamed. “It was that bitch Maxine who lured you in. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault!”
Isobel studied her, frowning. Then she half-turned and dropped the razor into the water.
In their place, she picked up the scissors, her fingers working the blades.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful you are,” Isobel said, moving forward. “So young and innocent. Oh, poor Dawn. I’m so sorry…”
“You’re scaring me!” Dawn cried, stumbling back into the kitchen.
She had to get out.
“Don’t go,” Isobel yelled as Dawn sprinted towards the front door. “I’m trying to help you.”
Dawn was running too fast to answer, fumbling with the front door locks and bursting into the freezing winter’s night. She knew her destination – the Dixons’ house over the road. Larry Dixon was the only neighbor she’d talked to for more than five minutes, so she instinctively made a beeline for his oversized bungalow, tearing up the front yard and pounding on his door.
She kept pounding even when the porch light switched on and she heard footsteps coming toward her. Breathless, she checked over her shoulder, hoping Isobel wasn’t about to plunge a pair of scissors into her neck. No one was there, but Dawn noticed the light shifting across the Dixons’ front yard, the surface of the grass rippling like a wave. A car was heading their way.
Dawn’s eyes widened, foreseeing the tragedy about to unfold….
Isobel emerged from their house and walked slowly up the front path, the blood on her housedress glowing like smears of crayon. Her eyes picked out Dawn, who was lit up by the Dixon’s porch light. She started across the road, even though Dawn was jumping up and down and waving her hands, screaming at her to turn around, to go back, to fucking look to her right.
But Isobel wasn’t aware of her surroundings. She only had eyes for her daughter.
Dawn bolted towards her, thinking she might have time to force Isobel back onto the pavement. But the car was approaching fast, seeming to accelerate as it drew nearer, and the road was suddenly awash with pale yellow light.
Dawn’s legs locked a few feet from the curb, just as her mother appeared in the crosshairs of the car headlights.
Isobel didn’t even flinch as the brakes squealed. She was still staring at Dawn as the car took out her legs with a sharp crack, her body already bent of shape as it flew through the air. Dawn could see her mother was going to land horribly, but she turned away a second too late.
There was a sickening crunch of teeth and bone, and Isobel’s head split open and spread across the road.
PART THREE
1
“Who did you say?” Detective McElroy asked, sitting up suddenly. He’d been focused on catching the yolk in his breakfast muffin before it dribbled onto his tie, paying only half an ear to the Monday morning debrief.
“Isobel Flint,” Captain Vance said wearily after he’d checked his notes again. “Why, Walt? You know her?”
“She’s a missing person case.”
“Not anymore,” joked one of the junior officers, earning a ripple of laughter.
Vance glared at the officer, then turned his flinty gaze on a detective in the front row. Detective Cardno: the young, sandy-haired shithead who’d obviously handled the road accident. “She was a missing person?” Vance said.
“Yeah, it’s not news,” Cardno said, throwing a sideways sneer at McElroy. “Her details came up on our database.”
“And why aren’t those details in my notes?” Vance asked.
“Because it’s irrelevant. Whether she was missing or not doesn’t change the fact she walked in front of a car at three in the morning.”
“And you think that's normal?” McElroy said.
“I didn't say it was normal, I said it was irrelevant. My job was to investigate a road accident. A car killed a female pedestrian, the driver was traveling the speed limit, and the witnesses confirm the woman was at fault. You want to go into the reasons why she was playing on the road? Be my guest.”
“Who was the driver?” McElroy asked, not letting Cardno off so easily.
“Jesus, an Asian guy. Mid-forties, computer programmer, family man. There's no foul play, Walt. What’s your angle – was she an ex of yours or something? Because I hate to break it to you, she was a practicing lesbian.”
More ripples of laughter. Cardno had all the young assholes in the station on his side. They thought he was a great guy – a real riot—instead of a shoddy, second-rate detective.
“I know she was a lesbian,” McElroy said with an easy grin. “Though I'm surprised you dug that deep. Did you actually interview someone this time?”
Cardno glared at him, his back stiffening. McElroy matched his gaze, knowing he could take the younger man down if he wanted to. Cardno was a coward at heart.
Captain Vance stepped in before the men felt obliged to rush each other. “Alright ladies, you can carry on flirting after the meeting. Cardno, brief Walt on what you know.”
“It's all there in the report,” he protested.
“So save him the reading time. And Walt, don't go inventing a case where there isn't one. God knows we've got enough shit on our plate already.”
“I won't, Captain," McElroy promised, giving Cardno a friendly wink.
McElroy attempted to corner Cardno after the debrief, but Cardno rushed out of the station, saying he had important business to attend to. More like he was reading the paper and wolfing down a breakfast steak, McElroy fumed. The petty little shit.
Resisting the urge to chase him over to the diner, McElroy went to his computer and opened the file on Isobel Flint's accident. According to the report, Ms. Flint had had an altercation with her daughter, Dawn, at approximately 3 a.m. Dawn ran out of the house and Ms. Flint chased her over the road, at which point Mr. Huang hit her with his 2008 Audi A8. The victim died instantly from multiple injuries.
There were witness statements from Dawn Flint, Mr. Huang, and two neighbors who saw Ms Flint walking onto the road in a bloody housedress. Mr. Huang was breathalyzed and questioned at the scene but there was no suspicion of driver error. The blood on Isobel's nightdress was her own – she'd been missing for two weeks and had returned home in the middle of the night to shave her head with a blunt razor. The report concluded that the victim was clearly distressed and no charges should be brought against Mr. Huang.
McElroy closed the document, muttering to himself. Cardno always filed the worst reports. A disjointed presentation of the facts, a handful of sketchy witness statements, and a hasty, sweeping conclusion.
When Cardno returned to the station almost an hour later, McElroy went over and sat on his desk, knowing it would annoy him.
“So, I read you report. Very concise.”
“I'm a busy man, Walt,” Cardno said, keeping his eyes fixed on his computer screen. “I don't have time to write fifty pages of crap.”
“No, two pages of crap seems to be your limit.”
Cardno turned and looked pointedly at McElroy's gut, screwing up his nose. “Do you mind? Like I said, I'm a busy man.”
“Just a couple of niggling questions about your case.”
“You mean the case I've closed already? Jesus, what’s your problem, Walt? Do you need more work or something?”
“The daughter, Dawn Flint,” McElroy said, unperturbed. “Did she say anything about a date her mother had been on recently? With a woman, Maxine?”
Cardno’s eyes narrowed. “Briefly, maybe.”
McElroy nodded as if he were impressed, holding back the obvious question –
Why isn’t it in your goddamn report?
At this point, he needed Cardno onside. “Good, so you got her talking. What did she say exactly?”
“She was in shock so she wasn’t making much sense. She kept saying Maxine killed her mom even though I pointed out it was an Asian guy driving the car.”
“Interesting. What else?”
“It got a bit kinky, actually. She said Maxine and her mom went out on a date but it wasn’t really a date, it was a trap to get her back to some sex party in the woods.” He laughed. “Come to think of it, I should’ve asked for Maxine’s number.”
“Yeah, maybe,” McElroy said, forcing a chuckle. “And did Dawn know where her mom had been for the last two weeks?”
Cardno shrugged. “At the sex party, I guess. To be honest, she was firing so many names and theories at me I stopped listening after a while. She was obviously distraught and her mom’s emotional problems had nothing to do with the accident. Woman runs onto road, car hits woman – that’s what it all boils down to.”
“I don’t suppose you copied down any of those names and theories.”
Cardno rolled his eyes and sighed. Going back over a successfully closed case seemed physically painful for him.
“Humor me,” McElroy said.
Cardno muttered under his breath and pulled open a drawer, bringing out a notebook. He flipped over a few pages and ran his eye down the scribbled lines. “Here we go, Maxine Salinger….blond nurse….dated the deceased….sex party scam…using Sweet Violets dating site as a lure…” He looked up. “I stopped taking proper notes at that point. She was just ranting.”
“No other names?”
Cardno squinted down at the page. “Lila Hewitson.”
“What about her?”
“I think she dated Maxine, or maybe Isobel. Christ, I don’t know. I just remember the daughter begging me to contact Lila Hewitson because she could back up her story. Or parts of it.”
“And did you?”
“Yeah, I went straight over to her house and brought her in for questioning. It was a long night, but she finally gave up two more homicidal dykes and a stash of K.D Lang bootlegs.”
McElroy looked at him.
“Of course I didn’t fucking contact her,” Cardno groaned. “The daughter was in shock, Walt. Talking crazy. I’ve seen it a hundred times before.”
“Right, you know best,” McElroy said, realizing he wasn’t going to get anything else from him. “Well, thanks anyway.”
McElroy was about to return to his desk when Cardno suddenly stood up. “Don't give me that condescending look, you fat sack of shit. Being old and slow doesn't make you wise.”
“Maybe not,” McElroy said without missing beat. “But being young and careless sure does make you stupid.”
Soon after McElroy returned to his desk, Captain Vance approached him. Vance pulled out a chair and wheeled it close, so their knees were almost touching.
“Did Cardno give you what you want?” the captain said.
“Yeah, more or less.”
“Less is more likely with him,” Vance chuckled.
McElroy smiled, waiting to see what Vance wanted. Although they were the same vintage, they’d never been particularly chummy. He couldn’t remember the last time Vance had visited his desk.
“So was there anything to it?” Vance said.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Seems pretty open and shut to me. A highly disturbed woman runs in front of a car. It’s either an accident or a suicide.”
“She wasn’t disturbed – at least not a week ago. I met the relatives, and they think she might’ve been raped, or worse…”
“– Jesus, Walt,” Vance cut in, an edge creeping into his voice. “That’s just hearsay. And the woman’s dead, what difference does it make?”
“Sorry, I thought catching rapists was part of our job. You know, so they don’t rape again.”
Vance’s nose wrinkled in contempt. “Spare me the sanctimonious bullshit, Walt. My job is to manage workloads, and right now, investigating the suspicions of a grieving daughter are not a top priority. Unless you have real evidence of a crime, I want you to move on. Consider this your first and final warning, okay?”
McElroy fought to hide the shock from his face. The captain had never dressed him down so sharply before. And over such a low profile case? Vance was a brazen ass-kisser and media whore – he usually only got interested in a case when there were TV cameras around. And even then he kept his knowledge of the details to a minimum.
Right then, McElroy made a decision not to mention Karl Morgan and his sister’s suicide, and the striking similarities to Isobel’s case. “Sure,” he said to Vance with a serious nod. “You’re the boss.”
Vance studied him for a moment, as if to ensure the message had sunk in. Then he broke into his practiced smile. “Good,” he said, clapping McElroy on the thigh. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
After Vance went back to his office, McElroy noticed his breath was coming a little harder than usual. He hated to admit it, but Vance had rattled him. He’d never been intimidated by authority before, and he couldn’t understand why the captain’s warning had troubled him so much.
It wasn’t job security, he thought. He was only two years from retirement, and he was beyond the point of caring what his superiors thought of him. This was another kind of unease.
Like the world had turned a shade darker around him.