Unseen (Nell Brach Book 2), page 8
He jumps. “Your mom gave me the key.”
I step forward and gather the files. “None of this is your business.”
“I thought maybe some of it might belong to me.”
I shove the files back into the box he opened. “Why would my grandfather have anything that belongs to you?”
“He wouldn’t, I guess. I was just curious.”
“No, you were being nosy. You want to know if Grandpa kept a file on you, don’t you? Tell you what, if I find something with your name on it, I’ll give it to you. Now get out of the shed. There is nothing in here that is any of your business.”
With a heavy sigh, Dad steps out. I turn off the light, then shut and lock the door. I put the key in my pocket. I am moving these files tonight.
In the dark yard, I look at him. “How is it you are still here? Don’t you have a job in Georgia to get back to?”
“I took the week off to be with my family.”
I scoff.
“When are you going to cut me some slack, huh? I’m sorry I was a shitty father to you. But I’m here now and I want to make up for the lost time.” He takes a step toward me.
“What are your plans, Dad? To marry Mom and take Tyler back to Georgia?”
He pauses.
My heart picks up pace.
“Well, your mom and I want to talk about all of that with you.”
“Then talk. I’m listening.”
“No, you’re not. You’re judging.”
He’s right I am. But when it comes to him, that’s the only mode I know.
“We talked to an attorney,” he quietly says. “With some paperwork and transfer of things, your mom will probably be allowed to leave the state.”
“And Tyler?”
“Our lawyer feels we have a right to file for custody.”
My muscles clench.
“But, Nell, we don’t want that. We want to work things out peacefully with you. You know it’s for the best. I mean, just look at the two of you. You’re gone all day working. He’s left at home to fend for himself. He needs more structure. He needs his father. He’s thirteen. He’ll be a man soon.”
Dad has the whole lawyer-script down. “I know how old my brother is. I’m the one who has celebrated every birthday with him. Not you. Me.”
“We talked to Tyler—”
My clenched muscles tighten even more.
“Everything okay?” Mom hesitantly asks.
I glance over to see her standing at the corner of the house. I hate that she looks so timid. She was doing so well until Dad stepped back onto the scene. Now she’s back to being a little mouse. I want her to grow some balls.
But is she timid because of the way I’m acting or Dad?
I don’t look at my father, I keep my focus on her. “If you wanted to work things out ‘peacefully,’ you wouldn’t have gone to a lawyer.” I’m going to regret the next words, but still, I say, “You are not taking Tyler. I will fight you. With everything I have, I will fight you. Now leave. Both of you.”
As soon as their taillights trail from the neighborhood, I dial my ex-lover and still friend, Judge Ronan Aaron.
He picks up on the second ring. “Nell.”
I hear the smile in his voice. Despite everything going on with my parents, I smile back. “Ronan, thanks for picking up.”
“Of course.”
After we exchange a few catching-up pleasantries, I tell him what’s going on with my parents and Tyler, finishing with, “Do they have a case?”
“You both do. From my standpoint, if I were the judge on this case, I would speak one-on-one with Tyler. He’s old enough to weigh in. My ruling would be based on his input.”
“I don’t want to put him in a position to pick between me and our parents. He’s doing so well. That would place unbelievable stress on him.”
“If you go to court, it will be expensive and mean. Lawyers on both sides will drag everyone’s names through the mud. Do you want that?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you need to work this out with your parents.”
We talk for a few more minutes, then I hang up. I get up from the kitchen table and as I do, I see Tyler standing in the archway that leads into the hall.
“You’re fighting with Mom and Dad about me,” he quietly says.
“And I thought you were nose-deep in a book or, better yet, homework.”
“I was watching BBC on my iPad.”
My brother loves British comedies. I wonder if my dad knows that.
Tyler moves around me, getting ice cream and a bowl. “Want some?”
“No, I’m good.” Idly, I watch him scoop out vanilla—his favorite. Again, I wonder if Dad knows that. “Be honest with me; don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I am a big girl. I promise. Tell me what you want. Where do you want to live?”
He stops scooping ice cream and looks at me. “I want Dad and Mom to get married. And I want all of us to move back to Georgia and be a family again. Can we do that, Nell?”
I stare into my brother’s earnest gaze. His words are not what I wanted to hear, but for Tyler, I’ll do anything. “Okay, let me talk to Mom and Dad. We’ll see what we can work out.”
TWENTY-NINE
Thursday, 9 p.m.
With file boxes in tow, I knock on Vaughn’s door.
He answers, still wearing his dark wash jeans from earlier, but down to just a white undershirt. He takes the box I’m holding and walks it into his apartment. “Nothing yet on the BOLO. But did you see the email from Lisbeth?”
“Not yet.” The rest of the boxes I put on a small hand truck. I roll it in.
Vaughn continues, “Preacher Mitch was quite the thug. Did two of those scared-straight programs before he turned eighteen. No employment record until recently, which means everything he did was off the books. Did a stint in prison for assault with a deadly weapon, specifically a tactical knife. While he was inside, he saw the light. He’s only been out for two years. He interned at two shelters, making Francis House his first actual posting. Used to go by Mitch Cowell, but changed it to Mitch Preacher when he got out. Wanted a fresh start, I guess.”
“Preacher. How original.” I unhook the bungee cord secured to the boxes and begin unloading.
Vaughn helps. “Ten years ago he was not in prison. He was still living the thug life in the Knoxville area.”
“Motive?”
My partner grins. “Guess who his older brother is?”
“The president of the United States.”
“Close. Knoxville’s current chief of police.”
“Now I’m excited.”
Vaughn laughs.
I roll the hand truck back over to the door. “Okay, hypothetical time. Ten years ago, Preacher Mitch wouldn’t have been someone to blackmail. But his presumably married cop-brother, soon-to-be-chief-of-police, yes. Big brother pays a visit to Bushes-R-Us. Gets filmed in the back room. Cathy then proceeds to blackmail him. Big Brother asks Little Brother to intercede. Little Brother’s a thug. Sure, I’ll do it. Why not? He shows up and kills the wrong twin. Fast-forward ten years and Little Brother becomes friends with the homeless woman, Cathy. He realizes who she is, as well as Destiny, and mentions it to Big Brother, who either sends someone to take care of her or gets Little Brother to do it. Though with Little Brother having turned over a new leaf, I vote for the former. You?”
“Hm. Or Big Brother threatened Little Brother. ‘You make sure and tie up your loose ends or I’ll make sure your life is shit.’”
“Please tell me Preacher Mitch has X’s tattooed across his arm.”
“Not really, but he does have one.” Vaughn pulls a photo up on his phone. “This was taken years ago during his intake.”
I zoom in. It’s a simple black band circling his upper right arm. “It might have been X’s connected and colored in.” I fish my keys from my pocket. “Put a real shirt on. Let’s track down Preacher Mitch. And let’s hope the BOLO produces Destiny.”
THIRTY
Thursday, 9:55 p.m.
As we climb into my vehicle, I dial Mom. She picks up on the first ring. “Nell, please don’t be mad.”
“I don’t have time to talk. Are you at Olivia’s?”
“Yes, we both are.”
Both, as in her and Dad.
“Can you stay the night with Tyler? We’re down to the wire with this case.”
“Of course. Be safe.”
We hang up right as a text comes in from Captain Bacote.
Bacote: You did the right thing, bringing me in.
God, I hope so.
I know as soon as we pull up to Francis House, that something’s wrong. No lights are on and a line outside stretches around the block.
Still, I knock on the big red door.
“No one will answer,” a homeless man says. “We’re stuck out here for the night. Preacher Mitch didn’t even open for dinner.”
I knock again. Vaughn jiggles the door. In my peripheral I see Rebecca standing at the corner of the building. I turn fully to face her. She waves us over, and as we draw near, she steps around the building into the side parking lot.
Nervously, she looks past our shoulders making sure no one is listening. “I saw Preacher Mitch leave with a young woman. They got into a van. She was wearing khaki pants and a blue top. That’s Cathy’s daughter, isn’t it?”
“When was this?”
“About six-thirty.”
The last time I saw her was at the station before six. The timeline adds up.
“Did it look like there was a struggle?” Vaughn asks.
“No, but she seemed upset.”
“Did you overhear anything?”
“Not really. Preacher Mitch got behind the wheel and she slid over to the passenger side. Then they drove away.”
Just then both of our phones go off. Simultaneously we check the message. It’s the BOLO.
The van’s been found.
“Bring her home safe,” Rebecca says. “Please.”
THIRTY-ONE
Thursday, 11 p.m.
Located next to a deserted convenient store, Destiny’s van sits unlocked and open, still running, and with a large pool of coagulated blood gathering in the floorboards and smeared across the seats. The front bumper has a large indentation where it ran into something.
The sight of it punches into me. I pray Destiny is still alive.
Intermittent late evening traffic zips by on the nearby interstate. Other than a billboard advertising a new development going in miles down the road, there is nothing at this exit.
Forensics is already here working the scene. Vaughn stays with the van while I drive to the new development. A few spotlights illuminate the neighborhood with under-construction homes—only ten in all, none far enough along to have occupants.
With piles of building materials and a few trucks parked for the night, the workers have all gone home. My headlights flash over mounds of dirt, stacks of bricks, large spools of wire, and piles of organized roofing material.
There is no one here.
Still, I grab my flashlight. Leaving my vehicle with the high beams directed at the construction zone, I walk through the stick-framed houses. With the construction not far along, it’s easy to sweep my light across the rooms and floors.
It only takes me ten minutes to search the entire area.
As I’m climbing back in my vehicle, my phone rings. It’s Vaughn.
“Anything?” he asks.
“No. The place is empty. I’ll be back your way in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
“Vaughn?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got to find her.”
“We will.”
I hang up and start the engine. From behind, a shadow shifts. I glance into the rearview right as someone presses a knife to my neck.
In the mirror, my eyes meet hers. Destiny. She looks terrified.
Her hand trembles. “Wh-where is your gun?”
“Right hip.”
“H-hand it back.” Her breath quivers. “Slowly.”
I do.
She hesitates, unsure. “Your phone, throw it out the window.”
I do that as well.
“D-do you have a radio?”
“Yes.”
“Throw it out.”
I comply.
She pants for breath. “Drive. Leave the neighborhood and go right, away from where I left the van.”
I swallow, feeling my throat scrape the blade. “Destiny, I can’t drive with that on my neck.”
Nodding, she puts the knife aside and picks up the gun. She takes the safety off and points it at me. Again, her hand trembles. “I know how to use this. Grammy taught me.”
“I believe you.”
She slides back, sitting in the center, and points the gun at the back of my seat. “Drive.”
I hate that my hands shake as I put the vehicle in drive and pull from the neighborhood, going right as she said. “My partner will know something is wrong if I don’t return.”
She makes no response.
Over the years I’ve been a cop, I’ve learned that fine line that delineates when a person has stopped caring. When they feel they have no hope. Destiny has not crossed that line. But she’s close. She’s petrified. I have to proceed carefully.
I look at her in the rearview, seeing for the first time blood on the front of her shirt and smeared on her arms and neck. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s not my blood.”
“Whose is it?”
“Mitch’s.” Her voice cracks. “I-I killed him. Or at least I think I did.”
“In self-defense?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” She holds up a large tactical knife, but it’s not a folding one. “With this. He had it in his things. I found it. I asked him about it. But he didn’t answer me. He just told me to calm down. It’s just like the ones used to kill my aunt and mother, right?”
“Not quite, but close.”
“No,” she groans.
I focus on maintaining a calm voice. “Destiny, start from the beginning. The last time I saw you, you were at the station. What happened?”
“Mitch and I, we’ve become friends over the past months. Good friends. We’ve talked a lot, ya know? All I wanted to hear was his voice. So, I called him. And then I was telling him about how I witnessed a murder a long time ago and how I’ve been living under a different name and that you all wanted a statement. But I didn’t use names. I never once told him who my father and mother are. Or who I am. H-he told me to leave. He said that he would protect me. That I needed a lawyer if you were going to question me. He said I was in danger.
“At first, I didn’t move from that room you put me in. Then I opened the door, looking for you. Instead, I saw this old man and I remembered him. He questioned me a long time ago. Suddenly, I was nine again and scared. I panicked. I ran from the police station. I met Mitch at Francis House. I was so shaken up, I couldn’t even drive. We went to my place and packed a bag. He was going to take me to his brother. He’s the chief of police in Knoxville. Mitch said if anyone had the resources to protect me, it was his brother.
“We got about thirty minutes down the road and he started talking about how he used to be in prison. He said he’d done bad things. Then something about him changed. He became even calmer. He asked me if I remembered the killer’s face. He told me he knew Cathy was my mother and Rylan my father. He knew who I was. I freaked. How do you know that? I shrieked. I didn’t tell you that!
“He just kept telling me to calm down. But every time he said that I got more and more panicked. You’re misunderstanding me, he said. I knew who your mother was all along. She told me about her past. I kept it private. When she told me she saw her daughter, I knew immediately it was you. But I also knew to keep that a secret as well. Then I found the knife in his things and I full-on freaked. I started yelling. Let me out! Let me out!
“But he wouldn’t. He just kept telling me to CALM DOWN. He tried to take the knife from me and I stabbed him. Twice, I stabbed him. Both times in the neck. The van veered off the road and ran into a tree. I opened the door and pushed him out. I drove off. And I kept driving and driving, and somehow I was back in White Quail. I don’t even remember turning around. I stopped the van, and I ran.”
Her scared eyes meet mine. I’m glad to still see the fear. I can work with fear. It’s when that leaves and vacancy enters that the situation becomes no return.
The road darkens the further we get from civilization. I don’t know where this road goes. But my headlights slice through the night picking up endless trees on both sides with an occasional house tucked in.
“I-I killed him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. There was so much blood.” Her breath quickens. “So much. The worst part is, the more I think about it, the more I don’t think Mitch was a bad guy.”
“You don’t know that either.”
“I do. He was just trying to help. And now he’s dead. DEAD. I killed him! Which means the real bad guy is still out there.”
“Destin—”
The gun comes up. She points it at my head. “Shut up! Drive.”
My heart picks up speed, thumping hard in my chest. I concentrate on the road, trying desperately to ignore the gun at my head. She told me to be quiet, but my gut says to keep going. My words come quiet, “I promised your father that I’d keep you unseen and safe. Let me live up to that promise.”
“Unseen?” She scoffs. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
Shit, I picked the wrong word.
Her lips press together, the bottom one unsteady. For several seconds she keeps the gun pointed at my head. Then she slides back to her spot in the center and lowers the weapon.
I keep driving. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. As far as this road will take us, I guess. I’m sure eventually we’ll see blue lights flashing behind us. Until then, just drive. I need to think.”
“Destiny—”
“I said, drive. I need to think. Don’t speak. Do you hear me? Don’t.”
