Feral (5 page)

A squat, balding man shuffled past his table carrying plates heaped with eggs, toast, bacon, and hash browns.

“Right with you,” he said.
 
His voice had the rough edge of a life-long smoker.
 
He set the plates before two men sitting at a table near the door and returned to Gordon at a leisurely pace.

“
G'morning
,” he said, looking at his note pad instead of Gordon.
 
“What'll you have?”

“I'll take one of what they have,” Gordon said, gesturing to the men by the door.
 
His stomach ached now, as if some dormant beast inside him had awakened.
 
“And a black coffee, please.”

As the waiter turned to walk away Gordon remembered Charles, who would join him shortly.
 
“Better make that two of each,” he said.

The waiter nodded, wrote in his pad again, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Charles showed up, as if on cue, just as the food arrived.
 
Big, well dressed, and black, Charles stood out in this den of good old boys.
 
Eyes followed him as he strode to Gordon's table.

“Good morning, old friend,” he said, seating himself across from Gordon.
 
His voice was as big as the rest of him.
 
He leaned across the table, the wooden chair creaking under his weight, and snatched one of the plates.
 
He salted the eggs heavily and dug in.

Gordon couldn't help but smile. He had only known Charles for three years but considered the driven, often dangerous private investigator a friend.
 
Gordon wasn't an easy man to befriend and he knew it, but Charles had an earnestness about him that he had to respect, and an almost unreasonable optimism that was contagious.
 
That, Gordon supposed, was the reason Charles was willing to keep working this case.
 
He wasn't milking it, Gordon knew he'd been turning down easier jobs, probably better-paying ones too.
 
He believed against all common sense that they could still catch the bastard, and maybe even save his daughter if she was still alive.

That, if nothing else, made Charles the best friend he'd ever had.

“Did you ever stop to consider that maybe those weren't for you?” Gordon asked, and sipped experimentally at the scalding coffee.
 
He spooned a few ice cubes from his water cup into the coffee and waited for them to melt.

“Who else then?” Charles asked and shoveled another spoonful of eggs into his mouth.
 
He chewed quickly, swallowed, and added, “You have a girlfriend here I don't know about?”

“No,” Gordon confessed.
 
“Maybe I'm just really hungry.”
 
He sipped the coffee again, found it more accommodating, and drank.
 
The coffee was good, fresh.

“Even so,” Charles countered, “you'd starve yourself before you let a friend go without a meal.”
 
He emptied his coffee in three gulps and started on the hash browns.

In minutes Charles had cleaned his plate.
 
He briefed Gordon while the smaller man finished his breakfast at a more human pace.

“Shannon Pitcher, maiden name Cruse, lived here in Normal Hills with her husband, Thomas, and their daughter, Alicia.
 
They divorced a few years ago, but Shannon stayed in town so Alicia could be close to her father.
 
Thomas Pitcher is the son of Simon Pitcher, who pretty much owns this town.

“Shannon continued to work for Simon after the divorce, did the books for him.
 
Evidently, the old man paid her well too.
 
From what I gather, not all of Simon's business dealings were above board, so I guess he had to.
 
Thomas was murdered a few months ago.
 
Alicia was spending the weekend with him when it happened.” Charles paused as the waiter returned to fill their mugs and recommend his wife's Huckleberry pie.
 
Gordon declined; Charles ordered two pieces.
 
The waiter left and Charles continued in a softer voice.

“It's a sore subject to broach around here,” he said.
 
“From the early to mid-nineteen seventies a dozen girls disappeared.
 
Earlier this year they started finding their bodies.
 
They never caught the killer.”

“Do you think they're connected?”

“No,” he said quickly.
 
“None of the parents in the earlier cases were murdered.
 
I don't think they're connected.
 
The locals don't see it that way though, they think it's either the same person or a copycat, but they don't know what we do.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“To see Shannon Pitcher.
 
She's living with her brother back in Riverside.
 
I haven't contacted her yet; I wanted you to be there.”

The waiter returned with Charles' pie, two thick wedges topped with whipped cream.
 
The sweet, tart scent of Huckleberries filled their little corner of the dining room.

Charles dug in while Gordon waited for the waiter to leave again.

“How much are we going to tell her?”

“Everything,” Charles said between bites.
 
“I don't know that it will do any good, but she's all we have right now.”

And that isn't much
, Gordon thought,
but it's more than we started with
.

“You know we can't keep this up forever, Gordon.
 
I've never wanted to solve a case so badly in my life, but eventually we're going to have to give it up.
 
You need to get on with your life.”

Gordon nodded, looking Charles in the eyes.
 
“But not today,” he said.

“No,” Charles agreed.
 
“Not today.”

T
he girl watched cartoons and ate cold cereal on their sofa, always keeping one sharp eye on them as they sat drinking coffee in the kitchen.

She's quick
, Shannon noted mentally.
 
She has the reflexes of a wild animal, and she doesn't trust us
.
 
Not one little bit
.

“Would you like something to drink,” Jared ventured, “Maybe a soda?
 
Or are you a coffee drinker?”
 
He held up his mug and smiled.

The girl forgot the TV for a moment, focused on Jared, scrutinizing him.
 
She watched him, spooning more cereal into her mouth, and spoke around it.

“Soda.”
 
It was the first time she had spoken to either of them.
 
Shannon watched her while she kept one eagle eye on the TV, and one on Jared.

Jared approached her slowly, knowing that if he moved too close, too quickly, he would end up hurting for it.

When she had awakened earlier that morning it was like watching a rabid clown spring from a jack-in-the-box.
 
She jumped from the couch with a shriek, her frail-looking body suddenly possessing a Herculean strength, a combination of panic and adrenaline.
 
She rammed Shannon hard enough to knock her backward out of her chair, then ran around the couch toward the front door.

Jared had blocked her, and she screamed bloody hell as she tried to push him aside.
 
When he tried to hold her back she had kicked him in the balls.

Faint from the sudden shock of pain, the white-hot agony of an older wound, he still managed to keep her from escaping.

She was wearing Alicia's cloths, her locket.
 
They couldn't let her get away; they had to find out how she got them.
 
It was too weird, the possibilities mind boggling, but here she was.

They managed to calm her down by promising food and television.

She watched Jared, and when he'd come close enough she let him know by cocking back her nearly empty bowl like a Frisbee, threatening to let loose if he came any closer.
 
Milk and soggy kernels of cereal spilled over the side of the bowl and onto her arm, but she didn't care.

Slowly, Jared set the soda can on the arm of the couch and backed away.

The girl set the bowl on the coffee table and drank the soda enthusiastically.

Jared returned to his place at the kitchen table.

“We have to take her to the police,” Jared whispered.
 
“We can't hold her like this, it's illegal as hell, and likely to get us both prison time.”

“I have to find out where she got Alicia's stuff.
 
Maybe after that.
 
I have to know.”
 
Shannon didn't realize she'd been raising her voice until the girl looked over sharply at them, and she made herself calm down.
 
“She might know who killed Thomas.
 
She might know about Alicia.”

“I know,” Jared said.
 
He sighed, a resigned sound, and said, “We better try then.”

The girl watched them.
 
She lurched to her feet as they neared the couch, but didn't run.
 
Jared moved quickly around the back of the couch, to the side nearest the drawn shades of his window, and they flanked her.

“Where did you get that?” Shannon asked, her voice barely controlled, and pointed to the locket.

The girl watched her closely, but said nothing.

“It's my daughter's.
 
Her name is Alicia Pitcher, and I gave it to her for her birthday two years ago.”
 
Her voice was steady, but it was an edge she worked hard to control.
 
She felt like throttling the silent girl.

“It's mine,” the girl said, and clutched a fist around it.

“No,” Shannon said.
 
“It's not.
 
Have you ever looked inside?
 
At the picture?”

The girl nodded.

“Open it up again, look at the picture,” she said.
 
“Please.”

The girl did, and the recognition was instant.
 
“It's you,” she said.

“Yes,” Shannon said patiently.
 
“Me, my ex-husband, and my daughter.
 
Thomas is dead.
 
He was murdered, and my girl is gone.”
 
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry. It was difficult to go on, but she had to ask.
 
“Do you know where Alicia is?”

The girl looked up from the locket to Shannon's face. The fear and distrust was gone, replaced by a look of sympathy that Shannon didn't like.
 
“
He
got her,” she said.
 
“And he'll get me too.
 
I have to go,” she said urgently.
 
“I have to go back or he'll get me again.”

“Who?” Shannon asked, and when the girl shook her head she asked again, a demand this time.

“You won't believe me,” she said. “Please let me go.”

“Go where?” Jared asked.
 
“To the river?”
 
He spoke slowly, as if to an idiot. “He won't find you here.
 
He doesn't know where you are.”

“I think she wants to go back to the park,” Shannon said.

The girl nodded, shuffled her feet.
 
The park or the moon, she clearly wanted to be gone, but knew she couldn't get past them.

“Park by the river,” Jared said in a breathless voice.
 
“Tell me you don't mean Blackstone.”

“Feral Park,” the girl said defiantly.
 
“It's called Feral Park.”

“Shit,” Jared breathed, and sat on the arm of the couch.
 
“I know what they call it now.”
 
Then to Shannon, “You didn't say anything about Feral Park.”

“I know,” Shannon said, remembering the insanity within those iron barred walls.
 
“Feral Park is another story.”

“No shit!
 
In case you weren't aware, that place has a bad history.
 
I wouldn't go there after dark on a dare.
 
I could tell you some interesting stories about that place.
 
It's a bad place, sis,” he said.
 
“I thought you knew about it.”

“I didn't know, and they're not fairy stories.”
 
She talked to Jared, but watched the girl.
 
The gold locket spun and glittered in the weak lamplight as she looked from brother to sister.
 
It took all her will power not to reach over and yank it from the girl's neck.
 
“Something happened there.”
 
Then to the girl, “Why would you want to go back there anyway? You saw what happened to me.”