The Murder of Janessa Hennley (13 page)

33

Mickey waited until the last minute before cooking the meal. He wanted it nice and hot for Suzan when she got home. He was still cooking the sauce when she came in.

“Hey,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “You didn’t have to cook.”

“It was nothing.”

“Smells good.”

“Thanks. Old
recipe. Have a seat. It should be done soon.”

Suzan
took out two wine glasses, poured them nearly to the brim, and handed one to Mickey. She clinked his glass.

“To catching the bastard,” she said.

Mickey took a sip before placing the glass down.

“So
, I thought tomorrow we could go down to the station and go through videos together,” she said. “I bet some of my deputies would recognize a lot of the girls.”

She seemed on edge
, speaking quickly and not finishing her wine before filling the glass again. She took a long pull from it.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said.

“You’re leaving? Now?”

“I’m not going to be part of the interrogation
, and I’m not a lab guy. My part’s done.”

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna go back to DC and forget you ever saw us small town folk, huh?”

He finished stirring the sauce and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.”
She sat at the table and ran her finger along the rim of the glass before taking a drink.

Mickey put the pasta in boiling water and then sat at the table with her. He sipped his wine as his watch went off, and he pressed the alarm button to silence it.

“When I was twelve,” she said, “my grandmother told me that people aren’t born to hate other people. For whatever reason they hate them, religion, race, whatever, she said hate was taught.” Suzan’s eyes glistened. “And if hate could be taught, then love could be taught, too. And it was even more powerful, because love is easier to feel in the human heart.” She covered her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Mickey
rested his hand over hers as she wept.

Suzan grabbed some tissues out of
a box. “You must think I’m so stupid. The sheriff that can’t handle crime scenes.”

“I don’t think that at all.”

“I bet I know some of those girls. I bet I’ll see them and I’ll have to tell their parents…”

“You can just let the Bureau handle it. You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to.”

She wiped the tears away. “This is my town. People will come to me for answers.”

“You won’t have any. There’s no explanation for this.”

His phone rang; it was Kyle Vidal.

“I have to take this.”

“Right. I’m, ah, going to go have a quick shower.”

Mickey stepped out onto the front porch
and sat down on the steps. “This is Parsons.”

“Mickey, I just had a pow-wow with the Anchorage SAC. Fantastic job. I have to be honest
, I didn’t think you still had it in you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without the sheriff. When you’re giving the press conferences, don’t forget that.”

“What makes you think I’ll… Never mind. We both know it’ll be me.”

“What
’s the status of Mathias?”

“He’s confessed to at least fifty rapes so far. He’s trying to cut a deal in exchange for the info of the other people in the ring. He says there
’re over a hundred men throughout the state, and he’s met some from the California chapter, too.”

“What about the girl in the basement?”

“He says that was an accident. They were playing too rough, and she died. He panicked and put her in cement. He wants immunity for that, too, in exchange for what he’s got on everybody else. He’s talking high-level people. Mayors, doctors, lobbyists… This could be huge.”

“And the Hennleys?”

“Says he doesn’t know anything about that, but the boys down there think he’s holding back a lot. They’re still working him. He waived his right to a lawyer if the U.S. Attorney came down and they talked deal, so I think a lot more’ll come out in the next few days. It’s him though, right?”

“Janessa was a young girl, same age and body type
as the ones I saw. I’m willing to bet he’s on the video of her rape, too. She rejected his offer to be part of this thing and get traded around. I think he’s good for it.”

“Me too. When you flying back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Well, beers on me when you get back. Actually, why don’t you take a day or two and relax out there? Go fishing or something. I would.”

“I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Suzan leaned against the front door. She’d changed into an Icedogs sweatshirt and jeans; her arms were folded over the mascot on the shirt. Her hair wasn’t wet.

“He confessed to the murder of the girl in the basement,” Mickey said,
guessing what she was about to ask. “Not to the Hennleys’ yet, but they’ll get it out of him.”

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

“He says he has information on men worse than him. Same as Nathan. He’ll probably cut some sort of deal.”

“And just get off?” she said, a flash of anger in her voice.

“That’s not really how the federal system works. When we bring a case, we know it’ll stick. He’ll probably cut a deal in exchange for minimum security. A lot nicer facilities with more amenities, not really any violence.”

She sat down on the steps.
They watched a red Buick drive by, a mother in the driver seat yelling to four children piled into the back.

“I bet you can’t wait to get back to civilization,” she said.

“Actually, I really like it here. The pace. I was thinking I wouldn’t mind getting a time-share up here or renting a condo now and then. I think my daughter and her husband would love to come up for the hiking and boating, too.”

“You’re always welcome to stay here if you like.”

He smiled and placed his hand over hers again. She turned her hand and interlaced their fingers. His heart beat faster. It’d been so long since he had touched a woman that way that he didn’t know what it felt like anymore. His guts balled up. It was silly that, even at his age, a woman’s touch could make him feel like he was thirteen again.

W
ater fizzled behind them, bubbling over a hot stove.

“The pasta,” he said, jumping up.

“Uh oh. I’ll help.”

After they ate, they stayed up and watched a movie on television. Something starring Keanu Reeves
. Mickey couldn’t pay attention as Suzan’s head rested on his shoulder. The anticipation, the thrill, was killing him. But it was pointless. Nothing could happen between them. He was only torturing himself.

“I better
get to bed,” he said. “I’m taking the noon flight out.”

She leaned in and kissed him without a word. Her lips were soft
, and her touch made his heart jump. He closed his eyes and thought, for the first time since he’d come here, that he never wanted to leave.

34

David Shyam sat on his bed. Behind him, the bedroom window looked down on the street where he had lived his entire life. His sister and the youngest of his brothers left the house over a decade ago. He was thirty-two now and would live with his parents for the rest of his life.

Before him
lay an open laptop. On one screen was a photo of Mickey Parsons with a blurb about the recent arrest of a man thought to be the head of a child prostitution ring. Several other people circled Agent Parsons, and more photos lined the left and the right, but David couldn’t see the people. Faces held no meaning to him. The hazy outlines of blobs may as well have been spilt milk on linoleum or clay unmolded on a table.

But he could see Mickey Parsons. He saw the face
, the eyes, and the nose, and he felt a connection to him. He could also see Sheriff Suzan Clay, something he’d only discovered yesterday when the news website posted a photo of her. He could look at photos of both and see two separate people. It made him feel… almost normal. Maybe they could help him? No one could see him, he didn’t exist, but maybe if they saw him like he saw them, they could help him.

The door to his bedroom opened
, and he closed the laptop. An indistinct figure stood at the door.

“David, it’s time to eat. Will you please come down and eat at the table with your father and I?”

David didn’t answer. The figure walked across the room and sat down next to him. It ran its hands over his head and came away with clumps of hair and dying skin.

“The tube can only get you so much nutrition
, sweetheart. You have to eat,” it said desperately.  It began to sob, its face in its hands, but David couldn’t understand what it was doing.

“Please talk to me, David. Say something. Tell me you hate me. Tell me this
is my fault, that I have rotten genes that did this to you. Say something to me, sweetheart. Please. I can’t take the silence. I can’t take it.”

He knew
the entity in front of him was crying, but what did it care about a man that was dead?

He let
it cry, and then it got up and left. He turned back to his laptop and stared at photos of Suzan Clay.

35

Mickey lay in bed in the dark, Suzan’s hair over his shoulder, her head gently
resting on his biceps. They had done nothing more than kiss, hold each other, and talk, but he couldn’t remember when he had been so happy.

Moonlight
glowed through the windows. The room smelled like fruit body wash and clean sheets. The last time he had been in a woman’s bedroom, he had sealed his life. How it would work and how it would end. The disease coursing through him slowly chipped away at his body until his immune system couldn’t defend him anymore, and pneumonia, a cold, or the flu would kill him. He had seen those with full-blown AIDS withering away to nothing in hospital beds, slowly and painfully, before the end.

That wasn’t going to be
him. He would take his own life before that happened.

But now, with this wonderful,
openhearted woman lying next to him, he no longer wanted to. He wanted to fight for the first time in years.

Tears rolled down his cheeks
, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. He watched her sleep before planting a kiss on her soft, smooth forehead.

But if he stayed with her, it would destroy her life.
She was at least twenty years younger and still able to have children. But they wouldn’t be able to. Even with condoms, the risk of infection was so great he would never attempt sex. A young, healthy woman deserved better than that. The love inside her poured out of her like a river. She was genuine in a way that Mickey believed most people weren’t. She would make a great mother someday.

H
e wouldn’t allow her to devote herself to him. He couldn’t let that happen.

He
slid his arm out from under her and slipped out of bed. She stirred but didn’t wake.

In
the guest room, he packed his bag and put on jeans and a T-shirt with his leather jacket. He took the keys to the truck and locked the bottom lock on his way out. At the door, he looked to the hallway leading to the bedroom where she lay. Every part of him said to go back, to not throw something like this away when it just falls in your lap. That it was rare and precious and couldn’t be ignored.

He stood there a long while, part of him hoping she would wake and stop him from leaving
. She never did.

He shut the door and drove off.

The hotel was nice enough, with a grill that was still open though it was nearly midnight. The drive to Anchorage took several hours because of a traffic accident, but it was time he wanted to spend alone. He needed to think. He wanted to call his daughter, but it was late, so he let it alone. He texted her instead and just said, “I love you--Dad.”

He sat at the grill and ordered a cheeseburger. He took his medications
. His eyes nearly closed from fatigue, and he had to force them open. Every muscle felt like it was full of lead. All his movements slow, accomplished only with effort. He rolled up his sleeves and dipped a couple of fries in ketchup. Mickey asked for the special fry sauce, but the cashier didn’t know what he was talking about. He ate his burger in silence.

Sipping
a Coke, he regarded the television above him. Two people discussed a controversial photo of the Boston marathon bomber looking seductively at the camera on an issue of
Rolling Stone
.

He finished
only half his burger before going to his room. After undressing, he removed a mini-bottle of whiskey from a small fridge, which would cost him twelve dollars, and sat in the chair by the window. He stared at the mountains off in the distance.

He took out his phone and nearly dialed the sheriff’s number. His finger hovered over the last
digit a few seconds before he turned his phone off and grabbed another bottle out of the fridge.