Gone Missing: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked Page 14

  He repeated the question, “You think the ransom is too high for them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So maybe this is someone who doesn’t know the financial situation of the Calumets all that intimately?”

  “Well, no one does, really. This is all family business. To anyone else, you know, people take it at face value. It looks like Jean and Sybil are loaded, doing just fine. Even I don’t know the half of it, just this little bit Katie has shared with me in confidence.”

  At the mention of his wife’s name, David became morose. He took a long drag, finishing the smoke, and pitched the butt out the window. He seemed to regret it instantly and said, “Shit, shouldn’t have done that. Katie would kill me.”

  “For smoking?”

  “For littering.”

  Cross flicked his own butt out the window. “We’re in it together.”

  * * *

  They arrived at Anderton Correctional, the huge wall foreboding, and went through the tedious process of gaining entry. After they’d turned out their pockets and endured the metal detector, Carl Brill, the AW, met with them and led them to the visitation area, peppering Cross with questions about the case. Cross kept his answers short.

  Brill had procured them a private room. Cross and David sat to one side of a scratched-up table. After waiting a few minutes in uncomfortable silence, Cross second-guessing the decision to bring David, he heard the rattle of chains.

  The door opened and two corrections officers brought the inmate named Alex Hernandez into the room and sat him down.

  Cross had a small tape recorder he switched on. “Is this alright?”

  Hernandez eyed the device and shrugged. He slouched in the chair. Tattoos covered his body, right up to his jawline. There was a teardrop inked beneath his eye. He was short, solidly built. After glancing at Cross and David, his eyes wandered the bare room.

  “So, Mr. Hernandez. Thanks for meeting with me—”

  Cross was interrupted when the door opened. Brill entered the room, dragged a chair to the corner, and sat down.

  Cross resumed. “It’s my understanding you spent time here with Troy Vickers, as a cellmate. Is that correct?”

  Hernandez stared at Cross for a long time. Cross held the man’s eye.

  “Answer the question,” Brill barked from the corner.

  “This is gonna help me, right?” Hernandez asked. He looked from the AW to Cross. “Reduce my shit?”

  “I’m gonna look into it,” Cross said. “That’s all I can promise.”

  Hernandez looked disappointed, but said, “Yeah, yeah. He was my celly.”

  “For how long? What were the dates – you remember?”

  “Nah, man. I don’t remember no dates.”

  Brill spoke up. “June eighteenth to April tenth – almost a year.”

  “Okay,” Cross said, feeling a thrill. “So that’s a fair amount of time…”

  Hernandez bounced his knee. He looked at David. “So someone snatched your old lady, huh? I seen you on the news, bro. The Vic took her? Ah man; condolences and shit. Must be bustin’ you up, right?”

  Cross held out his hand. He didn’t want David to engage Hernandez.

  “Did Vickers ever talk about anything like that? About kidnapping someone for ransom?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, we talked. Shit, we shared a lot. We read poetry, we measured each other’s dicks, we got to know each other. What does that mean, ‘look into it’? I’m gonna get something for this, or not?”

  Brill snapped at Hernandez, “Inmate one-oh-one-four-six-nine, knock it off. Just answer the investigator’s questions. You understand what he’s asking.”

  Hernandez gave Brill a menacing side look. “Yeah, I know what they’re asking. And he knows what I’m asking.”

  Brill opened his mouth but Cross had an answer. “Mr. Hernandez, if this ever goes to trial, it will be me who refers you to the DA to testify. And if that time comes, you and your lawyer can negotiate for a reduction in your sentence. But without me, without this moment right now, and your cooperation, that chance will never come.”

  Hernandez stared off, unfocused, letting it sink in. Then his eyes cleared. “Yeah man, yeah. I’ll tell you everything I know. He liked the canned peaches at jug-up, I can start with that.”

  Cross sat back, waited.

  “He, ah, he talked about shit.”

  Cross tilted his head.

  “Women,” Hernandez said. “And, ah… he ah, he was gonna do something.”

  “Like what?”

  Hernandez looked like he was thinking, coming up with something to say.

  Cross exchanged looks with Brill, who leaned forward in his seat. “Inmate, you told me that you and Vickers—”

  “Well maybe I ain’t saying shit until I get something. Okay? And that’s fuckin that. No pay, no play.”

  It was going in circles. Brill shook his head and looked at Cross again. “Investigator Cross, I’m sorry. I think Mr. Hernandez has the wrong idea about this.”

  “Okay, Mr. Hernandez, last chance. You—”

  “Hey man, Vickers was in seg for nine months, okay? I don’t remember dates, but I remember that. I had my own cell for practically a year.”

  “Is that true?” Cross asked Brill.

  “Gen pop can be a hostile place,” said Brill, reddening, “and Vickers was convicted for rape. He had some issues, and we separated him for his health.”

  “So Mr. Hernandez here didn’t really spend much time with him after all…”

  “That’s not true! I got to know him real good. You don’t hear what I’m sayin’?”

  The tension in the room was ratcheting up, and Cross’s heart was beating harder than usual. Like not having a lot of money, he also didn’t spend much time in maximum security prisons. But the truth was Hernandez had barely been a month in the same cell as Troy Vickers. He was just playing a card, trying to get something for nothing, and Brill had neglected to mention solitary confinement before now.

  “Thank you for your time, sir,” Cross said, then nodded at Brill. “That’s all.”

  “Naw man, naw…” Hernandez became more agitated. “Come on, man! I’m gonna testify or what? You said I was gonna get my chance, cop. I’m cooperating, motherfucker!”

  Brill jumped up and knocked on the door. The corrections officers reentered to remove Hernandez, still yelling, spit flying from his lips.

  The door closed. Brill wore the guilt on his wide face. “Sorry about that.”

  “Yeah,” Cross said. “No problem.”

  He glanced at David, who seemed calm but kept staring at the door.

  A few minutes later the staff brought in the next inmate and Brill took up his position in the corner. Hopefully this one would be better.

  Louis Dauber was thin, effeminate, traces of eye shadow beneath his jittery globes.

  “Vickers and Dauber were cellmates for four months until Vickers’ release,” Brill said, then added: “Together the whole time.”

  They went through the same song and dance about the possibility of a reduced sentence, but Dauber seemed less concerned about quid pro quo than Hernandez had. Cross asked, “Did Vickers mention anything about any crimes he had committed, or planned to commit after his release?”

  Dauber shifted position and crossed his legs, chains banging together. “This is about that abduction, right? That’s some cold shit. I been abducted. I been abducted by the State of New York.”

  “Quiet with that,” Brill grumbled.

  “Well? So what? It’s true. It’s true, sir. I am a kidnap victim. I get raped in here, and they put me in with a rapist, how’s that?”

  “Enough!” Brill said, rising. He eyeballed the recorder on the table, then he looked at Cross.

  Cross dipped his head and held out a hand again. He wasn’t interested in investigating the penal system.

  “Please keep your comments focused on the matter at hand,” Cross said to Dauber, and Brill slowly sat back down, temporarily molli
fied.

  “I am talking about the matter at hand,” Dauber said.

  “At any time did Vickers talk about kidnapping, or mention a woman by name he was planning to kidnap?”

  “Man, we don’t talk about that shit.”

  David interjected before Cross could stop him. “Yeah you do. And when you’re not talking about your past crimes, you’re thinking about the future. Ways you’re going to make it on the outside.”

  Dauber looked at David like he was seeing something familiar. “What do you know?”

  Cross decided to let it play out.

  “I know enough.” David was firm but in control. “Give me some of Vickers’ ideas. What was he going to do when he got out?”

  Dauber uncrossed his legs and slumped back in his seat. He picked at his fingernails, bitten beyond the nubs. “Man, that’s all he ever talked about. His boy. Johnny M.”

  Cross jumped back in. “Johnny M.?”

  “Uh-huh. Johnny M. Talked about that guy like he was bottled Jesus.”

  “Like what? What did he say?”

  Dauber scowled, looked at Cross like he didn’t get it. “I dunno, man. It’s not the specifics.”

  “The specifics are exactly what it is. What did he say about Johnny M.?”

  “You don’t get it. Let me tell you – okay? Everybody needs protection. Either you’re the biggest and baddest – and there’s only a few of those – or you need protection. You need a gang, you need a protector. Like me, you know, I’m someone’s bitch. Alright? I ain’t gonna hide it. What am I gonna do? I’m gonna take it up the ass or I’m gonna take it in the—”

  “Inmate,” Brill said. “Curb that.”

  “It’s true. No one wants to hear it. But Vickers, he had someone.”

  “Johnny M.”

  Dauber nodded and kept picking at his fingers. “Yup.”

  “But on the outside, you mean. Someone to help him get set up, or whatever, once he got out.”

  “Right.”

  “Can you tell me anything about Johnny M.? How they met? What he was into?”

  Dauber said nothing more. He had to hunch over to bite at a hangnail.

  “Answer,” Brill ordered.

  Dauber flicked a look at the AW. “I already did. Vickers never talked about abduction, just Johnny M. That’s all I know.”

  It went on for another ten minutes, with Dauber repeating the refrain, That’s all I know. David seemed satisfied by it, once more lost in thought.

  The staff hauled in McSweeney next, a large man who mumbled when he spoke. He’d only shared a cell with Vickers for a week. They didn’t talk about much of anything. McSweeney had never heard Vickers refer to anyone called Johnny M.

  “Oh… well,” he amended toward the end of the interview, “he did say he had a visitor one day. But it was a lady.”

  * * *

  Cross was waiting for the guard to wave him through the security portal when his phone buzzed. Gates informed him that the court order was signed and a trooper was almost to the prison with it.

  “That’s good timing.”

  “I spoke to Jean Calumet,” Gates explained.

  “So he’s not all hat and no cattle, I take it.”

  “What?”

  “He used his influence with the judge. He wasn’t bluffing.”

  “Oh. Correct.” She paused. “When you get back we’re going to have a talk about your use of cowboy humor, Justin.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, the trooper had passed the court order to a correctional officer who brought it to Cross in a sealed envelope. Cross had the staff escort David to the waiting room and Brill conceded to access of the visitation list.

  They had to relocate to another part of the prison and walked together through a cell block filled with the echoing chatter of a hundred inmates.

  Brill seemed uneasy. “The mouths on these guys. That’s one of the worst parts of it. I started this job twelve years ago – I was a good Catholic man. The stuff you hear in this place. It’s just nasty.” He shook his head, contrite. “You do me a favor? Maybe those interview recordings… you know? Nobody needs to hear that. We can destroy those, okay?”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that.” Cross knew Brill was more worried about liability than he was with the sacrality of the prison. Men talking about being raped, men going into segregation – which was largely being phased out of penal institutions – wasn’t for public consumption.

  “Well,” Brill said, getting a tone. “What if I have a problem with that?”

  “I’m sorry if you do. I guess you’ll have to speak to your warden. Our court order, from a state judge, covers everything we’re doing here.”

  They stopped at the doors to the visitation area and a corrections officer buzzed them open. Cross went through and the AW stayed behind, glowering through the reinforced glass at Cross. Then Brill turned on his heel and strode away, tearing into the envelope.

  The secretary from the phone the previous day greeted Cross and took him into another room.

  “Any nice nail colors today?”

  “Ha ha.”

  Christ, when were people gonna let it go?

  The secretary printed out Vickers’ list of visitors. It was very short, consisting of two names. One was Elaine Vickers. Good chance it was his mother or sister – Troy Vickers was unmarried.

  The other name caught his eye. Janice Montgomery.

  Johnny M, Janice Montgomery.

  Cross bet there was a connection.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She woke up with a start to a rustling in the forest. The light was waning. Her heart pounding, she sat up then saw a doe and her two fawns grazing along the edge of the woods.

  I fell asleep. I can’t believe I fell asleep.

  After the long, fitful night, then climbing down to Carson twice, exhausted from spelling out her SOS in heavy rocks, she’d passed out in the grass.

  Katie got to her feet.

  The doe heard her, twitched its ears, stuck its white tail in the air, and leapt away, the nimble fawns bounding after.

  The wristwatch hung from a rope she’d tied around her waist. It was going on five in the evening. She’d been out about three hours.

  The hatchet!

  It was in the grass where she’d slept. She picked it up.

  A tendril of smoke rose from the chimney. She went inside to find the wood was cinder and the wet stuff long gone. She jammed some fresh boughs in the stove. The needles glowed red and snapped in the heat.

  She took the urn to the well and refilled it. Then tossed a bit of the water on the fire, enjoying the hiss it made, grateful for the billows of smoke.

  What had she been thinking before she’d succumbed to fatigue?

  It was distant now, the blackness somewhat retreated.

  She didn’t even want to remember, exactly.

  She went into the clearing, frustrated how the high grass was already springing back up, partly concealing her hard work.

  Futility, that’s what she’d been feeling. Profound loneliness.

  She sat in the grass and hung her head. Thought of David – pictured him as if he were beside her, his hair drawn back in a ponytail, his big grin and bright eyes. Odd how she was feeling closer to him with each passing hour.

  Though music was his passion, David had supported himself as a chef. After they’d dated for just over a year, he’d gone to work for her father in one of the restaurants. David had always said how he admired Jean’s work ethic; a successful career built from nothing. But not long after they’d started working together, David walked away from it. They transplanted to his family home in Hazleton, and, living more cheaply, he could again focus on music. No gigging, just studio work.

  He’d never really talked about his falling out with Jean, much as she’d tried to get him to open up about it. She figured a husband and father-in-law’s relationship was tricky.

  Her relationship with Sybil was tricky, too.

 
Katie told herself it was an old cliché – the young girl disliking the wicked stepmother. Sybil wasn’t wicked, but the women kept their distance.

  More now that Jean had mysteriously given Sybil so much clout in his business affairs. Husbands and wives split the spoils, that was the rule, and Katie knew her father was an equitable man – it wasn’t that. Sybil deserved equity, but Katie and Glo worried over what it might be about.

  If he was covering up an illness, they wanted to know, wanted to help. Maybe he was reluctant to be truthful because they’d lost their mother.

  She and Gloria had done some poking around, got nowhere, and eventually, over the previous Christmas, confronted him about it. Just her and Glo, cornering him in the Upper East Side home.

  He’d told them he was fine. Said that he wanted “another pair of eyes on things.”

  Katie sat in the clearing and thought it all through, as she had many times before, coming back to the same place: If it was a lie, and he was truly unwell, Sybil being able to sign things and know the family finances was a good thing – the family business could carry on if something were to happen. But if it was true, and he’d only given her the keys to his kingdom because he thought he needed help – Katie wondered about that, too.

  He’d never done that with her mother.

  She continued to turn it over in her mind as she rose and headed toward the outhouse. On her way, she heard another noise from the woods.

  She turned, expecting to see the deer again.

  This time a man was there, in the trees, watching her.

  Katie suddenly couldn’t move. Her legs weren’t responding.

  She broke the spell at last and ran for the cabin. She slammed the front door closed and walked backward, gripping the hatchet, until her legs bumped the bed.

  Stupid, she thought, suddenly feeling like the idiot in the horror movie who runs deeper into the house when they should be hightailing it out the front door: You just trapped yourself.

  But running hadn’t been an option. The bag she’d packed – Carson’s bag – with the liquor bottle of water, climbing rope, and flashlight – was in the cabin. Sprinting into the woods, directionless and afraid, would’ve been the wrong move.