Peak Road - A Short Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 10) Page 2

  I changed and went for a run.

  Nearly half an hour of sprinting, and Hanny was right there with me the whole time. By the end, I could hardly breathe, and my legs felt as though they were seizing up. I sat on the beach near my house and took off my Vibram shoes. I liked barefoot running, and the shoes were the closest I could get. I liked to feel every surface—every mound of sand, each rock, and every blade of grass—when I ran. To people who ran in shoes, the whole world felt like rubber.

  I stuck my feet in the water and watched as the waves lapped the beach. Most of the serious young surfers came in early and were finished by the time the tourists arrived. A few lingered, floating on the surface of the water like birds lazily searching for fish. I lay back on the sand and let the sun warm my face. I had church in a couple of hours, and a Mormon service lasted three hours. After that, I could surf or sit in the house and watch movies. It suddenly hit me that without the job, my life was boring. Hanny came up and licked my face, and I tickled his belly to get him off me.

  My phone buzzed, and I took it out of my pocket. The call was from a number I didn’t recognize. Wiping the sweat and dog slobber off my cheek with the back of my arm, I answered.

  “This is Jon.”

  After a slight hesitation, a man said, “Jon, this is Mickey.”

  I hadn’t heard that voice in a long time. Mickey Parsons was a former special agent with the FBI. He had the most serial-murder collars in the Bureau’s history. I had met him at a seminar I was teaching, and our wives at the time had hit it off. Hearing his voice brought back visions of fishing trips and long hikes at Lake Tahoe, rock climbing in Yosemite, and a myriad of other outdoor things I never would’ve done if not for Mickey and my ex-wife.

  “I heard you were laying around on some beach in the Virgin Islands, drunk by noon, like Hemingway,” I said.

  “I was. I’m even writing a novel.”

  “How is it?”

  “It’s shit.”

  I grinned. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing good. I feel better than I have in a long time. It’s amazing how much rest and sunshine can do for your health.”

  I looked out over the water. “You don’t need to tell me. Are you at the islands?”

  “No, I’m actually stateside. I’m at your house.”

  “My house?”

  “It’s damn nice, Jon. How the hell did you afford it?”

  I rose and started heading home. If Mickey had intended to visit an old friend, he would’ve called before turning up at my house. He’d come for something else—something he wanted to surprise me with.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’d like to talk to you about it in person, if that’s okay.”

  “I’ll be home in twenty.”

  “Okay, see you then. And Jon, it’s good to talk to you again.”

  “Yeah,” I said, contemplating why a retired FBI agent would suddenly show up at my house, “good to hear you, too.”

  4

  When I got near my house, I saw Mickey sitting on my front porch. Hanny growled, and I grabbed his collar and said, “Easy.” I stepped in front of Hanny and went to shake Mickey’s hand, but I stopped, remembering that even a cold could be debilitating for him.

  He looked the same. He had been living with HIV for years now, and somehow, I had imagined that he would look worse and worse every year, but he didn’t. His skin was deeply tanned, and the white hair was combed into the perfect part that FBI agents were expected to have. He had even gained some weight.

  “We can shake hands,” Mickey said, sensing my trepidation. “You’re not going to give me the plague. Not yet, anyway.”

  He held out his hand, and we shook.

  I said, “You look good. Better than ten years ago, even.”

  “I’ve been exercising every day and eating mostly fruit and vegetables. I, ah, actually got remarried.”

  “You’re kidding! To who?”

  “Gal I met on the islands, Camille. She’s a vegetarian. You would really like her, actually.”

  I let go of his hand and watched his eyes. Now I was really concerned. He had left his wife to come see me. Something wasn’t right, and I knew he needed me for something. But I didn’t want to force it. He would tell me when he was ready.

  “Drink?” I asked, making my way to the front door to unlock it.

  “I’m guessing you don’t have beer.”

  “No. Orange juice in a bottle is the closest.”

  “I’ll take it.” He looked at Hanny, who was staring at him. “Who’s this little guy?”

  “Hanny.”

  Mickey bent down and held out his open palm. Hanny considered him for a minute then went over and sniffed then licked his hand. Mickey rubbed the dog’s head before turning and following me inside.

  I’d left several windows open, so the house was the same temperature as the air outside. I crossed the living room and went into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water for me and a bottle of orange juice for Mickey. I sat on the couch, and Mickey sat on the love seat across from me. Hanny sat at my feet, like some emperor’s guard dog. He liked Mickey, but he didn’t seem to fully trust anyone except me.

  “How’re the kids?” he asked.

  “Matt’s decided to go to medical school. He wants to be a psychiatrist.”

  “Good for him. His grandfather was a shrink, wasn’t he?”

  I nodded, twisting open my bottle of water. “That’s what my dad wanted for me, too. He wasn’t happy when I told him I was going to be a cop.”

  “We’ve never really talked about your dad.”

  The entire conversation was leading somewhere specific, and he wanted to throw me off. He knew speaking about my father dredged up memories I didn’t want to think about. My last conversation with my father had taken place right after my mother died, and we’d barely spoken even then. He wasn’t a man who shared anything.

  Mickey was legendary in law enforcement circles for his abilities to persuade—and some might say manipulate—suspects. He’d once left the door open while interrogating a perp suspected of killing his girlfriend with the help of his cousin. The cousin wouldn’t talk, so Mickey had found someone who looked like the cousin. After dressing the doppelgänger in a wig and clothes from the cousin’s closet, he paraded the lookalike through the Bureau offices past the open door. When the lookalike pretended to pal around with some other agents, the perp was furious. He opened up about what had happened, laying the blame on the cousin. Once the cousin heard the confession, he also confessed, claiming the boyfriend was mostly responsible. Both ended up with life sentences.

  “What is this about, Mickey?”

  He exhaled and took a sip of juice. I could tell he wanted to set a hook then get me in a position where it would be more difficult to say no to whatever he was about to ask me. I had called him out on it.

  “It’s something I need your help on,” he said. “A case.”

  “You’re retired.”

  He nodded. “I know. Kyle gave me a call. There’s an old case that I never got a collar on. It’s a small town in Nevada, Peak Road. Two families, the Wyatts and the Roths, were killed a month apart in an identical manner. It was really… brutal. They called him the Werewolf of Peak Road.

  “I was new in Behavioral Science, maybe a couple of years in. Kyle was just a field agent, too. We worked the case together. Didn’t really have anything. A few minor bits of evidence here and there. But it was the early eighties. Forensics wasn’t what it is now. If it had happened in this day and age, maybe we would’ve gotten lucky.” He paused and took another sip of juice. “Kyle called me because they had another killing three weeks ago. A young family, the Noels: mother, father, and their two-year-old daughter. If it’s the same pattern, we have another week before he kills again.”

  He slipped a photo out of his pocket and placed it on the table between us. I didn’t look down.

  “Similar murders, twenty years apart in
the same town. I don’t know why it took him twenty years, but he’s back. I’m flying out to Nevada tomorrow.”

  “You and Kyle can handle it. You don’t need me.”

  He shook his head. “Every investigator has that one case. That one that just doesn’t sit right. They keep copies of the file after they retire. This is mine, Jon. I feel like I failed the Wyatts and the Roths. I’m not going to fail the Noels, too.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that he used the family’s name. I still hadn’t looked down at the picture. “I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m pretty swamped out here. I don’t think I can take the time off.”

  “I heard you found out what happened to Elizabeth.”

  The thought of my sister sent a shot of pain into my chest that jolted my system. “I did.”

  “I bet it helped—knowing what happened.”

  “I guess. I thought it would bring me closure. There’s no closure.”

  “Well, these people had families, too. Families that would like to know what happened and why.”

  “Insanity happened. Knowing that won’t bring them peace. It’ll make it hurt more.”

  Mickey set his orange juice on the coffee table. “What is this really about, Jon?”

  “I don’t think… I don’t think I want to get involved in that type of case right now. I just finished everything with my sister, and it’s taken me a couple of months to be able to work cases again. Mostly bank robberies and drug deals gone bad. I like those right now. I can understand those.”

  “You can understand what happened in Peak Road, too.”

  “Maybe. And that’s probably why I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m not myself yet. I need more time.”

  He nodded slowly. “I understand. But I need you on this. I’m old and tired. I don’t know how much I can put into this case.” He rose. “If you change your mind, please call me. It really is good to see you again.” He bent down and petted Hanny before turning to leave.

  I followed him to the door and saw him out. He put on his sunglasses then got into his rental car. I watched as he pulled out of the driveway.

  I went back inside, where he had left the Noels’ photo on my coffee table. Between a young mother and a father sat a two-year-old girl with pink ribbons holding her blond pigtails in place.

  I flipped the photo facedown and headed to the shower.

  5

  The church service went by quickly. I taught a lesson in Sunday school about the purpose of forgiveness in our lives, the power that’s unleashed with it, that allows people to move on after tragic events.

  When it was over, I went home and changed into shorts. I took Hanny to the beach and let him run around. I always kept a leash on him because I knew that many people would always be afraid of a pit bull, especially one with no leash.

  Though I tried to avoid it, I couldn’t help thinking of Peak Road. The killings themselves weren’t that unusual—although a killer who targets entire families was a little odd—but the massive lapse in time interested me. It was possible that the killer had left. Maybe he had been to prison or had moved then recently moved back… or he’d simply had enough self-control to fight off his fantasy for twenty years before engaging in it again.

  I couldn’t go. Whenever I worked cases like that, they took a piece of me. And I didn’t know how many pieces I had left.

  Julie came jogging up from the opposite direction, wearing a spandex top. She stopped in front of me, and Hanny jumped on her. They started playing, and it brought a grin to my face. She came over to me, taking out her earbuds.

  “Something happen?” she asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “You look sad.”

  I shrugged. “Just a case I’ve been thinking about.”

  “What case?”

  This was the part of the job I didn’t like—the part where I wanted to discuss it with someone else but knew I couldn’t. If I told her the things I had seen and was thinking about, it would change the way she saw the world. It had happened with my ex-wife, my fiancée, and even my children.

  “Nothing worth mentioning.”

  She hesitated. “Jon, come over for dinner tonight.”

  Part of me wanted nothing more than to go over to her house and begin what I knew would turn into something more. She was kind, attractive, and compassionate. She might even have understood the job in a way Melissa never could. But another part of me thought I didn’t belong there. I didn’t belong with anyone else.

  “I’ll take a raincheck.”

  She exhaled and placed her hand on my chest. “There are only so many rainchecks.”

  I watched her jog away. Hanny began running after her, but his leash pulled taut and yanked him back. I turned toward the ocean, staring at the waves as he barked at her, thinking himself left behind.

  That evening, after a dinner of beans and rice, I sat on the patio and sipped herbal tea. Black and green teas were forbidden by the Mormon faith, but herbs, if used appropriately, were encouraged. The faith also promoted vegetarianism, something I’d been trying out over the past months and had been enjoying. I was losing weight, and my migraines, which had once been frequent, were less prominent.

  Beside me on the patio side table was the picture of the Noels. I picked it up and stared at it. The mother’s hand rested lightly on the child’s shoulder, and the father’s arm was wrapped around her. I saw something then: the other children the couple would never have. I saw them on either side of the parents as clearly as if they were there. I had to put the photo down and stare out over the ocean.

  Just past my neighbor’s house, people were running. It was dark, but the moon and the setting sun provided enough illumination. A few tourists were standing on the beach, staring at the ocean in wonder. The water held that wonder for me, too, and every time I saw it was like the first time.

  A child broke away from the crowd. He sprinted for the water, and a woman yelled after him. She caught up with him halfway down the beach and lifted him in the air, tickling him and feigning anger as he laughed uproariously. Watching them head back to the rest of the crowd, I grinned.

  I picked up the photo again, my guts in tight knots that made me want to throw up. I swallowed then pulled my phone out of my pocket, still staring at the photo. I texted Mickey Parsons.

  Get another ticket. I’m coming.

  A moment later, he texted back, I bought one for you yesterday. See you in the morning.

  I took in a deep breath and held it a moment, feeling my heart thump against my ribs, thirsty for oxygen. I held my breath for as long as I could then let it out in a slow hiss before I put the photo down and stood up.

  The mother on the beach was still holding her son. They watched the waves together, and she pointed to the moon. He tilted his head up and stared at it. I went inside the house and left the patio doors open so I could hear the waves while I slept.

  6

  The next morning, I went to Julie’s house. When she answered the door, she didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come over yesterday.”

  She nodded. “It’s okay.” She folded her arms.

  “Could I impose on you for a bit? I need to go to Nevada for a little while. I was hoping you could take Hanny. If you can’t, I completely under—”

  “No, I’d be happy to watch him.”

  I nodded, never letting go of her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I don’t know what the problem is, but we all have our demons, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  I left my keys with her then texted my captain, Kai, saying that I would need to use some leave. Laka didn’t have a problem covering my cases for a week, and I told her I would make it up to her. Luckily, the captain didn’t micromanage his team, and he trusted me when I told him I had a good reason to take time off.

  The airport was bustling with tourists, as it always was. I took an Uber ride down, and the driver didn’t speak a word until we actually arrived at the airp
ort.

  “Where you goin’?” he asked.

  “Nevada.”

  “Las Vegas?”

  “No, a town called Peak Road.”

  “Never been.” He took out a pack of gum, shoved a piece into his mouth with the wrapper still on, then spit out the wrapper onto the passenger seat. “Don’t sound like much.”

  “Probably isn’t much.”

  “Why you goin’?”

  I watched a plane lift off and rocket into the air. Its engines drowned out the sound of traffic for a few seconds. “I don’t actually know.”

  “Weird thing to go someplace and not know why.”

  “It is.”

  I paid on my phone at the terminal and left a good tip. I’d brought only one gym bag full of clothes, and I slung it over my shoulder then headed in. The security agent had to call a supervisor because of my gun, then I was allowed through. Law enforcement officers were allowed to fly with firearms, but that didn’t mean the TSA gave us an easy time for it.

  Mickey was sitting in one of the seats near our gate, one leg crossed over the other. He was wearing a suit and tie, and I was in my jeans and leather jacket. I suddenly felt underdressed.

  “I didn’t know we were on a date. I would’ve worn a dress,” I said.

  He grinned. “Old habits. The Bureau always had strict dress standards.”

  “From Hoover, right? I remember something about him and a dress.” I loved teasing Mickey about J. Edgar Hoover. If ever there was a tyrant who hadn’t respected the Constitution, it was Hoover. He stood for everything the Founding Fathers were against: the ends justifying the means and the shredding of personal liberty.

  “You know,” he said, leaning back in the seat, “I interviewed this old-timer down in Florida in the eighties. He was a capo in the Bonanno crime family. Worked with Luciano and Meyer Lansky personally. He swore to me he’d seen the photos of Hoover cross-dressing. That he was a transvestite and homosexual but knew he’d be run out of the director position if it ever came out. Obviously, I have to consider the source in that story—those guys can’t be trusted for anything. They’ll lie even when there’s no benefit to lying, but it made me wonder.”