DEMON DRIFT
By
Franz S. McLaren
And
Sean M. McLaren
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * *.*
Demon Drift
Copyright © 2010 by Franz S. McLaren
Copyright © 2010 by Sean M. McLaren
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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* * * * *
CHAPTER I
Cold metal pressed against the base of my neck. There was no sound, no threatening voice telling me not to move. Somewhere in the pitch black alley, small claws scrapped concrete. I tried hard not to picture hundreds of rats watching to see if I would be their next feast. If I died here it would be days before the stink of decomposition rose above the stench of this place.
For a brief instant I considered doing a high flying triple back spin move that would disable my opponent and leave me in possession of the gun, but only for a moment. I was no comic book hero gifted with super human skills. What I knew about hand to hand combat had been learned in the Marine Corps nearly a decade ago. For some reason that training had not included what to do when you had a gun barrel digging into the top of your spine.
I was an unpaid courier. My sister had made it clear that my job was to deliver the satchel in my hand, nothing more. I had no idea what I was supposed to do once that goal was accomplished.
A gloved hand reached from behind, shifted mine from the bag handle, and lifted it away. I guess it was time to find out what I was supposed to do next.
I tensed.
The barrel moved from my neck. Instinctively I twisted sideways and fell trying hard not to think about serrated can lids amongst the garbage and what a cut would mean in this infested place. Two shots rang out before I hit the pavement.
I felt both find a blistering home in my chest.
* * * * *
CHAPTER II
Bright lights glowed red through my eyelids. Somewhere nearby, frantic contestants vied for their future on a television game show. Other than that there was only the weekday church hush of a hospital.
Somehow I had survived.
There were a thousand questions that I should be asking myself at this moment but all I could think of was that I was thirsty.
My sand filled eyes creaked open. Gradually their misty vision cleared. On a night stand stood a blue plastic pitcher with beads of inviting moisture trailing down its sides. Involuntarily my hand clawed upward but was stopped well short by a chain binding my wrist.
At the clink of chain against crib bar, a policeman stepped forward, glanced at me and turned to leave.
"Wait," my voice gargled rough grade emery cloth, "Where am I? Why am I here?"
I could have saved the effort. The blue shirt did not hesitate as it passed through the doorway and disappeared.
Electronic squeals continued from the television across the room. At the moment it seemed like too much effort to pull myself up see where it was.
"Mr. Drift, I'm Detective Steiner. I'd like to ask you a few questions." A tall thin man preceded the returning policeman into the room.
Just like that. No hello, how are you? Are you up for this? I was fairly certain that I was not going to like this man.
"Can I have a drink of water, please?" My mom always told me that I would catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Maybe a little politeness here would help.
The detective nodded. With robot efficiency the silent uniform poured a glass and held the straw where I could reach it. Laying back I suppressed a sigh of contentment.
"Now, Mr. Drift, would you like to tell us where the bodies of your sister, brother in law, and niece are?"
Okay so I had been out for a while, but the last I knew there was nothing wrong with my sister or her husband. I could not be certain about my niece. She was the reason I was in the alley. The bag had contained a quarter million dollar ransom. Jenny, my sister, had a finger in the refrigerator hoping it could be reunited with her daughter once she was returned. That was how we knew the kidnappers were serious.
Something in the cop's eyes warned me that this was not the time to be chatty.
"Don't you have to read me my rights?"
Without warning, Steiner grabbed the chain and yanked it, slamming my left wrist into the bars. Alarm bells clanged deafeningly in my head as the wrist bent to an impossible angle. White hot agony flared up my arm, straining the newly awakened wounds in my chest.
"You listen to me scum, I knew your sister. She and her husband Ned were two of the nicest people on this planet and their daughter was an angel. We know you killed them. What we don't know yet is why, how, and where the bodies are. But we will. And when we do, I'm going to take great pleasure in putting you where you belong."
With a final sharp tug I felt, more than heard, a snap in my wrist.
As consciousness faded I knew that I had been right. I was not going to like him.
* * * * *
CHAPTER III
Slowly I faded into a world of fuzzy edges. My mind crept on sluggish snail legs. I had been sedated.
As carefully as I could, I looked around the room. Outside the door I could see a policeman on a chair reading a comic book. This officer was older than his silent predecessor.
I tried to sit.
Wide cloth straps secured me to the bed. I suppose this was better than the handcuffs I'd had on earlier. It would make it harder for Steiner to jerk something and cause damage. Still all was not well. I was bound and helpless.
Even though my mind had been replaced by mashed potatoes I had to think, to figure out what was going on.
Steiner said that my sister and her husband were dead. How did he know they were dead if there were no bodies? And where was Stacie, my niece? Had she been returned? Why would the kidnappers bring her back and then murder her, my sister, and her husband Ned? But most of all, why did the cops think I was responsible?
So maybe I didn't need to think right now.
What I needed was to find out what was going on. But how could I do that without risking another broken bone at the hands of the good Detective Steiner?
I suppose I could wait until night time. Surely the detective could not stay here twenty four hours a day. Perhaps a more reasonable person would want to question me during the night shift.
That is what I would do.
"Oh, so we're awake are we?"
Or not.
A heavyset nurse, in a uniform so crisp it sliced the air before her, flowed into the room. Mechanically she plugged a thermometer into my mouth and grabbed my wrist.
"My but we have had a rather long sleep?"
"How long have I been here?"
"Hmmm, let's see. Today is the sixth, so that would be..."
"Shut up you," comic still gripped in one hand, the cop barged into the room, "no one is to talk to the prisoner. Detective Steiner's orders."
I felt her fingers tighten on my wrist.
"Now you listen here mister high and mighty policeman," her hand released me as she stomped around the bed toward the suddenly silent cop, "I have been given no instructions that this man is a prisoner. If he is then why isn't he in the prison ward of the county hospital? And on top of that, who is this Detective Steiner to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own hospital? I am not a prisoner and I am most certainly not any part of the police force."
"What I suggest you do is to go back out in the hall, sit on your chair, and continue to read your comic book. You'll probably need the knowledge it provides to pass your next promotion exam."
For a few seconds the cop considered challenging her. Finally his head dropped.
"This job ain't worth it. No one told me I'd have to face a barracuda."
His mumbles faded as he shuffled through the doorway.
The battleship in a nurse uniform winked as she returned to grab my wrist.
"As I was saying this is the sixth. So counting last month I'd say just about seven weeks."
Seven weeks? How was that possible? Why had I been kept sedated for so long?
"Ah, I can see the gears turning. Well, I probably would let the police tell you, but somehow I can't stand it when they treat the hospital staff like we're their servants."
"At first they tried to pretend you were a prisoner. But they haven't filed any papers with the hospital. And only they know how you broke your wrist. They claimed you went crazy when they told you your sister was dead. Then they used the broken wrist as an excuse to have their psychiatrist come here and sedate you. They've held you under for nearly five weeks. You're pretty much all healed up now so I think they've decided to release you."
"In fact," a conspiratorial smile crossed her face as a silencing finger rose to her lips. With a few deft moves the cloth bindings loosened.
I was free. I sat up too quickly and a rush of blood swirled my vision. As it cleared I saw the nurse casually walking toward the door.
Like magic, a large semiautomatic pistol, complete with the bulge of a suppressor, appeared from the starched folds. A quick pufft and the policemen slumped to the floor.
With a rustle of fabric she reached down, secured his service pistol and threw it toward me.
"Come on, we have to get you out of here."
The neat squared lines of the officer's gun looked hostile lying black on the clean white sheets between my knees. A nine millimeter. Nice gun but I think I would rather touch a rabid dog.
"Come on!"
Whether by intent or accident the tunnel end of her pistol pointed at my head.
"Move it, we don't have much time." It was definitely a command.
"My clothes?"
That was as far as I got. The room shook as a powerful blast echoed in its confines. Her face exploded. Spots of thick red liquid and chunks of rubbery flesh speckled me.
As she fell lifeless I turned to see Detective Steiner shift his aim. A small patch of skin between my eyes began to tingle. Seconds passed as Steiner waited for me to give him an excuse. A drop of cold sweat formed and snaked along my spine.
Enough time passed for him to feel really stupid, if he was capable of it. I was not going to make any move to touch the gun between my legs.
Slowly his jaw clenched as his eyes hardened. He had made up his mind. I was going to die trying to escape. The knuckle on his index finger whitened as it tensed.
Screech, screech, screech.
The rubber soles of nursing shoes complained loud and rapid as someone ran in our direction.
"Detective, I've called 911."
Indecision tore across Steiner's face. He might still be able to claim an escape attempt but probably not. Was I worth giving up his career for?
A wrinkled face with lively blue eyes peaked around his shoulder as I slowly raised my hands above my head.
A crowd was gathering behind his back. His chance to shoot had passed.
"So Detective Steiner," a large, well dressed, man shouldered through the small crowd and stepped next to the detective. His expressionless eyes looked down at Steiner's gun then over to me, "I suggest that you retrieve the gun lying on the bed before something unfortunate happens."
For a second Steiner looked so angry and frustrated that he might still risk shooting. With a sharp twist of his elbow he slapped his gun into its holster as he paced to the bed and retrieved the pistol.
"Now Detective," the big man's voice seemed loud in the confines of the room, "I think the time has come to either charge this man or release him. After all you've had nearly two months to make a case. What'll it be?"
Steiner's jaw bulged several times as he tried to assassinate the man with his stare.
"He is not to leave town and I want him to call in every day from a phone in the city to prove it."
"He will be available through my office should you have any more questions, any restriction beyond that will require a court order. Do we understand each other detective?"
Silence hovered for several moments.
"Okay, Mr. Macklin," the detective's tone was a cold sharp blade, "for the moment you have the upper hand. But we both know that this son of a bitch is guilty as hell and soon I'll prove it, and maybe I'll also prove that you were in it with him."
The two men stood face to face. Steiner's gaze broke first.
"For now he has to stay here until we clean up this mess."
Steiner stomped to the door and pushed through a gaggle of arriving crime scene investigators.
"I think any questions you have should wait until we have more privacy," I was surprised to see the big guy, Macklin, standing next to my bed. I had not heard him move, "For now it is enough for you to know that I am your lawyer."
"This investigation," he waved a casual hand toward the sprawled nurse, "is going to take a while. Feel free to truthfully answer their questions about what happened here today, but nothing more. I'll be back when they're through to take you out of here."
It was only after he left that I realized there were dozens of questions I should have asked.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IV
"It's the silver Escalade," Macklin's ignition key pointed at an SUV six cars away, "I always buy American when I can."
I settled into the high seat and closed my eyes for a few moments.
"These should help."
A light weight dropped into my lap. Gratefully I settled the dark wraparound lenses over my ears. That was better. The early afternoon Southern California sunlight had been cutting a hole through my brain.
I let Macklin get out of the parking lot before I asked him anything.
"So where are we going?" I tried to keep my voice nonchalant as though I regularly left hospital homicide scenes with lawyers I didn't know.
"It would be best if you hopped in your car and headed back to San Diego, but I don't suppose you'll do that."
What was he talking about? I had just spent nearly two months in a hospital, been accused of a triple murder, and had a missing sister and her family to look for. How could he expect me to go back to designing circuit boards?
I knew that the police had probably done all that they could but I could not help but feel they had been concentrating so hard on me that they might have overlooked something. It was obvious that they did not seriously consider my story of being shot trying to deliver ransom. In the mind of Detective Steiner I had probably shot myself in a fit of remorse after killing my sister's family. It did not help that tests showed I had fired a gun that night. I had no idea how that happened. It was just one more question that I needed an answer to.
"No, I have too many unanswered questions. If you could just drop me at a hotel near my sister's place I'd appreciate it."
"No need. I have your sisters' keys. The police finally returned them to me. If it wouldn't cause too many bad memories you might as well stay there."
I could almost hear the, "since no one else is," in his voice.
How could it cause bad memories? One day last May, Jenny called me to say that she needed my help. Could I come immediately?
I had not seen or heard from her in more than three years. Not since she married Ned, her second husband. For some reason he and I could never quite get along. After the wedding I drove up for a few barbeques at their place but it quickly became apparent that Ned and I mixed like ice cream and ketchup. In an unspoken agreement I faded from their lives until I got Jenny's call.
They had moved some time after my last visit so the only time I saw their new house was the day I stopped to pick up directions and money for the drop. Needless to say my mind had not been focused on examining the fine details of the place.
"I think I can muddle through."
"Great. Okay I'll tell you what I know and you can hold your questions until I'm done. I think it will save us a lot of time."
"Jenny never told me about the kidnapping. The first I heard was when I asked for the police report on you yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
Maklin held up a hand to stop the questions that he could see bubbling behind my teeth.
"Like I said, try to hold your questions until I've finished."
"They scheduled a vacation to start as soon as Stacie graduated high school. That should have been mid June. They were going to take a driving tour around the southwest. You know, see all the sights like the Grand Canyon, Brice Canyon, the Petrified Forest, Four Corners, all the stuff that the locals never see."
"Ned and I usually talk every few weeks so I figured I'd hear from them some time after they returned. Yesterday I noticed that it was nearly the end of July and I started to wonder if everything was okay. I mean sure they have more money than God and no jobs to tie them down, but still how long can you tour before you get burned out?"
"So yesterday I called their cells, no answer, but they could have been in a dead zone. I decided to stop by the house. The yellow Crime Scene tape told me that something was wrong."
"At the station I was referred to Detective Steiner. You know that man really hates you?"
Again he held up a hand to indicate that he really did not expect an answer.
"It was he who discovered them missing. One night he answered an attempted homicide call. It was you. Apparently he and his wife are good friends with Jenny and Ned Killman. They met at a Halloween party once and hit it off. He knew about you from your sister."
"When he got no answer on any of their cell phones he went over. He found the front porch buried in newspapers and the letter box overflowing."
"When he broke in he found the place in shambles. There were enough traces of fresh blood scattered around to confirm that all three had been injured, but no bodies. Your fingerprints were on the front door and on a glass in the house."
"So Steiner put two and two together and came up with seven. You obviously had killed your sister and her family, hidden the bodies, probably in the Pacific Ocean, then snuck to an alley in Long Beach and shot yourself twice in the chest."
"His proof is the fact that the gun used to shoot you is registered in your name and its ten shot magazine had one round remaining."
"My gun? That's not possible. The last I saw it was safely tucked away in the night stand next to my bed."
"How long ago was that?"
"I don't know, a few months ago, maybe longer."
"So I'm guessing it was not reported stolen?"
"No."
How long had it been since I had seen it? Probably not this year. But there had never been any indication that I had been burgled. Why would I look for it?
"With Steiner, the fact that you failed to report it missing would be enough proof. No problem though. He has nothing concrete on you or you'd still be in his clutches."
"Here's your sister's house and her keys. You can go ahead and remove the police tape. I have an appointment this afternoon or I'd stick around. Call me in the morning if you have any questions."
He extended his card and drove away.
If I had any questions.
Like maybe who was the murderous nurse? Why had she tried to help me escape? Where was the Killman family? Who had ransacked their house? What the hell was going on?
I had plenty of questions. What I did not have was enough understanding of the situation to know what to ask.
A thin layer of dust covered my car. I walked past it to the front door. The tape came away easily and I inserted the key.
* * * * *
CHAPTER V
I was tired. Although I had been awake less than eight hours, my body was telling me that it had gone about as far as it could.
I made a quick circuit of the first floor. It wasn't an inspection. That would insinuate that some part of my mind was functioning.
The exercise was too much. My legs ached from unaccustomed use. My brain still fought the dregs of whatever drugs they had been feeding me. I looked at the carnage of scattered and overturned furniture, carelessly strewn paperwork, and broken junk. Someone, probably me, would have to clean this mess up, but not now, not today.
Luckily the couch was upright. I unburied its cushions from the trash, replaced them, and flopped down with a forearm over my eyes.
My logical mind suggested that I check to ensure the doors and windows were secure. I told it to shut up and faded away.
It was dark when I came to. A distant street light shot a yellowish bar between the front window curtains giving the living room a surreal aura.
I sat up. Outside the swish of a passing car highlighted the silence.
My spider sense was tingling. I was being watched. It was not surprising. I could not picture Detective Steiner leaving me to run around loose. No doubt he would have someone watching me every minute, praying that I would make a mistake and reveal where I had hidden the bodies.
I felt more rested but still weak as I made my way to the kitchen.
I had to settle for instant coffee. Whoever had trashed the place had dumped the ground coffee all over the floor. It was too much effort to sweep enough together to brew a pot.
Using caffeine as a clutch I shifted my mind into first gear.
Several weeks ago my sister phoned me at my home in San Diego pleading for help. I called in sick to work and rushed to Los Angeles. She gave me a sack of money and instructions on where and when to go. Less than a half hour after arriving at her house I was on my way to a dark and stinking alley in Long Beach. I made the transfer and barely avoided becoming another mugging gone wrong statistic.
A couple weeks later I roused, in a hospital, just long enough to have my wrist broken. Again, lights out. When next I wake five more weeks have passed, my injuries are healed, and I am due to be released. However, a homicidal nurse decides to check me out a bit early.
It was doubtful that all of this had occurred randomly. Someone had set this chain of events into motion. All I had to do was find out whom. Once I did that, it would be a simple matter to find out why.
What would Sam Spade do? I had no clue but I'm sure it would involve doing first things first. Somehow he always seemed to know what the first thing was. I did not have that advantage. Instead I made another cup of coffee then started trying to restore some order to the jumbled chaos around me.
By dawn I had finished tidying up the first floor. I knew what bills the Killman's had and when they paid them. From pictures I learned that Stacie had developed into quite a beauty. From magazines I learned that the household interests were teen fashion, cooking and fishing. From an address book I discovered that they had numerous acquaintances including Bert and Carol Steiner.
I am certain that Sherlock Holmes would have discovered much more. Maybe that was why I was an electronics engineer and not a detective.
For a few moments I stood at the base of the stairs leading up to the second floor. Maybe the clue that would unravel this whole thing was up there, and maybe I needed some breakfast. I opted for breakfast.
I watched for any sign of a car following me as I drove aimlessly through the neighborhood searching for somewhere to eat. All I saw was bunches of cars turning off, turning onto, or just driving along the streets that I was on. I was certain that Steiner had a tail on me but I'll be damned if I could see it. How do TV detectives do it so easily?
As I waited at a red light I saw yellow arches about a half block ahead. I could do worse than a meal in a muffin.
The light turned green. As I started across the intersection my spine stiffened to the screech of burning rubber from my right. A quick glance showed the chrome grill of a jacked up pickup truck growing as it screamed toward me.
Braking would be useless. The car behind was too close. My car did not have the guts to accelerate through the juggernauts path.
Without thinking I jerked the steering wheel fully left and stomped the accelerator to the floor. Metallic blue flashed large in the rearview as I fishtailed around to face back the way I had come.
For several seconds I cruised sightlessly, my mind blank. In a few minutes I would think again but right now I needed to park and relax. I knew that if my hands left the wheel they would be shaking like coins on a belly dancer's hips.
Ahead I saw a strip mall anchored by a supermarket. With a few basic ingredients I could create my own breakfast and perhaps live to enjoy it.
Apparently someone was still interested in completing the job that they had started in the alley. But where were Steiner's troops? Shouldn't they be pulling me over and arresting me for reckless driving? Or were they waiting around to witness my death for their boss? Could their absence be intentional?
It would seem that Los Angeles was not a safe place for me. Someone was out to stop me from doing, what? I had no idea. Steiner was obviously out to nail me for a triple murder. To top it off, I had nothing to indicate that returning to San Diego would improve my chances of survival.
Somehow I had to find out what was going on.
The only relatively safe place at the moment was my sister's house. It was time to stock up on groceries and spend a few days thoroughly searching the house. It would be nice if I could recover my pistol from the police but I suspected that Detective Steiner would frown on that.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VI
The groceries had been put away, breakfast was a memory, and the dirty dishes were in the dish washer. I was relaxing at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of ground coffee.
Something was off. Something did not feel right.
I looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Bright summer sun shined through the windows. The place was neat and clean.
But something, a feeling of anticipation, hovered in the room.
Silence.
That was it.
The house was cocooned in a blanket of silence. Not the hush of a weekday morning neighborhood. This quiet was absolute.
Motion caught my eye. A fly butted noiselessly against the kitchen window. It was as though I had suddenly gone deaf. No bird calls entered from the back yard. No sound of leaf blowers or lawn mowers in the distance.
On the wall a cat clock, eyes and tail swaying in unison, watched time passing. I had not noticed it ticking before, but now I noticed the lack.
The hairs at the base of my neck tingled.
I stood feeling, but not hearing, the vibration of the chair as its legs scraped across the tile. I watched my hand set my cup silently on the wooden table.
I strained, listening. The only sound was the internal thumping of my heart telling me to leave, to get out and find a safe place where people made noise. But I could not. Where would I go? For the moment this place offered the only hope of finding answers.
Sliding the largest knife from a wooden holder on the counter, I edged toward the front of the house. There was no need to sneak. My footsteps were more silent than a feather fall.
Through the picture window in the living room I could see cars passing. A large golden lab tugged a struggling young woman as it chased a squirrel. I watched its mouth open repeatedly as its head weaved back and forth at the base of the squirrel's tree haven. The woman's cheeks glowed with effort and embarrassment as she silently shouted at her pet.
A chill crept along my spine as a low sound rose from somewhere within the house. For a few seconds I froze, ears straining.
A deep base chant, one without words, floated ethereally in the silence, as though a score of low voiced men were trying their hand at Gregorian song. Slowly I turned, using my ears as radar to locate the source of the disturbing sound.
The subliminal noise seemed to come from a great distance but from no single direction. Chanting filled the silence the way air fills a room. There, detectable, but incapable of being grasped.
Outside the dogs head jerked with the force of its silent bark. The woman continued her unheard shouts. Only the ubiquitous dirge disturbed the quiet within.
Slowly, sneaking unnecessarily, I started toward the stairs. There was nothing to indicate that the sound originated from above but I had to look somewhere.
Every unheard footfall on the wooden steps abraded my nerves. The volume of the chant remained barely discernible. Motion gave no indication of the direction of its origin.
At the head of the stairs a carpet runner, like a woven Persian slip and slide, covered the hardwood of a central hallway. On each side two open doorways spilled pale light into the shadowed corridor. A short rope dangled from a square trapdoor in the ceiling at the far end. The rope swayed slowly as though in time to the low dirge.
I could sense the ropes motion, beckoning me, as I quickly scanned each of the four rooms. The rooms were a mess, jumbled furniture, overturned mattresses, strewn papers or personal articles.
I glanced toward the end of the hall each time I passed from room to room. The dangling line continued to sway as though something had recently brushed it. Eventually there was nowhere else to look.
Slowly I reached toward its nylon surface.
My hand stopped inches away. It was a piece of rope, nothing more, but my mind refused to let me touch it.
As I watched, frozen, the sway of the rope increased. With each swing its arc brought it nearer to my hand. Soon it would touch.
Something within warned me that the slightest contact would open a nightmare that I did not want to endure. With a life of its own my hand began to edge closer.
No, my mind screamed, stop.
By millimeters my elbow straightened. With its next swing the rope would be within my grasp.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
My hand jerked back as I dropped the knife and my knees collapsed.
"Open up."
The return of sound was almost too much. The constant background sounds of everyday life were overwhelming after the utter silence of a moment ago.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
"Open up, this is the police."
"Coming."
The word died in the hallway as soon as it left my mouth. There was no way they could have heard me.
"Coming!"
That was better. I shook the last of the nightmare from my head and went downstairs.
Through the peephole I could see two police uniforms, guns drawn. I stepped to the side of the doorway and reached over to unchain then unbolt the door. I had barely turned the knob when the door slammed back against the opposite wall.
The officers charged in scanning the room. In unison both guns turned to focus on my head.
"On your knees, mother fucker, and clasp your hands behind your head."
Four eyes glared at me as though begging me to give them an excuse.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VII
"Anyone else in the house?" The voice was harsh, unforgiving. The name badge said Lockmorell.
"No Sir." The polite thing hadn't been working so well lately but I decided to give it one more try.
The other officer, Starnley, shifted out of my view. His footfalls were silent but the rustle of clothing and equipment told me that he was searching the house.
I remained on my knees staring down the dark hole at the end of Lockmorell's pistol. I wanted to look around, to speak, to explain why I was here. The tension in the officer's pose told me that silent and still were the best call for the moment.
"All clear." Starnley had returned.
"Who are you and why are you here?" For the next half hour I remained kneeling, hands behind my head, while Lockmorell threw question after question at me. Starnley had taken my wallet and disappeared outside.
"Sorry for any inconvenience, Sir," Starnley handed back my wallet, "Have a good day."
Like that they were gone. They had told me nothing. I could only conjecture that they were the patrol cops for this area. Seeing the tape missing must have alerted them that someone was in the house.
I could not fault their treatment of me. After all this was a house where three people had apparently been murdered and the house torn up looking for something. From their perspective I could have been the murderer returning for another search of the place.
I pulled a cold beer from the fridge, popped the top and slugged half the can in a single draught. A loud burp felt good, normal, and relaxed me as I took a seat at the kitchen table.
For several minutes I sat, thinking nothing, watching the fly monotonously butt its head against the window as it fought what it could not see.
Bzzzz, tic.
Bzzzz, tic.
How long had it been fighting the glass? Since before the police showed up.
Only this time it was making noise. Whatever had silenced the house was gone. This would be good time to search the attic. I pulled a flashlight from the drawer where I had stored it during my cleanup.
Once again I stood looking at the rope. It hung limp, motionless.
Slowly I raised my hand. Gently my fingers wrapped around the smooth nylon surface.
Nothing, it was just a rope. I gave it a strong pull. The trap door opened. A set of fold down stairs provided access.
Dust motes danced in the conical flashlight beam. The plywood floor was covered in a thick blanket of dust. Tattered spider webs hung from every rafter.
It was easy to guess that this space was rarely used.
Close to the hatch several boxes were marked Christmas. Further back were unmarked boxes, suitcases, old furniture, lamps, pictures, books, and a trunk. It looked like a space used to store things too valuable to throw out but not useful enough for everyday living.
Here was the heart of a family. These were the items that defined what was important to them. A study of this place could say far more about these people than all their acquaintances combined.
The dust told me that no one had been in here for a long time. Eventually I would have to spend some quality time up here but right now my efforts could be better spent searching areas that might offer some solution to the mystery surrounding my sister's disappearance. I lowered myself back to the floor, folded the stairs, and pushed the door shut.
My mind felt sluggish as I told myself that I had only the second floor, the garage, and the back yard left to search. My feet felt as though they were slogging through mud as I descended to the living room.
Perhaps a nap would help.
It was dark when I woke. The hand that pillowed my head still clutched the flashlight. Its knurled shaft had pressed a pattern into my cheek.
I was hungry.
As I scrambled some eggs and made toast I considered what I should do next. The back yard would be much clearer in daylight, so the garage would be next.
It took less than half an hour. There was little to look at. Apparently Ned had been a neatness freak. The pegboard behind his workbench had a black painted silhouette for each tool. None were missing. Drawers held boxes of screws, nuts, bolts and washers. All separated by type and size. A cabinet held car washing and servicing equipment. The floor was spotless. Above, three bicycles hung upside down on hooks screwed into the rafters.
If there was anything useful in here I could not find it. I returned to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and plan what to do next.
I felt vulnerable. The glare of light on the kitchen windows made it impossible to see into the back yard. If anyone was out there they could easily see me.
As I walked across the kitchen a feeling of disquiet rose within me. Something was wrong. Somewhere I had missed something. I reached for the light switch and froze.
Why had I assumed that a layer of dust indicated that the attic contained nothing useful? I had no way of knowing what Jenny's murderers had been looking for. The fact that the dust was undisturbed said only that they had not looked in the attic.
Why had I so readily dismissed it? Hadn't I thought that it was where the heart of a family was stored? Wouldn't it be the logical place to look?
I stood, finger on light switch, unaware for the moment of my surroundings, pondering. My eyes just happened to be directed at the back door window when I flipped the switch down.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VIII
Earlier, during daylight, I had admired the back yard. The trimmed, well cared for lawn, sparkling pool and barbeque pavilion were a peaceful oasis in the heart of the San Fernando Valley. It was a place of escape and relaxation.
It was also gone.
Now, bright moonlight separated an endless desert vista into jarring shards of black and silver. Scattered boulders provided eerie shadows. In several places the ground disappeared into jagged cracks.
I moved near the sliding glass door. A warm dry breeze crept around its edge. The acrid air irritated my nostrils as its sting brought tears.
Things were moving out there. Like wraiths flitting from shadow to shadow flickers of motion rose and fell on the ragged plane. No matter how fast I turned my eyes I could never quite manage to see what moved. Somehow they contrived to stay in my peripheral vision. For the moment the motions were random with no indication that they were approaching the house.
It was past time to sit down and have a good think.
The fridge light stung my already blurred eyes as I grabbed another beer. I sat at the table, eyes closed, rubbing the cold can against my forehead.
What kind of drugs had they given me in the hospital? This had to be some kind of hallucinogenic flashback.
Alone, in the dark kitchen, I popped the beer and looked through the window over the sink. The yard was still missing. The weird broken scene remained. Unseen things still flitted about.
What would happen if I opened the rear door and stepped into that world? Could I even breathe the toxic atmosphere? Probably not.
Or would I find that the vision faded the minute I stepped outside? Would I find myself in a peaceful suburban back yard feeling confused and stupid?
Did thinking about it bring me any closer to finding Jenny and her family?
No. Like the earlier silence, this vision distracted from clear thought. I decided to ignore the view beyond the door.
It seemed that since Jenny's frantic call, I had no idea what was going on or how I fitted into it. There had been so little time to talk to Jenny when I arrived. The few moments we spent together were a confused jumble of her giving me instructions and directions.
The few hours of lucid time in the hospital made no sense at all. Now I was in a house that played with my mind. I was here trying to play detective when real detectives had already been all over the place. Not to mention the bad guys that had searched it.
Maybe I should hop in my car, go back to San Diego and let the long arm of the law take its course. If Detective Steiner was not so intent on proving that I was a murderer, I probably would. But if I left now I was fairly certain that eventually he would find a way of producing evidence to prove that I had killed these people. Or, more likely, he would find an excuse to arrest me where I could easily be shot trying to escape. I had seen his eyes over the barrel of his pistol. I had no doubt that he considered me guilty. How long would he wait to mete out justice if his crime labs could not find sufficient evidence to charge me?
Somehow I had to figure out what was going on and find out where Jenny and her family were. Ignoring the view outside, I tossed the empty can into the trash, picked up the flashlight, and headed for the attic.
The peaked roof was low and the air musty with age. Shadows danced as I played the flashlight beam over stored items. A quick look verified that the boxes marked Christmas contained ornaments. Lifting the suitcases was sufficient to confirm that they were empty, stored here until needed.
The books were puzzling. Most were in a language that I did not recognize. Several had bindings that felt warm and soft and totally uncomfortable to hold. Something told me that I did not want to open them. I wiped my hands on my jeans and decided to look elsewhere.
The paintings were even more disturbing. Most were abstract, consisting of odd symbols jumbled into jarring patterns that chaffed nerves. Several showed people being tormented by all sorts of demonic creatures.
This was not the time or place to be staring at scenes of horror. I turned the first one to face the others. The limp wire on its back side was far more pleasant to look at.
What kind of man was Ned? He had no accent to indicate that he was anything but a citizen. Could he read the strange text in the books? Did he find these paintings exciting?
As I searched the attic a disquieting feeling was rising within me. I was beginning to suspect that, not only did I not know what was going on, but also that I knew very little about the people that lived here. At the moment I was not real sure that I wanted to learn any more.
The trunk was the last obvious place left to search. If I found nothing there then, at another time, I would have to come back up here and search each and every item I had glanced through to see if I could find something that someone would be willing to kill to get.
I had never seen a trunk so old. The wood was still firm but the leather straps were dry and cracked. Bits flaked off when I lifted them away from the latches.
Slowly I raised the lid.
A compartmented tray hid most of the interior from immediate view. In its segments were bound stacks of letters, old photographs, strange coins, pendants, broaches, pins, and numerous slips of paper. I decided that I would take the tray downstairs to review its contents in a well lighted living room.
I grasped the tray by the handle at either end and lifted it. As I turned to start toward the ladder with my prize, a pale flash pulled at the edge of my vision. Carefully I set the tray down and turned the flashlight toward the lower contents of the trunk.
With bile rising in my throat I realized that I had found another part of the Stacie puzzle.
Her head.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IX
The snap of a beer can tab jerked me from my reverie. I noticed one empty can already on the kitchen table. How had I gotten here?
Vaguely I recalled recoiling from the sight in the trunk, stumbling across the attic and down the ladder. I carried the newly opened can to the sink, dumped it, and replaced it with a large mug of black coffee. This was not the time to impair thinking.
My eyes automatically sought the rear door. Outside the impossible desert stretched to the horizon. Almost seen things still flickered from shadow to shadow. It was as good an area as any to let my eyes rest while I tried to kick my brain into gear.
For several minutes I sat staring but unseeing. I tried hard not to remember birthday parties, amusement parks, and days on the beach with my niece. She had been so young, so full of life.
This line of thought was getting me nowhere. With a mental shrug, I shoved the memories into a secluded part of my brain. I knew that someday soon I would have to bring them out and feel the pain of letting go, but not tonight. There were too many other things to consider now.
What should I do? If I called Detective Steiner he would certainly arrest me for murder, but that was the least of my worries.
How had the head gotten into the trunk? Until my journey through the attic no one had disturbed the dust in many months. The head was fresh. There was no sign of deterioration, no smell of decomposition. It made no sense. It was as if it had been placed there within the last few hours, but how, and by whom, and why?
I had no answers and no place to start getting them. What was I doing here? If the cops had found nothing then what could I hope to find? How could I clear myself and, more importantly, how could I find out who had killed Stacie?
It was no use. I had tons of questions but no hint of where to start looking for answers beyond continuing to search the house. Searching was all I could do, but not now. For the moment I needed to sit and try not to think.
Faintly through the closed sliding glass door, a cry rose far in the distance. It sounded like no animal I had ever heard. It was a cross between a howl and a growl, like a wolf with a bad case of laryngitis.
Nearer a similar call answered. Within seconds, dozens of the grating wails bounced around the arid landscape. What could live in that inhospitable place?
Bing bong!
The doorbell jerked me from my reverie.
Who would be visiting me here? Steiner? Officer's Lockmorell and Starnley? Perhaps someone was here to visit my sister. It didn't matter. Whoever it was, I did not want to see anyone at the moment. Right now I wanted to sit, drink my coffee and try to suppress the shock and pain that was fighting to surface. I was not at all certain that I could control my expressions or my voice.
Bing bong!
Go away. No one is home. You're wasting your time. I sent the thoughts into the ether hoping that whoever was there would receive them and leave.
Minutes passed. The bell remained silent. Good, I was alone once more, free to sit here and not think.
As though brought on by the creak of a side gate, the back yard reappeared. The now constant growl howling ceased as though severed by an axe blade. Beneath the green water of the pool round sealed lights sparkled giving the yard a fairy tale glow of magic and mystery.
A man sized shadow appeared from the side. The lights of the pool silhouetted the figure, completely hiding his face.
I sat in the dark kitchen watching as he approached the back door. Cupping his hands between his face and the glass he peered in.
Lawyer Macklin. What was he doing here?
An index finger knuckle rapped sharply on the glass.
"Drift? Are you in there?"
It was obvious that he could not see me. I could sit unmoving until he went away, or I could try to learn something.
I walked over, unlatched the door, and slid it open.
"What are you doing sitting here in the dark?" Unbidden he had entered, "let's go sit in the living room and talk."
It was not a bad idea. Surely by now he had found out more. Any information he could provide was far more than I had.
I turned on the light as he settled himself into an easy chair.
"You wouldn't happen to have some scotch around here would you? It should be there in the entertainment unit."
He knew this house better than I did. I opened the door he indicated and found a small but impressive bar.
"Straight up." He threw the words over his shoulder as he rummaged though his briefcase.
I poured the drink and sat on the couch with my coffee.
"Okay," he pulled a stack of papers from the case, "I expected you to call me today. When you didn't I decided to stop by and see if everything was okay. Is it? Have you found anything here?"
The intent stare he gave me as he talked seemed out of sync with his words. It was as though he was testing me somehow. He sat silent, watching, waiting for me to respond.
"Not yet."
I did not know this guy. I had no idea what he was after. Sure he had gotten Steiner to release me but why? What was in this for him? I had not hired him as my lawyer. Was he on retainer to Ned and Jenny? If he was, did that cover me?
"Hmm," for a split second his lips straightened in a look of frustration, "Okay, well I assume you'll keep looking."
"I plan to."
He did not quite shake his head but I got the distinct impression that he now viewed me as a slow learning child. What had I done or not done to rate that?
Interesting.
I kept my face as expressionless as I could but it suddenly occurred to me that I was an integral part of somebody's plan and Mr. Macklin was here to ensure that I played my part. It would explain why he was willing to do so much for me, apparently without pay.
"I went through your sister's folder to see if there was anything that could help solve the mystery of where they've gone."
"Hold it," I held up a hand to stop him for a moment, "I thought the prevailing theory was that they were killed and the bodies hidden."
"Well, yes, that is Steiner's opinion. But there is still no evidence to support it. Personally, I think that there is probably a less dire explanation. We just have to find it."
"Anyway, as I was saying," his voice told me that he would appreciate my not interrupting him again, "I was hoping to find contact information for a relative that might know where they've gone. I had no luck but I did find a document with your name on it."
"It seems that Jenny and Ned had set up a quite sizable trust for your niece which would cede to her control on her twenty first birthday. With the volatility of today's market I don't know the exact size, but let us say that it is more than a few million dollars."
He stopped as though waiting for some reaction from me. I felt more than ever that I was being manipulated. I tried to look properly impressed.
"You said my name was on a document." I set my expression into a look of naïve, hopeful greed.
"Yes, well they included a clause that, should Stacie fail to achieve her twenty first birthday, control of the trust would immediately revert to you."
So I was supposed to find evidence of Stacie's death. I had no doubt that this was the point where I was meant to jump up and declare that I had found proof in the attic. But why? Who would gain what if I inherited a few million dollars? Or was there also proof somewhere that would implicate me in her death? Was I supposed to be sent away to prison? Why? I had nothing that anyone would want. It was becoming increasingly more evident that I was being manipulated.
I did not like the feeling.
I could think of no good reason to tell Macklin about the gruesome trophy in the trunk upstairs. Not yet at least. Yawning profusely, I thanked the lawyer for his information and concern then, pleading fatigue, I herded him out the door.
My coffee was cold but it did not matter. The mug was just a convenient place to rest my hands while I let my swirling thoughts fly loose.
Outside reflected sparkles from the pool sent dancing disco lights around the yard.
* * * * *
CHAPTER X
Somewhere in the darkness I could hear Stacie calling. I don't know how I knew it as her. It had been more than three years since I'd heard her voice and she had undergone puberty since then. However, in the logic of dreams I knew it was her.
I could not quite make out the words but there was an urgency that demanded a response. But where was she?
I looked around.
Everywhere the world was a vast, jumbled desert of silver moonlight and pitch black shadows. Unseen things flitted just beyond the edge of vision.
This was the world I had seen beyond the sliding glass door before Macklin arrived. If Stacie was trapped here I had to locate her. This was a place of nightmares. I had to find her and lead her out.
"Uncle Drift!"
The scream of horror and unimaginable pain tore at me. She was in trouble. I had to save her.
But which way should I go? Where was I? Where was Jenny's house?
It did not matter. Finding Stacie was the first thing. After that we would worry about getting out.
"Eeeeeee..."
The scream stopped, severed as though chopped by a guillotine.
Even in my sleep I almost laughed at that. How do you chop off a head that is already missing a body?
Suddenly I realized it could not be Stacie calling no matter how she sounded. The part of Stacie that once could feel fear and pain was in the attic lacking the lung power that would enable a scream.
A crackling rose in the distance as though dozens of people were walking on potato chips. Something was coming, something big. A warm wind, breath from a demon's oven, flowed ahead of it drying the skin on my face.
I paused, waiting to see if Stacie would call again.
Nothing, just warm air and crackling.
The sound was getting closer. A herd of elephants was stampeding through a warehouse stuffed with cellophane.
The demon breath was growing stronger. The beast was close enough to lick my eyebrows. I could feel the hair on my hands drying, curling, and disappearing in small puffs of smoke.
This was no dream.
My eyes flew open.
The living room around me was a mass of flames. Behind me the back of the fire resistant couch was smoking, drifting to brown with black edges.
I was trapped.
If I'd listened to Stacie, heeded her first call, I might have awakened in time to escape.
It was too late now. All around walls of flame engulfed me. A searing pain pulled my eyes down. The legs of my jeans were on fire.
I had to get out.
It was hopeless I knew. In the movies there were always paths through the flames for firemen or heroic dogs to find a way though and save the victims.
There were no paths here.
In spite of that, I had to move.