Sorry for the long wait, finals came up and I was getting project after project. Stress equals writers block. Writers block equals staring at the screen in an odd daze, wondering why and how words appear when I press buttons. When words appear as I press buttons, it eventually hits me that I've got a paper due in some class and get to work at eleven at night. Writing the English paper equals ADD kicking in and writing multiple stories at once.
Writing multiple stories at once equals this chapter. You're very welcome.
Actually, it's almost been two months since Summer vacation started. I've been busy with volunteering at our aquarium and family matters. So sue me . . .
"No Dad, I'm perfectly fine off here. It's alright, just some bad weather . . . And a serial murderer . . ." She winced. "Sorry…"
On the other line, Carson Drew sighed. "Christ, Nancy…"
"If it helps me any, Joe and Frank have been working on it for several weeks now, and we have suspects to question."
"Nancy…"
"Dad…"
"I know about your case. The Jeb guy, the new murders? Nance, that is beyond your usual waters…I don't want you there."
"Dad, there's no other way around. The airline has shut down due to this severe storm, and they say it's only going to get worse."
"You can't stay out of their way? Just this once? I know that there's gotta be somebody from the government on this. Too many bodies, too many families."
"Being completely honest Dad, some bodies were in other states. That means he's been moving down the coast. I think the Hardys are doing a better job at this than the police have so far. We have suspects. They're checking into it. We're doing a good job so far, Dad…"
There was a long pause. Under no circumstances would she leave this case, the brothers, or justice behind, and Carson knew this well.
Finally, he sighed. "Stay safe. Please. Remember that song was one of your mother's favorites, next to the one she wrote on the piano. I love you."
"I love you too."
With that, he hung up.
She sighed in relief, and continued to dial Bess and Ned.
Callie spun her hair around on her finger, biting the bottom of her lip as it went to voicemail. Again. Without thinking, she left a message, which Frank warned her—all of them—not to. "Frank? I love you. I trust you. I miss you. What kind of case could keep you away from your friends and family like this? Was it because of that girl you guys found? Frank," Her voice broke, along with the wall holding back the many tears. "Frank. Ten days. Not a word. I don't even know if you're in town! Call me!"
She hung up and almost threw the damn thing across the room.
She called his and Joe's cells, she got nothing. She called the house phone, Laura picked up and told her the brothers weren't at home. Christ, when Callie tried to come over it was their mother that told her to turn around, that it wasn't safe! She knew about the murders. She knew about the danger of being involved. But it was her decision to help them! Not theirs, hers!
She sighed, hearing her mother call her down to help with making dinner.
She would give them one more night. But first thing tomorrow she was coming.
"Nancy, REALLY?!"
"Hey, it isn't as if I'm helpless here!"
Bess growled. Ned had left at that point, to the sweet relief of his girlfriend, so she wouldn't be the one to tell him. "Nance, I can't even BELIEVE that you can't go anywhere without finding a case! More importantly, something that's pretty much broken Jack the Ripper's record! Why on Earth can't the police—or FBI, whoever—do it?"
It was pretty hard to explain that. "Bess, I've told you that the police are doing the best they can. But the Hardys have gotten farther than they have, and the murderer knows they're on his case. I want to help, Bess. Before anyone else is killed."
"But—"
"No buts. I can't get out of here if I wanted to. The storm has put everyone into hiding—no flights are taking off until it's passed."
Bess groaned.
"Tell Ned I love him, Bess. Just in case my reception is knocked out."
"Okay . . . But expect him to go all angry-boyfriend on you when he finds out."
"I'm calling him right after this, I promise."
"Okay…Well, stay safe!"
"You too!"
Frank listened to Callie's message.
He felt like throwing the phone across the room again. Instead, he sent her a text:
Tell u everything I know. Come tomorrow around 1. We'll talk over lunch.
He clicked send. Enough was enough—he missed his friends. No matter how furious Callie would be that Nancy was here instead of her, she would have to accept that and either leave them alone or help. Knowing how stubborn she is, Frank could easily imagine that look in Callie's eyes she'd get when she found out he's letting Nancy help on the case and not her - she's shown signs of jealousy in the past, and this would make it only flare. He knew she would be clingy, and . . .
He sent another text.
I'm not letting u get into any danger by being around me. I love u, but this case is different from everything else Joe & I have worked on. Don't come early. We'll b police dep.
Staring at the sent message, he realized how annoying auto correct is by completing the words he wanted to be short on purpose.
Halls put his head in his hands. The new murders were his case now. As Sergeant Lumber marched away, the detective sighed and started on the paperwork.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He knew pretty much the entire police department was already working on this top-priority case. And now it was his responsibility to get together evidence? As if nobody else was doing their jobs. Even those outside the station—those teenage brothers, what was it? Hearty? Hardy? He didn't care if they were the Farty brothers, they had the case before anyone else realized that the bodies weren't just from this state, and they were the ones to capture that psycho killer who would get the chair along with his little psycho buddy.
And dammit, Detective D. T. Halls would make sure to watch both of them fry himself. But right now he needed that sick bastard—if the interrogating wasn't enough, that Rogate guy was answering in freaking riddles.
"Why did you do it?"
"You'll find out."
"Who is killing those kids now?"
"A friend."
"Even if you don't give us anything NOW, the offer still stands: if you tell us who is killing those kids now, then you'll have a fair trial. A chance for getting off of this alive."
Halls had made it a point to tell the man, no matter how disgusted he was that Lumber made this deal, that Rogate could plead insanity and be taken to a mental hospital instead of being fried.
"It makes no difference to me WHAT you know."
Christ, it was like talking to a wall. Dan picked up a profile picture of the creep—Jeb Rogate was a tall man—6.2 and skinny, and exactly what you'd expect to see as the culprit on a crime show. Short, light brown hair and filthy skin. He had major bags under those already sunken eyes—he couldn't tell what color they were.
He reminded Halls of a rat. Maybe even like that bug guy from Men In Black. A mix for sure.
Okay. First things first: get statements from those Hardy kids. They know their stuff.
He definitely felt pity for the younger one, Joe. The one who had handed him Charlotte McGillis. Being an officer had certainly allowed Halls to see things that would never be forgotten so long as he lived, things that kept him up at night and worried his wife to no end. Charlotte had been added onto that list. So did most (all) of the other bodies he had seen murdered by that same psycho. The ones that had shown in this town, at least. It wasn't until a bit later in the case that they discovered that those missing from this town had been found in different areas—four of the bodies had been uncovered in two different states. Three children had been found here before Rogate was arrested, one washed up along a beach in the north and two others even farther north. They were all found the same way, from cut up in bags or same incisions on certain body parts, or other things he couldn't think about right now. The bodies that had traveled up the current had obviously been in the water for a while. Nothing perverted, even—like they're killing for the sheer joy of it. Perhaps a cult?
It's late. I should call Susan and Jeremy and say goodnight. He's always happy to talk. And Susan'll want an update on things.
He pulled out his phone to call his wife and son, almost put his thumb on the home number, then gazed back at crime scene photos.
Such innocence. Lost. Brutally, GOD so brutally. Christ, if he had lost his son he'd raise hell like all of the other parents too.
He remembered the paparazzi giving the department hell at one crime scene here, too. You can always tell when they're new at the job or experienced. The first sign that a) the murder is brutal and b) a newbie has just been permanently traumatized is when they puke all over the place. One had thrown up, and then the poor guy the former had vomited onto threw up too. Officers had quickly told everyone to simply go away before a freaking barforama started. Only a few if the newer guys had actually done so, as the more experienced leeches still tried to get their shots. At a fair distance away from the mess. Now, Halls could understand someone trying to do their job. But treating a dead child like that? Like a story to sell?
Media sickened him.
Dan Halls called his family to tell them he was pulling another late night. It was a possibility that Lumber wouldn't let him go for the rest of the friggin' week.
Hey-hey! Leave a review, it'll get me writing faster! Detective Dan Halls was not meant to have such an odd name, I was just messing with several different things in my head. :P
