October's Children: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller Read online

  “Hard to tell for certain. I guess it could be mud.” Troy tried to convince himself and sounded as if he failed.

  “I think there’s blood on the toy, too.” Amanda paced, head down, and then wheeled on the group.

  “Okay, we have three children with one adult, probably male.” Amanda shone her light in a slow circle. “What’s up the ridge?” She indicated the grade beyond the creek.

  “Some houses, not too far. Couple of barns,” said George. “Highway 31 runs straight across ‘bout a half mile up.

  Amanda glanced up into the rain that had increased to heavy blinding sheets. Thunder sounded close and lightning strikes in the distance lit the sky over the forest. “Storm’s coming in. We’re as likely to get one of us hurt or killed in this mess as find those kids.” She looked over to Troy. “Troy, call in the neighboring counties and state to help patrol the back roads and set up roadblocks. No vehicle in or out without being checked first.” He nodded and stepped away with his radio to his mouth. “The rest of you, we’ll start again at sun up. Everyone be here, and grab more folks if you can. We’ll move up the hill and go building to building. Search every residence, barn, and fucking outhouse north of here.” Amanda stared down each man in turn. “We don’t know what’s happened, but the children could be in trouble. One of them possibly injured.”

  The men, mumbling amongst themselves, moved toward the edge of the clearing, headed out of the woods.

  “Guys,” said Amanda, bringing them to a halt. “We may not have much time.” Her breath caught, a stab in her chest, the next words difficult to voice. “If it isn’t already too late.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  At sunrise the following morning, Amanda drove her cruiser down County Road 31, north of the clearing at Maple Creek. Anthony Pryor sat in the passenger seat—youngest of her volunteers and son to Rex, eighteen and a recent graduate of Rosser County High School. Tall and lanky with a mop of dark, brown hair, acne dotted his face. His hair waved across his forehead, an almost involuntary sling of his head to one side every few minutes tossing it from his eyes. She could feel his furtive glances. Initially, she assumed nerves over the search had him jittery, but no, his adolescent mind focused on fantasies of the sexy cop. Amanda thought it flattering and cute for the first twenty-minutes, but his not so subtle attention soon creeped her out. She could be his mother for Christ’s sake. Well, much older sister anyway.

  Amanda noticed a structure off to the left, seconds before they drove past. Obscured by distance and morning twilight, it hid at the end of a path overgrown with weeds and gangly brush. The graze of fallen branches scraped at the car’s undercarriage as the cruiser bumped along a couple of hundred yards of vanishing trail, vague imprints of past tire tracks guiding the way. They pulled in next to a rickety barn. Age-old cedar flaked like painful scabs off the structure’s exterior. Amanda did not spot any houses close by, nor any cows in the adjacent field, the barn likely abandoned for years. Giant double doors stretched from the ground to a loft twelve feet over head. A plank of wood sandwiched between iron clasps on either side, and a thick chain fixed with a padlock, secured the building.

  Old and rusted, the lock broke and fell off with a few hard strikes from Amanda’s baton. She uncoiled the chain and confronted the crossbeam. The slab of wood did not comply so easily.

  “Gimme a hand with this.” Amanda motioned to Anthony, who moved to one side of the beam. She leaned in, putting her back into the effort, and shoved the board upward. For a moment, it seemed welded in place, but finally gave with a protesting groan.

  “Stay here. Keep an eye out for…well, anything.” Amanda pushed one door ajar, the loud creak launching a flight of sparrows from the loft. Anthony emitted a high-pitched yelp. She gave him an admonishing glare before easing into the barn.

  Disuse had left the interior a refuge for roosting birds and bats. White dabs of dried droppings littered the floor, and a single lonely hay bale rested in one near corner. Toward the back of the building, an ancient bush hog inhabited the ruin as a menacing presence, its twisted fangs grinning at her through the gloom. Her shoulder struck a head-sized pulley pegged on a plank, and she tripped over a pitchfork almost jabbing her leg with the sharp prongs.

  Shit. I hate this.

  With her flashlight trained on one stall and then the next, Amanda tiptoed along, nerves on edge. Almost to the rear of the barn, she spotted a boot poking out from behind a slatted wall. The toe stuck upward to the ceiling, the heel set against the ground. Amanda could not make out the dark lump hidden by the slats and shadows behind the wall.

  Nerves made her light’s glow shake up and down; she removed the .38 from her side holster. Wrist crossed, gun aimed over her flashlight, she pivoted around the wall. The boot, absent its mate, butted against some kind of dismantled equipment covered with a grungy tarp. As she kicked the boot into the corner, a chubby rodent larger than Amanda’s Siamese cat scurried out of the darkness. Ratzilla wobbled over her foot before darting beneath a heap of straw on the other side of the barn. She jumped two feet off the ground, her forearm going to cover her mouth. The cry that almost escaped her lips would have been embarrassing after she had chastised Anthony. No sooner had her frayed nerves and racing heart settled than the radio at her hip blared static followed by Bank’s deep baritone.

  “Sheriff?”

  Christ. I’m going to have a coronary.

  “Yeah, find anything?” She said into the receiver clipped at her shoulder.

  “I-I think you better see this for yourself.” Banks’ voice carried more than a hint of distress.

  “Is it the kids? Goddammit Banks, tell me if it’s the girls.”

  “No, not the girls. Just come quick. Two miles up on 31.”

  “On my way.” Amanda hated the mystery. He could have told her what to expect. His voice conveyed a great deal…and nothing good.

  Relief shone on Anthony’s face as she exited the building. He appeared to fight a grin from taking over his attempt at stoic bravery. Amanda beckoned him on, flipped on the patrol car’s lights, deciding against the siren, and sped down the highway. A crow parked in the middle of the road feasted on a dead possum, the victim of a hit and run. The black nightmare cawed with agitation and flew straight at the windshield.

  Enough with the omens. I get it.

  A mile from the barn, and so obscured by trees she almost missed him, Banks waved his hands over his head as if signaling a plane in for landing. Amanda turned off the highway and raced a quarter mile up the dirt drive. Once clear of the woods, she spotted Banks standing in front of a small house sided in cheap vinyl, gray faded from white—a shack with a basement. A flower/rock garden, complete with a large stone birdbath, butted one side of the house and complimented the aesthetic like a powdered wig with blue jeans. George Bell doubled over near one corner of the house, vomiting into the shrubbery. She skidded to a stop, slinging globs of wet mud in every direction. The rain had ceased overnight, but left gray skies in place and the world carpeted in a finger-deep sludge.

  Banks waddled over as she exited the car and waited for Anthony to walk out of earshot. “W-we come up on the front door. I knocked, but no answer. Noticed the door cracked a bit, so I pushed it on open.” He wheezed, breathless, stuttering his words. “T-there’s someone on the sofa. A woman. S-she ain’t moving. And blood. Lots of blood.”

  “You didn’t touch anything did you?”

  Banks shook his head, his ashen face bowed toward the ground. “Hell no, got outta there quick as a scared jack rabbit. Didn’t even check for a pulse. But weren’t no use if you ask me.”

  “Okay. Keep the others back and try to collect yourself. Remember, you’re a cop. If you look like you know what you’re doing and don’t act all flabbergasted, the others will follow your lead.” Amanda’s voice remained calm, not chiding, but encouraging.

  Banks nodded and tried to muster a confidence he obviously lacked, straightening his shoulders and lifting his head
. They spun to the sound of Troy’s SUV roaring up the drive. He leapt out, slamming the door behind him, and rushed to join Amanda, Banks, and Preston who ambled over appearing a bit green himself.

  “What’d you find?” asked Troy.

  “Dead woman,” said Banks.

  “Whose place is this?” Troy blanched and stared toward the house.

  “Mary said it belongs to a Jeff Baldwin,” said Banks, referring to the department operator, Mary Sims.

  “Do we know how many occupants?” asked Amanda.

  “Uh, not sure,” said Banks.

  “Either you do or you don’t.” She immediately regretted her tone, but in light of present circumstances, hopefully her guys would overlook it.

  “I don’t. Sorry.” Banks glanced down at his feet.

  Preston shrugged and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out soon enough. Jerrod, no one enters the house. Jay, head around back and keep a close watch on the rear.” Amanda pointed to her eyes with two fingers, driving the order home. She addressed the smattering of volunteers milling about the yard. “The rest of you, stay put. Troy, you’re with me.”

  Amanda stalked toward the front door, ignoring George’s dry heaves a few feet away. She crept up on the entrance, her .38 Smith & Wesson clutched in a white-knuckle grip. With a peek inside, she surveyed the room. Her heart pounded against her temples, and a sheen of sweat rose on her forehead in spite of the cool morning. The abduction of children, which now appeared a certainty, and possible murder went well beyond what she and her deputies normally dealt with. The occasional bar fight might go too far, or a domestic squabble could get out of hand. Still, nothing like New York or Chicago, violent crime here was near non-existent. The last homicide took place more than three years ago when a meth head broke into a shop not knowing the owner remained on the premises. Amanda figured overly cautious was better than to chance barreling headlong into some psycho hiding in a room somewhere.

  Visible from the doorway, the woman’s body slumped on the sofa. Amanda approached tentatively and checked for a pulse, feeling a bit foolish, but no short cuts on this one. A spray of crimson and brain matter covered the cushions and armrest on the corpse’s right side, a dime-sized entry wound above the left temple.

  The home seemed even smaller from the interior. Past the den, a kitchen lay to the right, and a hallway led toward the back of the house. The owners, at some point in the distant past, tried to make it quaint, with minimal success, the remnants a ghostlike image of better days. Threadbare curtains hung over the windows with bland fake wood paneling covering the walls and puke green carpet on the floors. In the kitchen, Amanda tiptoed over lime colored linoleum and past an outdated Kenmore stove and refrigerator sitting side by side in nauseating apricot.

  She motioned Troy down the hall and leaned over the initial stair, descending into the basement while feeling along the inside of the doorjamb for the light switch. Once her fingers raked it, she flipped it upward bringing to life a single 60-watt bulb. The soft yellow glow lit the staircase, but left the basement below dark and hidden in shadows. From her vantage point, she could just make out a bulky shape resting at the foot of the stairs. Easing down, she trained her gun on the object.

  A man lay in a position the world’s greatest contortionist could not have duplicated. His head turned one hundred and eighty degrees, his chest flat against the landing. Glassy eyes stared up at her, his forehead destroyed, his lower jaw shattered. The sleeves of his shirt were white, but the back completely wet black in the dim illumination. One arm stuck out at a ninety-degree angle in the wrong direction, and bones near the elbow protruded through the skin. Amanda backed away, slowly at first, then gaining speed, before storming up the last several steps. She hunched forward, hands on her knees, breaths coming in gulps as she fought nausea.

  “Clear.” Troy holstered his gun and nodded to her from the far end of the hallway. “You alright? What did you find?”

  “Got another body.” Amanda thumbed toward the basement. “Male. I’m guessing the husband.”

  “I’ll check the rest of the basement. Take a sec and catch your breath.” He patted her on the shoulder as he slid past. “Shit. That had to hurt.”

  Troy’s voice drifted up to her, bringing the image of the mangled corpse sharply into focus behind Amanda’s eyelids. Her stomach roiled. Troy’s reaction to the ghastly sight made her feel a little less of a wimp. Normally, she possessed an iron constitution, but this one got to her.

  A little warning would’ve been nice.

  “Clear down here.” Troy tromped up the stairs and tugged at her sleeve. “C’mere, take a look at this.”

  Amanda steadied herself a moment longer and followed him down the hall. The home, in addition to the living room and kitchen, contained one full bath and two bedrooms. Troy stood in the entrance to the smaller one.

  “What ya got?” she asked, turning sideways to move past him.

  “Family photo off the dresser in the back bedroom.”

  “I guess we found the third child?” Amanda took the picture from him and wiped away a film of dust with her thumb. It depicted a man, about thirty, seated next to a woman of roughly the same age, with a little girl, perhaps three years old, sandwiched in between them, holding a big blue teddy bear—on the back, the names Jeff, Dana, Elle, and Boo the Bear. Bright smiles matched the glow of sunlight behind them with the hint of a roller coaster in the background.

  “This is the kid’s room.” A twin bed covered in pale yellow sheets butted one wall, a dresser with oval mirror against another. “The other has a queen-sized bed, adult clothes in the closet and dresser drawers.” Troy unfastened the top button on his shirt and swung his head side to side, loosening his neck.

  “Yeah, and?”

  “I haven’t noticed any other photos. The footprints in the clearing indicate all three girls are about the same size. I’m guessing six or seven years old. So, why aren’t there more recent pictures?”

  Amanda shrugged.

  Troy waved a hand around the room. “And why no toys or anything? This room’s pretty plain for a young girl. I’d figure some Disney posters, dolls, and stuff.”

  “Ok, that is weird. Maybe in the basement?” Amanda rubbed her eyes and placed a hand to her stomach, still feeling queasy from the sight of Mr. Fantastic.

  “What kid keeps their favorite toys in the basement? I didn’t see any down there. Granted, I wasn’t looking for them.”

  “It’s a tiny house. Maybe for the space.” Amanda knew it sounded ridiculous. Tommy would never have parted with his Curious George, and his Transformers always sat in a neat row on the bookcase. The memory sent a wave of anguish through her. She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts. “Think whoever did this took some toys along? Maybe to keep the children pacified. If so, means he plans on keeping them for a while. That’s good.”

  “At least they’d be alive. Gives us some hope. But for how long?” Troy whispered the question as though ashamed to voice an eventuality they both feared.

  “I don’t know, but if we’re right, it gives us more than hope. It gives us a little time. Let’s get the guys moving. This thing just got a lot scarier.” Amanda took a deep breath, rubbed her churning stomach once more, and screwed on her sheriff’s face. She could not allow her own fears to infect her people. Murders and children kidnapped might be within the scope of police work, but for Amanda and her deputies it was like asking a requisitions sergeant in the Army to take an overrun enemy position single-handedly.

  Troy followed her out the front door and onto the porch. She nodded to him, and he let out a sharp whistle. A dozen heads spun toward them.

  “No one’s to enter the house unless I say so. No one.” She eyed her deputies as well as the volunteers. “Jay will assign grids. Let’s focus on this side of Maple Creek and search all the way down to the river. We’ll have Channel 12 run constant alerts showing the girls’ photos and requesting volunte
ers.”

  “Want to start dredging the river, too?” asked Banks.

  Amanda wiped a hand across her brow and shook her head. “No, not yet. I believe the girls are still alive. We’re going to find them that way.” She stared hard at the group, who shied, but nodded agreement. “Troy’s got a photo of the third girl. Take a good look and remember it. She’ll be a little older now, but hopefully not so much different you can’t recognize her. Okay, let’s get to work. Thank you, fellas.”

  “This is a bit out of our league, don’t you think?” asked Troy as the others wandered away.

  “Yeah, probably so.” Amanda reluctantly agreed, no use denying it.

  “What do you want to do? Doubtful the state police will assist with more than the roadblocks, but I’m sure the neighboring counties will. At least they’ll give us some help on the searches and more officers to investigate tips and leads. Speaking of which, we need a tip line set up.”

  Amanda nodded. “Get Mary on the tip line. She can pull in all her church buddies to answer the phones. And call Sheriffs Turner, Mills…and what’s the new guy up in Fultondale County? Gann? See what help they can give us.” She scratched behind her ear. “Still not enough, though. We need to see if the Harmon girl or…any other missing children are linked to this. If so, we’ll need access to a lot more resources than a few rural counties can muster.”

  “Where do you plan on finding that?” shouted Troy as Amanda strode toward her cruiser.

  “I’m going to call in a favor.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  Marlowe plopped down on the edge of the bed, teetered a moment, and fell back onto the mattress. He considered himself fit, and worked out regularly, but apparently tennis targeted a set of muscles he did not realize existed. His legs and shoulders tightened, and a twinge stung at his lower back. Becca, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by their exercise—though her resounding victory likely dulled any soreness or fatigue.