Chasing Amanda Page 18

  Molly jumped in her seat.

  “Is there something else, Mrs. Tanner?” he asked.

  Molly leaned her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Officer Brown, no one was charged in Rodney’s murder, right?”

  He frowned, a little annoyed, “Right, yes. We’ve been over this before.” He straightened his back, looking at her more seriously.

  “But you never found Kate Plummer, either?”

  “Right, right, Mrs. Tanner, where are you going with this? That case is over twenty years old. This case, the Tracey Porter case, has no relation. What is it that you want? I don’t have time to talk to every Tom, Dick, or…Molly,” he emphasized her name with sarcasm, “about closed cases.” He leaned forward until Molly could smell his stale breath, “Unless, of course, you are trying to get me to look the other way, look for others who might be involved.”

  “Excuse me?” Molly pushed back from the table. “Officer Brown, you cannot possibly believe that I might be a suspect,” she said angrily. “That’s a load of horse shit and you know it!”

  Officer Brown sat back slowly and looked at his stubby fingernails, “Maybe I do.” He looked up at Molly, who stood before him, incensed. “But what I can’t figure is why you’re tracking this case so closely, closer than the girl’s parents. What do you have to gain? Or maybe you know the abductor, and you want to keep tabs on the police?”

  Molly could feel heat spread up her chest, her face reddening. “That’s ridiculous. I’m a mother! I have a son! I would never want harm to come to a child, much less protect someone who caused it!” The nightmares and the face of Amanda’s killer flashed in her mind, clear as day. She swallowed the pain of the truth—she had ignored those visions—and turned her back to Officer Brown, hiding the tears of anger that welled in her eyes, “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she seethed.

  “Then tell me, Mrs. Tanner, what is your stake in this?” he asked sincerely.

  “I…” Molly spun around, looked down, and suddenly decided to come clean. She looked him in the eye, “I know things.” She watched his eyes light up, as if she were going to confess. “No, not because I did them or am involved,” she began to pace. “I’m not the culprit, Officer Brown.” She stood before him, mustering the strength to tell him the truth, and hoping it would make a difference. “I have visions…visions that I don’t always understand. I’ve always had them.”

  She recognized the look of disbelief in his eyes, the slack in his jaw. “I know what you’re thinking. Either this woman is crazy, or she’s in on it.” She leaned toward him. “I’m not crazy, and I’m not Rodney. I have flashes of things, which I know is just like what Pastor Lett said Rodney had, but I’m not guilty. My son has the same…gift…if you will.” She leaned back, and spoke honestly. “Only it isn’t a gift, it’s torture. I have seen flashes of this little girl in the dark, of a man reaching for the sky. I just can’t make sense of it all.” She looked at him, seeking any amount of belief, but was met with another blank stare.

  “I know how crazy this all sounds. I’ve lived with it my whole damn life, but, Officer Brown, maybe it’s not crazy. Maybe we can pull together what I see with clues you and your team have. Maybe there is an end in sight. Maybe Tracey is still alive.” She was enthused by the thought.

  “And maybe, Mrs. Tanner, you are guilty and trying to sideline us,” he said flatly. “I’m not going to arrest you. I have no proof, but,” he deepened his voice, “I will be watching you. I’m sorry, Mrs. Tanner, but this is too crazy. Most housewives,” he smirked, “have better things to do.”

  Molly knew she should bite her tongue, but the urge to defend herself was too great, she could not stand being wrongly accused. Manipulatively, she reached across the table and grabbed Officer Brown’s hand. “Officer Brown,” Molly closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the feel of his hand, the heaviness of it, the clammy texture of his skin. The answers she sought appeared gently, like a sneaky child putting a slip of paper into her pocket, then tiptoeing away. Molly smiled at her own cleverness. “I hope Charlie Cook was convicted because he did rape that child. Mrs. Jaden’s son did steal the principal’s laptop, but he was so regretful that I hope you let him off easy.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him, surprised that she was able to find those details with such ease. The room had become her ally, pulled her through the storm. Damn! Molly thought. If only I could harness that control for Tracey—or for Amanda! She could hear her mother’s sing-song voice, Be careful what you wish for, and could not figure out why she’d gone from a woman who had occasionally experienced a few indiscernible images, to a woman who was receiving multiple, detailed visions. Cole was right, she’d become like a dog with a bone, relentless.

  “Excuse me?” he said, stealing his hand from hers.

  “I don’t know, really. I saw it when I came into this room. I have no idea who those people are, or even if I have the names right, but when I walked into this room,” she motioned to the room, stood, and her voice grew louder, “when I walked in, these images came to me. I couldn’t make these things up. Why don’t you just go check, and we’ll see. Who knows, maybe I am crazy—but I have faith in my visions. I have to—for Tracey’s sake.”

  “You’re crazy,” he made no effort to move.

  “Officer Brown,” Molly tried to persuade him, “check it out—please. If I’m wrong, you can arrest me or send me away, and I’ll never bother you again—whatever you want. Just please,” she pleaded, “please! Rodney got killed over this. You can make things right. Just do this for me. It will only cost you a walk down the hall.”

  He sighed and looked away, then back again. “Mrs. Tanner, you are really pushing me,” he said testily.

  “I know,” she said, almost giddily. “If I don’t push you, I’m afraid Tracey might never be found. You need to look outside of the virtual box. Don’t you see? If you pigeon-hole me as a crazy nut, or as the culprit, when clearly I’m not, then you’re only hurting Tracey—Tracey, Officer Brown, not me.”

  He reluctantly pushed his chair out from the table and stood. He looked her in the eye and pointed to the table, “Sit,” he commanded, “but if you’re wrong, I will have to take the next step.”

  He left the room, and suddenly the air became less stifling. Molly took a deep breath and nervously curled her lips into a smile, hoping and praying that what she had seen was right. What-ifs sailed across her mind. What if there were no such cases? What if they do want to consider working with her? What if he finds out that she has the necklace? She leaned back and took a deep breath, staring unseeing at her reflection in the glass panel on the opposite side of the room.

  Ten minutes later, which seemed more like an hour to Molly, Officer Brown entered the room looking clearly displeased. He stood next to the table, silently. Molly’s heart raced as she waited for him to speak. He looked over her, then shook his head. Molly’s heart sank. He walked around the table and sat across from Molly, crossed his arms, and said, “Mrs. Tanner. I don’t know what your game is.” He sighed heavily. “Those cases did indeed take place in this room. At least the questioning did—last week.”

  Molly breathed hard, relieved.

  “I have no idea how you have done this, but you have. I don’t know if I believe in your…visions...but—”

  “Okay,” Molly’s voice shook, “but I didn’t take her. Can we work together? Can we try to figure these things out together?” She was excited about the prospect of actually having a plan, working with the police, with their resources.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We have protocols, certain ways of doing things. We can’t just open up the investigation to anyone off the street.”

  “I see,” Molly said, disappointed.

  “Though I can’t advise you to impede our investigation, we do have a lead system set up.” He slid a business card across the table. “You can call this number at any time, anonymously or not, and tell the officer who answers what your thoughts are. Every lead is foll
owed up.”

  The great blow-off, Molly thought.

  “Mrs. Tanner, I want you to clearly understand that this does not mean that you are off my radar screen. Like I said, I don’t know about all of this vision stuff. Also, what happened with Rodney Lett remains as it was. I do not doubt what the officers in charge did, or how they handled that investigation. If you claim to have visions, that reflects on your abilities, not his.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I remain constant in my support for the investigation of Kate Plummer. The case is closed.”

  Molly turned to leave, but when she reached the door, she put her hand on the doorknob and said, “I know she’s alive. I can feel it.”

  Officer Brown rose from the table and looked evenly at Molly. “Mrs. Tanner, if you have a solid lead, something other than a vision,” he said the word sarcastically, “you can call me directly.” He handed her a business card.

  Molly walked into the depressing hallway and swiftly came to the realization that she was once again on her own. A stocky, brown-haired man walked out of the neighboring office and leaned against the door, arms crossed, his eyes trained on Molly. Officer Brown appeared in the doorway and nodded at the other man. Molly hurried toward the exit, hearing Officer Brown’s hushed voice behind her, “Keep your eye on that one.”

  Molly was anxious for her morning run and desperately needed to clear her head, but as she neared White Ground Road, she hesitated. After the morning she’d had, she wasn’t up to taking a chance on another vision hitting her. Instead, she parked along the road that crossed the lake. She focused on her upcoming run and vowed not to think about Officer Brown. She tied her van key to her shoelace, secured her iPod armband, and began to stretch.

  The sun warmed her face as she ran across the bridge, heading toward the gated entrance to the Perkinson driveway. She tried not to look toward the house but couldn’t stop herself. Despite her firm resolve to ignore it, her feet carried her past the rusty black mailbox, around the metal gate, and up the overgrown driveway.

  She reached the top of the hill quickly and scanned the yard. She veered into the woods, following a metal clanking sound that rang out from the rear of the house. Her heart jumped at the glimpse of someone disappearing around the far side of the house. Molly sprinted to the front of the house, Cole’s warnings whispered to her, chilling her bare arms. She ducked behind a bush just in time to see Hannah and Pastor Lett coming around the corner. Molly crouched as low as she was able, hoping the leaves beneath her wouldn’t give her away.

  The house loomed behind them like a blind sentry, the windows boarded up like two eye patches. Hannah walked up the front steps and tried the door, touching the heavy metal lock, and turned back toward the front yard. Pastor Lett motioned to Hannah. Molly watched from the bushes. Crouching further down, a twig snapped beneath her feet. Hannah’s head snapped in Molly’s direction, and she moved toward her. Pastor Lett reached out and touched Hannah’s arm, saying something Molly could not hear. Molly closed her eyes, hoping she hadn’t been spotted. When she opened them, they were nowhere in sight.

  After waiting in the bushes for what felt like hours, Molly snuck back down through the woods and decided to visit Pastor Lett and lay it all out on the table. She was going to get to the bottom of the situation one way or the other. Surely Pastor Lett would have a good explanation for the lights in the cellar. Molly trusted Pastor Lett, didn’t she? Yes, she decided, she did. She drove the short distance to the church and pulled into the empty parking lot. Newton’s minivan pulled in along side Molly’s car.

  Molly waved.

  Newton climbed out of the van, “Molly. How are you?”

  “Great, thanks. Just looking for Pastor Lett.”

  “She’s not coming in today.” Newton replied.

  “Oh,” Molly looked perplexed. “I just saw her,” she caught her mistake, “earlier. I saw her earlier today. Just thought I might catch her here.”

  A skinny, old black man walked out of the cemetery and toward Newton and Molly. His army jacket was zipped to his neckline, and he had a woolen hat pulled tight over his head, though the weather didn’t call for such warmth. He moved slowly past them, as if each step took great effort, and Molly cringed at the odor that followed.

  “Hello, ma’am. Mr. Carr,” the man said in a raspy voice.

  “Good day, Walter,” Newton said.

  Molly turned and watched him walking across the parking lot toward the road. His jeans dragged along the asphalt with each step.

  Newton whispered to her, “You know Walter?”

  Molly shook her head, guiltily feeling like a gossip.

  “Walter Meeks. Seventy years he’s lived here. Thirty of it right off of Peachtree Road. He, um, he’s always kept to himself. Had a wife and child—a girl. Doesn’t drive, you know, afraid of cars.”

  “Why?” Molly asked.

  “Not really sure why, just is. Walked to and from work each day when he worked for the mines. Came home one day and his, uh, his house was burned to the ground.”

  “How awful.”

  “Some people thought it was arson, but they never figured it out. His wife left him right after that. Took the child with her.”

  “That poor man. He lost his house and his family?” Molly followed Newton as he walked toward the cemetery.

  “She just up and disappeared. When the house burned down, they went to his aunt’s house for the night. In the morning, she and the girl were gone.” Newton was uncharacteristically forthcoming with Walter’s background. Molly paid full attention. “He was married to a white girl. Their daughter was, um, light skinned, too—dark hair, prettiest little thing.” He stopped walking, and stared into the cemetery, thinking. “If I recall, his house burned down in the late sixties, somewhere ’round there. A real shame. His wife was a loner, too. She was real sick.” Newton shook his head. “Her father passed away from an asbestos-related cancer, meso-something-or-other, and she was exposed as a little girl.” Newton put his hands in his pocket, then pulled them out again, fidgeting. “Said she could cure anything herself. Some said she was into voodoo, witchery, that type of thing. Not sure I believed it, though. Surely never saw any of it.” He looked at Molly and said, “Sorry. Too much information, I know.”

  “And all this time I thought that he was just some old guy that never made anything of himself. Now I feel badly,” Molly said, always amazed at the font of information that was Newton Carr.

  “Well, he wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed, that’s for sure, but he was dependable. Yes, ma’am, the mining company was really unhappy when he left. He worked for them for over twenty years. Had a big party for him, in fact, right in the field across from the gravel lot, behind that cornfield.” He pointed to a field on a hill behind the church.

  They walked silently through the graveyard, and Molly realized that Newton knew far more than just the history of Boyds.

  “You know about the quarry, right, Molly?” Newton asked, clearly changing the subject.

  Molly was oddly relieved. “Well, I know there was a community battle to keep it out of Boyds, and that it ended when a local resident bought the property.”

  The simplification of the story brought a smirk to Newton’s face. He asked Molly if she’d like to walk with him through the cemetery, where he was headed to check on the upkeep of the graves. She anxiously agreed. “That property there,” Newton pointed toward the fields, and then in the direction of the railroad tracks. “The mining company that was trying to put the quarry in? They used to own all this land. The tunnels were over there,” he pointed, again, to the fields. “Until, uh, Martin Chambers scooped it up.”

  “Tunnels?”

  “Well, there’s debate about if the tunnels ever really existed at all. Rumor has it they dug tunnels clear through Boyds as a means of trucking their gravel without causing problems on the roads. The roads, they were the big issue back then. I suppose they thought that if they alleviated that worry, then the residents wouldn’t m
ind them being here. Anyway, they owned seventeen or eighteen hundred acres. Come to think of it, I believe there’s an old abandoned mine shaft in the Black Hill Park area, too. That area used to be called Gold Mine Farm back when the Wicks owned it.”

  “Chambers bought all eighteen hundred acres?” she asked.

  “Yup, sure did. He put about eight hundred acres into conservation land right away—the Hoyles Mill Conservation Park and Trail? We have him to thank for that. He really saved Boyds, if you ask me. Yup, we’re mighty fortunate that someone like him would come to our little town and be willing to tie up so much capital to preserve the area.”

  They walked along in silence, Newton bent down to pick up bits and pieces of debris along the way. They came upon a small grouping of graves. Newton pulled a few weeds and straightened flowers that had been left on the graves. He crouched over a pink headstone, which was unreadable, cracked, and weathered. He looked sad.

  “This here is Colonel James A. Boyds’s grave. He was born in Ayrshire, Scotland, December 22, 1823. Died here in Boyds, December 21, 1886.”

  Molly crouched down next to Newton and dragged her fingers across the gravestone’s dips and valleys. It was easy for Molly to envision Newton as a younger man, just back from his stint with the army, and wondering how else he might serve his country, his home town

  He led Molly up a hill to another group of headstones and stooped by the grave of a child. He ran his hand over the headstone. The sun beat down on them. In the distance, a soft drone of cars from the nearby roads hummed. The headstone bore no name, only dates: 1979-1979.

  He tilted his head toward Molly. “There’s no baby here, just a headstone, in memory of a dear friend of mine’s child. Didn’t live more than a few minutes.”