exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) (22 page)

“Maybe not in ordinary circumstances,” Wade said. “But Ed is probably armed and he may have coerced her.”

“So it’s possible Chester could be in Liz’s trailer right now?” Charlotte moved closer to Cory, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s definitely worth checking.” Wade pulled out the keys to his SUV. “Hang tight here. You’ll be the first to know if I find anything.” Then he added an aside to Dougal. “And you let me and the FBI know if you hear back from Ed.”

Dougal gave a noncommittal grunt. Whatever Ed asked him to do, he was going to do. And he doubted law enforcement was going to be part of the game plan. But maybe they’d be lucky and Wade would find Chester before it came to that.

“Should I come with you?” he asked Wade.

“You really are vying to get on the payroll aren’t you? No. Stay here and hold the fort.”

Wade hadn’t been gone more than a minute when Jamie let out a gasp. She pointed at the laptop. “I just pressed refresh. Your book has now sold four hundred copies Dougal.
Four hundred.
”

And just at that moment, Dougal’s phone chimed.

“Is it him?” Charlotte asked.

He checked his phone display. “Yes.”

Everyone fell quiet, as Dougal opened the message and read aloud. “I bought a copy of the book and I’ve taken a look through it. It’s all there. I like the cover and the title, too. You’ve done a good job.”

Dougal swallowed, and reached for Charlotte’s hand before paraphrasing the rest. “He wants me to go to Doris’ Fish Shack. Alone.”

“No.” Charlotte shook her head. “If Wade was here he’d never agree to that.”

“We mess with Ed, and bad things will happen. I’ve got to do it, Charlotte.”

“At least wait to see what Wade finds at Liz’s trailer.”

“I agree,” Jamie said.

“No,” Dougal insisted. “I need you guys to trust me. We’ve got to follow the instructions to the letter. There’s no time to waste. He said I should be there in ten minutes.”

Both Charlotte and his sister were clearly not happy with his decision.

But when he glanced at Stella—who knew Ed Lachlan better than any of them—he could tell she agreed.

Fog kept obscuring the interior of his windshield as Dougal drove to Doris’ Fish Shack, windshield wipers going at half-speed. He would no sooner rub off a patch so he could see, then more water vapor would immediately condense to take its place. Fortunately it was a short drive.

He parked on the shoulder, across from the park, then walked along the boardwalk with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head.

He made note of the vehicles parked around him. There were only a few. A dark gray Ford Escape, a rusting pickup, and a cherry red VW bug.

Once inside the restaurant, he shook off his jacket and hung it on a peg beside his booth.

Would Ed bring Chester in here?

Dougal chose a booth with a view of the shore, guessing it wasn’t very likely that Ed would be arriving by boat. At least, as far as he knew, his father had never been one for water sports or fishing.

Setting the stage for a potentially long wait, Dougal ordered a big breakfast and coffee from Doris herself.

In her sixties, weathered and stocky, she offered her opinion on the weather, took his order, then left him in peace.

Dougal checked his phone, which he’d placed on the table top to make sure he didn’t miss a call or a message. No new notifications.

The restaurant had large picture windows looking out both to the ocean and to the park. He kept swiveling to take in one view, then the other.

How long would Ed make him wait?

Dougal’s food hadn’t even arrived when a new message alert pinged.

“Meet me on the bluffs. Alone. And tell no one. If I see anyone else, especially our noble town sheriff, the boy will be going over.”

Dougal’s gaze shot to the high cliffs that rose above the ocean to the west. The dangerous ledge was forbidden territory for children in town and most of it was fenced off from the park.

There had been accidents over the years and one purposeful suicide that had happened when he was in high school.

Anyone taking a jump from the bluffs could be pretty much guaranteed instant death. The twenty-five foot drop led straight down to jagged rocks and the full force of the Pacific Ocean.

Dougal left money on the table, then picked up his phone and switched it to vibrate.

He met Doris on her way from the kitchen, carrying his plate loaded with food.

“Forgot I had another appointment.” He nodded to the money he’d left. “Hope you can find someone to eat all that. Looks delicious.”

Outside the rain was falling at the same steady rate. Dougal pulled up his hood and shielded his eyes as he studied the ledge. He could see two figures from this angle—the disparity in height suggested a tall adult and a mid-sized kid. He couldn’t discern sex at this distance, but it seemed reasonable to assume he was looking at his father and Chester.

Dougal could feel the loud, rapid thudding of his heart. And the dampness on his palms owed nothing to the rain.

What was Ed planning?

Should he have brought a weapon with him, at least? But Dougal didn’t own a gun and didn’t know much about shooting them. If Ed’s plan was to take him out, he’d probably succeed. But hopefully Dougal would put up a good enough fight so Chester could run away. This was familiar territory for the boy. Running at full clip he’d be home in ten minutes.

Dougal followed the boardwalk for a while, then veered to the left, climbing the steep and rocky incline with purposeful strides. He could no longer make out the figures of the man and the boy.

His phone suddenly started to vibrate.

Dougal paused, and then using his body to shield the display from the rain, saw that he’d received a Text from Charlotte.

WHAT’S HAPPENING? ARE YOU OKAY?

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and kept progressing up the hill. The wind grew stronger with each step, and when he reached the top a gust of air pushed his hood off his head and made his eyes sting.

And then a man stepped out from the grove of trees that ringed the bluffs. It was Ed and he was holding onto Chester’s hand.

* * *

As he drove toward the trailer park on the east side of town, Wade reflected on how strange it was that he hadn’t spent more time here as a teenager. He, Wade, Kyle and Daisy had hung out together during whatever free time they had. They’d rotated houses, depending on which mother would best tolerate them, but they’d never gone to Dougal’s.

And yeah, sure the trailer was small, but they’d never even ridden their bikes over to the playground during the summer.

He knew now that Dougal had been ashamed he’d lived in a trailer, and even more ashamed that his mother cleaned most of their homes—well the Quinpools’ and the Hammonds’, anyway—for a living. Wade’s mother, who had given piano lessons out of their home, had always preferred to do her own housework. Or so she’d told his father.

Since being elected sheriff a few years ago, Wade had come to know the trailer park well. Most of the residents were peaceful folk. But he’d been here a few times for domestic disturbances and a couple drug busts as well.

Back when Jamie had lived in the family trailer alone, after the Lachlans’ mother died, and long after Dougal had moved to New York, Wade had dropped in on her a few times, to see how she was doing. So he knew exactly where to go.

Liz had purchased the trailer from Jamie just a few months ago, and nothing much seemed to have changed. From the outside, the tidy park model home was quiet. Liz Brooks’ rusted green Jeep was the only vehicle in the driveway. If she’d gone to Portland as she’d claimed, it wasn’t in her own vehicle.

Wade glanced at the neighboring units, then back at this one. Liz’s trailer was the only one to have all the blinds drawn. Why? There was certainly no bright sunshine that needed to be blocked out today.

Something was definitely wrong.

Wade called into dispatch to let them know where he was and to request backup from the FBI. Then he got out of his SUV and followed the worn path to the trailer. A tub of red geraniums provided a cheerful note of color in the cool, gray day.

He walked past it, to the door. Then leaned in close to listen.

Despite the closed windows, had the TV been on, or people talking, he would have been able to hear. But all was silent.

He knocked loudly. “Sheriff’s department. Open up now.”

Immediately something started making a thumping sound inside the trailer. It was coming from the back. Wade heard nothing else, just the thumping.

He knocked, and called out again. Then pulled out his gun and broke down the door.

In the aftermath of smashing the door, the trailer was eerily silent. Wade scanned the space looking down the sight of his Glock. The place was a mess, but no one was here.

And then the thumping started up again. From the room at the back.

On the sofa in the sitting area was a mess of pillows and blankets. In the kitchen dirty dishes covered the countertop and small table. A small hallway led past a bathroom—empty—to the closed door of what had to be a bedroom.

Wade held his ear to the door for a few moments, but heard nothing beyond the thumps. Quickly he swung open the door and raised his gun.

Liz Brooks had been tied to the bed with her wrists and ankles bound tight and duct tape over her mouth. The noise he’d heard had been her feet pounding against the footboard.

Her eyes were wide as he called out her name.

“Anyone hiding in here?”

She shook her head no, but he checked anyway, in the closet and under the bed.

When he was certain this was no ambush, he went to Liz’s aid, removing the tape as gently as possible before getting out his knife to saw away the trussing of tough plastic cords.

“Are you okay?”

“F-fine.” She started to cough and he grabbed her a glass of water from the kitchen. While she was drinking he checked the bedroom on the other side of the sitting area. A white sheet had been nailed on the far wall. In front of that was a small table and a chair, while the bed had been pushed to the other side of the room.

If he’d had any doubts he was in the right place, they were gone now.

He went back to Liz, who had finally cleared her throat and was able to talk.

“Ed Lachlan. He has Chester.”

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. He was driving a gray SUV. Might have been a Ford Escape.”

Wade called in the information, then sat down beside Liz. “How long has he been here?”

“Ed was waiting here when I finished work on Wednesday. He’d found the spare key I keep under the geranium pot. Stupid of me, I guess.”

“If I’d known that I wouldn’t have had to break down your door,” Wade said, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I don’t care about the door. Thank you for finding me.”

Relieved to see the color returning to her cheeks, Wade pressed on with his questions. “What time did you come home on Wednesday?”

“Around five. He had Chester hidden in this bedroom where I couldn’t see him. I think he’d drugged him with something. He told me he had something of my father’s, and foolishly I asked him what that was. The next thing I knew, he’d pulled a gun on me.”

Wade felt like punching something. Preferably Ed Lachlan’s face. “And he’s kept you and Chester hostage here ever since?”

“Yes. I wasn’t always tied up, mostly just at night. He told me if I did anything to give him away he’d shoot Chester dead, right there and then.”

“You don’t happen to remember the plates on that Ford Escape do you?”

“Sorry no.” And then she started to cry.

By the time Dougal caught up to the man and the boy, they were standing about ten feet from the edge of the cliff, unprotected from the steady rain and the buffeting wind. Ed had his arm around Chester’s back.

Something was wrong with Chester. He was swaying like a drunkard, and when Ed removed his supporting arm the boy sank to the ground.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dougal called out, over the wind.

He began to run toward them, but stopped when Ed drew a gun from the pocket of his heavy duty raincoat.

“What the hell?”

“Slow down boy. All in due time.”

Ed smiled. The asshole was enjoying this. He didn’t even seem to mind the weather. The Gortex was protecting his body from the elements, but he wasn’t wearing a hood and his gray hair and beard were completely sodden.

With exaggerated patience Dougal repeated his question. “What did you do to Chester?”

“Stop fussing. Gave the boy some Special K for breakfast. He’ll be fine.”

Dougal suspected he wasn’t referring to cereal, but the street name for ketamine. “How much?”

“Just enough to make him sleep for a bit. I know what I’m doing.”

“Bring Chester to me.”

“Be patient son. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. It’s good to see you in person finally.”

“You saw me many times when you were pretending to be Monty Monroe in that apartment in New York.”

“You had no idea who I was back then. This is much more satisfying.”

Maybe for you.
Dougal kept his wise cracks to himself. He wasn’t going to screw this up by losing his cool and antagonizing Ed. If Ed wanted to pretend this was some heartfelt father-son reunion, he would let him.

“The book is going to be a big hit. It’s already climbing the bestseller charts.” Ed chortled. “Didn’t I tell you this story would make your career?”

He was probably right. And it was a bitter pill to swallow, that this book, the one Dougal had only written under duress and with absolutely no pleasure, would end up being the book he would be most remembered for.

“I can’t tell you how good it feels, to finally expose those Hammonds for the sick bastards they are. I only wish John and Patricia were still alive. But at least their memories will be tainted forever.”

The man was so delusional. It was true the Hammonds had not been the pillars of respectability they’d held themselves out as. But Ed had killed six innocent women and one child. And that seemed to mean nothing to him.