exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) (6 page)

“I feel the same way.”

He gave Charlotte a hug, pressing his face against the softness of her hair. Unfortunately she had to stay put, but he just couldn’t keep standing guard with her. “I’m going to head to the cabin. I need to get some more clothes for me and a few more tins of food for Borden. At the same time I can check if there’s been any progress with the search.”

“That would be good.” Charlotte moved away from him and put her arm around Cory, who was staring despondently at her bowl of soggy cereal. “But, you are going to come back here, right?”

Charlotte rarely asked much of him, and given the current circumstances, it would be churlish of him to deny her. But still he hesitated. He always thought better when he was alone. And he had a hell of a lot of thinking to do right now.

Besides, offering comfort and support during hard times wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“Later tonight,” he finally conceded.

He could tell Charlotte was disappointed. But all she did was nod.

* * *

Getting into his car, Dougal felt both relief and guilt. Charlotte’s big, grey clapboard house had begun to feel like a prison. Hopefully this nightmare would end today and they wouldn’t have to spend another hellish night like that again.

Though he’d implied to Charlotte he’d be going straight home, Dougal headed for Driftwood Lane and the Buttermilk Café.

He wasn’t hungry. But the Librarian Cottage didn’t have Wi-Fi or cell phone coverage and he needed both.

The café was too cutesy by Dougal’s standards—nobody needed to look at a picture of a cute, pink pig when they were eating sausages for breakfast—but the coffee was good and the Wi-Fi was free. He settled into a table in the far corner and pulled out his phone.

He found no new messages in his Inbox from Librarian Momma.

But then, he hadn’t expected there to be. It was his move, after all.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. Deliberately seeking contact with Ed Lachlan went against every instinct he possessed.

But Chester’s life was in the balance. He had to do this.

First he opened the most recent message he’d sent to his father, a month ago, shortly after Joelle and Josephine’s deaths. He’d been prompted by fear for Jamie’s life, certain that the new client she’d gone to meet, Brian Greenway, was really their father, a theory he still believed in.

On that day he’d said, “You win. I’ll start the book tomorrow.”

Librarian Momma’s almost instant reply had filled him with revulsion.

“That’s my boy. I can’t wait to begin.”

Dougal recoiled from the words again as he re-read them. Having that perverted monster refer to him as “my boy” made the bile rise in his throat. Worse, it brought back all his worst insecurities about himself as a person.

Was the darkness that lived in Ed Lachlan also inside Dougal? Perhaps lying dormant, waiting for something to trigger it?

The server came and he ordered coffee, then waited for her to leave before taking a fortifying breath and then hitting reply.

“Do you have Chester?” he typed.

He waited a beat, then pressed “Send.”

The server returned with his coffee, as well as a pitcher of cream. Before he’d taken the first sip, his computer pinged.

Librarian Momma: “I’ve been waiting for you to start my book.”

God damnit. The quick answer confirmed he was right. His father had been waiting for him to make the next move.

“I’ll start today. Just let Chester go.”

He leaned back in his chair, almost afraid to blink as he stared at the screen. Again, the response took less than a minute.

“I’m calling the shots now and this is how it’s going to work. Here’s a link to a chat room. Meet me there in thirty minutes. We’ll talk for about an hour, then you go write the first chapter of the book and post it here. I’ll read it and give you my comments. And then we’ll move on to the next chapter. And so on. Until the book is finished.”

Christ!
Dougal dug his fingers into his hair, pulling tightly on the roots. Was he serious?

After a moment’s consideration Dougal typed: “As soon as Chester is home safe and sound, I’ll meet you in the chat room.”

A minute went by. No answer. Dougal sipped the coffee which dripped into his gut like acid.

Five minutes. Then ten.

Dougal was trying to figure out his next move, when a response finally pinged into the account.

“You are not setting the terms here.”

Damn! “I need to know Chester is all right.”

This time the reply was speedy. “You now have twenty minutes to meet me in that chat room.”

Dougal waited while Wade read the string of email messages between himself and Librarian Momma. Toe tapping with pent up anxiety, he raised his gaze to the bookshelves behind the sheriff’s desk. This wasn’t his first time in Wade’s office, but it was his first opportunity to take in the details.

Back when they were in high school, he and Wade had played football together. Fast and rugged, Wade had made a great middle linebacker. With Kyle Quinpool as their quarterback they’d had a lot of success.

But Dougal was relieved to see Wade hadn’t put any of those old trophies on display here.

Instead his shelves actually contained books—all related in one way or another to his job. There was a photo of Wade with his father—who had been sheriff himself during the seventies and eighties—with a string of big steelhead trout as evidence of a successful fishing expedition.

The photo was the only personal touch in the entire office. Unless you counted the baseball sized thunder egg on the corner of his desk. Dougal picked up the rock. It had been sliced in half, exposing the volcanic ash layers within.

“A gift from my mother.”

The words sounded random, until Dougal realized Wade was talking about the rock. He gently replaced it.

“Finished?”

Wade nodded, handing him back the laptop. “What makes you so sure your father has Chester? He didn’t make any such claim here.”

That was a sticking point, all right. “Because I know how that crazy son-of-a-bitch thinks.”

Wade’s eyes rolled. Dougal couldn’t blame him for being exasperated.

“I suppose I could send your laptop to a computer expert. See if we can trace those emails.”

“In theory that’s a great idea. In practice, it won’t work.”

“Why?”

“Back when I started getting these emails about the librarians murdered in the seventies, I asked a guy I know, a real expert in online security. He gave it a try, but had to give up. He gave me an explanation, I didn’t understand all of it, but somehow Ed has managed to run his messages through a spider web of networks, hijacking other peoples’ computers and passing through multiple countries until they finally get lost in what this expert friend of mine calls the Dark Web. You heard of that?”

“I haven’t a clue. Hopefully our experts have, though. If there’s a chance Ed Lachlan has Chester, we’ve got to try.”

“Fine.” Dougal had already taken the precaution of backing up his laptop, so he relinquished it without further argument. “But I’m going to need something to work on.”

Wade stared at him as if he could read the interior workings of Dougal’s mind through his eyes. And maybe he could.

“You’re going to do what he wants. Write the book.”

“As long as there’s a chance he has Chester, how can I not? Only trouble is, the Librarian Cottage doesn’t have Wi-Fi. And I can’t see talking to the old man at the library or in front of Charlotte.”

Wade pondered the situation for a moment. “I’ll find you some space here. I can get you a laptop, as well. It’ll be good to have you close at hand. If you get a lead on Chester’s whereabouts we’ll want to move quickly.”

Dougal hated the idea of working under Wade’s thumb. But it made sense. He glanced at his watch. “He’s expecting me in the chat room in two minutes. Should we try to record the conversation?”

Dougal knew it was legal in some states, but most required permission from both parties.

“No can do. Not without Ed’s approval. Or a court order.”

“Yeah. I was afraid of that.”

“I can look into getting a warrant for the next time. But it would help a lot if we could come up with a shred of evidence supporting the theory that Ed has Chester.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

They were getting ready to leave the office when the door opened and Marnie Phillips, the round-faced woman with the cute dimples who worked as Wade’s assistant or office manager or something, peered in.

“Need anything?”

She obviously had the ability to read minds. Or one man’s mind, at least.

“Set Dougal up with a private desk and a loaner laptop, will you Marnie? He’ll be working here for a few days.”

“The small interview room okay?”

“Perfect. And get Dougal the Wi-Fi code, too.”

“Will do. You had some calls while you were busy.” Marnie handed him a stack of notes then wrote something on a spare yellow post-it note and beckoned to Dougal.

“Follow me.”

Marnie led him down a corridor, past a large open area with about six cubicle working stations. She paused to pick up a laptop, then waved a hand indicating all the empty chairs.

“Everyone’s either out looking for Chester, or in the big conference room we’re using as a command post.” She pointed to an open door about ten feet down the hallway.

Dougal could see people moving around, the sound of several conversations going on at the same time. But then Marnie turned to the right.

The smaller interview room he’d been promised was at the very end of the corridor. The space was small and uninviting. The only window was undoubtedly one-way glass leading to an observation room.

Dougal sat in one of three hard, wooden chairs, while Marnie placed his borrowed laptop on the bare table. There was nothing else in the room, except a phone. “Cozy.”

Marnie gave him an
aren’t you the smart aleck
look, then affixed the post-it note to the table, right under his nose. The Wi-Fi password, he assumed.

“I’ll get you a mug. Coffee is across from the big conference room.”

Dougal didn’t have time to worry about coffee. He opened the computer and typed in the Internet password. As he waited for the connection he noticed Marnie was still in the doorway.

“You worked here long?”

She hesitated. “Two years.”

“How long have you had a crush on your boss?”

She glared at him, turned on the heels of her cork wedged shoes, and left.

Connected, his computer announced.

Dougal found the link to the chat room, registering with the name that had been given to him: DL008.

DL008: “I’m here.”

LM007: “You’re late. Turn on the video.”

Double-oh-seven? Was the old man really channeling James Bond? Talk about delusional.

Dougal took a deep breath. He was about to hurl himself down the rabbit hole. He so did not want to do this. But he clicked the video.

It took a moment for the picture on the computer screen to resolve. And then Dougal was looking at a face most would describe as attractive for a man in his sixties. Ed was now clean-shaven, and Dougal recognized the same strong jaw line and intense eyes he saw in the mirror every morning.

Ed had clipped his hair short, revealing an old scar that travelled from the corner of his eye, to his hairline. Other than that, he had no obvious markings suggesting his criminal past.

Dougal stared, searching for traces of the bearded man who had been his neighbor in the apartment in New York. But this man sat erect, no sign of the arthritis that had crippled old Monty. The man’s teeth were whiter, his eyes brighter. How had he managed to change all of that?

“Good to see you son. It’s been a long time.”

The voice was nothing like the gravely tone he’d assumed when he’d been Monty. This new version of his father had a pleasant, baritone that Dougal remembered from when he’d been a child.

“You look different.”

Ed laughed. “You don’t. It’s like watching old video footage of me, back when I was your age.”

Just like your father.
Dougal had heard the phrase a lot when he was growing up. People used it to describe his looks, his sullen behavior, even his prowess on the football field. No matter why people said the words though—whether they meant them as a compliment or pejoratively— hearing them always made Dougal’s skin crawl.

“Let me see Chester.”

The smile on Ed Lachlan’s face faded and he shook his head. “I’m not playing games with you son. Not this time. A month ago you promised you were going to write my story. So far you haven’t delivered a single word.”

“I’ll do it this time. We just need to know Chester’s all right.”

“I’m not interested in harming that boy. I just want my son to tell the world my story.”

Damn it, the old man was being too clever by half. Not admitting to kidnapping Chester, but not denying it either. He had Dougal on the ropes, though, since the possible price was too high to risk.

“Where do you want to start? Your childhood?” Earlier that summer Dougal had tracked down Ed’s adopted sister, who’d told him all about the abuse Ed had suffered at the hands of their adopted parents. Dougal had assumed Ed would want to go into this phase of his life in detail.

But as usual, Ed surprised him.

“Screw that. Let’s begin when it gets interesting. 1972, and I’ve just turned 22. Do you know what happened then?”

“You found your adoption papers and then broke into the agency that had brokered your adoption to find the name of your birth mother.”

“Smart boy.” Ed beamed with a combination of amusement and pride. “It didn’t take me long to find out where Shirley Hammond lived. And of course, once I knew that, I had to pay her a visit.”

* * *

May 15 1972, Librarian Cottage outside of Twisted Cedars, Oregon

Not much scared Shirley Hammond anymore, but when she heard the knock on her door shortly after sunset on a Friday evening in May, she felt a premonition of dread. Her brother and his wife, normally her only unexpected visitors, were on their annual vacation in California.