Blood Stained (7 page)

Jenna enlarged the picture, then clicked through to the others, revealing the inside of the hanger with the blue minivan and the cave entrance, taken from just beyond the crime scene tape. 

The next image was lit with a flash that made the cave walls look like burnished copper. The light sparked off steel chains bolted into the stone, giving them a festive glow. An overturned five-gallon bucket could be seen on the rough rock of the cave floor. Along with a smear that looked black but Lucy knew was actually blood. Her blood.

She wrapped her arms around her belly, her pizza forgotten.

Another picture showed the ledge above the chasm where Adam's mother and the New Hope Killer plunged to their deaths. The bodies were never recovered, presumed washed into unknown parts by the underground river the chasm opened into. One more showed the collection of MREs, water bottles, night vision goggles and cameras, along with the knives, stun guns, and other instruments of torture the killer used. Lucy wondered who leaked that one. They removed all that as evidence long before any civilian entered the scene.

The next picture was the famous one. The one every newspaper carried. A bit blurry, taken as it was by a cell phone without time to focus, but that only made it more evocative. A skinny boy, face crumpled in grief, supporting Lucy, helping her from the cavern. Her service weapon dangled from one hand, the other gathered to her side, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Jenna made a small noise deep in her throat. Lucy reached past her and clicked the window shut. The postal inspector had replaced the official desktop background with a picture of a young girl riding a horse, jumping a high fence, bright red ponytail streaming from below her helmet. She looked wild and ecstatic and fearless.

"How the hell did you become a mailman?" Lucy blurted out.

Jenna didn't answer. Instead she traced the horse's face with her finger. In the picture she looked around Megan's age—and just as defiant. "Long story. Lets just say it wasn't the path I expected."

Lucy nodded at that. Somehow seeing that picture of the younger Jenna, she started to like the postal inspector. Enough to trust her. A little, at least. "You hooked into NCIC?"

The National Crime Information Center was the clearinghouse for all law enforcement, local, state and federal. Jenna nodded, clicked a few keys. "Sure. What do you need?"

"Run a name for me. Adam Caine. Age—"

"I've got his DOB from the New Hope file. Why him?"

"He sent the letter."

"No shit. He's the kid in the photo, the one whose mom was killed?"

"Yes. Last I knew he and his dad still lived in New Hope."

"Not according to this." Jenna tapped her fingernail against the computer screen. French manicure, of course. Probably had her toes done as well. The last time Lucy had time for a pedicure was two years ago, an anniversary treat from Nick. "Picked up for vagrancy and attempted theft in Cleveland. Put into a group home when they couldn't find any family. Ran away eight months ago. Has a warrant on him. Assault and battery on a counselor."

So Adam was a fugitive. Damn. She'd wished better for him after what he'd been through. "Run his dad, Clinton Caine. He was a truck driver."

The computer did its business. "Nothing. He's clean." Jenna tried another database. "No address listed except a PO Box in Altoona, PA 16601. Want me to dig deeper?"

Four years ago Adam clung to his dad, they seemed so close. She'd only met the man once, but she still remembered the awkward way Clint tried to comfort his son, ignoring the tears streaming down his own face after Lucy told him what had happened to his wife.

Why would Adam run away from his dad? And what did he want from Lucy?

Something was off here. Something that made Lucy's gut instincts do a creepy-crawly dance down her nerve endings. 

"Yeah. Start digging. Find Clinton Caine."

Jenna continued typing as Lucy stared at her cold food, one hand massaging the scar on her belly. The wound had been minor, but sometimes it still burned like frostbite. Four years and not finished healing.

Just like Adam Caine.

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Adam felt pretty good when he left Darrin's. They finished Darrin's laundry while Adam told the kid stories about all the wonderful places Dad had taken him. Then they snuck upstairs, re-made Darrin's bed, and the kid finally fell asleep. As Adam left, he locked the door to the cellar again. Let the fish figure that one out.

He thought about going home to his cave to sleep, but decided to check on Sally first. She and her mom lived in the trailer court just outside of town, not too far out of his way. Besides, he liked Sally. She was the youngest of all his brothers and sisters, hadn't even been born when he and Dad left New Hope. Dad said he wasn't having any more kids, making her the last of the Caines.

As he walked, he found himself whistling an old tune. Something about the moon and stars. A silly song that made him feel light. He couldn't remember hearing a song in his head for such a long time. Couldn't remember feeling anything but fear and anger. Now a new feeling crept in. He was almost afraid to name it; it made him feel dizzy just thinking about it. But talking to Darrin, promising him all the wonderful adventures they'd have when Dad came to get them, had sparked something bigger than fear or anger.

Hope. It felt good, but it also was a little scary—like holding a sharp knife when your fingers were numb with cold. You know you could just as easily cut yourself.

But he hadn't. He'd used the knife to open a door and save Darrin. Just like Dad would've wanted him to. Just like a big brother should.

He arrived at the trailer park and approached Sally's singlewide from the woods behind it. He peeked through the window in the door and saw light flickering like someone watching TV in the dark. 

Sally's mom lay across the couch, her shirt open, naked beneath it. A man with dark hair wearing jeans and no shirt lay across her, his face between her breasts. Both passed out. Below the woman's hand a glass pipe had burned a hole in the lime green shag carpet. There were a bunch of holes near it as well.

Adam wrinkled his nose against the sharp stench of cat piss. Crank. Smelled like they were making it as well as smoking it.

He knew about methamphetamine. In Cleveland he'd seen how a binge of meth could lead to a deep crash, folks sleeping for days. 

Who was taking care of Sally? She'd only just turned four. 

The master bedroom was at the end of the trailer. He couldn't see anyone through the window there except a rumpled bed and clothing thrown everywhere like someone had gone through a frenzy and emptied every drawer and closet. He walked around to the front of the trailer, keeping his footsteps silent despite the gravel coated with frost.

And then he saw her. Sally sat on the cement block steps leading up to the trailer's front door, her knees drawn to her chest, arms hugging them to her body. She wore a pink nightgown, a pink fleece bathrobe, and pink fuzzy fake fur slippers.

"Sally," he said. 

She didn't respond at first. Her eyes were open but not focused. He shook her gently. She was freezing. Her face was white, lips dusky, teeth chattering. 

Adam sat down beside her. The cold from the cement blocks burned through his jeans. He took off his jacket, then his sweatshirt and bundled Sally inside them both before gathering her onto his lap. A bedraggled stuffed cat that once was white fell from her arms. She'd been hugging it tight to her body as if more worried about it getting cold than herself.

Between the cold bundle in his arms and the night air surrounding him, he was shivering as well. Without moving her, he reached behind him, up to the doorknob and tried to turn it. Locked. "What are you doing out here so late?"

She pointed to the stuffed cat at her feet, her hands lost in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Adam scooped up the cat. One of its glass eyes was missing, the space left behind colored in with blue marker to match the remaining eye. He handed it to her.

"I woke up," she said, not looking at him but focused on the cat. "Miss Priss was gone. I went to look for her. She was hiding in Mommy's car." She nodded to a Chevy Impala parked beside a black Ford F-150. The truck was shiny, even in the moonlight. Chrome accents, fancy toolbox. The Chevy listed to one side, its front tire flat, and had more primer than paint holding it together.

"You got locked out?"

She nodded. It couldn't have been too long ago or, dressed the way she was, she'd be dead. 

"Didn't you knock?"

"No one answered. I hit it as loud as I could, rang the doorbell. Mommy and Bert are asleep. They didn't wake up." She looked up at him with wide eyes so big they could have swallowed the moon reflected in them. "Do you think they're okay?"

Something stung Adam's cheek. He reached a hand up and realized it was a tear. Just the cold, he told himself. He stood up, taking Sally and Miss Priss with him, and carried them to the truck. The doors were open. He slid Sally into the passenger seat. It was a little warmer in here and she was out of the wind.

A few seconds later he had the engine running and heat blasting from the vents.

"How would you and Miss Priss like to come home with me?" he asked, tickling the cat under its chin. Sally giggled at that, the color already returning to her face. "My name is Adam. I'm kinda your big brother."

She yawned, covering her mouth after the fact, and curled up with her head resting against the back of the seat. "What about Mommy?"

"I'll leave her a note so she won't worry."

"No. I mean, who's going to take care of her?"

"Don't worry. I'll come back and take care of her. That's too much work for a little girl like you. You just leave it all to me."

Another yawn. This time she didn't even bother to cover it. Instead she let her eyes drift shut.

"Stay here in the truck. I'll be right back." Adam left her half asleep and walked around to the back door. Another spring lock, cheap and easier to pop than the one at Darrin's place.

The stench of ammonia was worse inside. The woman and man didn’t stir. He walked down the hall, keeping his knife at the ready just in case, and entered the small second bedroom. Sally's room had no bed, just a mattress on the floor. There were a few toys, all well loved, and tons of drawings on every kind of paper imaginable: old newspaper, brown paper bags, wrapping paper, packaging. A KFC bucket was filled with crayons, their wrappers torn off, some worn down to tiny stubs.

A few plastic milk crates formed a pseudo-dresser. Beside them was a pink Hello Kitty backpack. Adam took it, shoving clothing, barrettes, a hairbrush, and a few Barbie dolls, coloring books and a handful of crayons inside. Then he added a pair of sneakers. He grabbed Sally's coat, pink fake fur, along with her blanket and pillow.

He'd get her new crayons tomorrow. No way in hell she was ever coming back here.

When he returned to the main room the man and woman were still sound asleep, one of them snoring. He walked past them, crunching a meth pipe beneath his foot. A pair of nice black leather cowboy boots stood beside the end table. Hanging from the back of one of the kitchen chairs was a matching leather motorcycle jacket with padded insulation. Adam slid the jacket on and tried the boots on for size. A little loose, but better than his sneakers.

He left the sneakers in their place. Then he raided the kitchen, using Sally's pillowcase as a bag. Other than the ingredients to cook meth, there wasn't much. But now with two mouths to feed, he'd need more than what was stashed at the cave. He grabbed a box of instant oatmeal, a few cans of soup, Pop Tarts, and some Girl Scout cookies he found in the freezer. In the freezer he also found a wad of cash wrapped up in rubber bands. He took that as well as the two sets of car keys hanging from a hook beside the front door.

He opened all the doors and windows before grabbing his stash. Feeling like Santa Claus with everything bundled up in Sally's pink blanket, he returned to the truck. Sally was still asleep, but she smiled and squeezed his finger when he took her hand. Nice and warm and pink. Just the way it should be.

He hoped like hell it was cold enough to freeze the fish he left behind.

Chapter 7

Adam woke to a finger wiggling in his ear. It tickled. Then came a little girl's giggle. She removed the finger and patted his face like a blind person. It was dark enough in the cave she probably felt blind. 

He smiled beneath her palm. She giggled again. Adam flicked on the flashlight—the tiny LED one so it wouldn't fill the room with shocking light—and handed it to her. Bright streams edged in blue danced through the darkness above them.

The pink blanket jostled from his body as he sat up. He wrapped it around Sally's shoulders. "Good morning."

She bounced, excited by the play of light. "Hey, Adam," she sang out, as if she woke up next to strangers everyday. Given what he'd seen in the trailer, maybe she did. She turned, the light held between them so he could see her face. "Where's the potty?"

Whoops. Hadn't really planned for that. Not with a little girl in mind, anyway. He hastily converted a bucket into a makeshift toilet for her in a far corner of the cave, behind a rock formation for privacy. She didn't complain about the primitive conditions, but Adam felt embarrassed. Now that he had cash, he could do better. He began a shopping list.

They ate breakfast outside, listening to the weather radio and watching squirrels chase themselves through the trees. Sally clapped and cheered her favorites, tossing them crumbs of Pop Tarts in reward. The guy on the radio said it would snow today. The cave would be warm enough, but Adam decided to stock up on more food, maybe a way to cook it—he doubted Sally would like cold Chef Boyardee straight from the can like he did—and a lantern that would last if the snow kept them inside for long. Maybe one of those fancy Coleman ones. Or he could borrow a kerosene lantern from the Stolfultz's barn. They had tons there. Wouldn't miss one or two. He added it to his list.