Out of the Shadows (13 page)

“Rita Mayes.”

The angry, churning sea of snowflakes pummeled the town of Rockport, forced into action by the vicious wind gusts that made the buildings cry out, creaking and swaying on their foundations. Many inches of snow had accumulated, encasing the town in a dangerous blanket of blinding white. Ominous clouds of gray veiled the stark sky, making it nearly impossible to discern the time of day without a clock to confirm that it was, indeed, early afternoon.

Jonathan sped in his police cruiser down what he hoped was the street, faster than was safe, ignoring the weather advisory about staying indoors. The windshield wipers tried desperately to keep his visibility clear, swiping sheets of snow and ice from the glass with frantic, rhythmic groans. A salt and plow truck trying foolishly to keep the roads cleared caused him to swerve, forcing his rear tires into a fishtail from which he quickly recovered. While he vehemently cursed Mother Nature’s injustice, he also silently thanked Her for keeping the roads devoid of other vehicles and pedestrians, making Rockport an eerie and abandoned ghost town.

Christine was not answering her phone, and this concerned him greatly. He knew she could take care of herself, but on this day specifically, her head was not in the right place of focus that it would be on other days. There were a number of reasons that could cause her unavailability, but one thing floated through his mind that clouded his rationality.

Rita Mayes.

This young blonde woman was the housekeeper of the late Peter Sheffield, found frozen in fear in his master bedroom a few hours previous. For whatever reason, she had decided to leave out this little detail when talking to the two cops. And now, Jonathan was terrified for his partner.

He pulled into the area that he knew to be the parking lot of the police station, only identifiable from the few other cars and SUVs parked nearby. The small, red brick building was quaint, but it was as big as it needed to be. Jonathan had barely put the car in park before flinging open the driver’s door, being blasted in the face with frigid winds and tiny ice pellets, and tromping haphazardly through a foot of snow, his heart pounding and his throat dry.

He threw his weight against the white door, turning the knob and hurling it inward, tracking mounds of snow onto the tan linoleum tiles inside. Slamming the door behind him, he ignored the handful of officers staring at him and charged through the room past the rows of wooden desks laden with the personal effects of the other officers.

And then suddenly, he halted in place.

He stared at the desk at the back of the room, the last one before the offices of the chief and sergeant. Sitting in her chair, wide-eyed from the shock of his abrupt entrance, was Christine, unharmed and not a frozen statue. Rita sat at the other side of the desk sipping a mug of hot chocolate, her back to Jonathan. She turned around in her chair and gave him a quick smile. “Hi, Officer Colter!” she greeted.

Jonathan’s mind swirled with confusion. He approached his partner’s desk, gasping for breath from his exertions, not knowing quite what to say.

“Colt, what’s going on?” Christine said, brushing a short piece of hair behind her ear, a look of alarm on her face.

“You… you’re all right.”

“Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jonathan felt a wave of embarrassment roll over his body for creating such a scene at the station. He felt his cheeks flush and began to grow angry with his partner. “I’ve been tryin’ to call you!”

She looked down at her cell phone on the desk. “I’m sorry. I must have had it on silent.”

Fury rumbled within him, and he wasn’t sure how to contain it. There were so many things that weren’t making sense about the day so far, including the unbelievable fact that innocent people seemed to be freezing to death. “Our victim’s name was Peter Sheffield.” He turned to Rita. “Does that name ring a bell to you?” he spat.

She fidgeted in her chair, setting her ceramic mug down. “No, I… I don’t think so.”

Christine stood. “Colt, what’s this about?”

But Jonathan ignored his partner, a sickened grin on his face. “Ya don’t think so? Well, that’s funny, considerin’ you’ve been his housekeeper for six months.”

Rita remained silent, staring at her mug of cocoa, her blonde hair slipping from behind her ear and falling into her face.

“Is this true?” Christine asked her, a hint of shock and betrayal in her tone.

After another moment of silence, Jonathan noticed Rita’s back begin to tremble, and then she began sobbing and mumbling, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Christine asked.

“I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you guys,” she blubbered. “Everything happened so fast this morning, and when I heard Mr. Sheffield scream, I was afraid, so I ran out the back door and called the police.” She gasped for breath, wiping her face on her sleeve. “I haven’t lived here long, and I didn’t want to get into any trouble. I just wanted a second chance, you know?”

Christine sat once more and reached her hand forward, softly grasping one of Rita’s. “Yeah, I
do
know.”

Rita looked up at Jonathan, her eyes bloodshot, her face matted with moisture. “I swear to you,” she began, her lip quivering as more tears flowed down her cheeks. “I didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened to Mr. Sheffield.” She sobbed into her hands while the room remained silent.

Jonathan shifted awkwardly, ashamed but yet still not satisfied that Rita had told all there was to tell.

Christine came out from behind her desk and put her arms around the sobbing woman. Looking up at Jonathan, she said quietly, “Will you please let me handle her? I got this.”

“Colter,” came a gruff voice at the end of the room.

Jonathan looked up and saw the slightly rotund yet tall figure of Markus Kelson, the Chief of Police, commanding authority by simply standing in the threshold to his office, his gray moustache displayed proudly across his top lip. “Yes, sir?”

The chief waited, like he was debating how to phrase the words about to come from his mouth. “How are things going out there?”

Jonathan looked down at the crying woman and his partner consoling her, and he sighed. “It’s goin’ ok, sir. I’m just tryin’ to put the pieces together.”

The chief nodded. “I understand how frustrating that can be.”

Jonathan knew exactly what was happening, as did every other cop in the room. This was the chief’s way of diffusing the tension in the station without having to directly call out a rowdy officer. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. “I’m also a little on edge ‘cause of the storm, sir. I apologize. My wife had some shoppin’ to do today, and I haven’t had time to call her and make sure she’s safe.”

The chief nodded again. “It sure is nasty out there, that’s for sure. But we’ve also called in some of the guys from Camden to help us out with this one. Why don’t you take a seat at your desk and give Leslie a call?”

Jonathan picked up on the indirect order and complied, realizing that he was about to be sent home for the day, and he wouldn’t allow that to happen; he needed to see this mystery through. He nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

The chief looked around the room. “Ok, everyone. Let’s get back to work and get through this day.”

Christine rubbed Rita’s back to calm her, and when the sobs began to slow, she glanced over and saw that her partner was talking on the phone, presumably with his wife. She was genuinely glad Leslie was home and safe.

Rita wiped her face on her sleeve one last time and took a deep breath to center herself. “Thanks, Officer Brody. I’m so embarrassed for making such a scene here.”

“You’re fine. It’s not a full day at work unless I’ve made a scene at some point,” Christine smiled.

Rita glanced over at Jonathan talking on the phone and said quietly, “Your partner seems like kind of a jerk.”

She smirked at the supportive thought but replied, “He’s really not. He just cares about me a lot and gets worried.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that from men before.”

Christine paused, her brow furrowing. “No, he’s really not like that. He’s just trying to do his job.”

Rita examined the cop’s face and realized she needed to end the conversation. “Sure. Sorry.” She finished the last of her hot chocolate and replaced the mug on Christine’s desk. “Thank you so much for your kindness today. Do you guys need more from me, or can someone take me back to my car at Mr. Sheffield’s?”

Christine thought for a moment, looking over at her partner talking to his wife on the phone. “I would volunteer to take you myself, but I think for now it may be best if someone else escorts you so I can catch up with Colt.”

“I understand.”

As Jonathan hung up the phone, Christine said to Rita, “Let me go talk to him real quick.” And she strolled over, plopping down onto the corner of his desktop.

He sighed, recognizing the demeanor and not wanting to deal with the mood she was currently in. “Hey, Brody.”

“So…” she began, taking a slight pause for dramatic effect. “How are things back at the Sheffield house?”

“Neighbors told us about a white car that shows up at his house weekly.”

“Yeah, that’s Rita’s.”

“Yes, I know that now.”

“Anything else?”

He looked up at his partner’s slim form towering over him in his office chair. “So far, no fingerprints in the master bedroom. They’re gonna call to update me, but I don’t think they’ll find anything.”

Christine nodded, considering him as he reclined in his chair.

Jonathan noticed the stare and became defensive. “What?”

“I’m letting her go home.”

“Brody, I don’t think that’s a good—.”

“I’m letting her go home, Colt. I’m going to have an officer escort her back to her car so she can go home and relax.”

He remained silent for a bit before replying, “Fine.”

As Christine made the arrangements for a police escort, Jonathan approached Rita, feeling like he
should
apologize but not wanting to. “Can we get your cell number so we can reach you if we need to?”

“I don’t have a cell, but Officer Brody wrote down my home number,” she replied.

He nodded. He felt that there was more that he wanted to say to her, more to ask her, more for her to tell. The thought occurred to him that perhaps his brain was overcompensating due to his perception of his partner’s lack of focus. So he watched silently as Rita grabbed her things and walked out the door into the storm.

For the next thirty minutes, the two partners sat down together and talked through everything that had happened that day, hoping that one would pick out a detail that the other hadn’t. They were waiting impatiently for the search results to come back from the artist’s rendering of the man Rita had seen running away from the house, but until that happened, they really had no leads.

But finally, the drawing was delivered. “Here you go,” came the voice of one of the female patrol officers, handing Christine a printout of information on the sketch. “If it’s accurate, then the man Ms. Mayes saw running away from the house is Frank Sheffield, the brother of the first victim, Peter Sheffield.”

“No shit,” Jonathan said, scanning the page of info over Christine’s shoulder.

“But – let me tell you what – it has
not
been easy digging up info on this guy.”

“Shiesty criminal?” he wondered.

The officer shook her head.

“Then why?”

“Because he’s been
dead
for twenty years…”

*     *     *

“This doesn’t add up,” Christine said, throwing her arms into the air.

Jonathan had taken a break from reading files and was staring out the window, watching the afternoon wane, giving way to a dreary dusk as the snow continued to pile up. It was no longer safe for people to be driving on the roads, and if anyone chose to be so bold, they were to be ticketed by the patrolling officer.

“We’re chasing a dead guy! And let’s, for a moment, just ignore the fact that it would be difficult to apprehend a dead guy, but because he’s been dead for
twenty years
, we can’t find any information on him!” Christine continued.

“That’s where you’re hangin’ yourself, though,” Jonathan offered, still staring out the window as the freezing aura from the glass reached his close face, his nostrils leaving behind tiny plumes of fog.

“What?”

“We’re not chasin’ a dead guy. We’re chasin’ a guy who wants us to
think
he’s dead. There’s a difference.”

“Or… we really
are
chasing a dead guy,” she added.

Jonathan turned to look at her for clarification.

“You think there’s a person out there with the power to freeze people, so who’s to say there’s not a
dead
person out there with the power to freeze people?”

“Fair point.”

“Do we know how Sheffield died yet?” Christine called out to the rest of the staff.