Peak Road - A Short Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 10) (2 page)

3

My first call in the morning was to my sons. Jon Junior, a junior in high school, didn’t answer, but his older brother, Mathew, did.

“How are ya, buddy?” I said.

“Doin’ good. I got your gift card. Thanks.”

I knew he needed money while living in Boston and attending college, but I never liked sending him cash. So I sent him gift cards he could use to buy whatever he might need. I didn’t know if he appreciated it or not, but he always said thank you. “You’re welcome. So, you datin’ anybody these days?”

“Nah, not really. There’s a couple girls I’m hanging out with. I got so much work, it’s hard to do anything else.”

“Anthropology’s that hard, huh?”

“Not too bad, but I actually wanted to tell you that I’m doing a double major. I’m also pre-med.”

I hesitated. My father had been a physician, and he had planned for me to go to medical school after I completed my doctorate. Our relationship had never been the same after I’d chosen law enforcement instead.

“I think that’s… great, Matty. Being a doctor’s a noble profession. Any particular field you’re interested in?”
Please don’t say psychiatry
.

“Psychiatry.”

Of course
. Everything he’d seen and everything he’d been through with me had had a profound impact on him. He could have wanted to heal, but I had a feeling he wanted to understand—understand how people could do the horrific things they did without knowing why.

“That’s great,” I said again. “Do me one favor, though: go intern somewhere. Somewhere you can see firsthand what you’ll be doing.”

“I’m going to. There’s a care center close to my apartment. I’m gonna put in an application to be a CNA there. They’re mostly people suffering from dementia, stuff like that, but it should be good experience.”

“I’m proud of you.” I hesitated. “How’s your mom?”

“Fine.” He paused, and the silence lasted a little too long.

“What is it, Matty?”

“She should tell you herself.”

“Tell me what? Just tell me.”

“Her and Tom. She’s pregnant, Dad.”

My heart sank. Our relationship had ended years ago, but we still had a bond—a deep bond—because of our children. Whatever else happened, wherever else we went in life, Matty and Jon Junior linked us forever. And now she was going to have that link with another man.

“Oh… are you excited to have a little brother or sister?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m not around that much to really see them, but, yeah. I think it’ll be fun.”

My throat felt dry, and I swallowed. “Well, tell her congratulations for me.”

“I will, Dad.”

“Matty, I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

I hung up and stared at the phone. The news cut—and much deeper than I had thought it would. For a second, I thought about calling her and telling her congratulations, but she knew me, almost better than anyone had ever known me. She would see through that. She would hear the pain in my voice.

I changed and went for a run.

Nearly half an hour of sprinting, and Hanny was right there with me the whole time. By the end, I could hardly breathe, and my legs felt as though they were seizing up. I sat on the beach near my house and took off my Vibram shoes. I liked barefoot running, and the shoes were the closest I could get. I liked to feel every surface—every mound of sand, each rock, and every blade of grass—when I ran. To people who ran in shoes, the whole world felt like rubber.

I stuck my feet in the water and watched as the waves lapped the beach. Most of the serious young surfers came in early and were finished by the time the tourists arrived. A few lingered, floating on the surface of the water like birds lazily searching for fish. I lay back on the sand and let the sun warm my face. I had church in a couple of hours, and a Mormon service lasted three hours. After that, I could surf or sit in the house and watch movies. It suddenly hit me that without the job, my life was boring. Hanny came up and licked my face, and I tickled his belly to get him off me.

My phone buzzed, and I took it out of my pocket. The call was from a number I didn’t recognize. Wiping the sweat and dog slobber off my cheek with the back of my arm, I answered.

“This is Jon.”

After a slight hesitation, a man said, “Jon, this is Mickey.”

I hadn’t heard that voice in a long time. Mickey Parsons was a former special agent with the FBI. He had the most serial-murder collars in the Bureau’s history. I had met him at a seminar I was teaching, and our wives at the time had hit it off. Hearing his voice brought back visions of fishing trips and long hikes at Lake Tahoe, rock climbing in Yosemite, and a myriad of other outdoor things I never would’ve done if not for Mickey and my ex-wife.

“I heard you were laying around on some beach in the Virgin Islands, drunk by noon, like Hemingway,” I said.

“I was. I’m even writing a novel.”

“How is it?”

“It’s shit.”

I grinned. “How are you?”

“I’m doing good. I feel better than I have in a long time. It’s amazing how much rest and sunshine can do for your health.”

I looked out over the water. “You don’t need to tell me. Are you at the islands?”

“No, I’m actually stateside. I’m at your house.”

“My house?”

“It’s damn nice, Jon. How the hell did you afford it?”

I rose and started heading home. If Mickey had intended to visit an old friend, he would’ve called before turning up at my house. He’d come for something else—something he wanted to surprise me with.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’d like to talk to you about it in person, if that’s okay.”

“I’ll be home in twenty.”

“Okay, see you then. And Jon, it’s good to talk to you again.”

“Yeah,” I said, contemplating why a retired FBI agent would suddenly show up at my house, “good to hear you, too.”

4

When I got near my house, I saw Mickey sitting on my front porch. Hanny growled, and I grabbed his collar and said, “Easy.” I stepped in front of Hanny and went to shake Mickey’s hand, but I stopped, remembering that even a cold could be debilitating for him.

He looked the same. He had been living with HIV for years now, and somehow, I had imagined that he would look worse and worse every year, but he didn’t. His skin was deeply tanned, and the white hair was combed into the perfect part that FBI agents were expected to have. He had even gained some weight.

“We can shake hands,” Mickey said, sensing my trepidation. “You’re not going to give me the plague. Not yet, anyway.”

He held out his hand, and we shook.

I said, “You look good. Better than ten years ago, even.”

“I’ve been exercising every day and eating mostly fruit and vegetables. I, ah, actually got remarried.”

“You’re kidding! To who?”

“Gal I met on the islands, Camille. She’s a vegetarian. You would really like her, actually.”

I let go of his hand and watched his eyes. Now I was really concerned. He had left his wife to come see me. Something wasn’t right, and I knew he needed me for something. But I didn’t want to force it. He would tell me when he was ready.

“Drink?” I asked, making my way to the front door to unlock it.

“I’m guessing you don’t have beer.”

“No. Orange juice in a bottle is the closest.”

“I’ll take it.” He looked at Hanny, who was staring at him. “Who’s this little guy?”

“Hanny.”

Mickey bent down and held out his open palm. Hanny considered him for a minute then went over and sniffed then licked his hand. Mickey rubbed the dog’s head before turning and following me inside.

I’d left several windows open, so the house was the same temperature as the air outside. I crossed the living room and went into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water for me and a bottle of orange juice for Mickey. I sat on the couch, and Mickey sat on the love seat across from me. Hanny sat at my feet, like some emperor’s guard dog. He liked Mickey, but he didn’t seem to fully trust anyone except me.

“How’re the kids?” he asked.

“Matt’s decided to go to medical school. He wants to be a psychiatrist.”

“Good for him. His grandfather was a shrink, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, twisting open my bottle of water. “That’s what my dad wanted for me, too. He wasn’t happy when I told him I was going to be a cop.”

“We’ve never really talked about your dad.”

The entire conversation was leading somewhere specific, and he wanted to throw me off. He knew speaking about my father dredged up memories I didn’t want to think about. My last conversation with my father had taken place right after my mother died, and we’d barely spoken even then. He wasn’t a man who shared anything.

Mickey was legendary in law enforcement circles for his abilities to persuade—and some might say manipulate—suspects. He’d once left the door open while interrogating a perp suspected of killing his girlfriend with the help of his cousin. The cousin wouldn’t talk, so Mickey had found someone who looked like the cousin. After dressing the doppelgänger in a wig and clothes from the cousin’s closet, he paraded the lookalike through the Bureau offices past the open door. When the lookalike pretended to pal around with some other agents, the perp was furious. He opened up about what had happened, laying the blame on the cousin. Once the cousin heard the confession, he also confessed, claiming the boyfriend was mostly responsible. Both ended up with life sentences.

“What is this about, Mickey?”

He exhaled and took a sip of juice. I could tell he wanted to set a hook then get me in a position where it would be more difficult to say no to whatever he was about to ask me. I had called him out on it.

“It’s something I need your help on,” he said. “A case.”

“You’re retired.”

He nodded. “I know. Kyle gave me a call. There’s an old case that I never got a collar on. It’s a small town in Nevada, Peak Road. Two families, the Wyatts and the Roths, were killed a month apart in an identical manner. It was really… brutal. They called him the Werewolf of Peak Road.

“I was new in Behavioral Science, maybe a couple of years in. Kyle was just a field agent, too. We worked the case together. Didn’t really have anything. A few minor bits of evidence here and there. But it was the early eighties. Forensics wasn’t what it is now. If it had happened in this day and age, maybe we would’ve gotten lucky.” He paused and took another sip of juice. “Kyle called me because they had another killing three weeks ago. A young family, the Noels: mother, father, and their two-year-old daughter. If it’s the same pattern, we have another week before he kills again.”

He slipped a photo out of his pocket and placed it on the table between us. I didn’t look down.

“Similar murders, twenty years apart in the same town. I don’t know why it took him twenty years, but he’s back. I’m flying out to Nevada tomorrow.”

“You and Kyle can handle it. You don’t need me.”

He shook his head. “Every investigator has that one case. That one that just doesn’t sit right. They keep copies of the file after they retire. This is mine, Jon. I feel like I failed the Wyatts and the Roths. I’m not going to fail the Noels, too.”

It wasn’t lost on me that he used the family’s name. I still hadn’t looked down at the picture. “I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m pretty swamped out here. I don’t think I can take the time off.”

“I heard you found out what happened to Elizabeth.”

The thought of my sister sent a shot of pain into my chest that jolted my system. “I did.”

“I bet it helped—knowing what happened.”

“I guess. I thought it would bring me closure. There’s no closure.”

“Well, these people had families, too. Families that would like to know what happened and why.”

“Insanity happened. Knowing that won’t bring them peace. It’ll make it hurt more.”

Mickey set his orange juice on the coffee table. “What is this really about, Jon?”

“I don’t think… I don’t think I want to get involved in that type of case right now. I just finished everything with my sister, and it’s taken me a couple of months to be able to work cases again. Mostly bank robberies and drug deals gone bad. I like those right now. I can understand those.”

“You can understand what happened in Peak Road, too.”

“Maybe. And that’s probably why I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m not myself yet. I need more time.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand. But I need you on this. I’m old and tired. I don’t know how much I can put into this case.” He rose. “If you change your mind, please call me. It really is good to see you again.” He bent down and petted Hanny before turning to leave.

I followed him to the door and saw him out. He put on his sunglasses then got into his rental car. I watched as he pulled out of the driveway.

I went back inside, where he had left the Noels’ photo on my coffee table. Between a young mother and a father sat a two-year-old girl with pink ribbons holding her blond pigtails in place.

I flipped the photo facedown and headed to the shower.