The Depth of Darkness (Mitch Tanner #1) (28 page)

“Very perceptive, Special Agent Dinapoli. He
was deranged, obviously. I looked a lot like Lucille. He stated
that every few months he went to her grave to check up on her. I
just happened to be there at the wrong time.”

Bridget glanced down at her watch. “Cassie,
I’m sorry, I need to get going.”

“I have an extra room. You can stay
here.”

“No offense, but I don’t think I’d sleep all
that well if I did.” She rose and headed toward the front door.

Cassie got up and escorted her out. “I’m not
going to give up on that little girl, Bridget. I promise.”

Bridget looked back and nodded. “Neither am
I.”

“And don’t give up on Mitch,” Cassie
added.

“I won’t if you don’t.” With that, Bridget
got inside the rental and drove two blocks away. She pulled up next
to the curb and grabbed her cell phone. There were no flights back
to Philadelphia that night. Best she could do was a flight plan
with three layovers. It would get her home by eight the next
morning. She decided to skip the flight and drive back. It would
take less time. So she picked up I-95 and headed north.

Sam altered our course and drove to the
Hollands’s neighborhood. Media trucks clogged the entrance while a
couple of uniformed officers kept them at bay. They were faces I
didn’t recognize, from another precinct I supposed. Sam pulled up
to the checkpoint and we showed them our badges. They waved us
through.

The neighborhood was eerily quiet. No kids
out in their front yards taking advantage of the final minutes of
daylight. The effects of a tragedy hitting so close to home, I
thought.

We turned onto the Hollands’s street. Two
more officers were positioned on opposite sides of the
intersection. The Boss remained where I’d parked it earlier that
day. Sam stopped the Chevy behind it.

“Since the Chevy is officially your car, I
guess I ought to take the Boss for you,” Sam said.

I chuckled at the thought. “I’m suspended.
Only authorized personnel can drive a city issued vehicle.”

He cut the engine and we waited in silence
for a few minutes. I figured the same thoughts I was having also
raced through his mind. For us, this case wouldn’t end until Debby
was found and the men were brought to justice. The outlook,
however, looked bleak. I feared that the case, and the little girl,
would haunt me for the rest of my days.

“I’m going to go up to the house,” I
said.

“I’ll join you,” Sam said.

We exited the vehicle and trekked up the
driveway. At the halfway point, the door opened. Mr. Holland’s
large frame blocked the opening. The lingering sunlight washed over
him, giving his overall appearance a reddish tint.

“Detectives,” he said with a nod, crossing
his arms. He didn’t appear threatening or intimidating. The man
looked tired. Worn out by the whole ordeal. Who could blame
him?

We stopped in front of the bottom step.
“How’s Bernard?” I asked.

“Physically, he’s going to be okay. They set
his arm and gave him a painkiller. Mentally, though? I don’t know.
He’s pretty distraught, as are my wife and myself.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “We feel the same
way.”

“Do you?”

The emotional impact of the words felt like
an uppercut to my chin. “Yes, sir, we do. I’m not going to rest
until we have that girl safe and sound.”

Mr. Holland straightened up and let his hands
drop to his side. From the top of the stairs, he towered over us.
“Then why’d you run off the other day? And then again today?”

Sam took a step up. “He was kicked off the
case and his daughter was threatened. He took her away to get her
out of harm’s way. Would you have preferred another child be
harmed?”

“Seems to me the best thing Detective Tanner
could have done was stay around and offer to help.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Sam said. “And
today, you know what he did? He went down to Savannah to look up
another lead.”

“Savannah?” Mr. Holland asked, unleashing his
scowl toward me.

“And he did it on his own time,” Sam
added.

Mr. Holland shifted, turning sideways, and I
caught a glimpse of Debby Walker’s mother inside the house. She
stood just outside of the kitchen with her gaze fixed in our
direction. I wanted to push past the large man in front of me to
speak to the woman. Her tears glinted in the light as they streamed
down her cheeks. I deemed our presence as counterproductive.

“Sam,” I said.

“He could have bailed on that little girl
after getting your son home, but he didn’t.”

“Sam,” I repeated.

“What?”

“We should go.”

“Yes,” Mr. Holland said. “You should.”

I understood the anger, as misguided as it
was. That didn’t lessen the impact any further. While I didn’t
expect the Hollands to drop to their knees and bow before Sam and
me, I didn’t expect the mistreatment, either.

Sam stepped down and we both turned toward
the street.

“Officers.” The small voice came from behind
Mr. Holland.

I spun around and saw Bernard peeking through
the doorway.

“Yes, Bernard,” I said.

“Have you found Debby?”

I glanced at Sam. His face grew grim. “Not
yet, son.”

“Please don’t give up on her,” he said. Such
powerful words for a small child.

“We’re going to do everything we can to bring
her home,” I said.

Mr. Holland reached down and placed his hand
on top of his son’s head. The hardened look on his face faded and
his eyes watered over. He felt his son’s pain. I did, too.

Thirty minutes later Sam and I occupied a
booth at Schmitty’s. We’d dropped the Boss off at my place, after
which I’d called to check on Ella. She’d already gone to bed, worn
out from a day of boating and fishing, Terrence had said. He’d also
told me that no one had been by. A relief to me. I figured I’d
leave her there a few more days and pick her up once things seemed
to have settled down. Now that the men had their ten million
dollars, they had little use for me.

Sam raised his drink, took a sip and set the
glass down. “What’s next for you?”

“I figure I’ll hang around for a couple days
and see if Bridget calls with any leads.”

“Think she will?”

“Find a lead? Yes. Call? No.”

“Things didn’t go so well down in Savannah I
take it.”

“You could say that.”

“I did say that.”

I nodded and said nothing.

“I’m going to do what I can to get involved
with the case, Mitch. With you out, I don’t have a partner, so I
don’t think they’ll assign anything to me. Figure I can latch onto
the investigation. Maybe I’ll turn something up. If I do, you’ll be
the first person I’ll call.”

“Appreciate it. Now, Sam, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Stop talking about it.”

We talked about sports and our hopes for the
upcoming football season. I figured I’d get to catch a lot of
games, being recently single and suspended. Although Lana and I
hadn’t talked, the breakup would occur soon.

Midnight rolled around and I decided to head
home. A few detectives we knew had joined us and one who remained
sober promised to get Sam home safely. With the temperature in the
sixties and the humidity about the same, I walked. The temperature
had cooled enough and the humidity had dropped enough so that the
mile and a half trek didn’t result in me covered with sweat.

I stopped on the sidewalk across the street
from my house. There was a car in the driveway. A woman on my
porch.

Only it wasn’t the woman I wanted to see.

I crossed the street and cut across the lawn
toward the screened in porch, well aware that Lana watched my every
step. She waited on the sofa next to the front door with her hands
on her knees and her back straight. As I neared, the light caught
her face and her eyes sparkled with tears. I pulled the door open.
She wore a plain t-shirt and cutoff jean shorts, frayed white at
the bottom. A cast extended from just below her left knee and
covered her foot. Her bare toes poked out. Someone had painted her
toenails pink or red. The light was too dim to tell.

“What are you doing here, Lana?”

“I hadn’t heard from you. I wanted to see
you.”

I felt cold and distant. Was I really here
with her on the porch? We’d shared many embraces in front of the
door, sat up late into the night on that couch, talking about our
pasts and the possible future. A future that had no chance of
happening now.

“Mitch, what’s wrong?”

I walked past her. She reached out. I avoided
her hand.

“I’m going inside.”

“Help me up?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Our gazes met.
Her eyes were wide and wet. Her right arm extended toward me. I
stepped inside and let the screen door slam shut behind me. I’d
hoped she’d take the hint that I didn’t want her around. She
didn’t, though, and a moment later the front door closed and she
navigated down the hall, on crutches, toward me.

“You know, don’t you?” she asked.

I stood in front of the refrigerator with
both doors wide open. The cold air washed over me. I inhaled it
deep. My damp shirt clung to my chest and felt as though it had
iced over. I thought I’d be the one to resort to point blank
questioning, not her. I grabbed a beer and then let go of the
French doors. They swung shut, cutting off the cool air.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah, I know, Lana.”

“Did he tell you?”

“McCree mentioned it when they interviewed
him. I wasn’t there, but one of the detectives sent me the
transcripts.”

“What did he say?”

I turned around and walked over to the
kitchen island where she stood on the opposite side. I twisted the
cap off my beer and placed the it in my pocket as I set the bottle
on the counter. The escaping carbonated gas looked like steam
slipping through a street grate.

The tears that had been gathering in Lana’s
eyes now fell down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.
The tracks crossed and intermingled and her shirt absorbed her
tears. Despite the sorrow she exhibited, I did not find it
difficult to be angry with her.

“He said that he had a thing for student
teachers. He meant twenty-something women, I suppose. A few he kept
around. Some longer than others.” I dipped my head so our eyes were
level. She glanced away. “And he said that you kept coming back for
more. Week after week, even while we were together. And here I
thought you didn’t show up on Sundays because you were a church
going woman.”

“It’s not like that, Mitch.”

“No? Then what’s it like? Please, Lana,
enlighten me, because I’d sure the fuck like to know what you’ve
been doing.”

Her hands gripped the counter top like she
expected it to float away, and she’d been tasked with keeping it in
place. “He threatened my job, Mitch. My career was in jeopardy.
Nobody would have believed me. He’s a man, an administrator, they’d
have taken his word for it and I’d have been out on the street made
to be the evil seductress. I wouldn’t have been able to teach
anywhere, ever again.”

“This is how you justify it? I’m the law. You
could have told me this early on and I could have fixed it.”

Her head shook, but she said nothing. The
tears continued to fall. We were more like strangers now than we’d
ever been.

“Mitch, please, I want to fix this.”

“Then show yourself to the door.”

“Mitch,” she said as I turned my back on her.
“Don’t go.”

I headed toward the garage. Her tears had
given way to heavy sobs. Without turning, I said, “Lana, if you’re
still here when I return from the garage, I’ll have you arrested.”
I let the door fall shut behind me and leaned back against it. My
head started to ache. A combination of too much beer, stress, and
dealing with her. It had to be done though, and I began to feel
relieved that I’d never have to face her again.

I spent the following two days murdering my
lawn with industrial strength weed killer, working on the Boss, and
wasting time on the computer. Sam called three times a day. His
updates were brief and lacking substance. Bridget didn’t call at
all. I wondered if she’d taken early leave for her new position.
Which would be the city lucky enough to have her, Denver or D.C.? I
kept up hope that she’d stop by if for no other reason than to
allow me to apologize to her. Of course, I could have asked Sam to
look up her address for me. But I didn’t. It didn’t feel right. It
had to be her choice, not mine.

On that second night, as I drifted in and out
of sleep, wondering about Debby Walker and whether or not she was
alive, my phone rang. I ignored it. Nothing good happens when you
answer a call at two in the morning. It rang again. Being forced
awake moments before, I picked it up to answer it. The call came
from a number in the 912 area code. I nearly sent it to voice mail,
but then I remembered that the 912 area code was used in
southeastern Georgia.

It was the only area code used in
Savannah.

As quick as I could clear my throat, I
answered the call. “Cassie?”

“Mitch, have you found the girl yet?”

I righted myself on the sofa and took a drink
from the glass of water I had on the end table. “I haven’t done
anything since I left. I’m suspended and that FBI agent is pissed
off at me, so she shut me out.”

“Personally or professionally?”

“You sure you’re not psychic?”

Cassie did not respond to my failed attempt
at humor.

“Both,” I said. “Sam is trying to latch
himself onto the investigation, but not having much luck. It’s a
dead end up here, both on the girl and the
murderer-kidnappers.”

“Bent,” she said.

She threw off my train of thought. I paused
for a few seconds. “What are you talking about?”