Without a Whisper

"Where's Chase?" I ask.

"Right here," I hear. Chase enters from the back, vaulting across the floor on a crutch. The man has always been clean shaven, but five days of pretending to be dead makes him look the part. His facial hair doesn't grow well. His face shows a level of exhaustion I've seen on him once, and that was when he lost his leg. Still, those eyes display an unholy level of focus. "Surprise."

"Your wife is going to fucking kill you," I say.

"I'll worry about that when I get home. Take it you got my message?" he asks.

"We found the boathouse and the car," I say.

"You happen to get my leg?" he asks.

"It's in evidence," I say, and he chuckles.

"Typical."

"What the fuck is going on Chase? You got us and the FBI scrambling to find you. Your pregnant wife is terrified. I get it you probably trust the cops here as much as I do, but why not just call us?" I ask. There were easier ways to do this.

"Because I knew someone would come looking for me. My dad basically guaranteed a task force was going to happen. You guys show up, start scaring the shit out of them, and maybe they start making some mistakes. When I'm not in that trunk, that's when they start panicking," Chase says. The Sheriff was biting his nails to the bone.

"Then what?" I ask incredulously.

"They start checking to see if the other bodies haven't been moved," he says with a small grin. One body was already not where it should have been. Chase surviving and being in hiding will make them paranoid. What did he find under their noses?

"They lead us right to them," I say. It kind of works in an insane Chase Kramner kind of way. "Who is 'they'?"

"For sure, Sheriff Knight and Mort Junior. They're the only two I remember seeing right before I was choked out and woke up in a trunk. Junior then drove my car to Philly," he says.

"You think they killed Katie?" I ask, and he nods.

"He all but said he did, and not just her. A fifteen-year-old brunette girl named Callie Young fell off the cliff forty years ago and died. I think she was dead before she fell, and the cliff helped cover it up. No water in the lungs, premortem bruising, and she didn't hit the rocks. Newspaper clippings I found took the statements of two of her friends who were present when she fell. An innocent accident. Two cousins named Arthur and Mort Knight.

"I dug through missing person reports going back four decades. In this county, I found at least seven others who match a general description. That's just the ones I found. Caucasian female, ages fifteen to twenty, brunettes. Sound familiar?"

"They got a type, and have been at it for decades," I say.

"I can't believe I was married to that sicko," Evie says, then looks at her young, Caucasian, brunette daughter. "That man barely touched me. I always had a feeling he wasn't interested in that way. Didn't think he'd have his sights set on something else."

"Why do Callie that way, but hide the others?" I ask.

"Callie was the first. First is often sloppy. They hadn't established a method yet. They panicked and threw her off a cliff. They stopped for a while, but when you get away with murder, you tend to see if you can do it again. A few years later, he starts doing it with a badge."

"Who else knows you're alive besides this table?" I ask.

"He'll be here in a minute," Chase says. As if on cue, a soft knock comes from the door. Evie nods to Stephanie, who leaves her chair to check the door. She peels open the blinds and allows Deputy Lionel into the building.

"Are you kidding me? You got one hell of a poker face," I say to Lionel. People typically don't survive an interview with me. Stephanie locks the door and returns to the table. Lionel remains standing and crosses his arms while leaning against the counter. "Someone fill me in."

"I know it sounds like the Sheriff had me drive around Chase to keeps tabs on him. Not quite. He put me on Chase so I couldn't keep tabs on the Sheriff. The Sheriff and I have never seen eye to eye. Neither did my brother."

"You were already suspicious of him?" I ask.

"I wouldn't say suspicious, but I knew something wasn't right about the man," Lionel says. "Spent years trying to figure it out. Caught me on more than one occasion looking into him." It's why the Sheriff didn't tell us about Lionel on his own. He doesn't trust Lionel.

"Lionel found me three days ago. Went looking for a stolen bike, because, what else does a small-town deputy do?" Chase says, and I turn to him. "Him and Lance did the research for me, seeing how I couldn't do it myself."

"Lance is involved too?" I ask. Then I remember the first person to mention Callie's Cliff was Lance. They've been nudging Yvonne and me in that direction from the start.

"My brother's solid," Lionel says, and I wave it along. This situation is already bizarre enough. "That thing you asked me to look for, found it. Junior made a mistake."

"Did he?" Chase asks.

"He took a toll road in your car with the fast pass and made a call within five minutes of each other. I can pin him and your car in the same ballpark in Philly," Lionel says, making Chase smile.

"Midge, you're up," Chase says, and I turn to him.

"Come again?" I ask. Don't act like I already know your plan.

--

Chase has pretended to be dead for the last five days, but in all actuality, was hiding in a trailer park until the right time. His family is politically affluent, so he knew the moment Jenn lost track of him, he'd be reported missing, and the response would be expedited because of his father. He let the Sheriff and his accomplices remain under the assumption of victory, just to see how they react when the carpet is pulled out from under them. Only Chase is this batshit crazy.

I tell Yvonne through text to keep eyes on the Sheriff discreetly. In case he gets worried that Chase found where the bodies are buried. My job for now is to squeeze something out of Mort Junior. If this duo has a weak link, it's him.

Lionel follows me to the pothole where he hides his car in the brush. I pull my car to the shoulder and call Good Knight Towing and Repair. When one of the Morts answers, I disguise my voice, trying my best to sound like Wendy. In thirty minutes, I see the tow truck coming.

Mort Junior recognizes me, and starts trying to make a u-turn, but Lionel zooms out from the side and blocks him. He's boxed. I watch his hands grip the steering wheel, and he only looks forward as Lionel leaves the squad car with his hand hovering over the gun. Lionel climbs the step to become face to face with the window.

"Kill it," Lionel says, swiping the blade of his hand across his neck, and steps off. The engine stops, and Junior is instructed to step down from the cab.

"What's this about?" Junior asks, but he's trembling.

"Get out," Lionel says, and Junior sighs and steps down to the road. "You got a good reason why you drove Mr. Kramner's car to Philly?"

"What?" Junior asks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You missed a spot," I say. "You wiped the car down fairly good. Forgot the door handle though. We got your prints on the car. That's not including the car took a toll road, and your cell is pinging on a tower in Philly." His prints haven't been checked yet, but he doesn't need to know.

"I'm not tracking," Junior attempts to lie. Fucking amateur.

"Mort, we know, cut the shit," Lionel says.

"You ever figure his car has a print because I fixed his car?" Junior asks.

"Doesn't explain the cell phone tower and the toll road," Lionel says, and steps toward him. Junior steps back, hitting the door of the cab. "Maybe you didn't know why you were told to do it, but you knew enough."

"Knew what?" Junior asks.

"Okay, Mort, play that game. Instead of a deal, you get a murder charge and a one-way trip to pound in the ass prison," Lionel says. Smart, leaving out attempted murder in case he doesn't know Chase is alive. I might have slipped that out.

"I was only told to drive his car to Philly..." Junior finally admits.

"...did you ever question why that was? Or do you already know what happened to Mr. Kramner?" Lionel interjects.

"He just said drive the car," Junior says.

"Who is he?" I ask. Mort shakes his head like he's more scared of this person than us. Honestly, he probably is. "Let's try a different question. Did the Sheriff tell you to do it?" He nods, slowly.

"Okay Mort. I believe you," Lionel says, and steps away from him. "She'll take more convincing than me however."

Mort's eyes quickly slide to me, then back to Lionel. Time for the man-hating, angry lesbian, bad cop.

"Over here fuck face," I say, and his eyes come back. "Who owns the boathouse where the Buick Skylark was hidden?"

"My mom," Junior says, and it's easy to see he's finally telling the truth. He buckled to pressure fast. "They've been divorced for years but my mom still leases the house out. She let me keep the boat house seeing how I stayed in town. The name for the property owner is Janet Wells."

"So you put the car there?" I ask, and he nods. "Katie wasn't the only victim, was she?" He shakes his head. "How many?"

"I don't know..."

"...how fucking many?" Lionel asks, and he flinches. He doesn't know how many? I don't think he killed anyone of them. His job was to only clean up the mess.

"I don't know. My dad only had me drive the car away in the event that's how they ended up in Whisper."

"Your dad?" Lionel asks, and Mort looks like he didn't mean to say that.

"How many times have you driven a car away?" I ask.

"At least five times," he says, and I snap. What if Wendy got stuck in this town? How many families think their daughters just ran away? How many young lives went out without a Whisper? How many are just a picture on Morts wall...son of a bitch. It was right there the whole time. Those pictures are trophies.

"And you didn't say a goddamn thing to anyone!" I shout. I grab his shirt and push him against his truck. If he really wanted to, he could toss me away because I'm a buck twenty soaking wet, but he's too scared to try.

"Who the fuck do I tell? The Sheriff?" Junior asks, and I pause. Legitimate question if I'm being honest. "You're a cop, tell me how hard it is to get a conviction without a body. You think I didn't want to tell someone?"

"Did he also tell you to put Mr. Kramner in the trunk of Katie's car and push it off a cliff?" I ask, and his nod is frantic.

"I didn't want to. I never wanted to do any of it. Katie was a nice girl. Other people always treated me like shit, but Katie was always sweet. It's why I kept the car. I couldn't get rid of her that way. There was never anyone to tell."

"Tell us now. Where are the bodies?" I ask.

"I don't know, I've never been involved in that part," Junior says, and I believe him. He'd tell us if he knew.

"You gotta give us something. I can't promise you immunity, but it'll go a long way," I say, and Junior tries to think as I let his shirt go. He sits on the step of the truck and starts crying. Hard, heavy tears that shake his body to the core. Junior never wanted to be a part of anything like this. He was partly protecting his father and scared of the Sheriff. I almost forget that Lionel is his cousin considering how hard he's coming at him.

"My dad and the Sheriff go hunting together," he gasps between tears. "Sometimes, they come back covered in blood, but without a catch to show for it."

"Where do they hunt?" Lionel asks.

"Sheriff owns some land west of the lake, they do it there. Small hunting cabin, I've been there a few times. Give me a map and I'll point it out," Junior says. Lionel goes to the car to get a map, while I keep my eyes on Junior. "I wanted to tell someone."

"I know, but your hesitancy is the reason people are dead," I say, and he hiccups. "This is your chance to make it right."

--

Wednesday -- April 15, 2020: First Day Found

-Chase Kramner-

Mort Junior buckled like a belt under interrogation to Lionel and Midge. I've seen her in a room with a suspect. More than once I've watched her make hardened killers cry like little bitches. She's ruthless in those situations and knows just where to put the knife in and twist.

Mort and Arthur Knight go hunting often. I have a feeling if I cross those dates with missing person reports I'll find some overlapping timelines. The Sheriff had me thrown off a cliff because he couldn't know if I told anyone about the car, or if I took a picture and it uploaded to a cloud because that just what phones do these days. Probably figured he gets rid of the car and me in one move. One detail was straining my brain to explain; if Mort Junior drove the car so often, why didn't he get rid of her car as well? The Sheriff seemed genuinely surprised the car was there, as if he truly had no idea. He's a talented liar, but that seemed to truly shock him.

Midge debriefs me, and says Mort Junior, while complicit, is not a killer. I believe Junior kept the car because he liked Katie too much to part with her belongings. He likely came to the boathouse to hear her voice again.

With directions from Lionel, I make my crippled self deep into the woods again. By dusk, I've arrived at the shack with nothing but a crutch. A small one room hunting shed to stage equipment and process the kills. I have a feeling they were hunting a different kind of game altogether. The foliage around the shack is thick evergreen, hiding it from outside eyes. The door is locked, but nothing a few shoulder slams couldn't handle. It's old, and cracks after three hard slams, even lacking proper leverage with two legs.

The shack is full of skinning equipment. Blades, saws, other instruments. Hooks to hang the carcass. A small table is toward the back, with shelves that hold hunting equipment, nets for blinds, decoys, feed, and doe urine.

Stephanie got me a burner phone, and I call the Sheriff from the phone number I had written down and wait while it rings.

"Who's this?" Art asks after five rings. I hear chatter all around him, so he's likely still around people he'd rather not have this conversation in earshot of.

"Stephanie's boyfriend, Hunter," I say, and he pauses before laughing a little.

"Hunter, you are full of surprises," Art says. "Mort was right, should have just put a bullet in you."

"You should have," I say, and sit on a chair at the table.

"Why don't you come on out? Everyone is really worried over here," he says. "Why haven't you. Didn't know who to call?"

"I still need to find Katie Grossman," I say, and I can almost hear him smile over the phone. "Love your shack by the way. Real quiet out here. I barely had enough bars to make this call." Art's breathing is all I can hear for over ten full seconds. "Let's play hot or cold, you know that game, right?"

"I'm familiar."

"Katie Grossman. Am I hot, or cold?" I say, and his breathing becomes louder. Like he's grinding his teeth. "I'm lava, aren't I?"

"You can dig all the fuck you want, you won't find anything," he says.

"Thanks for telling me to dig," I say, and look at the shovel in the corner. "There's even a shovel for me already." I hang up without another word.

If this guy has trophies, he'd hide them here. I get to work flipping this place upside down. Knocking on the walls for hollow spots. Loose floorboards. Under and over everything. I search the outside but work my way back inside. After a solid hour, the sun is gone, and I'm stuck looking with a flashlight. Art could be here any second, but I push on with the search.

Just when I think he's careful not to keep anything from his victims, I look up at the triangle ceiling above me. There's a space to store addition items on a platform created by a piece of plywood. A thin rope is conveniently dangling just at arm's reach. I grip the rope and pull. Something scrapes against the surface, until I see a small box, no bigger than a jewelry chest. Using the chair, I balance on one foot, and pull it down.

Keychains. Cosmetic compacts. Jewelry, like rings, necklaces, bracelets and earrings. All labeled with tags tied around them with string. I count eighteen separate items with names on them and a number. Paula, 11. Lucy, 13. Tammy, 7. Rachel, 3. Allison, 14. I also see Cassie, 1. Her item to represent her place in the box is an old bottle cap from a soft drink. I find it. Katie, 12. Her item, is an expended bullet. Before I pick it up, I put on a glove and slowly lift it to eyelevel. .38 caliber if I had to guess.

Katie shot the Sheriff. She fought back, but it likely wasn't enough considering her absence in the world, and her name in the box.

A twig snaps from outside and turn off the flashlight.

"I know you're there, get on out," Art says from outside. It took some time to shake his tail, but he got here just like I wanted.

"How'd you do it?" I ask.

"I liked to pull them over," Sheriff says. "Mort and I have a healthy competition. See who can get the best numbers. I was hoping one day to get Stephanie out here. Our tradition is hunting season, we hunt. Some years you leave the season without using a tag. Some years the doe just walk right into your scope."

"Callie Young?" I ask.

"She couldn't hold her soda," he says, and I think of the bottle that went with that bottle cap. They drugged it. "With what we did to her, amazing anyone bought the cliff story. Fucking eighties, you know?"

"What's the plan Art? Come here, kill me the right way, and bury me next to the rest? What makes you think someone doesn't know I'm here?"

"Thought crossed my mind," Art says, and steps into the doorway. "Figured the rug muncher already knows. Cute little dyke, little old for me, but I have made exceptions from time to time. I gotta know what that's like. Maybe I'd even be her first poke."

"I've had worse," Midge says from behind him with her gun drawn. He knew he walked into a trap, and he still came. "Thanks for the confessional soliloquy."

"I knew I was done, matter of when, not if. The moment that trunk opened, I knew it was over," Art says, and displays his surrender with his hands up. "Figured, why not leave a parting gift."

"What do you mean?" I ask. His phone rings in his pocket. I order him to give it me, slowly. He pulls it out and I answer the call from Mort Senior.

"Got the one you always wanted," Senior says, and remember what Art just said, and drop the phone. He always wanted to take Stephanie hunting.

"Is anyone watching Stephanie?" I ask, and I see Midge's silhouette freeze, and slowly shake her head. "Where is she?"

"Where's who?" Art asks.

"Stephanie, where is she?" I ask.

"Ask Mort," he says, and without warning, turns around quickly toward Midge and grasps for his gun. Midge tags him with a controlled pair that echoes in the woods for over five seconds. Damn she's a good shot because that could have easily hit me. His body completes the rotation he started, and he collapses to his side.

"Shit," I say, and check his pulse. Art is there by a thread. I roll him to his back, and he looks up at me with a shit eating grin. He laughs in my face until he dies.

--

Midge frantically called Yvonne to tell her someone needed to go Stephanie's trailer. We wait with Art's body until someone else can get out here and start collection. Yvonne calls back within ten minutes and says Stephanie's trailer was empty, but there were signs of a struggle. The door was kicked in, and the living room looked like two people were tossing each other around it. No Stephanie though.

An FBI team takes an hour to find the shack, Midge saying she'll stay behind while I go to help with finding Stephanie. Yvonne was with the group, so I grab a ride with her back to town.

"You haven't changed a bit," Yvonne says as she carefully drives the car not suited for this terrain along the trail. "Gave your wife a pretty good scare."