The Siren and the Specter Read online

  Jessica’s eyes remained downcast.

  Into the silence he said, “I guess I told you about it because if Honey shows up naked, you won’t think I’ve got a thing for her.”

  “She really that rapacious?”

  “I’ve met aggressive women before, but she’s on another level. Those hands of hers were everywhere. I felt like I was fending off that Indian goddess, the one with all the hands?”

  “Durga.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You know, if I were Hindu, I wouldn’t want you sexualizing one of my deities.”

  “Are you Hindu?”

  She gave him a look. “Do you care?”

  They turned right again, on a residential street this time, trending in the direction of where they’d parked.

  “Believe what you want to believe,” he said.

  “And you’ll keep on doubting.”

  “Hey….”

  “It’s your god, isn’t it? Doubt?”

  “Come on.”

  She halted in front of him. “Isn’t it?”

  He had to stop to keep from running into her. The old-growth trees lining the road and the height of the historical homes cast her face in a softer light, and though she was youthful to begin with, in this muted apricot glow she looked young enough to pass for one of his undergrads.

  No, a voice in his head amended, not one of your students. Another young woman…Anna….

  “What?” she asked.

  You remind me of someone, he almost said. Instead, he took her hand, got them moving again.

  “I haven’t held hands with anyone in years,” she said.

  “We could stop.”

  “I’d prefer that.”

  At his shocked expression, she nudged him with her shoulder. “Kidding! Sheesh, David. Are you always this serious?”

  Only when I think of Anna, he thought.

  * * *

  Because of the packed forest choking the countryside, David and Jessica didn’t see the flashing lights until they had nearly reached the Alexander House, and then they only noticed the lights because of the way they reflected on the Rappahannock and the trees across the river.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Jessica said.

  David leaned closer to the windshield. He could see plainly that the flashing lights weren’t on his property. Given the direction from which they were emanating, they could only be coming from the Shelbys’.

  His first thought: Dammit, Honey, what did you do now?

  His second: The kids.

  This thought galvanized him, compelled him to stop the Camry too abruptly, to shove the gearshift into park and fling off his seat belt.

  To her credit, Jessica didn’t question him as he took off toward the path that connected the properties. Judging from the sounds of her footfalls, she was jogging a little ways behind him. Soon the property opened up, and it was worse than he thought: five police cars, two others he figured were unmarked cruisers. There was a fire truck, an ambulance, and no sign at all of any Shelbys.

  Did you kill him, Honey? Did you kill your husband?

  David pushed the thought away, spotted Georgia Harkless on the front porch addressing a loose semicircle of cops on the grass. Several of the cops stood taller than Harkless even though she was perched on the porch.

  When she saw David and Jessica, she held up a forefinger but didn’t pause her monologue: “…and I’ll need you to grab as many volunteers as you can. That’ll start at dawn tomorrow. Balagtas, Prettyman, you take two men each into the woods to the north and south of the lane.” The sheriff turned to a stone-faced man with shoulders like an offensive lineman. “Sergeant Speaker, no reason for an Amber Alert yet, but if you hear of any suspicious activity, please declare one immediately. No need to confer about it.”

  Oh God, David thought. Which kid is it?

  Sergeant Speaker nodded, told his officers to get moving, and soon three state police cars were rumbling into the forest. Shortly after that, several more officers fanned out into the yard and entered the adjacent forest, their flashlights spearing the dense underbrush.

  Which one? David wondered as he approached Harkless, who’d taken out a walkie-talkie and had her head cocked, listening to the scratchy voices coming through.

  When he reached the porch, Harkless twisted off the walkie-talkie and said without looking at him, “Can you account for your whereabouts over the past twenty-four hours?”

  “He’s been with me since noon,” Jessica said.

  “I didn’t ask you, Jessie. Plus, I happen to know you weren’t with Mr. Caine between five thirty and six because I was with him.”

  Jessie? David thought and gave her a look, which she shook off with visible annoyance.

  “Who’s missing?” David asked, but before Harkless could speak, he got his answer.

  Mike Jr. was watching him through the glass panel beside the main door.

  Oh man, David thought. Poor Ivy.

  His throat constricted. “How long has she been gone?”

  “Can’t answer that until you take me through your day.”

  He rested his hands on his hips. “You really think I abducted her?”

  “Work backward,” she said. “You’ve been out with Ms. Green since, what, six thirty?”

  It occurred to him he hadn’t even known her last name was Green.

  “David picked me up at six forty-three,” Jessica said. “He was late.”

  He glanced at her.

  She shrugged. “You were.”

  “That’s because I was mauled in the shower,” he said and looked at Harkless. “Which you’ll no doubt remember. That takes us back to, what, five o’clock?”

  “He was with me before that,” Jessica said. “I went for a swim off my dock at around noon, and that’s about when we started talking.”

  Harkless shifted her gaze to David. “Before that?”

  “I was at Ralph Hooper’s last night from eleven p.m. until well into the morning.”

  “Mr. Hooper was with you?”

  He considered making a smartass remark but decided now was not the time. “Yes, he was there too.”

  “‘Well into the morning,’ she repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “Ten? Ten thirty?”

  “Which is it?”

  He thought about it, ran a hand through his hair. “Ten, I guess.”

  “No one with you between ten and noon?” she said.

  David stiffened. “That’s not a long time.”

  Harkless didn’t respond.

  Faint static crackled from the sheriff’s walkie-talkie. She dialed the volume higher, listened. Sergeant Speaker was barking at one of his underlings, but the words were lost in a sea of white noise. How anyone communicated that way, David had no idea.

  Harkless dialed the volume down and stepped off the porch. Standing at ground level before David and Jessica, she seemed less like a vengeful executioner and more like a human being.

  “Near as we can tell, Ivy went missing some time in the night. Or this morning, before her folks finally hauled their sorry asses out of bed.”

  “When was the last time she was seen?” Jessica asked.

  “That’s foggy,” Harkless said. “Mike Jr. claims she wasn’t in her bed when he got done playing videogames around midnight, but Honey says she tucked Ivy in at nine o’clock after reading her some bedtime stories.”

  “Bullshit,” David muttered.

  “Most likely,” Harkless agreed. “Only thing Honey reads is the label on her vodka bottle.”

  David made a fist, tapped it against his thigh.

  “Can we help, Georgia?” Jessica asked. “You need people to search?”

  “We’re gonna try tonight,” Harkless said. “But finding her is gonna be a
hell of a thing, even if she is in these woods.”

  Something dawned in Jessica’s face. “You don’t think she’s in the woods.”

  Harkless glanced down at her walkie-talkie. “Kid goes missing near the river, it’s usually one thing. We’re treating it like she got lost, but…the divers are coming at dawn.”

  David’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t considered the possibility she’d drowned, but now that the thought had been planted, all sorts of grisly images assailed him: Ivy, having filled up her coloring books, wades into the water. The girl splashing around. Ivy wandering a little too far and realizing the water is deeper than she thought. Over her head. Floundering….

  “My God,” David said, moving away from them. Hot tears stung his eyes; an invisible blowtorch burned the tender lining of his throat.

  “David,” Harkless said.

  He drew in a shuddering breath, tried to keep his eyes off the Rappahannock, which now resembled a lurking sea monster, eager to drag helpless victims down.

  “You wanna do something for me?” Harkless asked.

  “Anything,” he breathed.

  Harkless said something to Jessica, and a few seconds later, Harkless was opening the door and ushering Mike Jr. outside. The boy looked like he’d lost weight, which was extraordinary given his already gaunt state. It was dim on the porch, but David could see well enough the purple half-moons under Mike Jr.’s eyes, the pitiful way his lips trembled. Gone was the defiant miscreant from their early interactions, in its place a fallen thing, the husk of a child whose essential self had been torn out violently by the roots.

  “…my fault,” Mike Jr. was saying. “Ivy bein’ gone is my fault.”

  Harkless started to speak, but it was Jessica who squatted before the boy.

  “Can you show me your videogames?”

  Mike Jr. sniffed. “You any good?”

  “Probably not,” Jessica conceded.

  “Ivy sucks. We always fail co-op missions because of her.”

  A sharp pain stabbed David’s heart.

  “I’ll just watch you play,” Jessica said. “How would that be?”

  “Dad says watching someone play videogames is the most boring thing in the world.”

  David decided that, for once, he agreed with Michael Shelby.

  “I can learn by watching you,” Jessica said.

  “It don’t work like that,” Mike Jr. said, “but you can watch if you want.”

  “Are your parents in the family room?” Harkless asked the boy.

  “Mom’s shitfaced,” he said. “I don’t know where Dad is.”

  “Jessica?” Harkless said. “Can you….”

  Jessica nodded, and they started through the doorway, her hand on Mike Jr.’s shoulder. “What game are you playing now?”

  “The new Grand Theft Auto,” Mike Jr. said.

  David and Sheriff Harkless exchanged a look.

  “That’s lovely,” David said.

  Harkless watched sourly after Jessica and the boy. She ran her tongue around the inside of her cheek. Glanced at David. “You ready to aid me in an official police investigation?”

  * * *

  Honey was on the couch, an almost-empty glass wedged in the crotch of her sundress, which had ridden way up her thighs, the half-empty bottle positioned between her bare feet. She was staring at the blank TV screen.

  “Where’s your husband, Mrs. Shelby?” Harkless asked.

  Instead of answering, Honey raised the glass, drained it, set to munching on a hunk of ice.

  Harkless crossed to the couch, jerked the glass from Honey’s hand, and chucked it at the wall. It shattered, the glass shards pelting the side of the projection TV. Honey looked after the glass sluggishly, no emotion registering on her face. Harkless bent, retrieved the vodka bottle – ‘Grey Goose,’ the label read – and without hesitation dumped its entire contents over Honey’s head.

  Honey’s arms shot out in surprise, her mouth open. David couldn’t see her eyes because the vodka had matted her hair down over them.

  “Mr. Caine,” Harkless said, “I’ve got a toolbox in the trunk of my cruiser. Please fetch it for me.”

  David started out of the room, but paused. “Which car is yours?”

  Harkless looked at him sweetly. “The one that says ‘Sheriff’ on the door.”

  David went out. The toolbox was where Harkless said it would be, and within a minute he was returning, the heavy tan box banging against the side of his leg.

  He was just in time to see Harkless leading Michael Shelby down the hallway, his left earlobe pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

  “What are you doing?” Shelby asked, reaching the family room. “Why are— Honey, you’re soaking wet.”

  Honey uttered something obscene-sounding.

  Shelby started to speak, but Harkless squeezed his ear harder, eliciting a high-pitched moan. Harkless whipped him toward the couch, where he jounced down beside his wife.

  Shelby rubbed his ear with one hand, touched the sectional cushion with the other. “Why, the couch is drenched!”

  Staring down at the Shelbys, Harkless said, “Open the toolbox, Mr. Caine.”

  David bent and unfolded the clasps. He raised the lid, revealing a tray of wrenches and screwdrivers, but Harkless said, “The main compartment. Under the trays.”

  David lifted the trays. In the main compartment of the toolbox he found an embarrassment of heavy tools: a rubber mallet, an enormous adjustable wrench that showed some rust on the handle, a sturdy black hammer, bungee cords, and several other implements. David was reminded of Mary Poppins’s bottomless suitcase.

  “Hand me those bungee cords, Mr. Caine.” He started to comply, but she amended, “The red ones, not the green.”

  He dropped the green bungee cords, which were shorter, and selected four red ones, each of which was as thick as his middle finger and as long as his forearm.

  Wordlessly, Harkless set to wrapping up Honey Shelby in a pair of bungees, one for her arms and torso, the other around her knees. Honey was too stunned to react while Harkless was binding her upper body, but when the sheriff started in on her legs, Honey began to kick. Without hesitation, Harkless smacked Honey an open-handed blow on the cheek. Honey’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t kick at Harkless again.

  When the sheriff was done winding the red bungee around Honey’s considerable legs, she said, “Mr. Caine?”

  David jarred to attention, set to confining Michael Shelby in the remaining bungee cords. He thought Shelby would fight, but the man remained docile throughout, maybe figuring if Honey was cowed by the sheriff, he stood no chance.

  When David finished, he stood beside the sheriff.

  “First thing we need to get straight,” Harkless said, “is you two are pieces of shit.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Shelby said.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Harkless said.

  Shelby shut the fuck up.

  Harkless turned to Honey. “You got somethin’ to say, Little Miss Shower Rapist?”

  David didn’t think it was possible, but Honey’s jaw drooped even lower.

  Shelby frowned at his wife. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Piss off,” Honey told him.

  “You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just cuff you,” Harkless began.

  Honey and Michael looked at each other.

  “It’s because,” the sheriff explained, “I only use those in case of an arrest. And you two aren’t officially under arrest.”

  Slurring a little, Shelby said, “Our daughter has been kidnapped. How dare you imply we’re in trouble.”

  “Oh, you’re in trouble all right,” Harkless said. “This is one of the worst cases of negligence I’ve ever seen. How old’s your daughter?”

  A beat. Then Honey muttered, �
��Almost five. Her birthday’s in December.”

  The corners of Harkless’s mouth turned down. “This is June, you dipshit.”

  Shelby said, “What’s her age—”

  “Four years old,” Harkless said, “and you didn’t even know she was gone this morning.”

  “Kids like to roam,” Shelby said.

  “Near one of the biggest damned rivers in the state.”

  Honey looked at Harkless. “You don’t think she’s….”

  “Drowned? I hope to hell not, but let’s talk some more about you two assholes. What were you doin’ when you were supposed to be making your kids breakfast?”

  Shelby muttered something unintelligible.

  “Sleeping it off, I reckon.” Harkless glanced at David. “How many times you witnessed the Shelbys inebriated in front of their kids?”

  “Every time I’ve been here,” David answered, “day or night.”

  Honey fixed him with a baleful look. “You don’t know what you’re messin’ with.”

  “What about lunch?” Harkless asked. “Your daughter was gone all morning, but you just figured she was sleeping in? Didn’t need any breakfast? Not even a goddamned glass of milk?”

  David glanced at Harkless and realized the sheriff’s eyes were moist.

  Shelby said, “We have Lunchables, goldfish crackers. Ivy knows where that stuff is.”

  Harkless slapped him.

  So loud was the crack of her palm on his cheek and so violent the blow that for a moment, no one in the room reacted.

  It was Harkless who spoke first. “Normal people – responsible people – they realize their four-year-old is missing, they give it maybe an hour. Two, tops. But probably not that long if they live by a river.”

  Shelby watched the sheriff in horrified fascination. Honey’s expression was unreadable.

  Harkless went on. “They’re frantic. They look everywhere. They call me by noon. One o’clock at the very latest.”

  Shelby scowled, looked like he was going to argue, but Harkless didn’t give him a chance. She seized him by the face and squeezed so that his lips bunched together like a kid pretending to be a chubby baby.

  “You didn’t call my office until nine tonight. That’s eight hours you wasted guzzling vodka and grabbing people’s peckers.”