Page 35 of Last Seen

Chapter Twenty-Three

Time has no real meaning anymore. Halley goes straight home from the station in a state of suspended animation, a drumbeat of thoughts propelling her. Kater is dead. You’re next. Kater is dead. You’re next.

It took a lot of convincing for Early to let her leave at all. He wants to put her in protective custody, but that feels like making herself a sitting duck. She wants to move, to be free to fight this battle head on instead of hiding behind the police.

What she really wants is to get the hell out of Marchburg. And in the morning, once she makes sure her father is going to be safe, that is exactly what she’s going to do. She refuses to sit back and wait for a stranger to visit her and shove a knife into her chest.

But she isn’t going to be empty handed.

Deep in the recesses of her father’s closet, there is a weapon, and after giving Ailuros a quick snuggle, she heads there.

A personal-protection Smith her dad has kept it cleaned and in good shape.

There is no sense in having a weapon if you don’t treat it properly; he always told her that growing up.

Halley knows how to shoot. Using the ubiquitous southern hunting rifles of friends in town, they used to go deep into the woods and take target practice.

Her dad would set up cans in a row along a fence post or rock outcropping, and she would take aim, pulling the trigger, hitting can after can with metallic pings and whoops of excitement.

She loved those outings. He’d offered to teach her to hunt properly—he grew up in the rolling hills of rural Tennessee and was more than familiar with the pastime—but she refused.

She couldn’t see her way clear to take a life for sport.

If it was their only source of sustenance, that was one thing, but they had a Piggly Wiggly right down the street, and there was no reason to go through the hassle of killing and dressing their own meat.

But the shooting itself ... that was something she enjoyed. It took concentration and practice, two things she excelled at. And being married to an ATF agent meant there were guns around all the time. She and Theo often spent Saturday afternoons at the range.

When she was younger, her dad claimed he didn’t have a gun in the house.

But she’d found this one years ago and kept that from him.

She felt better knowing he had one, truth be told, especially when she moved to DC.

She has her own contingent of self-defense weapons in her bag—pepper spray, a shrill whistle, and a pocketknife—plus plenty of self-defense classes over the years, but that doesn’t feel like nearly enough now.

This hunk of metal? It brings her confidence.

She doesn’t have a concealed carry permit, but the laws in Virginia allow open carry, so she isn’t terribly concerned.

Granted, she will be transporting a weapon across state lines, and that might get her in trouble, but she isn’t about to make a move without that gun stashed in the main compartment of her purse for easy access.

She loads the chambers, gives the barrel a spin, clicks it into place, and sights down on her dad’s favorite sweater.

“Come at me now, bitch.”

Despite her desire to get on the road early, Halley sleeps later than she wanted. She needed the rest; she feels sharper than she has in days. She takes care of the cat, gives him a good brushing, downs her coffee, and is heading out the door when Theo calls.

“Are you okay? What’s happening?”

Halley fills him in, leaving out only the part about the note with her name on it.

If she tells him that, he’ll be on a plane to Virginia before she can blink, and going AWOL isn’t taken lightly, no matter the service you’re in.

She takes heart from the knowledge that he would throw everything away for her and leaves it there.

“You think someone is after you in Marchburg?”

“Don’t think. Know. There’s no question in my mind. Which is why I’m getting the hell out of Dodge.”

“Where are you going to go? Back home?”

“Brockville.”

“Um, may I remind you that your sister went missing from that place?”

“I know. That’s why I have to go there, Theo. I have to find out what happened. I just have a gut sense that it holds the answers.”

“Can you wait until this weekend? I’ll be home Sunday, I can go with you.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to stick around here.

And honestly? I need to do this now. Before anyone else is hurt.

Before anyone else is killed because of me.

I can’t let Kater’s death be in vain. And I can’t just sit here waiting for them to come for me.

A moving target is a lot harder to hit. You know that. ”

“Yeah, but ... Please, Halley. Wait for me, at least. It’s just a couple of days.”

“I’ll be back in DC by then. Promise. I’m going to Brockville, then straight home.”

“At least take someone with you from town. Don’t you have an old boyfriend or two hanging around who can help protect you?”

“I sure do. His name is Smith Wesson. And he’s the best protector I could have.”

She can tell he’s fighting back a frustrated laugh. “Seriously, Theo, you know I can handle myself. Now that I have my guard up, no one’s going to sneak in and surprise me. And if they do? Pow.”

“Pow. Shit, Halley. Be careful.”

“You know I will. I can’t just sit here, Theo. You know that. And I’ve been trained to do this. I’m going to hunt down Cat and find out why she killed my mother. I know there are answers out there.”

“Just ... be careful. I love you, girl.” But this time he hangs up before she can hesitate or respond, protecting himself.

She stares at the black screen of her phone. So he loves her. Again. Twice in one week.

Months of nothing but arguing over her desire to have kids, then him pulling away, avoiding her, avoiding the conversation, or blowing up at her with the strain.

Months of her heart shriveling up every time he kissed her good night on the forehead instead of the mouth, then him not coming home until well after she was asleep, then just not bothering at all, sleeping on the couch in his office.

She finally gets sick of their impasse and leaves, and now he’s all sorts of regretful? What did he think was going to happen?

It took her leaving for real to wake him up, apparently. She can’t decide if this is good or not. If he wants a second chance and will be open to her wishes, or if he just misses having her around to walk the dog.

Do not get distracted, Halley. Get out while you can.

She tops up the cat’s food and is cautious locking up and getting to the Jeep.

There is black fingerprint dust on the passenger door, the hood.

A crime scene tech has been here, silent as the grave.

She hopes whoever it is, they’re long gone.

If she’s not careful, Early will sic Meredith on her and she’ll never get out of here.

At the hospital, Anne is sitting with her dad, and she has to admit that gives her some relief. There’s security here, at least at the entrances, and she wants them all on their toes.

Her father doesn’t fight with her this time.

If anything, he seems relieved that she’s leaving.

Kater’s death has spooked everyone. They chat for a while, and she arranges times when she will call, and safe words, everything she can think of that will make him feel better about her heading out. Finally, he nods.

“Just be careful, jellybean. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Anne, you’ll keep an eye on him, right?”

“You know I will.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

She kisses and hugs them both goodbye, and at the desk ignores the frantic wave of the nurse on duty, who she knows just wants to question her about Kater. She can’t do this right now. She has a mission.

In the hospital parking lot, Halley checks the Jeep up and down for anything that might be suspicious, like a tracker, and finds it clean.

Watching over her shoulder for anyone following, she drives down the mountain, eyes blurring with tears when she drives past the crime scene tape strung across Kater’s driveway.

One of Early’s officers is going to report seeing her Jeep, she has no doubt about that, but hopefully the chief will leave her be.

She needs to do this. She knows the retreat will have all the answers. Knows it deep in her soul.

The drive goes smoothly. She is certain no one is following her. She pats her purse grimly, comforted by the hard metal. No surprise will be a match for this.

She listens to her playlists and thinks it’s a hoot when R.E.M. comes on. She sings the lyrics and, in a perverse joke, inserts her own. “Don’t go back to Brockville ...”

Her phone rings as she crosses into Tennessee, the car’s speaker kicking in when she answers.

“Halley James? This is Detective Mike Cooper, Metro Nashville. You called about a case from 1989?”

“Yes, I did. My mother’s murder. I was hoping to talk to the detective who worked the case.”

“He’s no longer with us, I’m afraid. I see some of the file was shared already?”

“Yes, the crime scene documents. I’m looking for something else, specifically. My sister was the perpetrator. She was caught and pled guilty to the crime. I was hoping for transcripts from her interviews with the detectives. She’s missing. I’m trying to find her, filling in the blanks.”

“I understand. I took a quick look myself. The case has been archived. They’re working to get all the old cases online, digitize everything. You’ll need to fill out a formal request from records, all that. You have an email? I can send you a link to the form. Afraid that’s all I can do right now.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She rattles off the address, and he repeats it back.

“I’ll get this to you right away. There is one other thing. You said she’s missing—there’s a missing persons report on file.”

“From Boston, yes.”

“No, from Brockville, Tennessee. Dated June of 2002. Filed by a woman named Tammy Boone.”

This is news. Someone else missed Cat.

“That’s a huge help, thank you. I’m actually on my way to Brockville now. I’ll see if she’s around to talk.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“I understand. Thanks for the assist, Detective.”

So much for that. The wheels of justice continue turning. Even when a sixteen-year-old pleads guilty to murder, the case files are put in a box labeled “Closed” and left to gather dust on a shelf.

The sun is just starting to descend when she takes the exit off the highway and points the Jeep east. She winds up a mountain that reminds her of Marchburg, switchbacks and steep drops and rocks and trees, then crests the hill and starts down.

She does this five times, driving into the darkening sky, until, as she starts the last descent, she sees the great stone entrance, flanked by a well-tended sign with looping scrolls around the letters.

Welcome to Brockville!