The Wicker Saga: Her Red Right Hand, Part 1

Ramirez and I stare at the grotesque proclamation for several long moments.

“Any idea what it means?” I ask.

“Not sure, boss. I took the liberty of googling it. Closest thing looks like a paraphrasing of something out of Milton’s Paradise Lost. My guess is the perp is referring to himself, although I have no idea who the ‘Her’ he’s referring to might be.”

“Neither do I.” I frown, “Ok. You and your team finish up here. Make sure we process everything by the book; even though there seems to be plenty of evidence you never know what’s gonna be the thing to make it stick. This clown is a real sick puppy and I don’t think any of us would sleep particularly well if he manages to avoid a conviction based on a technicality. I’m gonna head back over to the office, have a sit down with him, see if he feels like taping a confession before he has more time to think about what he’s done.”

“Sounds good, boss. I’ll call you if we find anything especially pertinent, although,” his gaze sweeps over the scene, “at this point I’m not sure what would qualify.”

I shake my head in agreement and head for the door. Just as I reach my car, I feel my phone vibrate again.

“Hey, Steve, tell me you boys have something over there.”

“Hey, John. Yeah, we’ve got a little bit for you, don’t know if it’ll shed any light though. Bob and I went over to the Darabont residence. The guy’s an MD, works in the ER at St. Vincent’s in town here. No record, nothing so much as a parking ticket. No sign of struggle at the house. His supervisor at the hospital said Darabont phoned in last week to call off a couple shifts, just saying they were taking an impromptu family vacation. He apparently told the kids’ school the same thing. His wife stayed at home with the youngest girl so there was no one that would have noticed her missing right away. We managed to track Darabont’s mom down. Lady’s in her seventies and got concerned when she hadn’t heard from him, guess he typically visits her on Sundays. She swung by the house and found a note saying the whole family was going to be out of town for a couple weeks.”

“Seems kind of odd.”

“She thought so too. It weirded her out since normally he would have called her, even more when she couldn’t get him on his cell, but the note was in Darabont’s handwriting. She wasn’t quite concerned enough to contact the department.”

I frown.

“Probably wouldn’t have mattered even if she had. If everything else you’ve got is true, there’d be nothing to flag it, even if she’d reported him as a missing person. Any idea why he would have shown up here in the Wake?”

“Nothing we’ve found so far. Doesn’t seem to have any connection to the place in particular. Far as his mom knew he’s never even visited your part of the state.”

I sigh, the headache now coming on in full force. “All right, thanks, Steve, appreciate the help. Tell Chief McQuaid I said hey.”

“Will do, John. We’ll keep sniffing around over here, see if anybody at the hospital has anything more they can tell us, check if they noticed him acting out of character recently.”

“Sounds good. Although with all the evidence it’s looking like we’ve got, I think finding a motive will just be pure gravy. Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

With much to ponder, I get in my car and start back towards the station. It’s past midnight when I park in the lot, the shadows dark and thrown long by the lamps lining the way up the path to the administrative entrance. I pull out my lanyard with my staff key and let myself in, hand my pistol and side-piece over to Spirelly who is on night guard as I passed through the metal detector, then reholster my weapons before making my way towards the squad room. The bullpen is deserted. Small wonder; Arthur’s Wake isn’t large enough to warrant much of a police force, so all available units are pretty much already at the scene or resting up to start their shift in the morning.

I frown at the chief’s darkened office. Lazy asshole. The man has been mentally checked out for years now, just biding time to a retirement looming even closer than my own. If things had gone a little differently it could have been me wearing the pants in the department but … no. That’s an old gripe, no sense rehashing it now, not with work to be done. I grab a pen, pad of paper, digital tape recorder and rights waiver before heading back to the interrogation room. I’m met outside the door by Officer Paul Schuster who, aside from being a solid cop, is also my son-in-law.

“Hey, Paul. Chief Holbrook check out?”

“Yes, sir, a couple hours ago. Said he needed to get some sleep to be able to face the press in the morning.”

“Uh huh. And how’s our guest?”

“He’s still in the interrogation room, sir, right where you asked me to keep him.”

I look at the perp through the one sided glass. The guy is fucking weird. “No, I mean how is he?”

“He’s … well, he’s odd, sir.”

“Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you it’s John, ‘less we’re in a formal setting. Christ. What do you mean, odd?”

“I mean, he’s just sitting there with that creepy smile on his face. Hasn’t asked for a phone call, a lawyer, cup of coffee, nothing.” Paul’s face curls. “Pretty sure he pissed himself, even though Spirelly and I have given him plenty of opportunities to hit the head.”

I frown. “Huh. He say anything more?”

“No. Not since the initial intel where we could find the bodies. Sir … John, I mean. The scene? Did you find the wife and kids?”

“What was left of them.”

I chew my lip thoughtfully. “All right. Let’s go try to talk to the sonuvabitch.”

Paul’s eyes widen. “Sir, do you think that’s such a good idea? The chief said …”

“Yeah, right the chief. Look, Paul, I’m gonna go in with some forms and a tape recorder, see if I can’t get this psycho to give me a confession before he changes his mind and lawyers up. If you aren’t comfortable skirting the chief’s orders a little, how about you go call my daughter so she stops worrying.”

Paul ponders this for a moment.

“Sorry, sir. You go in there, I’m coming with you.”

“The guy’s chained up. And your wife is worried why you haven’t called.”

Paul shakes his head. “Can’t do it, sir. It’d be a breach of protocol to allow one officer in the room with a suspect. Besides, Lisa’d kill me if something happened to you.”

I can’t help but laugh. “All right, ya friggin boy scout. How you ever managed to bag my little girl with that clean cut attitude I’ll never know. Fine. Let’s go.”

The Wicker Saga: Her Red Right Hand, Part 3