Uncle John, Part Two

The cabin was 15 miles north of campus, off a long dirt road. Red brick, one story, surrounded by trees at the top of a low hill overlooking a narrow river, it had the crumbled look of an ancient ruin lost in the jungle for centuries.

            The windows were broken. The front door wouldn’t budge, but the back door had been pulled off its hinges and left leaning on the wall. I got a flashlight from the car.

            Rachel followed me through a kitchen that had been wrecked—cabinets torn off the walls, garbage filling the sink, cracks in the tile floor. In the main room a stained, ripped sofa blocked the front door. Beer cans littered the concrete floor, along with an empty beer keg, soiled blankets, a broken bong, and other trash. The smell of pot lingered in the air.

“Looks like the campus party spot,” Rachel said, kicking an empty bottle of whiskey across the floor. “If these bricks could talk . . .” 

She paused for a moment, then shook her head in disgust. “They’d tell you things you don’t want to know.” She pointed to a dried-out condom on the floor.

I turned the flashlight to the rear. Two doors, one hanging off the wall, the other one mostly closed. The first was a bathroom, toilet and sink shattered long ago, but smelling as if it had been used for its original purpose for years.

            The other door felt stiff as I pushed on it, as if reluctant to let anyone through. I ran the light up and down, across the walls, from the hardwood floor to the thick wooden beams overhead, looming down from the ceiling. No window let any trace of light in.

            Rachel tensed. “They were here.”

            “Yeah.” I could feel it even though I wasn’t psychic. The air was stagnant, silent, with a faint odor of mold and decay. 

            I took a step into the room. Rachel stayed in the doorway. There was no trace left of the prisoners from seven years before, just a bare floor and dark walls with a few nails driven in randomly. I looked up at the beams. Had the girls been chained from them? Arms stretching toward the ceiling, feet straining to reach the floor? 

            Rachel shuddered. “I have to leave.”

            I scanned the floor with my flashlight. The hardwood was dark and cluttered with rat droppings, cat food cans, crumpled papers, plastic bottles, a shoe, the dried remains of vomit. Half a candle lay in one corner, red with a gold stripe, its wick black.

            I leaned down to look at the candle. One of the floorboards was loose. I pried at it, and it popped up easily. Underneath I found only dirt and worms, and a long, thin dent in the soil as if something had been buried there. A cane?

            I straightened up. Rachel’s instincts were right—this place was creepy.  I followed her, eager to get away from whatever ghosts might be lingering in the shadows. 

            Back in the main room I took one last look around. I hadn’t expected to actually find any clues, but if Kayla’s disappearance was linked to the kidnappings seven years ago, I had to take a look. But nothing here gave me anything to go on. 

            A rat skittered along one wall. I managed not to yelp. Rachel took my arm. “I’ll protect you, big guy.”

            “Thanks. Wait—” I leaned down. Next to a crumpled beer can lay a sheet of yellow paper. 

            A flier for a church service. One sheet, folded over. CHURCH OF THE RISEN GOD read the block lettering above a sketch of a building with a cross on top. Beneath the sketch was the address, and a date. Two Sundays ago.

            The service itself, on the inside pages, looked pretty typical for Protestant worship. Hymns, verses, offering, and a sermon titled “Embrace Life.” The pastor was Edward Vining Jr.

            Rachel looked it over. “Clue?”

            “It’s newer than most of the stuff around here.” I scanned the floor with my flashlight. No more flyers. 

            It might be completely unrelated. Maybe Kayla had just run away, or been abducted by aliens. But this seemed worth checking out.

            The afternoon sun was getting low as we returned to the car. “Let’s check out this church,” I said as we buckled up. “Then find a motel.” We’d packed bags to stay the night.

            “Good.” She stretched. “I could use a bath. Long drive.”

            I nodded. “Yeah.”

 

The church was closed and locked up when we reached it, west of town. A small parking lot, a well-kept lawn, and shady trees surrounded its walls. I knocked and peeked in a front window, then gave up. A sign said it opened again at nine in the morning.

            We ate dinner and found a motel. I wrote up a report to send to my clients while Rachel took her bath, and then she started flipping through channels, looking for a good reality show. 

“UnReal Housewives, no. Survivor Island Volcano Edition, no. Kim and Jack Get Back, no, Quarantine Hustlers and Lovers, no—hey, it’s Soap Opera Offspring! Taboo Edition, yes!” She turned the sound up.

            My phone buzzed. Rachel likes reality shows a whole lot more than I do, but I tolerate them to keep the peace. But I wasn’t unhappy to be interrupted. Until I found out why.

            “Mr. Jurgen? It’s Liza. Liza Bowen? We talked today?”

            The girl at the sorority. “Yes. What’s up.”

            “They’re saying—” She gulped. “Another girl’s disappeared.”

            I stared at the TV, where mothers and sons were drinking champagne together. Then I looked away. “Who?”

            “Her name’s Benji. Benji Shawner. She lives here. I saw her outside, and then—she didn’t come home. There’s a text alert. I don’t—I don’t know if it has anything to do with Kayla, but—I wanted to tell you.”

            “Thank you.” I hung up.

            “What?” Rachel turned the sound down.

            “Another one. At the sorority house, or near it.” I swung my legs off the bed and reached for my shoes. 

            “Want me to come?” She sat forward.

            “No. Unless I call you. The campus cops won’t let me do too much. I just want to check it out myself.”

            “Call me. Often. I don’t want you chasing some serial killer on your own again.” She reached for her clothes on the chair next to the bed.

            “I will stay far away from any serial killers.” 

            “Liar.” But she kissed me. “Just be careful.”

            The motel was just off campus, so I reached the sorority house in 10 minutes. Two campus security cars were parked in front. A cop leaned next to the door on the porch. Every window was lit up. I could see shadows moving around in some of them. Others were still.

            The guard at the door was the Black cop from this morning. “You.”

            “Hi. Tom Jurgen? Private detective?”

            “I remember.” His eyes were steely. “What do you want?”

            “Another student disappeared?”

            He tilted his head, looking at me like I was an annoying bug. “Get the hell out of here.”

            “I don’t want to interfere with your investigation.” I held up my hands. “I just want to be able to report to Kayla Barth’s grandparents.”

            Before he could answer, the door behind him opened. I expected Chief Stogue, or whoever was handling the night desk. Instead it was Liza Bowen, her long black hair tied back in a ponytail now. She wore jeans and a hoodie, slippers on her feet. “Tom? Mr. Jurgen?”

            “Go back inside,” the cop said, but Liza squeezed through the door and ducked under his arm. He glared, but decided not to risk a lawsuit by picking her up and hurling her back through the door. “Stay on the porch,” he grunted.

            She led me down to the swinging bench. “I saw her,” Liza whispered. “Benji.”

            “Where?”

            “Out here.” She gestured toward the road in front of the sorority house. “Across the street.”

            Two smaller houses looked at us from the other side. One had a For Sale sign on its lawn. The other was dark, as if everyone was asleep, or the place was abandoned.

            “She was walking home, on the other side of the street. I saw her from my window.” She pointed up. “I saw her stop, like she was talking to somebody. I didn’t think anything about it. But then I went to get her for dinner, and she wasn’t in her room. I freaked. I called her phone, and she didn’t answer, and I started freaking out some more. I called everyone I knew, and they hadn’t seen her since her last class. And then I called campus security.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

            I nodded. “You did the right thing. The faster they get involved, the more likely they can help.”     

            She wiped her nose on her hoodie. “Yeah. And I told them, I saw her talking to someone, right? I didn’t see him, he was wearing this long coat and a hat or something—”

“Did he have anything in his hand? An umbrella, a cane maybe?”

“I didn’t . . .” She stopped and closed her eyes. “Yeah. There was a cane. Out in front of his feet. It looked funny.”

            Uh-oh. “Did you tell that to the police?”

            “Yeah.” Liza nodded. 

            “Did they check across the street?”

            “Yeah. I saw them knock on the doors. No one answered at either place. They went in back. But they didn’t find Benji.”

            I looked across the street. The two houses were about ten yards apart, with a fence between them running into the back, narrow pathways on each side. 

            I could go check the back yards out, but the cops had probably already been there, and I wouldn’t find anything they missed. And I’d get them on my ass for no good reason. 

            I thanked Liza, and she went back inside. The cop stared at me until I stood up, but then Stogue lumbered out of the house, one hand on the pistol at his hip. He didn’t look thrilled to see me.

            “This is an active investigation, Jurgen.” He crossed his arms. “Get the hell out of here.”

            “Man with a cane,” I said. “Liza saw him.”

            “We’re on top of everything.” He pointed toward my car. “Go.”

            “Steven Garner’s dead, right? Did he have any offspring who might be carrying on his work?”

            The name Garner made his eyes flinch. “I told you twice. I’m not telling you a third time. Get out.” 

            He sort of just had, but pointing that out might not be smart. I lifted my hands. “Got it. Hope you find them.” 

            In my car I thought for a moment while the Black cop watched me. I started up, drove a block, then parked and called Rachel. 

            I filled her in. “I’m going to go check out the cabin again. It’s probably empty, but—”

            “Come and get me,” she ordered. “I’m not sitting here watching aunts and nephews get it on and worrying about you.”

            I’d learned not to argue. “Give me a few minutes.”

 

I pulled up to the cabin with Rachel beside me. There were no patrol cars around the place, but a battered Toyota sat in front, with a rusty motorcycle leaning against its hood. Light flickered in the broken windows.

            “Good hunch.” Rachel reached for the glove compartment.

            “Not even a hunch. Just being thorough.” I got out and opened the trunk. A long, heavy flashlight lay on the floor, bigger than the one in the glove compartment. Along with our pepper spray, it would make a handy weapon. If I needed it. I hoped not.

            “Wonder if the cops came out already.” Rachel flicked on her flashlight as we rounded the cabin.

            “They’d have shut it down. Whatever this is.” I led the way, nervous. 

            The back door was still hanging open. I kept one hand in my jacket, holding the pepper spray.  We could already hear music and smell pot and beer as we made our way toward the big room.

            Six people—no seven, one was sitting in a dark corner—sat on the concrete floor around a lantern. College kids. They were passing a bong around. One girl was making out with a man. Another girl, in just shorts and bra, was passed out, her head on top of a balled-up sweater. The music came from a phone hooked up to a small speaker. A case of beer sat next to the lantern, and empty cans dripped on the floor.

            No one noticed us at first. Then a guy in a Rackham College sweatshirt caught the light from my flashlight and twisted around, almost tipping over. “Wha—what the hell?”

            Another guy stood up, wobbling in his sneakers. “Who are you—what are you, uh, why are you here?” 

            “Nobody. Just passing through.” I flicked the flashlight around the room. No chained-up bodies or pentagrams on the floor. No serial killers, just college kids having a party in the middle of nowhere. “You know about the history of this place?”

“The death house.” That came from the guy in the corner, in a gray T-shirt and camouflage pants. “Cool place to have a party.”

“Yeah.” I left Rachel for a moment to check out the back room. Still empty. No sign that anyone had been here in the hours since we’d left.            

Everybody was sitting down again when I came back, watching Rachel. “Okay, have fun. Oh—” I reached into my back pocket for the flier I’d picked up. “Any of you guys go to the Church of the Risen God?”

There was no response, until the guy in the corner raised a hand. “Sometimes. Pastor Vining is pretty cool. He’s the one who told us about this place.”

“Okay.” I steered my flashlight again toward the sleeping girl, breathing softly. “Make sure she gets home all right.”

Another girl nodded. I took Rachel’s arm, and we left.

“So, did we learn anything?” she asked, buckling up.

I started the car. “Everything’s a possible clue. But I don’t know what.” We drove. “I want to swing by the church again.”

She sighed. “Fine. You’re blowing your chance at hot hotel sex, though.”

I glanced over at her. “Damn it. I guess I’ll live.”

She punched my arm.

The church was still closed up and dark. I walked around it once, looking and listening for voices or lights, but it seemed as quiet as the night. I didn’t really expect to confront any killers here. I just had to make sure.

We got back to the motel after midnight. Rachel yawned, kicking off her shoes. “What’s on the to-do list for tomorrow?”

“Ask more questions.” I still had the list of Kayla’s friends to work through. “Try not to get thrown out of town by the sheriff.”

“It’s good to have goals.” She pulled off her shirt. “Mind if I watch a little more TV?”

“Knock yourself out.” I climbed out of my clothes and got into bed. Rachel watched a home improvement show while I drifted off, but I didn’t get much sleep even after she quit. Too many questions were swirling around my brain.