Rick Mofina - Into the Dark

“Can we get them to hold back running the letter’s entire contents?” Knox asked.

“Working on it,” Tanner said, going around the table for last questions. None came. “All right, then we’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

Less than half an hour after the meeting ended, Tanner arrived home to a dark, empty house. Sam was spending another night with his sister. Kim had been great. When she realized that his long hours would lengthen further, she’d offered to take Sam for a few sleepovers. Sam loved going there, so it worked out fine, gave him time to concentrate on the case.

In the dim light of his kitchen he texted Mark Harding.

I’m ready to talk in the a.m. — my office.

Harding responded instantly.

9?

9 is good.

Tanner went to the fridge, took out a box with a few pieces of leftover pepperoni pizza. He ate a slice with a glass of water. When he finished, he was still too wired to sleep.

He grabbed his car keys and drove through the night, one thought hammering in his head.

This case is solvable. The asshole contacted us. It’s our shot to grab him .

It wasn’t long before Tanner found himself at the edge of Santa Clarita. A lot can happen in ten years, he thought, taking in the new subdivision that had risen in the vicinity of the first homicide.

But, like a hallowed patch of earth, the exact spot where the killer had left Leeza Meadows’s body, had not been touched. It was deep in a hilly sector that remained undeveloped.

Tanner parked.

Scanning the ground with his flashlight, he walked along a path that twisted into the wooded section where ten years earlier Leonard Nallis, the birdwatcher, had found her.

“At first I thought it was a mannequin, or some kind of sick joke,” Nallis told Tanner, who was a deputy then working out of the Santa Clarita station.

Now Tanner thought it was strange how his life had gone full circle. He remembered being a young deputy, staring at Leeza’s remains.

At that moment he’d yearned to be the lead investigator on that case. Now here he was. It was all on his shoulders. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, but at what cost?

Tanner turned on his phone. The darkness glowed with the tiny light of his wife’s video.

“I almost think I can beat this, I–If I don’t beat this, just hug Sam today for me, okay.”

Tanner swallowed hard.

He prayed to Becky’s ghost to help him stop the Dark Wind Killer.

“Help me find him, Becky, before he does it again.”

Alhambra, California

A few hours earlier and some forty miles south of where Detective Joe Tanner kept vigil at the first crime scene, Amber Pratt was in her kitchen slicing cucumbers for a salad.

She was preparing her dinner, having returned home from a full day at the Huntington Library. Taking in the strong, cool smell of the cucumber, it felt good to get back into her routine. These recent days had been among the hardest she’d ever faced, underscored by the nights she’d been forced to spend in a shelter because of Eric.

Why did he have to make everything so hard?

And if she wasn’t already dealing with enough, Alice from Claire’s office called her at the library that morning to tell her about the break-in.

Take it easy, Amber told herself. The police don’t think it has anything to do with Eric trying to find me. He’s moved to Sacramento. Police think the burglars were going after the gold in the dentist’s office, but said they would drop by later as a precaution. All routine, at least that’s what Alice said. I just hope she’s right .

Amber touched the back of her knife hand to the tear rolling down her cheek, but kept her composure. She had to get on with her life, that’s all there was to it.

The doorbell rang.

She went to the front. Glimpsing the black-and-white Alhambra police car in the street, she opened her door to two uniformed police officers.

“Afternoon-” the older cop with silver hair glanced at his notebook “-Amber Pratt?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Officer Ian Tate. This is my partner, Les Campbell. Our visit pertains to a standing protection order and recent charges against your estranged husband, Eric Larch, that took place at-” he flipped through the pages “-at the Simpkins professional building at Garfield Avenue and Huntington Drive in San Marino.”

“Yes.”

“There was a burglary at that location in San Marino. Because of the recent history of violence at that address with Eric Larch, of which you were the victim, San Marino P.D. requested we check on your welfare and the security of your residence. May we come in and take a look around?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Their utility belts gave soft leathery squeaks, and Amber picked up the pleasant scent of cologne as she showed them into the house. Their muted police radios echoed as they tested the alarm system before going from room to room checking windows and doors.

Their presence made her feel safe. She offered them coffee or soda, but they declined. They had other calls waiting. While Tate, the older officer, went outside to check the property and exterior of the house, Campbell double-checked the security system contacts in the pantry, utility room and finally the kitchen, where Amber was flipping through a magazine for a recipe.

“This is a nice house, and you live alone here?” he said.

“I’m house-sitting for friends of friends. They’ve been so nice, helping me. It’s been a tough time with the divorce, as I’m sure you know. I mean, it’s why you’re here.”

He nodded sympathetically. Despite his nice smile, the young cop seemed shy, excusing himself as he walked around the kitchen island to check the windows.

“What about you?” Amber asked. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes, ma’am, all by my lonesome, unlike my partner. He and his wife have four daughters and a lot of worry.”

“And you? Have you found the right girl, or guy, yet?” She’d attempted a little flirty joke. He looked at her before she realized her mistake. “I’m so sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sort of on my own at work, I don’t talk to many people. I’m so embarrassed, forgive me for prying.”

“You’re forgiven.” He chuckled. “And no, I haven’t found the right girl.”

They both glanced up at the sound of a loud radio dispatch as Tate reentered the house from the back door, locking it behind him before coming to the kitchen.

“All right, ma’am, we’re done here,” Tate said. “Your residence is secure and we’ve received word from Sacramento P.D. that earlier this morning they confirmed Eric Larch was in Sacramento at work.”

“That’s reassuring. Thank you for coming.”

Amber escorted them to the front door where both gave her business cards. After dinner, she started cleaning up.

In a small, uncertain corner of her heart, part of her still considered going back to Eric. She unfolded his letter to her and reviewed his tiny, neat handwriting-the I’m sorry ’s, his shame, his remorse, his effort to get counseling, his begging her to recall the tender times, their dreams, and his asking her to come back to him so they could start a new life together.

Think this through, she told herself.

She let the letter drop to the desktop and cupped her hands to her face.

When I think of why I married him, I’m so tempted to go back. We had beautiful dreams of our life together. Part of me still loves him and always will love him.

But Claire’s right.

I have to remember why I left. I see that evil look on his face each time he hurts me. I saw it when he attacked me in the lot. Then he went after Claire. He’ll never break out of his cycle.