Brian Freeman - In the Dark aka The Watcher

He parked his Expedition across the street and got out. He was immediately adjacent to an unguarded railroad crossing, where nothing but a white X marked the tracks. Tilting poles of telephone wires paralleled the railway. Stride could see a train rumbling between houses a quarter mile away. Its whistle blasted through the quiet in several staccato bursts. When it stopped, he noticed the calmer noise of wind chimes tinging from the Mathisen porch.

It was nearly eight o’clock on Thursday evening. On sunny summer nights, there would be more than an hour of light left, but the clouds overhead were thick and gray, making the dusk look like night. A steady breeze blew dust off the dirt roads. Hot, humid air came with it. Stride walked up the sidewalk, where green grass pushed between the squares of pavement. He noticed a driveway leading to a detached garage behind the house and saw a 1980s-era tan Impala parked in the weeds.

The wooden steps to the porch sagged under his feet. He went up to the front door and peered inside, seeing lights downstairs. When he rapped his knuckles on the door frame, he saw a tall, stocky woman emerge from the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist. She answered the door, and Stride saw an older version of the woman who had taught him math during his junior year in high school.

“Can I help you?” she asked, drying her hands on the flowers of the apron. Under the apron, she wore a collared white knit shirt and shorts. The windows were closed, and the air from the house was stale and warm.

“Ms. Mathisen?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Lieutenant Jonathan Stride. I’m with the Duluth police. You wouldn’t remember me, but you were my math teacher for a year back in high school. That was longer ago than either of us would like to admit, I think.”

Rikke didn’t smile. “Police?”

“Yes, I was hoping to talk to Finn.”

“He’s not here.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“No.”

“Well, do you mind if I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions, too.”

Rikke didn’t rush to invite him inside. “You said you’re with the Duluth police? Shouldn’t you have someone from Superior with you? This isn’t Minnesota, you know.”

“I know, but that’s not actually necessary,” Stride told her. “This won’t take long.”

Rikke shrugged and opened the door. Inside, the old house was decorated with worn throw rugs woven in diamond patterns and half a dozen clay pots of drooping philodendron plants. He noticed two skinny cats wandering across the wooden floors. A fine layer of cat hair had settled over the living room furniture, and he caught a whiff of ammonia. He sat down in an uncomfortable Shaker chair. Rikke untied her apron and sat on the sofa opposite him. She picked at the fraying fabric and pulled white foam from the arm of the sofa. An orange tabby walked across her lap.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He tried to picture the twenty-something teacher inside her. Back then, she had been tall and fit, with wavy, flowing blond hair and Nordic good looks. She had intense blue eyes and large circular glasses propped on her high cheekbones. Full, ripe breasts swelled underneath her white sweaters and defied gravity. Her fleshy, strong thighs bulged out of her jeans. She had a severe way about her in the classroom, like a dominatrix. They joked about it in the locker room. “Teacher, I’ve been bad.”

Thirty years had taken a toll on Rikke. She was heavier, with cellulite dimpling her legs. Her blond hair was short and came out of a bottle. Her face was rounded and jowly. She no longer wore glasses, but her eyes were as fierce as he remembered, like two globes of azure ice. He noticed that one breast sagged like a melting snowman across her chest, and where the other breast should have been, the fabric of her shirt puckered over empty space. A pink ribbon was pinned to the pocket.

“You taught algebra, didn’t you? Or was it geometry?”

“Geometry.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not in a very long time.”

“I have it right, don’t I? Finn lives here with you?”

“Yes, he does.”

“He’s your brother?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s unusual to find a brother and sister who have stayed together so long,” Stride said.

“Finn’s had a hard life,” Rikke replied. “He’s seven years younger than I am, and he’s always needed someone to look after him.”

“Why is that?”

“Why do you care? Do you suspect Finn of having done something wrong?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Finn provided some information that’s pertinent to one of our investigations,” Stride told her. “Candidly, I’m trying to assess his credibility as a witness.”

“What investigation?”

Stride didn’t reply.

Irritated, Rikke pushed the cat off her lap and pulled at her shirt. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about his background. You said he had a hard life.”

“Finn and I grew up in North Dakota,” Rikke replied. “Our father was killed in a car accident when Finn was ten. Our mother died five years later. I had just graduated with my teaching license at the time. I took Finn, and we moved here. I got a job. I bought this house with the money we got from selling the farm. I was hoping to give us a fresh start, but for Finn, the wounds went too deep. He spent years on drugs. He’s still drinking himself to death. Sometimes I think I should have kicked him out and let him stand on his own two feet, but I was the only family he had. I wasn’t going to turn my back on him.”

“That can’t have been easy.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Do you remember a girl named Laura Starr?” Stride asked.

The muscles in Rikke’s face tightened. Her cheeks bloomed with pink circles. “Yes, of course.”

“A journalist named Tish Verdure is writing a book about Laura Starr’s murder,” Stride said.

“So I hear. I read the papers.”

“Finn told Tish he was in the park the night Laura was killed.”

Rikke shook her head. “Finn said that? No, that’s not right.”

“You think Finn is lying?”

“He may be making up a story to impress this woman, but more likely, his mind is pulling together bits and pieces of things he’s read about the murder over the years. Finn’s mental state is highly unreliable, Lieutenant. Drugs and drink have fried his brain since he was a boy. He doesn’t have a solid grasp on what’s real and what’s not, certainly not after so much time has passed. I assure you, he wasn’t there.”

“It was a long time ago,” Stride said. “How can you be so sure?”

“You think I ever let Finn drive back then?” Rikke asked. “He never had a car. The only way he got anywhere was if I drove him. That night, we were both at home watching the fireworks.”

Stride leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “Did Finn know Laura?”

“Yes, we both did.”

“I understand Finn was in love with her.”

“Finn? Puppy dog love maybe. Nothing more. Laura was one of my favorite students-a sweet girl, very pretty, very quiet. She wanted to be a counselor for teenagers in dysfunctional families. She was passionate about it. I encouraged her to spend time with Finn, because I thought it would help them both. To her credit, she really devoted herself to Finn. I think she made a difference with him, and I’m sure he was grateful to her. To him, that was probably love.”

“What else can you tell me about Laura?”

“You should probably talk to Tish about her,” Rikke said. “The two of them were best friends for a while.”

“For a while?”

Rikke cocked her head. “Yes, they certainly weren’t friends at the end.”