“You worked with him before?”
“I had just gotten my detective’s badge late in the seventies,” Merton said. “With everything going on back then there were task forces up the wazoo. There were things that were solved, and things that weren’t solved. And the ones you never solve are the ones that haunt you.” He stood up. “Ladies...sorry, agents—I don’t mean to offend. You head off. I’ll see to it that these fellows get to Charlie’s place. You can pick them up there later. Oh—the brothers are Bruce and Bryan Milner. Bryan has more teeth left. They’re harmless in the end, but...well, hell. You’ll figure it out.”
“Actually, Devin is an agent, but I’m not,” Vickie said, rising with the others at the table. “Feel free to call me a lady. And I don’t think that Devin is all that hung up on titles,” Vickie said, grinning at the man.
“Just don’t call me ‘sweetie’ unless you’re one of our friends’ great-aunts from down in the Deep South. Anyway, we’re out of here! Thank you both so much for your help. We’ll see you gentlemen later,” Devin promised.
Rocky handed her the keys.
Smiling and feeling hopeful, Vickie and Devin headed out.
*
Charlie Oakley was waiting for his visitors, standing down by his mailbox.
He lived in an old Victorian farmhouse on the outskirts of the town. He grinned with surprise, seeing that Robert Merton had brought them, shook hands with both Griffin and Rocky and asked them on in—offering them something to eat.
“Just ate, thanks. Excellent food,” Griffin said.
“Coffee?” Charlie Oakley asked anxiously. “Robert, you can stay a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Merton said.
“So, coffee?” Oakley pressed again.
“Hey, there’s never too much coffee,” Rocky said.
Oakley apparently wanted them to feel comfortable and at home. Maybe he wanted to feel comfortable himself.
He made their drinks. They sat around a big kitchen table with steaming mugs, but once they were seated, Oakley looked over at Detective Robert Merton as if he were gaining assurance that his words mattered. He had a headful of thick white hair and was a tall man, straight and dignified even when sitting. His awkward smile was endearing. When he started in, he was sincere, and his words were compelling.
“Everyone thought I was crazy. No, wait—I don’t believe that. They wanted me to be crazy. They couldn’t prove a lot—I mean, that’s always part of it, right? There’s what you know, and then there’s what you can prove. But here’s the thing. It was horrible. I mean, first, so damned sad. Beautiful teenagers, coming from all over. How the whole prostitution thing got going is just damned sad. But what it turned into, those killings...” He paused. “I saw the bodies, you see.”
“Bad—I can only imagine,” Griffin said.
Charlie Oakley nodded. “I guess I’m still waiting for this to be proved—somehow, some way! Thing is, you see, they knew the girls working the streets. Marsden had come to the police before she was killed. Foolish girl, what was done to her... Robin Murphy described the way Drew held her head back, severed her throat...decapitated her. It was so ugly. Only her skull was ever found. No teeth in it. Bad.
“So, you see, here’s the thing. Sheena Petrie wasn’t a prostitute. She was running away from a bad marriage. The guy liked to use her for a punching bag. He’s long dead now, an alcoholic who died in the streets. So, she’s here, and she takes up work as a chef in a restaurant. Her coworkers said that she was all happy, seeing some kind of a mystery man, a guy who was a real gentleman. Only, none of them ever saw the guy. Now, to me, she’s found dead in the river so don’t you think the guy would have come forward? Nope. Never heard of him, and while the cult members denied anything to do with the murder of Sheena Petrie, there she was, dead in the river. And there, in the dirt, was written those words. ‘Hell’s afire and Satan rules, the witches, they were real. The time has come, the rites to read, the flesh, ’twas born to heal. Yes, Satan is coming!’ Yeah, I’ve memorized the saying. It’s been stuck in my head forever. Did all kinds of research—learned about Ezekiel Martin and his sick cult. Thing is, I just don’t believe that Sheena died because of the cult. And where she was found, those words were left for her. Oh, and the teenagers and young adults involved in the cult murders? In my mind, nowhere near sophisticated enough to pull off the absolute disappearance of Sheena Petrie, or the writing in the ground. I believe, in my heart, that there is someone nice and sophisticated out there who did kill her. And, Agents, I don’t think it would be so farfetched to think that person was just learning back then, and may still be out there—somewhere. Why not? ‘Satan is coming!’”
*
Bryan Milner was the one who still had most of his teeth left!
So here he was, Vickie thought, watching the man who first came out of the station, wiping his fingers with an oil rag, when they parked and started to exit the car.
“Afternoon, ladies!” he greeted them. “What can I do for you? I am delighted to serve in any capacity whatsoever. Our gas is self-serve, but of course we’re here. Oil change, engine trouble. Why, I promise you, I can oil anything at all into fine, purrrrr-ing condition!”
Vickie glanced at Devin. Since Bryan seemed to be staring at Vickie, Devin made a quick gagging motion with her fingers and mouth. Vickie tried not to smirk.
“Hello, and thank you,” she said sweetly. “Actually, at the moment, everything is running just fine. But we could use your help.”
“We’re looking for a friend,” Devin added. “And we would love help with that!”
The man gave them a shiny smile. “Sure!” he said helpfully.
“I know that the police already came by,” Devin said. “Our friend’s name is Helena Matthews. She’s a very pretty woman, a tall slim blonde. She was here the day that she disappeared.”
“That’s what the cops said. Thing is, we were pretty damned busy that day.”
“But surely you would have been out here to help such a lady—if you had seen her.”
“Like I told the cops, I might have seen her. But she seemed to be with a man,” he said.
“Did you know him?” Vickie asked.
Bryan Milner shook his head.
“No, Bruce and I were both in the station—bunch of people buying candy and drinks and what-not. And, you know, you gotta keep your eyes open in a place like this. People stealing right and left! But...”
“But?” Vickie pressed gently.
“But,” he admitted, “we both noticed her.” He hesitated again. He cleared his throat. “I hope you find your friend. To be honest, Bruce and me were kind of doing our business-argue over who should go out, and then we saw the man. Figured she was with someone. We weren’t going to be able to get a few good words in or nothing. So we didn’t go out.”
“What about the man?” Devin asked.
“Never seen him before,” Bryan Milner said.
“So, he wasn’t from around here? I’m thinking you’re pretty good at knowing who is and who isn’t from around here, right?”
“Hey, this isn’t a Podunk town!” he said indignantly. “What are you, from Boston? Think that’s the only city in Massachusetts?”
Devin glanced at Vickie, amused. “Not me. I’m from Salem.”
“One of those witches, huh?”
“Well, you just never do know, do you?” Devin said teasingly. “So, please, we do really appreciate everything that you’re telling us. Can you describe the man for us? Was he young or old? How was he dressed?”
Milner shrugged. “Not too tall, not too big. Not short, neither.”
“So about five-ten or so?” Vickie asked.
“Yeah, maybe, maybe a little taller.”
“Young or old?” Devin asked.
“Like medium,” Bryan said.
“Medium?” Vickie repeated, glancing at Devin. “Is that like middle-aged?”
“Fifty, maybe. Or late forties. Or sixty. That’s medium!” Milner said.
“T-shirt, jeans, suit?”