The Beasts of Juarez, R.B. Schow [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

slower than expected. Even though they ended up getting into town too late to pay a cordial visit, they managed to drive by the house enough to get the lay of the land.

“It really is too late,” Scotty said, disappointed.

“We can go in quietly,” Jackson suggested. “Do a quick sneak and peek.”

His instincts warned against that. “We should wait until morning.”

“You’re the boss, boss,” Jackson replied with a deep sigh.

They waited until morning then they went to the house, knocked on the front door, and got nothing. No answer, no barking dog, no pulled curtain.

“Can we find out if this lady has a cell phone?” Jackson asked.

“Do you know anyone at the NYPD?”

Jackson shook his head.

“Me neither. It looks like we’re on ‘sit and wait’ duty. If we don’t get anywhere by tonight, we’ll call Leopold and see what’s what.”

They sat on the house all day and into the night. When he went to call Leopold to ask if he could use his hacker as a resource, he found that his cell phone was dead.

“Really?” Jackson said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He handed it to Scotty, but Scotty said, “I don’t have the number memorized and I forgot the charging cord.”

“Man,” Jackson said, disappointed, “you used to be on top of things so much better than this.”

“Times change, people change,” he said. “Quit busting my balls.”

They sat on the house throughout the night and the next morning Scotty woke up to the obnoxious sound of a car with a loud muffler passing by.

Unfortunately, the noise didn’t stop.

Scotty opened his eyes and saw a sub-compact shitbox of a car pulling into the driveway. It idled there for a moment and then the engine stopped, allowing the beauty of silence to once again permeate the neighborhood.

The driver opened a door with rusted hinges and struggled to squeeze her substantial weight through the small opening. What emerged was an older heavyset woman in a housedress carrying what appeared to be a few bags from various grocery stores.

She lumbered toward the house in a back-and-forth rocking motion, moving slowly, methodically. At the front door, she set her bags down and fished her keys from her purse. When the door was open, she collected her things, then went inside and shut the door.

“Jesus, she even looks like an Apple White,” Scotty said, nudging Jackson.

“I saw her, man,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I saw.”

A few minutes later, they got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Jackson knocked three times and they waited.

This could be it, Scotty thought.

When the woman opened the door, she looked back and forth between them then said, “Can I help you?”

“It depends on whether or not you know this lovely couple,” Scotty said as he held up the photo they took from Keegan and Gabby White’s home.

“Of course, that’s my son and daughter-in-law.”

“Well, your son is face-down in the toilet right now, alive if that matters, and he says his wife and Alabama are here. For your sake, I hope that’s true.

“Alabama?” she asked nervously.

“You don’t want to lie to us, Miss White,” Jackson said. “It would be very bad for you.”

“Are you threatening an old lady?” she asked, taking a defensive tack.

“Fuckin’ A right we are, Apple,” Jackson said. “Now answer the question or we’re going to beat the answer out of you.”

Startled like she couldn’t believe the audacity of the two of them, she said, “Why, in all my years—”

Scotty shoved his way into the house; Jackson followed him inside then shut and locked the door behind him. “We’ve asked you nicely, ma’am. Where is your daughter-in-law?”

“She’s gone,” Apple said.

“Where did she go?” Jackson asked.

“She’s dead.”

“She’s not dead,” Scotty growled, a sinking feeling beginning to form.

The woman got her cell phone and played back a message left by the NYPD.

“This is Detective Conrad from the NYPD. We spoke yesterday. Again, I want to offer my condolences, but I’d also like to discuss a lead we may have. It’s time-sensitive if you’d like to meet us downtown. If not, we can come to you, but either way, I think we should speak.”

The man then gave her his phone number and encouraged her to reach out to him. Scotty looked at Jackson, and then back to this shiny-eyed woman.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Scotty said.

“How did she die?” Jackson asked.

“They say she killed herself but now maybe they think it was a homicide. I don’t know, I still think she killed herself.”

“Why would she do that?” Scotty asked.

“Because of that little girl and what my Keegan did to her.”

“You mean getting her pregnant?” Jackson asked.

The woman turned and scoffed, not at him but because of her son. “He always did like the younger girls. Gabby knew this when she met him. But this time was just too much. He went too far.”

“Are you aware that Alabama Hargrove was kidnapped years ago, that Keegan and Gabby have kept her locked in a dirt pit in their backyard?”

“They didn’t do that,” she said feigning offense. “They were extra good to that girl.”

“No, they were not,” Scotty said. He looked at his partner. “Show her the photos.”

Jackson showed Apple the pictures of the hole in the ground, the mattress, the jug of water, and the bucket.

Apple brought her hand to her mouth. “I had no idea.”

“Where is she?” Jackson asked.

“Not here.”

“Where the hell is she?” Jackson roared.

“At my other son’s house, probably,” she said, visibly shrinking back from the man. “Gabby took the girl with her when she left to kill herself. If anything was done with her—this is Alabama I’m talking about—she would be with my Marty in Newark.”

“I’m going to need that address,” Scotty said. To Jackson, he said, “Take a look around, check the backyard,