The Zero Night

19

In May two years earlier, Serena had been called to a house in Proctor by uniformed officers responding to a 911 emergency. Outside, she’d found a fifteen-year-old girl named Delaney Candis sitting on the front porch in a state of shock. Inside, Serena had found Delaney’s mother, Nikki, in bed, dead of a gunshot wound to her temple, a long-barreled Smith & Wesson revolver clutched in her hand. As death investigations went, it appeared open-and-shut. Suicide.

The question for Serena was why her drunken mind had conjured Nikki Candis outside the bar. Why her? She might have expected to see a vision of Samantha. Or Deidre. Or someone else from her teenage years, taunting her as she slipped back into her alcoholic past. Instead, her mind had resurrected a suicide victim, one of dozens she’d investigated in her career, from a case that had no real mystery.

At her desk, she reviewed Nikki’s file, but there wasn’t much to it. According to her daughter, Nikki had battled severe depression off and on for years. She was also a heavy drinker. She’d been divorced from Delaney’s father since the girl was five; he was out of the picture and not part of their lives. Nikki had run a catering business, and although their house had a sizable mortgage, they didn’t seem to be in serious financial jeopardy.

Delaney didn’t know where Nikki had gotten the gun. Serena’s research revealed that the gun had been stolen in Cincinnati years earlier, so it was likely that Nikki had bought it illegally. But there was no indication of when she’d bought it, or who she’d bought it from.

“Suicide,” Serena murmured again.

There was nothing suspicious about the scene. She had no reason to think that Nikki’s death was anything other than what it appeared to be.

Except Serena saw in the file that she’d written a note to herself two years ago: Delaney isn’t telling us everything.

Had she missed something?

She’d wrapped up the investigation in three days. Three days. That was fast. She noticed a comment from Nikki’s father that she’d circled in the file: Something was bothering Nikki, but she wouldn’t say what it was. Normally, that was the kind of question Serena would want resolved before putting a case to bed. If something had been bothering Nikki, maybe that was what had forced her over the edge to kill herself. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Regardless, it was an open issue in the midst of a death investigation.

And yet Serena had let it go.

She closed the file, but she removed two photographs as she did and put them on the desk in front of her. One was the violent picture of Nikki, dead of the gunshot wound. The other was a picture that Delaney had provided of the two of them together. In that photograph, Nikki looked untroubled by depression. Mother and daughter had arms around each other’s waists, both of them smiling. Nikki had golden-brown hair that matched Delaney’s, and Serena could see the family resemblance in their faces. They were pointing at T-shirts they wore with the logo of Nikki’s business: Catering by Candis.

Every suicide masked a complex family tragedy. This one wasn’t any different.

Serena hadn’t gotten pushback when she closed the case. Guppo had agreed with her. If she went back to him right now, he’d say what he’d said back then: Suicide, case closed. Stride had reviewed her findings, as he did on every case, and he’d asked no questions. It had been a busy time in the department, so she’d moved quickly. She and Guppo had been helping Abel Teitscher on the Fallon case, and a wrongful death investigation took priority over a suicide. She’d done what the circumstances required, and she’d made the right call.

But that wasn’t the whole story. Not for her.

She stared at the pictures of Nikki Candis and tried to sort through what she felt about this woman. Her job was to shut down any emotional reactions to a case, but she’d failed to do that with Nikki. She remembered exactly how she’d felt, because the same emotion erupted as she picked up the file again. Anger. She felt angry at this woman. That was why she’d closed the case quickly, not because she was busy, not because it was open-and-shut, not because she’d answered all the questions. She’d wanted the case done, put away, over.

Because the life and death of Nikki Candis pushed too many of her own buttons.

Alcohol abuse. That was the first hot button. She remembered now why the West Duluth bar on Grand had felt familiar to her. It was all over Nikki’s credit card records. She’d been a regular. There was also a note from a pastry chef who’d worked on catering jobs for Nikki: She was a blackout drunk. And another comment from a waiter: When the party was over, she’d celebrate hard. Really hard.

By itself, that didn’t bother her. Serena was an alcoholic, too, so she didn’t judge others who struggled with the same disease. No, what upset her was the toll it had taken on Delaney. Nikki had abandoned her daughter, not just by committing suicide, but by letting her demons overshadow her duties as a mother. Talking to Delaney, Serena saw everything she remembered from her own teenage years. Defensiveness. Denial. It was obvious to Serena that Nikki and Delaney had switched places in that household long ago. Mother became child. Child became mother.

Just like she and her own mother had done. Nikki and Delaney may as well have been reflections of Samantha and Serena. That was why she’d bailed on the investigation as soon as she could.

But reviewing the file reminded her that she’d felt off about the whole case from the beginning. Something was wrong about it. Something didn’t add up.

Delaney isn’t telling us everything.

Serena opened the file again and retrieved the phone number for Nikki’s parents. They lived ninety minutes south of Duluth in the small town of Mora. She dialed the number, which rang for a long time before an elderly man answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Paul Vavra?” she asked, using Nikki’s birth name.

“Yes, it is.” His voice had a raspy, solitary quality to it, as if talking to anyone was a bother to his day.

“Mr. Vavra, this is Serena Stride with the Duluth Police. I interviewed you and your wife two years ago after the loss of your daughter.”

He was quiet for a while. Then he cleared his throat. “I remember.”

“I’d like to ask you and your wife a couple of additional questions.”

Again there was a long silence.

“My wife passed away last year,” he said.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Losing Nikki took the wind out of her.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I’m not really anxious to revisit what happened, Detective. I’m trying to remember my daughter’s life, not her death. It’s taken me a long time to get to this point. Is there a reason you’re bringing this up again now?”

Serena chose her words carefully. She certainly wasn’t going to tell this man that she’d had a vision of Nikki outside a bar while she was dead drunk. “I’m going through some of my old case files. In reviewing the file on Nikki’s death, it seemed to me that there were questions that I didn’t fully answer.”

“That’s not how you felt two years ago,” Paul said.

“Yes, I know.”

“Two years ago, you couldn’t shut down your investigation fast enough.”

“You’re right about that, and I apologize. If you’d rather not talk to me, I understand. But if I made any kind of mistake two years ago, I’d like the opportunity to rectify it. Back then, you and your wife were convinced that Nikki did not commit suicide. You told me there had to be some other explanation for what happened. I don’t know whether that’s true, but I’d like to find out.”

She could hear the old man breathing on the other end of the line. She thought he might be crying.

“Nikki did not kill herself,” Paul reiterated. “Nothing about that has changed in two years. I know what I know.”

“If Nikki didn’t kill herself, that means someone else killed her and made it look like suicide. When we talked, you didn’t have any idea who could have done that, and you weren’t aware of anyone who had a motive to harm your daughter. Is that still true? Or is there something more you can tell me that might help with the investigation?”

The man made a little sigh on the phone. “I can’t imagine anyone who could have done this to Nikki. The whole thing makes no sense.”

“I made a note during our original interview that you and your wife thought something was bothering Nikki in those last few days.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Do you have any idea what that could have been?”

“I don’t. We asked her about it. She shrugged us off, which was typical. She didn’t open up about things to us. Nikki had a lot of problems, Detective, I won’t deny that. We didn’t always have the best relationship with her, because we thought some of her behavior put Delaney at risk.”

“You mean the drinking?” Serena asked.

“Yes.”

“How bad was it?”

“Very bad. She had a serious problem and didn’t seem capable of dealing with it. There were times I’d have to go pick her up on a street somewhere. Or strangers would take her home and spend the night. A couple of times Delaney even had to go get Nikki by herself, even though Delaney was only fifteen and had no license. So no, we weren’t happy about any of that.”

The description gave Serena flashbacks of her own teenage life. Her own blackouts. And Samantha’s, too. She remembered all the times she’d brought Samantha home herself, just like Delaney had done with Nikki.

Fifteen years old. No license.

A reflection in the mirror.

“However, Nikki being an alcoholic doesn’t mean she killed herself,” Paul Vavra went on firmly. “She would never have left Delaney alone. And even if that was what she chose to do, believe me, she would have found some other way to kill herself before she used a gun.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Nikki hated guns. She was adamant about it. She didn’t want a gun in the house because of Delaney.”

“I don’t recall your mentioning that when we talked two years ago,” Serena said.

“Maybe I didn’t, but you were halfway out the door the whole time, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Again, I’m sorry. So you don’t have any idea what was troubling Nikki before her death? She didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to Delaney about it?”

“We asked once, but Delaney shut us down. She’s a little like her mother that way.”

“Do you think she knows?”

“I have no idea.”

“According to my notes, Delaney was staying with you that weekend in May. Nikki was home alone in Proctor. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a reason Delaney was staying with you?”

“No. She did it a lot. My wife liked fussing over her granddaughter. I also think Delaney sometimes needed a little break from her mother. In some ways, Delaney was the adult in that house, and there were times when she needed an opportunity to be a child again. I suppose that makes no sense to you.”

“Actually, it makes a lot of sense,” Serena said.

“I’m afraid Nikki liked time alone, too. It was easier to drink that way.”

“Did you talk to your daughter that last weekend? Or do you know if Delaney called home?”

“Not that I recall.”

“How is Delaney?” Serena asked. “Does she still live with you?”

“No. She’s a freshman at UMD. She has an apartment near campus.”

“Really? My adopted daughter, Cat, is a freshman there, too. Delaney must be pretty young to be in college, though, isn’t she?”

She heard a note of pride in Paul Vavra’s voice. “Delaney is incredibly bright, as well as being a beautiful girl. She skipped fourth grade, so she’s always been a year younger than her classmates. Even with everything she went through losing her mother, she never lost a step academically. We told her she could take time off, but she didn’t want that.”

“I remember thinking she was a special girl,” Serena said.

“Yes, she is.”

“Do you mind if I talk to her? I’d like to ask her some questions.”

“Talk to her if you want, but I don’t think she’ll be very responsive.”

“Why is that?”

“Delaney spent a lot of time getting past the death of her mother,” Paul explained. “And then the death of her grandmother, too. She’s known a lot of loss for someone so young. Her focus is on the future, not the past, and that’s as it should be. She almost never talks about what happened to Nikki. In fact, she hardly ever mentions Nikki. But I suppose she still thinks about her mother, even if she pretends it’s all behind her.”

“Yes,” Serena replied. “Yes, believe me, she does.”

Lance Beaton looked like a cat who’d snatched a bird right off a tree branch. Stride watched the detective from Superior march toward them from Hink Miller’s house, where Lance, a dozen of his officers, and the team from the Douglas County Medical Examiner’s office had spent the last two hours examining the crime scene. Even without a smile, Lance’s face boasted a whiff of self-satisfaction. He carried a paper grocery bag from Super One Foods, and his hands were covered by tight plastic gloves. There was no indication of what was in the bag.

“Lance found something,” Maggie said with a groan.

“Yup.”

“We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Nope.”

“Look at him. He’s got a hard-on.”

“Mags.”

“I’m serious. He’s flying the flag. Do you know what the Superior cops call him?” She made a vulgar motion with her right hand. “Beatin’ Beaton.”

“Mags.”

“How many Lance Beatons does it take to change a light bulb?” Maggie continued.

“Mags.”

“Oh, come on.”

Stride gave in and said, “How many?”

“None. You don’t change a dim bulb.”

Stride finally chuckled, and Maggie grinned wickedly.

“See? You missed me.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

Lance crossed the dirt road to join them. The grocery bag swung in his hand, but he held it in a way that they couldn’t see what was inside. Maggie shot a quick but obvious look at the cop’s loose trousers and gave Stride a wink.

“Beatin’,” Maggie whispered.

Stride had to choke back another laugh.

“I figured I’d give you two an update,” Lance said.

“An update an hour ago would have been even better,” Maggie replied.

“We were busy.”

“Did you find any sign of Chelsey Webster?” Stride asked.

Lance shook his head. “No. Even if you’re right that she was transported in the trunk of the Taurus, there’s no evidence to suggest she was kept on the property. We searched the house, the basement, and the garage, and we had people go through the woods to look for any signs of a burying place. Your vic isn’t here.”

“What about the bodies?”

“The ME thinks they were killed sometime yesterday afternoon. The gun used on Hink was a 9 mm. When we recover the bullets, we’ll feed them into the system and let you know if we get a match.”

“Is there anything else in the house?” Maggie asked.

“We’re going through Hink’s computer, but so far, there’s nothing but porn. We’ll make copies of any electronic and paper records we find, since I assume you’ll want all of that.”

“Yes, we will,” Stride said.

“Plus you can throw in the porn,” Maggie added.

Stride smothered a laugh and waited for Lance to do the same, but the detective remained stoically immune to Maggie’s sense of humor.

“Did you see anything that would link Hink Miller to Gavin Webster?” Stride asked.

“No, nothing.”

“What about a man who goes by the name Broadway?”

Lance looked puzzled. “Broadway?”

“It’s a nickname. We think he runs an illegal poker game near the docks in Duluth. Gavin Webster’s part of it, and we’d like to know if Hink was, too. The word we got is that Hink did a lot of freelance security.”

“If we find anything, I’ll let you know,” Lance replied.

Maggie gestured at the grocery bag. “So what’s in there? You run out to Super One to get some Pop-Tarts?”

Lance still didn’t smile.

“We found something hidden in a plastic garbage bag inside the salt reservoir for the water softener.”

He made a show of snapping his plastic gloves. Then he reached inside the grocery bag and emerged with a small red child’s backpack that was designed to look like a strawberry. It had a Hello Kitty face on the outside.

“Shit!” Maggie exclaimed. “That’s the ransom bag.”

“Did you look inside?” Stride asked.

Lance nodded. He delicately opened the zipper of the backpack and separated the flaps so they could see the interior. Stride expected multiple wads of cash, but instead, he saw only a single sheaf of bills held together with a rubber band. The outermost bill was a crisp hundred-dollar note.

“Are those all hundreds?” Maggie asked.

“Yes. We found Hink’s wallet upstairs, too. There were a handful of C-notes inside, just like your witness said.”

Stride frowned. “Did you count the cash?”

“We did. It comes out to eighty-nine bills or eight thousand nine hundred dollars. There was another nine hundred dollars in Hink’s wallet, which puts him two hundred short of an even ten thousand.”

Maggie looked at Stride. “Ten thousand? Gavin said the ransom was one hundred thousand.”

Stride put on his own gloves and removed the band of bills from inside the backpack. He flipped through the stack to confirm they were all hundreds, and his face darkened. “Where’s the rest of the money?”