The cabin, p.13
The Cabin, page 13
In the early days of criminal profiling, lots of cops were skeptical about it. Today it’s standard practice in cases of violent crime. Understanding what motivates a perpetrator and developing a profile can not only help detectives sift through a myriad of suspects but can also prevent some crimes from occurring.
And this leads to my question of the week: Do you think that if Devon was aware of Rico’s idiosyncrasies, it would help him escape? Could he use Rico’s superstitions against him? Talk to me on Facebook.
Join me next time for more Murders Under the Sun.
(cue music)
VO: If you enjoyed this episode, please leave us a five-star review on your favorite podcast service—it really helps. Murder Under the Sun is edited by Jim Wilbourne, theme music is by Eclectic Blends, and I’m your host, Molly Shure.
Part Five
MURDERS UNDER THE SUN
SEASON SEVEN; EPISODE FOUR
* * *
MOLLY: Welcome back to Murders Under the Sun. This is Molly Shure, your host.
You are one intelligent group of people. I was really impressed with your knowledge of profiling. And thank you May Seville, retired homicide investigator, for giving us some inside baseball on the topic.
Also, several of you had creative ideas about how Devon could use Rico’s superstitions to save Caleb and himself.
John T. suggested he should start talking stars with Rico and act as if he had his own planetary messengers he ran financial decisions by. Then he could say they told him to hand off the money in a place he had a better chance of escaping from.
Rainy Mulligan thought Devon and Caleb should only wear green. Pam Tripp thought Devon should tell Rico he was an amateur astrologist and that he could help Rico escape the police by interpreting heavenly signs. And Purr-fect Kat thought Devon should invent superstitions that trumped Rico’s.
I’m not sure what those would look like. Purr-fect didn’t elaborate. Bigger stars? Higher numbers? Anyway, point is, you were all thinking.
As is Fiona. Today she decides to brave the weather and head up to Big Bear. Today Devon will learn more about the man who’s holding him and Caleb captive. It’s going to be a rough one all around.
However, before we get into the episode, I wanted to let you know that I spoke with a man who worked as a grip on Raphael Jimenez’s film. He’s a friend of one of our listeners. She remembered him telling her about the plot being a twist on The Picture of Dorian Gray because she thought it was so clever.
Anyway, she contacted him, told him about our missing student mystery, and he gave her permission to pass on his phone number. I called him last week.
If you are a new listener and have no idea what I’m talking about, I apologize. In short, I’ve been trying to find a connection between Melissa, Ariana, and Raphael—the three students who disappeared from CS-Fullerton several years back. At first there was nothing other than that they all went to the same school in the same year.
But one thing led to another, and we discovered that Raphael—who was in the TV and Film Department—made a short movie and enlisted some of the students from the Drama Department to be in it. Ariana Blackstone was one of them.
The only new tidbit of information I learned from our grip was that he knew who had written the script. An MFA student named Celeste Hobbs worked with Raphael on the story. He remembered Celeste because she was pretty opinionated during the filming. Fancied herself the director, although she wasn’t. He wasn’t a fan.
So, it looks like I have another lead to follow up on.
Now, back to Fiona and Devon. Their dire circumstances grow even more dire today.
After exchanging her work clothes for sweats, Fiona walked into her kitchen. She’d been on edge all afternoon. She’d picked up her phone a thousand times to call Devon or Sylla. She wanted reassurance everything was as it should be up in Big Bear.
Crackers seemed to pick up on her restlessness. He’d only eaten half his dinner, then he followed her from room to room, never allowing her out of his sight. He was collapsed in the kitchen now, gaze trained on her as she fished around in the refrigerator, trying to find something appealing for dinner.
Her phone danced across the counter. She pulled her head out of the vegetable bin and looked at the screen. Finally. It was Sylla.
“Fiona. Good news here. Well, can’t really call it good news, but relieving news anyway.”
“Devon and Caleb?”
“They’re fine. A deputy dropped by and spoke with Devon. Seemed everything was in order.”
“Thank God,” Fiona said.
“That wasn’t the good news I was referring too, however.”
“You caught him?” Fiona’s pulse quickened.
“In a manner of speaking.” Sylla paused. “We found his body.”
Emotions slid across Fiona like skaters on an ice rink. Relief, followed by happiness, followed by joy, followed by shame. Her half-brother was dead. That wasn’t something she should rejoice about, but she couldn’t help herself. “You’re sure it’s him?”
“Absolutely. We found him on a fire road off the Rim of the World. The autopsy hasn’t been done as yet, but the ME’s first guess is asphyxiation.”
“Asphyxiation?” Fiona repeated dumbly.
“Yes, as I said, we can’t be sure, but it appears someone smothered him. We don’t know with what. There was nothing nearby.”
She digested that information. “He was murdered, then.”
“Looks like it.”
“Have you found his partner? The man he escaped with?”
Another pause, then Sylla said, “No. The manhunt continues. But you’re safe, anyway. I wanted you to know.”
“Thanks for calling.”
Sylla promised to keep her posted on future developments, and they hung up. The fizz of happiness she’d felt when she’d first heard the news returned. She punched in Devon’s number, wanting to share it with someone, but disconnected before the call went through. How could she share the good news when she’d never told him the bad news? She couldn’t, at least not on the phone. That kind of conversation should happen in person.
She glanced at Crackers, then dialed Olivia’s number. It rang five times and went to voicemail. Fiona googled Mammoth weather conditions. It was still snowing there. Then she looked up Big Bear road conditions. The Rim of the World Highway was clear, but chains were required. She had chains in the garage. She’d never put them on herself, but she’d figure it out.
“Want to go on a road trip?” she said to the dog. He wagged his tail. “Let’s do it.”
A half hour later, Fiona had rescheduled the next day’s clients, and she and Crackers were packed into the car with Caleb’s presents, a box of ornaments, snow clothes, groceries, dog food and a bottle of wine. She needed liquid courage to tell Dev all the things she’d been keeping from him. Besides she was celebrating.
She understood Sylla’s hesitation at calling her half-brother’s death good news, but it was. He’d been a very confused, very sad man who’d become an evil man. Fiona was sorry for him, for his tragic childhood, for the rejection he’d felt by their father, but many people had gone through the same and hadn’t done the things he’d done. The world was a safer place without him in it.
She stopped at a red light, found an upbeat playlist on her phone, and played it through the car speakers. It was time to drive away the ghosts of the past. Her family’s shame had been dealt with, and she was relieved she hadn’t been the one to do it. It seemed strange to be grateful to the man who murdered her murdering brother, but there it was.
The freeways were clear. She ran into light traffic in LA, but that was to be expected. She hit Highway 18, Rim of the World, in record time and began to climb. Caleb would be asleep when she arrived, but that was okay. She needed some time with Dev alone, and it would be fun to surprise her son in the morning with pancakes. She’d packed the ingredients at the last minute.
Twenty minutes up the mountain, the fog rolled in. Fiona slowed. On her right was a sheer drop, hence the name of the road. She could see the twinkle of lights from the city of San Bernardino below, but the highway in front of her was obscured by a wall of white.
The turnoff to Lake Arrowhead should be coming up in fifteen minutes or so, but she had no place to stay in Arrowhead. The desire to see her family had become an ache in her gut. She crept forward, training her eyes on the center line, or what she could see of it.
She rounded a wide bend and glanced in her rearview mirror. A string of headlights trailed behind her. She was leading the pack. Great. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Her palms began to sweat.
Five minutes later, she rounded another bend and skidded on black ice. For a few terrifying seconds, her car slid toward the edge of the cliff, but she righted herself. She should have put the chains on at the bottom of the hill, but she’d been in too big a hurry.
Stop. Stop. Stop. Everything within her screamed the word, but she couldn’t. The drivers behind her wouldn’t know she had. They wouldn’t see her. They didn’t know about the patch of black ice. She could cause a pile-up, a pile-up that could push her off the mountain.
Fiona gripped the steering wheel and continued on, heart dancing in time with a Taylor Swift song about not caring anymore. She reached out a hand and turned it off. It required all her concentration to navigate through this strange world of swirling shades of gray and white where time seemed to stand still. There was no before, no after, only the few feet of asphalt with its center line revolving beneath her like the pad of a treadmill.
A sob escaped her lips, and Crackers whined in response. She’d forgotten he was there, and a new panic struck her. She was responsible for more than herself and the string of unknown drivers behind her. She was responsible for him as well. Why was it always her? Why was she always the one shouldering everyone else’s burdens?
A thought whispered in the recesses of her mind. Could it be this was her own doing? Not this particular foggy-highway moment, but did she take things upon herself she didn’t need to? That’s what Dev said. Olivia and Gwen agreed with him. Even Sylla had said as much.
But how? How would she change? Because she had to. The weight of the world was beginning to break her. She choked back another sob. “Please,” she said, unsure of who she was talking to. She gripped the wheel and drove on.
7.4.2
DEVON
Banging woke Devon. For a long moment he didn’t know where he was. The room around him was dim and cold. He glanced around and saw Caleb cuddled under a bedspread, his arms wrapped around a teddy bear.
It came back to him in a rush of dread. He was in the Big Bear cabin where he was being held by Rico—a waking nightmare.
The door banged again, this time a voice accompanying the pounding. “Devon, Devon. It’s Bob. I need to talk to you.”
Devon got up and entered the living room. His eyes flashed toward the couch. The stranger lay there, his eyes glittering.
“I’ll get it,” Devon mumbled, but Rico held up a hand.
Devon watched as he moved to the entryway, pressed himself against the wall, and pulled the door open, hiding himself in the process.
“Hey, Devon, hate to bother you, but I heard some disturbing news. I thought you needed to know.” Bob hesitated on the threshold for a moment. “I wanted to make sure you and the boy were okay.”
“We’re fine,” Devon said.
Bob’s gaze rested on Devon for a moment. His brow furrowed with confusion, but he crossed into the room with faltering steps. “A deputy stopped by my house a few hours ago. He said—”
His words cut off with a choke and a gurgle, and a ribbon of red slid across his neck. Devon’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. He was too horrified to scream.
Bob dropped to his knees, revealing Rico, a knife hanging from his hand.
“Daddy.” Caleb said from somewhere behind Devon.
Devon choked, then found his voice. “No! Don’t come in here.” He couldn’t let his child witness this. He turned to look at Caleb and gentled his voice. “Go into your room. Lock the door behind you, and don’t come out.”
“Daddy.”
The name, the special name that only Caleb used, was a sob. An ache opened up in Devon’s chest. “Do as I say.”
Caleb disappeared from view, and a moment later, a door slammed. Devon spun and fell to the floor next to Bob. The man’s eyes were wide with surprise, but their light was already fading. Devon grabbed the afghan, thinking he could staunch the flow of blood, but it was hopeless. The gash was too wide. He hugged the blanket and rocked back and forth instead.
Rico had gone into the kitchen, leaving them alone together. Devon heard water running in the sink, then a door open and shut.
“Bob, I’m so sorry,” Devon whispered, but he wasn’t sure the man could hear him any longer. A pool of blood had spread around them more quickly than Devon had believed possible. A door thumped again, footsteps sounded on the kitchen linoleum, and a moment later, Rico was standing over them.
“I’m going to need your help.” He said the words matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing stuffing a turkey or jumpstarting a car. Maybe murder was matter-of-fact for him.
Devon didn’t know if this was Fiona’s half-brother or if he was the man who’d escaped with him. He hadn’t wanted to know. Hadn’t wanted to know what manner of man he was dealing with. That had been a mistake. Every decision he’d made since Rico had come to the door had been a mistake.
“Stand up.” Rico’s voice was as cold and sharp as the icicles hanging from the cabin’s roofline. “We got to get rid of him.” He pushed Bob’s body with his toe. It rocked then fell into place again. Bob was gone.
“Why? Why not just leave?” Devon heard hysteria in his voice. He tried to modulate his tone. “You heard what he said. That sheriff’s deputy went by his place. They’re looking for you.”
“I plan to, but I don’t plan to leave a trail behind me.”
What did that mean? Was Devon part of that trail? Was Caleb? “I’ll help you, but I want to talk to Caleb first.”
Rico’s eyes became slits. He pondered the request for so long, Devon began to wonder if he’d heard him at all. “All right,” he finally said. “Three minutes. Leave the door open.”
Devon rose stiffly. He hurried to his son’s room. The door handle wouldn’t budge. Good. Caleb had obeyed him. “Caleb, honey.” He whispered through the wood. “Can you let me in?”
A scrambling sound was followed by the click of the lock. The door swung open, and a moment later Devon’s arms were filled. His son was shaking. He lifted him, carried him to the bed, and sat hugging the boy to his chest. “It’s going to be okay.” He repeated the phrase again and again, hoping one of them would believe it.
When the shivering slowed, Devon lifted Caleb’s face and smoothed his hair. “Daddy is going to take care of you. I’m going to make sure you’re safe, you hear me?”
Caleb’s head bobbed up and down.
“But you’re going to have to do exactly what I say, when I say it. Can you do that?”
Another head bob.
“Even if you’re scared?”
One more bob.
“Good.” Devon hugged him again. He had no plan other than to look for an opportunity to kill Rico. When he found one, he’d have to act fast. Caleb would have to act quickly, too.
Devon stood and set Caleb on the bed. “Lock the door after me. Don’t open it for anyone but me, got it?” He left and heard the lock settle into place behind him.
When he reached the living room, Rico was dressed in a jacket and boots. He looked stronger than he had in days. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe purpose, but he seemed more alert, more dangerous than he had before. He nodded at Bob. “Let’s roll him.”
Together, they wound the body into the braided rug that had lain in front of the fireplace. When they were done, Rico stood and gestured toward the front of the house. Devon began to pull the rug toward the door, but when they reached the kitchen doorway, Rico grabbed it and tugged in that direction. “This way.”
It took both of them to get Bob over the threshold, through the kitchen and into the mudroom. They laid their burden down, and Rico threw open the mudroom door. Frigid air rushed in.
The evening was clear, all its moisture frozen. Devon stepped outside and saw Caleb’s red plastic sled in the snow at the bottom of the steps. Rico reached past him, pulled the rug, and Bob thudded down the stairs, bouncing off each tread.
It was obscene. A toy that brought so much pleasure just two days ago—something caught in Devon’s throat. He couldn’t think about that now. He had to focus on the task at hand, had to find a way to kill Rico. Kill Rico. He repeated that in his mind like a mantra as they tied Bob to the sled. Kill Rico. It was Caleb’s only hope.
Devon dragged the sled, and Rico came behind, knife in one hand, shovel in the other. The sled was so much heavier now than when he’d dragged Caleb up the hill the other day. Pulling his son hadn’t been a burden, regardless of what he’d imagined at the time. This was a burden.
The snow field behind the house was bright in the fading light. They made their way across it, but before they entered the shadow of the woods, Rico paused and looked up at the sky. Two early stars glowed in sky. A moment later, he nodded as if interpreting a silent message, then plunged into the trees.
They walked for about five minutes before Rico said, “Here.” Devon dropped the sled’s rope and looked around. They stood in an open space between five pine trees. It was large enough for a man to lie down in. Rico handed him the shovel. “Dig.”
Devon stared at the instrument. Its blade shone in a shaft of light that beamed through the branches of the pines. It was as if heaven was pointing the way. This was his opportunity. He took the shovel without haste, so as not to alarm his captor. A tremor rocked his hand—the only tell. He glanced at Rico to see if he’d noticed, but he stared through the opening in the trees above them.
