Gone After the Wind

Chapter 23: Innocent

"Just to clear things up, Ma'am. You paid Mr. Santine a visit because his name rose up during one of your inquiries back at the diner, and at the household of Sandy Hupman—the victim that you claimed that had been harassed by Mr. Santine. Moments later, you heard gunfire as you leave. When you rushed into the bedroom, you found him at the foot of the bed, lying lifelessly with one hole punctured below his chin going to the back of his head. He had shot himself, according to your partner, because the gravity of what you revealed to him was too much for his understanding. Am I right on track, Ma'am? You're free to intervene if I gotten anything wrong," the detective said nonchalantly. He paused, lifted his disinterested gray eyes towards the agent, and waited for a distinct confirmation.

Nolan Rockford, the uptight, not cut-out-for-any-absurdity homicide detective, has been doing an exquisite job in steering the investigation on the rightful path. He wasn't subtle and territorial, so unlikely to the previous men that Cara had dealt with when jurisdiction becomes a thing to discuss, and fitted so well to the role he played as the detective-in-charge of the case. Bearing a five-foot-seven height, and a weight of 200 pounds, his pleasing appearance looked unnatural and beyond the job he held in the force. A Hollywood superstar would suit the position more before his name, as he was undebatably handsome and quick witted like a fox.

When the force from Redvine PD arrived earlier, Rockford deployed all his personnel to sweep up the area and attend to the minutiae of the crime scene the minute the wheels of their vans touched the pavement street. Although its distance to the next house would make the onlookers have second thoughts before coming, the security was still firm and threatening—the kind that Albreska state police usually use whenever the surge of media attention was too much. There were no short delays in the process. No tittle-tattle. No reluctance. Absolutely nothing that showed faux pas. The scenes that followed looked like a movement of a military group. Their actions were fast, precise, and on guard.

Kudos to Rockford's old-fashioned, based-on-the-book style of supervising, the actions that were set into motion adhered to standard procedure, making the whole process as immaculate and error-free. While that was impressive and pleasingly enough to calm anyone's nerves, Cara couldn't see herself as belonging to one of them. She was pissed off. Extremely so that every word Rockford muttered sounded like a personal attack and boasted with deprecation.

He probably didn't mean it but for some unknown reason, his skepticism was supposed to be natural, and his casualty that seemed far fetched, irked Cara's sensitivity. Time had revealed his full behavior towards the case, and Cara would be a hypocrite if she'd avoided the fact that she was getting ticked off the longer she watched him work. Only her powerful restraint and Agent Rose's sake were the leash that kept pulling her from interfering and correcting every word that Rockford had said.

She didn't like his accusatory tone. And mostly, she didn't like the idea that he had made them wait for fifteen long minutes, doing nothing and even prohibiting them to help. What a joke. How could they sulk and watch silently? How did it occur to them that they'd follow that silly advice?

Gratefully, before Cara could break that, Rockford came out from the trailer and at last, asked them to talk. But Cara didn't foresee he'd be a total jerk. The praises she had been singing earlier transformed into curses that she now mutters her breath one by one after hearing his own version of the story.

"No, I don't think I will. You've elaborated it quite accurately to the real events, Detective," Agent Rose answered, caressing her chin. "But I should correct you on the part that my partner claimed that he had shot himself because he did. It was neither a claim nor speculation. He took his own life for reasons that even you wouldn't decipher so early. What we told him was just a factor or stressor that unfortunately fired his will to do this. We didn't lead him nor we were responsible for his demise, Detective. It was his first choice."

"Noted," Rockford replied, trudging past the warning, oblivious to the rising tension. "Sorry about that. Just doing my job, agent. Hope you understand if I'm being an asshole. I'm not accustomed to being nice since it was never included in my job description to please people according to their whims."

"No problem. Your honesty is very much appreciated." Agent Rose smiled.

"Wish your partner could say the same thing," Rockford blurted, glancing lazily towards their left where Cara was leaning against the hood of their car, arms crossed and obscenely displaying a resentful demeanor.

Already immersed by Rockford's words earlier, she was caught off-guard, and didn't notice the stares early. Hadn't been for Agent Rose's chuckle, she wouldn't even know Rockford was pertaining to her. She stared back at him, once again incredulous at his total lack of sensitivity and presumptuous behavior. He held the gaze, unyielding, and Cara's patience almost snapped in two. Figuring a rebuttal would do nothing but ignite the tension more, she shrugged and chose to look away, gritting her teeth.

"Even if she doesn't say anything, I'm confident we're both good," Agent Rose said casually, slipping her hands inside the pocket of her pants.

"I do hope so. It would be uncomfortable to do my job if it wasn't." Rockford thumbed through the pages of his notebook. He suddenly slammed it shut. "Well, if you don't have anything to add and that's all I should know, let's wrap this up, then, and have a quick tour inside. You don't mind hanging around more, do you?"

Agent Rose glanced at Cara, smiling devilishly. "That's the moment we've been waiting for, why would we reject it? It's not like the twenty minutes we were forced to wait was hellish enough to tick us off."

Rockford stared at her, weighing her words. He slowly bobbed his head as though he understood its meaning. The absence of emotion on his face suggested the opposite though. "That was my fault. I didn't mean to cause any inconvenience or impede you for selfish reasons. I'm quite sure you understand why I can't just let you roam around freely without hearing the whole story. Did I offend you? I'm sorry if I did."

"Not in the least." Agent Rose tapped his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, Detective. I was just messing around when I mentioned that. Though we would've appreciated it if you had warned us somehow so we wouldn't have appeared like clueless idiots lost in Disneyland."

"Right. Gonna do it better next time," he said impassively before taking a step ahead of them, gesturing at the rickety stairs. "Shall we?"

Agent Rose shot a glance toward Cara before she advanced. Cara tailed behind her, guilt and uneasiness washing over the hatred she felt for Rockford as she, for the third time, ascended to the same stairs. Up until now, she still couldn't get over the fact that their mere visit ended up losing a life—a witness that could paint the identification of the real culprit, and a solid lead that could have opened so many avenues to venture.

Even though it had been two hours since the gunfire rang across the trailer, and Santine's took his life, the hollow that ate her calmness hadn't yet disappeared. The disheartening shock that electrified her continued to flick her veins, sending cynical thoughts to her brain that continued to juggle up her guilt and sense of duty. Agent Rose may be right about pinning none of it was their fault, but Cara knew she could have done something to prevent it nor she should have been wise enough to see it coming. There were traceable signs, in fact, that warned them right before it happened.

Cara should've paid attention to them.

The instability of his mental state, his obsession with Sandy Hupman, and his background. All painted him as at risk of mental illness, and most likely, suicide. But these factors had been pushed aside for the greater sake of the case at hand. Cara couldn't stay away from the possibility that if she had been nicer and warmer to him, would he reconsider doing that? Or if they didn't push him a bit far, would that switch in his mind would click?

Those thoughts swarmed like bees on Cara's head as she stepped inside the trailer again, a coat of chilly sensation slowly wrapped around her. Tight and compressing. Though the number of officers and forensics going over his things and mess made the place a bit comforting, the feeling of being an outcast was still here. It was as though they were stepping onto another dimension, a clone of a regular trailer. But instead of being cozy and comforting, it was grim and chilling.

"We followed your advice," Rockford said as they slinked through the hallway. "To search for any evidence that could link him to the recent murders you've been investigating. But other than his shrine, we couldn't find anything concrete that would point him as the culprit."

"Shrine?" Cara probed, taking a break from her thoughts.

"Yep, he actually managed to build one in here. Not out of religious fulfillment, though. It contained pictures, articles, and self-made portraits of the woman you've mentioned that he had been obsessing with. We haven't bagged it up yet, so if you want to see it, just say so."

"How about some dolls or marionettes? Did he have any?" Agent Rose asked.

"As of now, we didn't spot some. But we're only half of his stuff so I can't be certain on that part."

Because the body had already been removed, the scene that welcomed them when they entered the bedroom wasn't as gore and upsetting as it had been a while ago. The mess of one bullet being shot through one's head was all over the room. Streaks of flesh from the head wound had been splattered on the wall together with the blood that was now beginning to dry up.

Cara gulped as she looked down and the outline of Santine's position glared back at her. He had been sitting next to the foot of the bed when he pulled the trigger, both hands were clutching the gun as it fired. The force that came with the shot was too powerful, he had been almost propelled to the wall. The gun was lying on the side.

"We've notified his family, and odd as it may sound but they weren't surprised to hear the news. Devastated, yes, but they accepted it right off the bat. They'll be collecting his body after the autopsy for the funeral, together with his belongings," Rockford said, standing beside the two men snapping photos of the scene. "That's why it'd be best and conventional if you use this chance to go over his things. We can assist you with that."

"What's up with the detached reaction?" Agent Rose asked, hunkering down into a squatting position.

"Santine's long history of attempted suicide may be the cause for that one. As you had probably learned from his files, he claimed to be abused by his parents, resulting in the incapacitation of his mental stability. Over the course of his teenage years, he had made five suicide attempts. Cutting himself and perpetrating several accidents. One incident almost ended his life. His unfitness to live a normal life had forced them to give up on him."

"Yet his isolation only made everything worse," Agent Rose replied, now standing in the doorway, a few steps away from Cara. "Do you have the list we've requested?"

"It's in here." Rockford raised the left side of his jacket and extracted a piece of folded paper. He walked over to Cara and handed it to her. Once she got hold of it, she immediately scanned the contents, looking for Mr. Robinson's name and Santine's out of the twenty people listed in there.

It was almost a relief when she didn't see both of them. Robinson may be secretive, but his age and temper don't really fit their profile. The same goes for Santine who acted suspicious enough to raise alarms, but the inconsistencies in the pattern of his behavior would be a total obstacle to committing the marionette murders almost meticulously. He was a wreck. His intentions towards Sandy may be too creepy, but something about the level of adoration he had showed somehow baptized the idea he would never harm her.

These men were both oddballs, but Cara couldn't picture any of them committing those horrific crimes. Not with the frailty and disoriented behavior they exhibited. The person they're looking for is very different. In all aspects. If anything, much more dangerous and clever. The way his confidence oozed on the crimes suggested he was calm and had a great sense of what he was doing. He had successfully evaded the police for months, operating under their nose without recklessly spilling some clues about him.

None of these men seemed highly capable of doing that.

"I hate to break it, but Santine wasn't your man. We checked the shelters and the calls that came in before and after the storm. We discovered he phoned the nine-one-one several hours before the snowstorm hit Albreska, calling out for help and asking if he could crash into one of the shelters until the storm disappeared. One van was sent to pick him up. I talked to the staff who assisted him, and indeed, he spent those days in the shelter under monitor. He never left. Not once. Except, of course, when he needed the loo."

Cara nodded. "Is this all?"

"All there is that we could offer."

"Did you verify their whereabouts when the storm happened?"

Rockford crossed his arms, tilting his head. Whether he was mocking or not, Cara still wondered how satisfying it would be if she'd punched his face, and distort that annoying smirk on his face. "Do we have to?"

Cara fought the urge to roll her eyes. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she gave the list to Agent Rose, and slipped her hands into her pocket. "If you want to minimize the expense of that job, you must. This is your area, Detective. Your own territory. Do you think it would be respectful if we, coming from the other side, are entrusted with showing up in these people's houses? The last thing we want is for them to be spooked, don't we?"

Rockford smirked, his left eyebrow raising as he shrugged. "Guess, you're right. Well, then, we'd deploy the task force to visit these people. We'll keep you posted regarding this."

"You better," Cara said firmly, heading out to the hallway. She marched back outside, consumed by deep thoughts. Agent Rose remained inside, resuming the inquiries, but Cara had seen enough to leave the task alone to her.

Now that Santine's innocence had been cleared out of underlying suspicion, their time to leave had come. Their ultimate mission had been completed, and Cara couldn't see the necessity to stay and entail their noses to the investigation any longer. The result may not be fulfilled on their part, but it could be extremely useful. Such a shame that they had obtained it at the expense of a life. But that's just how tricky the dynamics of life are, isn't it? It had been that way ever since, and for everybody. There's always something uncontrollable in it, that if we gladly oblige ourselves to take the responsibility, we just couldn't. Because it's out of hand, it's inevitable and it's unexpected.

Heaving the building frustrated, Cara shut her stinging eyes and massaged her pulsating temples. The train of her thoughts came to a screeching halt as she calmed herself and put aside these things for a moment. The day wasn't over yet but the exhaustion was already overwhelming in all senses.

Footsteps echoed behind, and Cara moved away to unblock the entrance. From the corner of her eyes, Agent Rose appeared and stood next to her, hands on her hips and sighing heavily.

"I'm afraid there's nothing for us to be here anymore," she said. Her voice was raspy and sounded resigned. "Forensics are getting pissed to waste more energy and resources in digging through his things. One more futile result and they'd stop the search. Rockford's ready to pack up, too. They just need our signal. Are we going to give it? Or should we stay more?"

She shook her head. "I think we're done here. We had the list, and the information we want from Santine. I don't think we can do much. They can handle the rest, for sure."

"Alright." Agent Rose took a deep breath. She tapped Cara's shoulder. "Get the car ready, then. We'll leave in a few minutes. I'll say goodbye to the boys."

Cara only nodded in response. As Agent Rose turned, Cara plummeted down the stairs, pinching the back of her sore neck. Her eyes were drooping as she trod out in the driveway, and past the group of officers still canvassing the area. Just then, her gaze inadvertently moved beyond the trailer, and she saw the tree that she had been staring at an hour ago. The tree where she thought she had seen a movement. Either made by an individual or some animal. That was the question she had failed to answer earlier.

Figuring it wouldn't hurt if she checked it, she walked across the driveway and under the broken fence separating the stretch of woodlands from Santine's trailer. The sun hasn't yet departed, but the deeper she goes, the woods seemed to get darker as the trees blocked the sun's glow to reach the land. A pile of dried leaves blocked her way, and a series of cracking noises bellowed under her boots as she stomped on them.

She stopped when she reached the tree, suddenly unsure what she was hoping to find. She looked around, her gaze cutting through every space in the trees or bushes, searching for some indicators that would confirm her hunch. But nothing seemed out of ordinary. She sighed in relief. Maybe that was indeed a variety of her stubborn and peculiar imagination.

"Detective Black?" Agent Rose called from afar. "Where are you? Let's move before it gets dark!"

"In here!" she yelled. "Just a minute!"

The wind blew from the east, and the forest started whispering. The trees woke and their leaves danced alongside the slow rhythm of the wind. Cara collected her swaying hair, gently laughing at herself for being so paranoid. She reverted from the path she had walked upon. And as she moved past the tree, she spotted something on its bent roots, splayed on it as though waiting for a passenger by to pick it up. It was hard to figure out what it was. Cara had to lower her back to see it more clearly.

It was a flower. A small bouquet of red dandelions was meticulously compassed together. Underneath the roots, the underbrushes had been flattened as though someone had been standing there for an extended period. There were marks. A set of bootprints that wasn't apparent at one simple glance.

Cara's heart hammered against her chest. Picking up the flower, she fumbled for her cell phone and snapped a picture of it. Her hands trembled as she zoomed it in, the hair at the back of her neck rising as she realized that she had been correct. She wasn't daydreaming when she saw that shadow. Nor she was experiencing minor paranoia when she sensed that creepy sensation. Someone had been here, watching them both from afar. And whoever that was, knew she'd be here, and purposely left this bouquet. Why on earth a type of flower would be out in a place where it didn't obviously grow?

"Detective Black?" Agent Rose called out again, her voice was much louder than the last time.

As though a jumpscare showed at her face, Cara's shoulders flinched and her heart blasted madly. Adrenaline surged through her like a storm, and she managed to slip the flower inside a ziplock, punched it through her pocket, and dust off the dirt sprinkled on her hands just before Agent Rose gets neared.

"What are you doing out here? I thought you were starting off the car," Agent Rose said from behind.

She stood up from kneeling and faced her with a distorted smile. "I, uh, thought I saw something. I chased it off."

"You looked like a ghost there, Detective." Agent Rose smirked. "It scared you, didn't it? Whatever that was you were chasing."

Cara chuckled, pressing her hand against the pocket. "Yeah. Took me off by surprise. Glad it was a squirrel, though. Not a friggin' bear."

Agent Rose laughed a bit and stopped a few yards away from her. "Well, if you don't want to come face to face with one, don't come running off like that again. You'll never know what's going to surprise you next. Especially in a thick forest like this." She eyed the forest with a keen wariness that forced Cara to cut her interest right then.

"Can we go?" Cara offered and lumbered across the agent. She restrained herself to look back, putting a leash on her itching eagerness to investigate more.

"Yeah, absolutely."

It was a fleeting moment on the way back to their vehicle. She felt as though she was floating in midair. No sounds were prominent in her ears. She couldn't feel any particular emotions other than fear and crippling uneasiness. All the machines and screws in her mind seemed to have just stopped operating. And the thoughts that were bouncing back in there were the flower, the footprints, and the person who had caused this little mystery.

She climbed inside the front seat, and their vehicle started to drive off.

--

The journey towards home was surprisingly short and pleasant. Given how the day had turned out, it should have been depressing. But they didn't end up going on that path. Cara was grateful Agent Rose had been discreet and distant. She didn't dig into the minutiae of what happened nor expounded on some interesting theories like she usually does. She had been quiet most of the time. Would only probe a conversation if something interesting out on the road had caught her eye.

Her avoidance to delve into the incident back at Santine's trailer gave Cara the space to think of the more pressing and disturbing matter that she ought to deal with once this little venture is over. Her palm remained pressed in her pocket as though the flower would dissolve into the rough fabric of her pants the moment she'd let go. Feeling it against her skin replenishes her confidence and assurance that she had been right all along. That she wasn't paranoid. It was real. Someone had been indeed watching them.

Though the possibility of it being a mere suspicion is infinite, Cara clung to her initial impression that it was all intentional. The flower hadn't been brought there by accident but by distinct choice and with the purpose to mess up with her. Why else it would be there? Coincidence rarely happens in her line of work. And this occurrence was too unusual to call it in such a manner. She'd definitely believe it was a coincidence if... the flower had no significant representation of her. And if it didn't belong to the same species that she had found at Marco's crime scene two months ago.

Yet it was the same. Varied in color but everything was disturbingly similar. From the number of petals to the same appearance. Now how was she going to brush that off and think of it as an event perpetrated by chance?

"So... same time tomorrow?" Agent Rose asked as their vehicle slowed down on their driveway.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Cara pondered that for a moment, uncertain if she could make it the way she did this morning. With the new profounding mystery she had unfolded, the work she needed to do had doubled. And she wasn't even sure if she could split her attention. "I don't know if I can manage to buzz in that early again tomorrow. But I'll try."

"Alright. You know where to find me. Goodnight, Detective. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you."

Settling with that, they parted ways. Cara watched and waited until the car disappeared into the darkness of the night before she bolted from where she stood and walked firmly across the lawn to get inside their house, finally releasing the excitement she had been withholding to acquire control of her. But soon, her footsteps decelerated and the fire turned cold as she gets neared and noticed the strange output of the house.

Not even a single light was ignited inside. Even the bulb on the front porch had not been switched on. It was extremely dark, Cara couldn't even see the door knob clearly. Her heart plummeted, and panic bloomed in a blink. Not once did Nana Ryla allow their house to be in this state. Even if at times she had to leave without anyone occupying it, she had never neglected the responsibility of switching the lights.

Realizing that, she instantly withdrew her gun, before groping the door for the knob and twisting it. She entered, raising the gun at an arm level, and stealthily walked beyond the foyer until she reached the grand staircase, attempting to minimize the noise. The darkness was more defined and blinding inside. Her senses went up all sensitive and vigilant. She pictured a vague presentation of their house and consulted it as she climbed the stairs. Her fear of the worst was growing like an infestation, clouding several of her judgments and blocking her logical sense.

She hoped that this was all only a fault of Nana Ryla's duties. She hoped Alex hasn't yet come home and wished that whatever discovery she might find upstairs, Alex isn't included in it.

When she got to the second floor, there was some faint light coming from the nearby houses that illuminated parts of the hallway. It was a tremendous help to her to check Alex's room. She was elated, and more than relieved to see it was empty. But the horror and angsty were still crawling under her nerves. She then moved to her bedroom. She swallowed hard when she found the door ajar and smelled something compelling. The door creaked as she pushed it. She hadn't yet reached her bed when she heard the door slowly closing behind her.

But before she could wheel around, a hand grabbed her head and smashed it into the nearby wall.