Orphans of Wonderland Read online

  The units looked reasonably new and had a suburban, middle-class look. A small SUV and a compact car he recognized as the same one Katelyn had driven to Maine were parked in the driveway. Both were well cared for, as were the front lawn, manicured shrubs and chipped stone path leading to the front door.

  Joel gathered the case containing his laptop and notebooks from the passenger seat, then stepped out of the car. He hadn’t quite reached the front door when it opened and a lanky man in his twenties emerged. Joel assumed this was Katelyn’s husband, as he sported a buzz cut and was dressed in an inexpensive suit, tie and black wingtips. He looked exactly like the accountant she said he was. Waiting for Joel to get closer, the man lingered on the front steps awkwardly before he extended his hand and asked, “Mr. Walker?”

  “Yes—call me Joel—it’s Joel.”

  “Adam Burrows. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Pleasure,” Joel said, taking his hand. There hadn’t been any snowfall beyond southern Maine, but it was just as bitterly cold here, and Joel couldn’t help but wonder why, once their handshake had concluded, they were still on the steps and not already inside. “Everything all right?” Joel finally asked.

  “Yes, my apologies,” Burrows said, apparently as formal and stiff as his wife but far less comfortable with verbal interaction. “I just wanted to thank you for doing this. It means the world to Katelyn, and to me too. When you called and told her you’d agreed to check things out, she was so happy, I—well—I want you to know how much it’s appreciated.”

  “Like I told Katelyn, I can’t promise any results, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “That’s all we can ask. Of course we expect to pay you for—”

  “Don’t worry about it. If things become complicated, which I’m not anticipating at this point, I might need some expenses covered, but that’s it. I’m not doing this for money, Adam.”

  “That’s very kind. Please, come in,” he said, finally escorting him inside.

  Joel stepped directly into a modest living room that opened up into a kitchen. Katelyn was standing at a bar in the kitchen area, drinking a bottle of water. When their eyes met, she offered a reserved smile.

  “Hello again,” Joel said.

  “Please, come in.” Katelyn motioned to a stool opposite her. “I hope the directions were effective?”

  “Yes, perfect.”

  “And how was your drive?”

  “Long. Boring. The usual.” He forced a smile, but it felt as awkward as the ones Katelyn and Adam threw back. After removing his coat and giving it to Adam, who placed it on the back of a nearby couch, Joel slid onto the nearest stool and put his case on the bar between them.

  Their townhouse looked as formal as they were, almost sterile: all-white walls, counters and appliances, understated furniture and a few random pieces of inexpensive minimalist artwork scattered throughout. Cold, Joel thought.

  Katelyn, dressed in moccasin slippers and a pink sweat suit, her dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, motioned toward her refrigerator with the flair of a spokesmodel. “Something to drink?” she asked. “Some hot cocoa maybe? Or water, soda, maybe a beer? Something stronger?”

  “Thank you, I’m fine.” Joel opened his case, removed a notebook and a pen.

  Adam sat on a stool to Joel’s right. “Old school,” he said, attempting humor.

  “Old guy.” Joel chuckled and then turned back to Katelyn. “When you were at my house, you said you had some other things to tell me, but if you don’t mind, I have a few questions I need to ask first. Some may be a bit uncomfortable for you, but they’re necessary.”

  “I understand,” Katelyn said. “I’ll answer anything I can.”

  “Great. Ready to start?” When she responded with a nod, Joel referred to his pad and some earlier notes he’d made. “Was your dad on any medications?”

  “He took a pill for high cholesterol. He’d been on that one for about four or five years, I think. He had some pain issues too—his legs and back mostly, from all those years on his feet—but didn’t take prescription drugs for that, mostly Tylenol, that kind of thing. He also self-medicated with liquor now and then.”

  “But no other prescription drugs?”

  “Not that I know of. There was something else, though. He had a strange bottle of pills in his medicine cabinet. It was the typical kind of pill bottle you get from a pharmacy, but there was no label on it, which I found odd.”

  “Do you remember what the pills looked like?”

  “Small,” she said. “White.”

  “Did they have any markings or numbers on them?”

  “No. They looked a little like aspirin, but I don’t think that’s what they were.”

  “You don’t still have them by any chance, do you?”

  “No. The police took them when they went through his apartment as part of their investigation. I was told they planned to get them tested, but apparently the bottle was lost.”

  Joel arched an eyebrow. “Lost?”

  “Misplaced was the word the detective used. He said these things sometimes happen, things are filed or catalogued incorrectly, but that they’d likely turn up at some point. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about it, frankly. As far as I know they still haven’t found them, and never identified what they were.”

  “Okay,” Joel said, making a note. “Should you get further information on that, let me know soon as you can, all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about other drugs?”

  “Like?”

  “Like illegal drugs, was Lonnie doing anything along those lines?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. As I mentioned, my father was a bit of a drinker. I’m sure back when you knew him, in his younger days, he experimented or partied like most everyone else, but I never knew him to do drugs.”

  Adam held a hand up like a child in a classroom.

  Joel turned to him. “Yes?”

  “I think, maybe, he smoked marijuana.”

  Joel did his best not to laugh. This guy was the squarest and stiffest twentysomething he’d ever encountered. He and Katelyn were about as hip as bingo night at the local nursing home. “And why do you say that?”

  Adam glanced quickly at his wife, who was frowning her disapproval at his interruption. “Well, we found a package of rolling papers in his dresser drawer. Remember, honey? Remember when we found a package of rolling papers in his dresser drawer?”

  Katelyn’s hazel eyes shifted from her husband to Joel. “He may have smoked pot now and then, but I don’t believe it was something he did regularly.”

  “Okay,” Joel said. “So there wouldn’t have been any issues with that then. Was he ever treated for mental illness or emotional disorders—problems with depression, suicidal tendencies or attempts—that kind of thing?”

  “No,” Katelyn answered evenly, “there was never any of that.”

  “Well, he was depressed a lot,” Adam interjected. “And then not long before he died, he—”

  “He could be brooding at times,” Katelyn said, glaring in her husband’s general direction. “But I wouldn’t say he suffered from depression to the point that it was a problem or something that needed to be medicated or monitored by a professional.” Katelyn became very still and quiet for a moment, but it was obvious she had more to say. Eventually, she continued. “My father didn’t have the easiest life. Of course he was depressed or down at times. He worked hard his entire life and never really had anything to show for it.”

  “He had you,” Joel reminded her.

  Katelyn smiled, and it was the most genuine expression she’d shown since he’d arrived. “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with tears.

  Adam dropped from his stool, hurried over to a nearby coffee table and came back with a small box of tissues. He handed
them to his wife, then returned to his seat at the bar.

  “Katelyn, I don’t want to belabor this point, but it’s important. You told me that in the months prior to his murder, Lonnie changed quite a bit, that he was claiming something bad was going to happen and that there were people after him.”

  “Yes,” she said with some reluctance. “That’s true.”

  “Well, then is it safe to say he may have developed some mental or emotional issues but never sought formal treatment for them?”

  “You asked me if my father had ever been treated for mental illness or attempted suicide. The answer is no. I also do not believe my father was mentally ill, even in the months before his death. Troubled, yes. Insane, no.”

  “Fair enough,” Joel said. “But you also told me he was terrified, said that strange things were happening. People—or what he hoped were people—were following him. Later, he spoke of demons. Surely you can see where…”

  Katelyn nodded.

  “Could he have developed some sort of paranoid, delusional—”

  “I’m not a psychiatrist, but I knew my father very well, and I’m telling you the fear he had was genuine. It was neither imagined nor the result of the onset of some sudden mental illness or paranoid delusion. He was afraid because something was happening to him. Something real.”

  “Adam,” Joel asked, “do you agree?”

  Clearly in a panic at being asked, Adam did his best to avoid eye contact with his wife as he drew a series of slow deep breaths, then finally said, “Yes, I do.”

  “All right, let’s move on. Did Lonnie have any problems with the law?”

  “No,” Katelyn replied. “Few traffic and parking tickets, that’s about it.”

  “Did he gamble at all?”

  “He’d go to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun, maybe Twin Rivers now and then, but it was recreational and very rarely. Once every few years, I guess. He certainly never gave any indication that he had a gambling problem or addiction or anything even close to that sort of thing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Any significant debt?”

  “No. He only had one major credit card and a couple department store ones. None of them had large balances.”

  “No mortgages, anything like that?”

  “His apartment was a rental. Sadly, he never owned his own home.”

  Joel nodded and made more notes. Although it was brutally cold outside, the heat here was so strong and dry it was becoming uncomfortable. “Actually, could I bother you for a bottle of that water after all?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it,” Adam said, quickly heading for the refrigerator.

  “Were there any relatively new people in his life?” Joel asked. “Maybe new friends or acquaintances that came into the picture not long before he died?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Was he seeing anyone? A girlfriend or anyone special?”

  “He dated from time to time, but he hadn’t had a serious relationship or what I’d call an actual girlfriend in several years,” Katelyn explained.

  “He’d become kind of a solitary guy,” Adam offered, appearing at his side with the bottled water.

  “Thanks.” Joel took the bottle and had a long drink. “Do you know why?”

  “No,” Katelyn said. “He’d never had a huge group of friends. He led a very quiet and simple life, for the most part. He was friendly with a couple guys he knew from work, and he still saw Sal and Dorsey now and then—more Sal than Dorsey—but they stayed in touch, got together maybe a couple times a year.”

  “So Sal and Dorsey are still in the area?”

  “Sal’s still in Westport. In the same house he grew up in, in fact. Dorsey lives in New Bedford with his girlfriend.”

  “Were they at the funeral?”

  “Dorsey was. Sal wasn’t.”

  “Much of a tough guy as Sal could be,” Joel said, mostly thinking aloud, “he never did handle things like that well.”

  Katelyn shrugged.

  “What about Trent Pierce?”

  “He’s fallen off the radar. Sal said no one’s sure where he is.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Several years ago. Sal said he was somewhere out west, but no one’s heard from him in quite some time, as I understand it. Sal said Trent went through some hard times, a bad divorce and some other things, then just sort of fell off the grid.”

  That didn’t strike Joel as that surprising or odd, since at least in their circle of friends, Trent had been the most rebellious one, the least establishment and the most likely to have issues with society in general. As he knew all too well, things changed. People changed. Nothing—no one—stayed the same. But it sounded as if Trent had only gotten worse in that regard. “Katelyn,” he said, “can I ask why you didn’t tell me about the funeral? Why didn’t you contact me until afterwards?”

  Looking physically uncomfortable with the question, she said, “I should’ve called you, and I’m sorry I didn’t. My father talked about you a lot. He missed you, missed your friendship. But he also felt bad for you, because he knew you’d been through hell with that other business. He told me that if anything ever happened to him to leave you alone, to let you know after the fact because you’d been through enough. I honored his wishes. Until I realized that, under the circumstances, you were the first person I should’ve contacted, not the last.”

  “It’s fine,” Joel assured her, giving her hand a quick pat. “You mentioned he was friendly with a couple guys he worked with.”

  “They weren’t terribly close, but he socialized with them now and then.”

  “In our last conversation you said he was still working in the security field.”

  “Yes, mall security. He was with the same company for years. He worked his way up to senior officer, a supervisory position. The company has contracts with several area malls, so he moved between them a lot.”

  Joel turned his notebook to a blank page, then handed it to Katelyn along with his pen. “Jot down their names and the company they work for, please.” He turned to Adam. “Were there any people he knew you’d call suspicious?”

  “Suspicious?”

  “Any friends with unsavory contacts or associations, troubled pasts, that kind of thing.”

  “Not that we know of,” Katelyn answered for him.

  “You mean like a criminal element?” Adam asked.

  Joel nodded.

  “I don’t know; that Sal character is a little scary,” he said, laughing lightly.

  “He could be intimidating for sure, and was always was a little rough around the edges,” Joel said, tossing out some brief obligatory laughter. “But far as I know, Sal was never a criminal.”

  “No, of course he isn’t.” Finished, Katelyn slid the pen and notebook back. “My father didn’t associate with criminals. People make jokes about mall cops and all that, but he cared about people and their safety. He was a good man, he liked helping people and the businesses he protected, he took pride in keeping them safe.”

  “You said he had very little credit card debt, but did he owe anyone else money? Personal loans or things like that?”

  Katelyn shook her head.

  “Did he have any enemies to speak of? People he’d had problems with or who were vocal about disliking him for some reason, maybe someone he had a disagreement with or had issues with through his job? A person he may have caught shoplifting or had a prior confrontation with, for example? Someone who may have had a vendetta against him and just taken it too far, or maybe a neighbor with some sort of gripe that got out hand?”

  Katelyn and Adam exchanged quick glances. “Sorry, the police asked these same questions. Far as I know there was nothing like that going on. He had problems with people at work at times, as you say, shoplifters or rowdy kids or whatever, but none of that ever
translated to his personal life. He was careful to keep all that separate so he wouldn’t have problems with those sorts outside work. And on the personal front, as I said, his was a very small circle of friends and acquaintances, and within that circle he was well liked and respected.”

  Joel referred to the notebook briefly, then folded it closed. “You told me your mother and Lonnie were never married, and you lived with your father growing up.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can you elaborate on that?”

  “My mother had struggles with drugs and alcohol most of her life. She was out of the picture from the time I was a very little girl. She served time in jail on occasion and ran with a rough crowd—bikers and whatnot—so I rarely saw her. Now and then she’d appear as if from nowhere, and my father would let her see me for a few minutes, maybe an afternoon, and then she was gone and I wouldn’t see her again for months, sometimes years. I never really considered her my mother, to be honest. She was just some strange woman who made me uncomfortable and smelled like cheap booze and cigarettes.” Katelyn sighed heavily and wiped away more tears with a fresh tissue. “My father loved her—or did at one time—and I’m not sure he was ever the same after she left him. But it did bring us closer together. He was a wonderful parent. He did his best.”

  “So is your relationship with your mother still strained?”

  “She died four years ago of a heroin overdose.”

  Joel was surprised it had taken her so long to mention this, but it also struck him how difficult it must have been for her to lose both parents at such a young age. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I barely knew the woman, but thank you. She was living somewhere in New Jersey when she died. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in about five or six years, and neither had my father.”

  Joel had another drink of water, hoping a brief silence might ease the tension in the room. “You mentioned a brand on the back of Lonnie’s shoulder. What else can you tell me about that?”

  “He implied they had marked him. Whoever they were.”

  “Marked,” Joel said. “Interesting way to put it.”

  “That’s the word he used. But he had no memory of when or how it had been done, and had no idea why.”