Page 80 of Her Final Hours
They could hear a baby crying and a faint rustling inside the apartment as they approached the door. Callie raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open abruptly before she could make contact. Standing before them was a black woman who seemed less than thrilled to see them at that early hour. Her tired eyes were bloodshot, and her unkempt hair resembled abird’s nest. In one arm she cradled a baby who was crying softly. In the other, she was holding a garbage bag.
“Morning, ma’am. Is Patrick Bromide in?” McKenzie asked, trying to remain composed despite the woman’s disapproving expression.
The woman scowled at him. “If you’re from the collection company, I already told you, stop calling!” she snapped, clarifying that she had mistaken McKenzie in his plain clothes for a debt collector. “And as for you,” she said, looking at Callie, who was in uniform. “I already did your job.”
She went to close the door, and McKenzie quickly intervened, placing a hand on the door to prevent it from slamming shut. He swiftly flashed his badge, revealing his identity. “Ma’am, we’re from the Adirondack Sheriff’s Office,” he stated firmly, hoping to defuse the tension.
The woman glanced at the badge and reluctantly opened the door wide, allowing them entry if they wanted to barge in. They didn’t. She appeared exhausted and frustrated, evident in how she let out a weary sigh. “You Tasha Chapman?” Callie inquired, wanting to confirm her identity.
“I am,” she replied, her voice tinged with annoyance. Her gaze shifted from McKenzie to Callie and back again.
Callie continued. “Look, we just need to speak to Patrick. It’s important.”
Tasha’s frustration was palpable as she spoke, her weariness blatant. “He’s not here. He doesn’t live here anymore,” she revealed. “Like I said. I’ve done your job and kicked his ass out after he brought you all around here a few days ago. He said he was done with getting into trouble and promised us. You know, what with him having a kid and all? I figured that time inside might have smartened him up. But I guess not.”
They nodded understandingly, empathizing with her exasperation. “You know where we can find him?” Callie inquired.
Tasha gave a nod. “He’s probably sleeping in the RV at the back of the Fish and Game Hunting Club,” she admitted. “They have one behind the property’s tree line. It’s close to the river. He likes to fish there.”
“Not much fishing to be done right now,” McKenzie said.
“I don’t know, maybe he does ice fishing,” she replied. Tasha narrowed her eyes at him.
Callie took a moment to ask a key question, noting all the resentment coming across for him. “The other night, you stated that he was with you. Still true?”
“Like hell it is. Why do you think he’s not here now? He told me to tell the cops that he was here all night. That’s bullshit. I don’t know where he was. Then again, he was always out at all hours.”
“All hours. Doing what?”
“Working. But if that was true, where’s the money?” she said. “That low-life never has enough on him.”
“Then it begs to ask, why did you have a kid with him?” McKenzie tossed out.
“Because, at one time, he was rolling in the money. Then he got himself in prison.”
Callie glanced at McKenzie, wondering more about Patrick’s background.
“What was his excuse?” Callie asked. “For working late.”
“Emergency plumbing. But he must think I’m stupid. How many emergency calls for plumbers do you think a small town gets?” Her tone turned resentful as she added, “Look, you tell him when you see him, I want some money. Someone has to feed this child!”
That said, Tasha slammed the door shut, leaving them in the hallway. A few curious residents had poked their heads out of their apartment doors, observing the commotion with interest. Callie couldn’t help but let out a wry smile.
“Pleasant lady,” McKenzie said jokingly. “Real wife material.” He broke the tension as they began to walk away.
The storm intensifiedas Callie and McKenzie arrived at the Fish and Game Hunting Club. Snowflakes grew larger and heavier, swirling in a gust of biting wind. Visibility diminished as the blizzard raged, creating a whiteout effect that obscured the surroundings. The patrol SUV crawled through the thick snow. They parked, braved the freezing weather, and stepped out into the wet and slushy terrain.
“Man, they don’t pay me enough to do this,” McKenzie grumbled, his breath visible in the icy air as they trudged forward, each step requiring extra effort.
The howling wind whipped the trees mercilessly, causing branches to sway and creak. The snow-laden clouds darkened the sky, casting an eerie gloom over the landscape. Nature’s fury unleashed itself on them, making the day even more miserable.
As they made their way through the trees, they finally reached a clearing where an old black RV appeared. It had certainly seen better days, with deflated wheels and a section propped on bricks. A large BBQ, now covered in snow, stood nearby, a testament to past outdoor gatherings.
Callie’s attention turned to the Bouquet River, which lay frozen and silent. The ice glistened under the wintry sky, its surface marred by the occasional snowdrift. It was a stark and lonely sight.
“Fishing, huh!” McKenzie remarked, shaking his head in disbelief as he approached the RV. He knocked on the door with force. “Patrick Bromide. Adirondack Sheriff’s Office. Open up!” he yelled, his voice carrying through the stillness of the winter landscape.
There was no response from within. Frustrated, McKenzie climbed onto an overturned plastic box to get a better view through the RV’s windows. “Can’t see a damn thing,” he muttered to Callie, who stood nearby.
