at the sign. “The Rusty Pelican burned down ten years ago. It took the owners several years to rebuild the place. It didn’t open again until six years ago. I know this because Rose and I celebrate our anniversary there every year. The sign in this photograph was installed after the restaurant was rebuilt.”
“Which means that this photo was taken within the past six years,” Burrell said.
“That’s right. I’m guessing this guy isn’t Suzie’s actual father.”
“He never told me that.”
“What’s his name, anyway?”
“Richard Knockman.”
Burrell’s face went blank, but I felt her rage bubbling below the surface, the deception making her want to explode. Men who carried on sexual relationships with underage girls came in a variety of forms. Some were teachers, some were coaches, and some even pretended to be men of faith. Each of these men had one thing in common: They used their positions of authority to get close to their victims, who were young and vulnerable They were predators.
Richard Knockman was a special breed of predator. He had married Suzie’s mother to get at Suzie. Suzie was the prize. More than likely, he had dated other women with young daughters, and settled on Suzie’s mother because she desperately wanted a man in her life. That was how it usually worked.
Richard Knockman had worked on Suzie slowly, lavishing her with gifts and attention and whatever she’d desired. He’d made her feel like a princess, and worked his way into her heart. Then one night, Richard had paid an unexpected visit to his stepdaughter’s bedroom. Suzie had awoken to find him rubbing her back, or even lying next to her. He made physical contact with her to see how she reacted. When she didn’t scream or try to scratch his eyeballs out, he told her how special she was. Then he left, with a promise to return.
Only the next time Richard Knockman had visited Suzie’s bedroom, he was in for a surprise. The door had a deadbolt. When Richard knocked and asked to be let in, Suzie told him he couldn’t enter. Maybe she even told him that she had a baseball bat. That was how little girls dealt with men like Richard Knockman.
But Richard didn’t stop. He kept coming on to Suzie when no one was around. She tried to stop his advances, only it got worse. So she ran away.
“I want to talk to Suzie’s mother in private,” I said.
Burrell had taken the wedding photo out of my hand, and was still studying it.
“Do you think the mother knows what’s going on?” she asked.
“I won’t know until I talk to her.”
Burrell placed the wedding photo on the dresser next to Suzie’s photo. It was ironic to look at them sitting side by side, knowing what we knew.
“All right. You can talk to the mother,” Burrell said.
I walked outside to the barn with Buster. There were six stalls, one of which contained a chestnut pony that a brass sign identified as Suzie’s Girl. I grabbed some carrots out of the feed room, and fed them to the pony until Suzie’s mother came outside.
“I’m Rebecca Knockman,” the woman introduced herself.
She was a petite woman with red hair and a pale Irish complexion. As she attempted to pet Suzie’s Girl, the pony retreated into the stall. Rebecca Knockman withdrew her hand, which I noticed was trembling.
“She’s never done that to me before,” Rebecca Knockman said.
“How long have you had her?”
“A little over a year. Richard bought her for our daughter.”
My grandfather had raised horses, and I knew something about them. A horse’s sense of smell was their primary source of protection, and I wondered if Suzie’s Girl had picked up on Rebecca Knockman’s fear, and decided to back away.
“Did Detective Burrell tell you what I do for a living?” I asked.
Rebecca Knockman crossed her arms and gave me a distrustful stare. “No, she didn’t.”
“I help the police find missing kids. When Detective Burrell told me your family had hired Leonard Snook, I knew that I wouldn’t have a problem finding your daughter.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Leonard Snook represents criminals. Innocent people don’t hire him, but bad people do. Once I find out which member of your family hired Snook, I’d know what was going on. Make sense?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Your husband hired Snook, didn’t he?”
Rebecca Knockman’s eyes turned into slits. She didn’t answer my question.
“Let me tell you what I think, Mrs. Knockman. I think you know where Suzie is hiding. I also think your daughter told you what your husband has been up to. Deep down, you’re hoping to somehow fix this mess, and keep your family intact.”
Rebecca Knockman lowered her gaze to the concrete floor and hugged herself. I felt bad for her, but not as bad as I felt for her daughter.
“Only you can’t,” I went on. “Your husband is a bad man. If the police haul him in, and he gets the opportunity to give his story first, he’ll drag you and Suzie down with him. He’ll say it was your idea for him to sleep with Suzie, and that you’re into kinky sex, or some other kind of nonsense. He’ll make you into the villain.”
“Richard would never do that,” she said, still looking at the floor. “He didn’t have sex with Suzie.”
“But he tried,” I said emphatically. “Your husband is a sexual predator. Once he’s been exposed, he’ll do everything in his power to protect himself. That’s why he hired Leonard Snook. For damage control. I’ve dealt with hundreds of men just like your husband. I know exactly what they’re capable of.”
Rebecca Knockman shivered from an imaginary chill. She had come to that terrifying brink called reality, and it was ripping her apart.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispered.
“Go inside and tell Detective Burrell the truth, no matter how painful that might be. Lay it all out. You have to protect yourself and Suzie before it’s too late.”
“But I love my husband.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Knockman. I really am. Do it for Suzie.”
Rebecca Knockman said something under her breath that I didn’t understand. She went to Suzie’s Girl’s stall door, and made a clucking sound with her tongue. The pony refused to come to her, and remained in the corner of the stall. Rebecca Knockman brought her hand to her mouth.
She walked away without another word.
CHAPTER 27
I fed the pony carrots while the situation played itself out inside the house. I would have given anything to be a fly on the wall, and see Leonard Snook’s reaction as Rebecca Knockman turned the tables on her husband. If Snook was smart, he’d run like hell.
I heard a crash that sounded like glass being broken, followed by a yell that shattered the still air. Buster dashed out of the barn with me holding his leash.
“Is everything all right in there?” I called out.
I halted at the back stoop, and made my dog do the same. There was no response. Sexual predators were dangerous when cornered, and have been known to attack the police when threatened with arrest. I didn’t want Burrell to get hurt, but at the same time, I wasn’t going to stick my nose where it didn’t belong. Burrell was already angry with me, and there was no point in making it worse.
“Hey! What’s going on?” I called out.
Still nothing. Buster was straining at his leash. The back door slammed open, and Snook staggered outside. His thousand-dollar suit was ripped at the shoulder, and his mouth was spitting blood. Snook took a few uncertain steps, and promptly fell down the stairs.
I might have broken his fall, but stepped back instead. Snook hit the ground, and my dog lunged at him. I loosened the leash just enough to scare Snook half to death.
