The Ninth Kiss

The Ninth Kiss

October 24th. Brownsville Road. 16:29.
Sitting in his silver Toyota Camry, Detective Wilson flattens his tongue against the top row of his pristine teeth. On his right-hand side, a young man in a similar dusky suit is flicking ash towards the built-in tray. He clears his throat, sinking further into his chair and uses his free hand to scratch the back of his flaxen hair. Wilson puckers his splintered lips and grips the steering wheel, defying the urge to tap his foot, he sighs. 40 years in the force and he's stuck babysitting on one of the biggest cases this town has ever seen, as if there isn't already enough pressure.

         'You alright, McFly?' Hayes asks, glancing his colleague up and down, he rolls his window down to throw the cigarette butt out as they continue to sit in undesirable silence. Wilson eyes the ash that dusts more of his car than he'd like, foreseeing the cleaning bill. 'Are we just goin' to sit around all day? This is worse than pencil pushin.'

         'An hour ago, you said stake outs were your jam,' Wilson mutters, he squints as three teenage boys pass on bikes, swerving tactlessly across both sides of the humid country road with their one-handed egos. Last month, he would have hailed them and no doubt given a lecture on road safety, but now it only served as another reminder that despite the neighbours, local kids and God knows who else, Emily Connors was abducted in broad daylight and nobody saw nothing.

         'I thought this was a dead end, where they cyclin' to?' Hayes falls forward against his seat belt, trying to decipher the environment surrounding the Connors' house. The onyx tires of BMXs are visible at the end of the street until they turn off between a damaged wire fence, Hayes turns to Wilson.

         'The cut has been there for a long time,' Wilson replies, pushing his head back into the rest. 'Back when Connors' grandparents owned this land, they cut the piece of fence out and created a trail up into the forest.'

         'Could our killer have come through that way?'

         'Abductor,' Wilson amends, regarding Hayes with undeniable disdain; the younger Detective rolls his eyes.

         'Could they have come through that way?' He asks, Wilson shrugs.

         'We searched the area,' he responds, 'and there were parties sent up into the forest. Nothing out of the ordinary.'

         'If kids go up there, surely there were footprints,' Hayes presses, he rubs his clean-shaven chin and chews on the inside of his cheek, glancing at Wilson every few seconds. Eventually, the older man huffs and liberates the steering wheel.

         'O' course there were footprints but like you said, everyone and their dogs walk through. It would have been impossible to get a lead, ergo it would have been a waste of time.' Hayes' eyes widen and he shakes his head, biting down on his tongue while Wilson notes down the registration of a passing Ford Bantam.

         'A waste of time? I'm sure the Connors' would love to know how seriously we're takin' their daughter's disappearance,' he utters. Wilson takes a deep breath and presses his palms against his knees. He wouldn't justify his decisions, especially not to some plush rookie. Both seal their bite. Wilson scrutinises through the windscreen, switching consistently to peer in the rear-view mirror, and Hayes lights up another cigarette. After a few puffs, he opens the car door, unbuckles and climbs out. 'I'm goin' to go do some real investigating,' he sneers. Here we go.

         'Good luck,' Wilson drawls, forging a smile. Hayes scowls before slamming the door and heading up the road. Wilson watches him disappear into the cut and exhales, letting his shoulders lower. He should have taken early retirement.

'Hush little baby, don't say a word. I'm gonna buy you a mockingbird.'

November 2nd. Connor Residence. 11:03.

Katherine presses the door shut and turns, judging the backs of the Detectives as they saunter into her modish living room.

         'You've redecorated,' Hayes states, peering closely at a golden owl ornament sitting atop a mahogany cabinet. The golden hues of the floral wallpaper now stole comfort in its burial brown pit, and the plush white carpet had been cemented beneath umber floorboards. Katherine clasps her lips together and gestures towards the model beige sofa. Her stilettos scrape their way over to the matching armchairs sitting adjacently, Katherine crosses her legs.

         'We heard you've got a possible lead,' Wilson says, observing her tranquillity.

         'Yes,' she replies. 'I should have seen it sooner.' She links her fingers and momentarily closes her eyes, Hayes and Wilson glance at one another.

         'Seen what sooner, Mrs Connors?' Wilson asks. She swallows.

         'A man,' she replies. 'His name is Dameron, Christian Dameron. He used to be a social worker.'

         'Used to be?' Hayes asks, Katherine looks him up and down before regarding Wilson.

         'Christian Dameron was falsely accused of paedophilia in '02,' Wilson tells his partner. 'That's a strong accusation, Katherine.' She digs her thumbnails into the palms of her hand and looks to the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

         'Kath?' calls a female voice from elsewhere inside the house. Hayes rises as the sound of high-heals approach, and a woman with lustrous auburn hair enters the room with a glass mug in each hand, steaming with pale liquid. 'Oh,' she says when she sees the detectives.

         'You must be Rosa Barnes,' Hayes greets, stepping towards her and holding out his hand. Rosa glances at the mugs and steps around him so that she can hand one to Katherine, she takes a seat in the armchair next to her. 'What makes you think this Dameron guy has anythin' to do with this?' Hayes asks, Rosa watches Katherine take a shaky sip of her drink and places her hand on Katherine's arm.

         'We saw him,' Rosa says, 'outside of Emily's Nursery.'

         'When?' Wilson asks. Rosa looks to the wall above the detectives as she thinks, Wilson scrutinises her with a sharp gaze. Hayes picks up the golden owl, rolling it in his hands. He leans against the cabinet and raises both his brows when Katherine looks at him.

         'I don't recall,' she replies.

         'You don't recall,' Hayes retorts, tone saturated in cynicism.

         'We need more than that, Katherine,' Wilson says, curling his upper lip. 'I'll ask him some questions but without more specific information like dates and times you saw him there, we can't do much more than that.' Katherine nods quickly and stands.

         'Please - find her,' she stresses, her voice breaking.


Stowe Police Department. 15:56.

Wilson grumbles to himself as he exists the gravel stone station, he shields his eyes from sunlight as he marches across the car lot to Hayes, the striking blond is biting the end of a biro and pacing.

         'Run out of smokes?' Wilson asks, walking around his car. Hayes faces him from the other side, using his forearms to rest against the vehicle.

         'What'd he say?'

         'Says he went to work, came home, stopped for gas. Then went for dinner at his in-laws,' Wilson replies. 'Called his wife, she confirmed his whereabouts. Boyd has requested the surveillance from the gas station.'

         'Awful specific.'

         'You tend to be when accused of abducting a baby,' Wilson scoffs with a hard shrug. 'I should have let him be.'

         'Gotta follow every lead,' Hayes tells him. Wilson purses his lips and shakes his head.

         'We put that man through enough...'

         'Where does this leave us?'

         'Square one.'

'And if that mockingbird won't sing, then I'm gonna get you a diamond ring.'

November 5th. Dump Road. 17:41.

A tousled man in knock-off sneakers tears down the sodden sidewalk with his arms thrusting mechanically back and forth, breathing heavily and craning his neck to look over his shoulder. He accelerates out into the street, causing a Ford Fiesta to screech, and he's forcefully spat onto the tarmac. Hayes storms out of an alley, his blazer flapping like a bull taunt as he exhales sharp breaths of mist. He nears the groaning wounded suspect and pulls a gun from his holster, aiming it with sharp precision.

         'Don't move,' he shouts, glancing at the woman exiting her vehicle.

         'I didn't see him, he just came out of nowhere,' she shrieks, moving to see if he's alright. Detective Wilson comes into view at the mouth of the alley, his face red. He stops to survey the situation, beads of sweat and raindrops rolling down his forehead. He takes a moment to breathe before plucking the radio from his belt and pressing a button on the side.

         'I need medics on the corner of Dump Road behind AJ's, suspect's been hit by a car while running from officers, over.' He wheezes.

         'Copy that, medics dispatched to Dump Road, over.'

Hayes crouches down and presses two fingers to the man's neck, and nods to Wilson. Relief flooding his features, Wilson continues to regulate his breathing and uses a wall for support.

         'Christ,' he hisses, holding his chest.


Coley Hospital. 22:19.

The florescent light flickering above James Jackson's bed only intensifies the ache in Wilson's cranium. He watches the shaggy haired young man shift his bleary gaze and rub his index finger as Hayes glowers down at him.

         'I'm not goin' to ask you again,' Hayes says, jutting out his chin.

         'I don't know nothing, o'right,' James says through gritted teeth, raising both his eyebrows.

         'Bullshit,' Hayes barks. 'Where's Emily Connors?'

         'I don't know, I told you,' James replies, raising his voice. 'I have no idea who you're talking about, I don't know Emily.'

         'Yeah?' Hayes asks.

         'Yeah.'

         'Bull.'

James throws his hands up.

         'Alright, alright,' Wilson sighs. 'We're not getting anywhere.' He pushes himself up onto his feet, bones clicking, and regards James with disenchantment.

         'On October 6th, you were seen on CCTV with Emily Connors, we know you were with her,' Wilson explains. 'Now we need your cooperation, James. Where is she?'

         'What? I...October. I don't know!'

         'What isn't there to know?' Hayes asks, 'We saw you with her. You've been caught, that's it. What - did - you - do - with - her?' James draws his eyebrows together as his eyes flicker, his chewed nails scratch blemishes on his chin. Wilson's lips thin as he watches James' contemplation. Then his eyes widen.

         'Wait, wait,' he says, looking between the two detectives. 'The little girl, this is about that little girl, right?'

         'You mean the one you abducted, yeah, that one,' Hayes scoffs. James shakes his head, blinking rapidly. Detective Wilson removes a small notepad from his back pocket, accompanied with a pencil.

         'No, no, I didn't,' he says, 'I was walking home from the bus stop, Waterbury Road, and she's just walking along on her own. She came out o' Mercier,' he explains. 'I swear it!'

         'Yeah? Why should we believe you?' Hayes asks.

         'I didn't do anything,' James shouts. 'I thought she was lost so I caught up, asked her where her Mom was. She looked real tired but then all o' a sudden, she's running towards some car. Figured it was her Mom or something.'

         'You figured?' Hayes asks.

         'Yeah,' James replies, 'she didn't look scared or nothing. I went home, your CCTV gotta show that.'

         'If you didn't do anything, why did you run when you saw us?' Wilson asks, scribing.

         'I thought my landlord had finally dogged me in,' he admits, 'I'm late on my rent again...but that's it, I swear. I didn't do nothing.' Hayes huffs and presses the back of his hand to his temple, his six o'clock shadow prominent.

         'Don't skip town, kid,' Wilson orders, 'if - your story adds up, you'll need to make a statement downtown.' James lifts his chin and then presses it to his chest.

         'Anything you need,' he replies. Wilson taps his notepad and narrows his eyes on Hayes who has clenched his shut.

         'Detective,' Wilson addresses, gaining his partner's attention, he gestures towards the door with his head.

'And if that diamond ring turns brass, I'm gonna find you a looking glass.'

November 11th. Stowe Police Department. 02:24.

Wilson groans, leaning back in his chair as he presses his palms into his eyelids. He remains like this for a few minutes until there's a knock on the glass of his office door. Exhaling, he allows his arms to fall, he swivels around and nods to the balding man in uniform that's peering in. The door opens and the officer shuffles in, gripping a large beige envelope.

         'Hayes said you wanted these,' he grouses, letting the envelope carry itself across the table before Wilson flattens it in with his hand.

         'Yeah, thanks,' he mutters. He waits till he's alone before pulling out a collection of witness reports, a few of them are hand written, and one is blemished with an accidental coffee ring his sergeant made on an all-nighter back in '99. He knows he's reaching, trying to create a connection between these unsolved cases and the disappearance of Emily Connors but he had to do something.


Hayes tosses a tennis ball from hand to hand as he watches the clock on the adjacent wall. He yawns, clicking his jaw in the process, and turns his attention to the monitor. The blurry CCTV footage of Waterbury Road continues to render as another yawn forces its way out.

          'Detective,' calls a woman from a few desks away. Hayes closes his eyes momentarily before forcing himself onto his feet. He flexes his fingers as he makes his way over to her and leans forwards once he's at her desk. She plays the clear segment of footage and then replays it when Hayes moves in closer, gaping at the familiar Bantam that pulls out of Mercier Road.

         'What in the hell?'


Wilson places another report face down and blows out hot air as he retrieves another, he clears his throat as his lids flutter in demand of closure, and rereads the statement of a woman named Erica Cohagen. In '04, 12-year-old Pauline Thoburn ran away from home, leaving a letter to her parents. There was no evidence to support an abduction but her Mother was convinced the family support worker, Erica, had something to do with it. Cohagen's alibi checked out and she left town a few weeks later. Wilson purses his lips, reaching - but something. He walks across the office to his computer and awakens the desktop. He types Erica Cohagen and searches the SPD database; no results. Picking up the receiver, he presses speed dial and listens.

         'Hello, you've reached Ronda Polito, missing persons.'

         'Ronda, hi, it's Detective Caleb Wilson. Do you still have access to the Pauline Thoburn case files?'

         'You know I do,' she replies, 'what can I do for you, Caleb?'

         'Erica Cohagen, she gave a witness statement. Were there any photographs of her?'

         'Not that I can see. She gave her statement out of office- wait.'

         'Yeah?'

         'There's one picture of her with Pauline, her Mother submitted it when she filed her complaint. I've emailed you the attachment. If there's anymore, I'll send them through.' Wilson opens his emails and double clicks to download the picture. 'Is there anything else?'

         'No, Ronda, that's everything,' Wilson replies, 'thanks.' He continues to stare at the picture of Erica Cohagen as he places the receiver down. 'Oh God,' he says with a shaky breath. He throws himself out of his chair and runs from the office, dodging concerned officers as he storms down the corridor towards the surveillance suite. The door opens and Hayes steps out, briefly stunned at the sight of his partner. 'Rosa Barnes,' Wilson coughs, 'she's using an alias.'

         'Officers have been dispatched to 7412 Mountain Road, her car was seen leaving Mercier Road an hour after James Jackson went home. He confirmed the description of her vehicle, a maroon Ford Bantam,' Hayes tells Wilson, leading the way back up the corridor.

Ayers Farm Road. 05:39.

         'And if that looking glass gets broke, I'm gonna get you a billy goat,' she sings softly, taking the child's moulding fingers and pressing them to her cheek. 'It'll be time to wake up soon, Hannah.' Janet places the child's gristly hand down, ensuring there isn't another breakage. She gazes over the youthful corpse, chewing the inside of her cheek as she takes in the sight of Hannah's open carcass. 'Sissy just needs to clean up first, and then we'll play.' Janet rises from the singed bed frame and hums to herself as she makes her way down the corridor to the kitchen, passing children's drawings that are nailed to the wall. She claws her auburn hair behind one ear as she pulls open the rusted fridge, her eyes deliberate as she pushes aside a jar to reach a microwavable burger; indifferent to the sway of dead brown eyes staring back at her. She rips the burger from the packaging, and pops it in the microwave that's plugged into an open power socket and sits atop its box. Continuing to hum, Janet waits a minute for her food, she then takes it in her hand over to the chipped dining room table that lingers beside a boarded window. No seat is present but she begins to gnaw down her dinner, looking over the batch of axed limbs that cling together, dripping sanguine fluid into the floorboard cracks.