The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [55]
I grabbed the wedding photo off the dresser and snapped my fingers for my dog. Buster emerged from the closet with a smelly running shoe in his mouth.
“Drop it,” I told him.
I headed down the hallway to Suzie’s bedroom with my dog hugging my leg. Burrell was inside the room, taking photos of the deadbolt on the door.
“Who interviewed Dad?” I asked.
Burrell lowered her camera. “I did. Why? What did you find?”
I showed her the photos of Suzie I’d found in the closet. Then I showed her the wedding photo, and pointed 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.