When You See Me

by Lisa Gardner

  Keith is right. There has to be some other way to access the burial sites than just hiking. And who better than us to figure it out?

  Slowly, I nod my agreement.

  Hand in hand, we slide out of the booth and head for the door.

  CHAPTER 15

  D.D.

  HOWARD AND MARTHA COUNSEL OWNED and operated the Mountain Laurel B&B. The pale lavender Victorian sat on the corner of Main Street, with a broad wraparound porch decorated with lush hanging baskets and half a dozen rocking chairs. On this beautiful September morning, the veranda looked perfect for sitting out front with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book in the other.

  Which made it interesting that the porch was completely empty. Though, it was only shortly after eight. Crime had a tendency to get people like D.D. out of bed early. She forgot sometimes how the rest of the world lived.

  Sheriff Smithers mounted the front steps, grabbed the bronzed door handle, then gestured for D.D. to enter first. The front door opened to a grand entryway. Sweeping staircase in front, lovely pale green and yellow sunroom to the left. A tinkling bell had marked their arrival. Now a smartly dressed older woman in a dove-gray skirt and elegant pin-striped blouse appeared from a hall behind the staircase. Her heels clacked against the marble floor as she made her way briskly to the giant cherrywood desk that served for guest registration. When she spied the sheriff and D.D., her steps slowed.

  “Sheriff Smithers.” The woman halted in front of them, blue eyes curious.

  The sheriff was holding his hat before him. Now he extended one hand in greeting. “Mrs. Counsel. Good morning, ma’am. Sorry to disturb you so early. This is Sergeant D. D. Warren, a member of the taskforce investigating the remains found in the mountains. As you’ve no doubt heard—”

  “You found another body yesterday,” Mrs. Counsel answered for him. “Maybe more, if the rumors are to be believed.”

  The sheriff didn’t confirm or deny. For now, they were trying to keep the news under wraps to keep the media from descending. How long that strategy would work was a good question. But all investigations hoped for a little luck.

  “Is Howard around?” the sheriff asked. “We thought the mayor might appreciate an update.”

  “Absolutely.” Mrs. Counsel extended a hand to D.D. “Please, call me Martha. I’ll fetch my husband. We can meet in the front room.” She gestured to the room on the left. The walls appeared to be papered in a pale green lattice pattern, while the floor was covered in a sage green carpet with butter yellow roses. An eclectic mix of old tables were positioned around the space; no doubt where the B&B guests enjoyed breakfast, afternoon tea, late-night brandy.

  “Coffee, tea?” Martha asked now as she led them to a larger table in the corner.

  The room was currently empty, which D.D. found interesting. For a tourist town, the inn seemed lacking in visitors.

  “Do you have many guests?” she asked, as they arrived at the table and the sheriff pulled out a chair for her.

  “We have four couples right now. But it’s the middle of the week. This time of year, the weekends are busier. It’s too late in the season for thru-hikers, and families are tied up with school. We will get a lot of couples, day hikers, and some families on the weekend, however. Let me get Howard. I’ll be right back. Coffee?” she asked again.

  “I would love some,” D.D. said, while the sheriff nodded gratefully.

  “You ever been on a taskforce this big?” D.D. asked Sheriff Smithers as Martha clacked out of the room.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Go home tonight. Sleep in your own bed. This is going to be a marathon, not a sprint.”

  A young Hispanic girl appeared in the doorway. She wore a pale blue maid’s uniform, the skirt cut modestly below her knees, sleeves reaching to her wrists. Her dark hair was pulled up tight in a bun, while on her shoulder she balanced a massive tray topped with a silver coffee service.

  The girl crossed the room slowly. She moved with a slight limp, as if dragging her right leg behind her. As she drew nearer, D.D. could make out a shiny scar at the edge of the girl’s hairline and noticed the left half of the girl’s face drooped slightly, as if she’d suffered a stroke.

  The girl stopped at the table beside theirs. She carefully lowered the tray, then without a word, set about pouring coffee from the silver pot into two delicately flowered china mugs.

  “Good morning,” D.D. said.

  The girl glanced up slightly. Her gaze fell on the sheriff’s uniform and her eyes widened. She didn’t say a word, just kept on pouring. She slid the first cup before D.D., the second before the sheriff. Then placed sugar and cream in the middle of the table.

  “I see you’ve met our niece,” a new voice boomed into the room. A distinctive-looking older gentleman with a cream-colored linen suit and mint-green bow tie strode into the nook, Martha by his side. Mayor Howard, D.D. would presume.

  Immediately, the serving girl took a step back, placed herself in position against the wall, and stared at the floor.

  “She doesn’t talk,” Martha provided, her arm looped through the mayor’s. “She suffered a dreadful car accident when she was young. Killed her mother, left her mute and brain-damaged, poor thing.”

  “Shouldn’t she be in school?” D.D. asked, still puzzling over such a young girl dressed as a maid.

  “No point,” the mayor said dismissively. “She can’t read or write. The area of the brain that processes language is damaged beyond repair. The doctors were very blunt on the subject. There’s nothing to be done. But we’ve taken her in, of course. Family is family.”

  And free help is hard to find, D.D. thought uncharitably. She looked over at the wall, but the girl remained expressionless. It was hard to tell if she’d registered the conversation, much less understood it.

  The mayor pulled out a chair for his wife, placing her next to the sheriff. He rounded the table to take the seat next to D.D., where she noticed he could look the sheriff in the eye.

  “I take it the rumors are true; you found another body yesterday,” the mayor drawled at last.

  D.D. sipped her coffee, let the sheriff do the talking.

  “Yes, sir. We found additional remains, not far from the original site.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Martha covered her mouth with her hand, glanced at her husband with concern.

  Mayor Howard sighed heavily. “Another girl? That’s terrible. Simply terrible.”

  “How do you know it’s a girl?” D.D. asked.

  “Isn’t it always?” He eyed her guilelessly.

  D.D. couldn’t figure him out.

  “Where are you from, dear?” he asked her now.

  “Boston.”

  “But you’re here, part of some taskforce, searching through my woods. Now how did that come to pass? A Boston detective on a Southern taskforce?”

  “I have relevant experience,” D.D. said blithely. She was saved from further reply by the mayor’s wife.

  “Was this new body . . . also a skeleton?” She whispered the final word, as if it was something shocking and terrible. Maybe it was and D.D. had just been doing this too long.

  “We’re still conducting our investigation, ma’am. The forensic anthropologist is on-site as we speak.”

  “Oh dear. All this sad, sordid business. Right here. In our own backyard.” Martha eyed her husband in distress. “And just in time for fall hiking season. Oh dear, oh dear.”

  “Have you learned anything more about the first girl?” the mayor asked Sheriff Smithers.

  “Only that she’d been there for quite some time.”

  “How long have you been mayor?” D.D. spoke up.

  “The past ten years,” Howard replied evenly.

  “And before that?”

  “My daddy. The Counsels have a long history of service to this town.”

 
“Do you hire a lot of young girls?” D.D. glanced at their “niece,” who still stood unmoving next to the wall.

  “Of course,” Martha huffed out. “Especially for the busy summer season. As you can tell, our town is small. During boom seasons, we must bring in outside workers. But all of our employees are legal, if that’s what you’re asking, and we have the paperwork to prove it.”

  D.D. nodded thoughtfully. What the Counsels said made sense. On the one hand, Niche was a quaint small town where the full-time residents probably did know one another by name. On the other hand, for significant portions of the year, the workforce was transient and the area flooded with tourists. Getting a bead on all those people, going back fifteen years, would not be easy.

  Which brought her to the locals, as good a starting point as any. She rose abruptly. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

  “I’ll show you—”

  “No need. I’m sure your niece knows the way.” Before anyone could blink she had the girl by the elbow and was guiding her away from the wall and out of the room. The girl stumbled slightly and D.D. forced herself to slow down, walk calmly. Just another woman in search of a toilet.

  She could feel the girl’s arms tremble beneath her fingers, but the girl didn’t—couldn’t?—say a word.

  Out of curiosity, D.D. removed her hand once they’d left the room and waited to see what the girl would do. The girl didn’t make a run for it. Instead, she turned left, entered the hallway behind the staircase, then a moment later limped to a door marked Ladies.

  D.D. studied the young maid. So the girl could understand things, she just couldn’t communicate. Which made D.D. think she wasn’t nearly as impaired as the Counsels claimed.

  “Are you okay here?” D.D. asked softly.

  The girl locked her gaze at a spot past D.D.’s shoulder. Didn’t make a sound.

  “Can you speak?”

  The girl’s lips pursed. For a moment, it appeared as if she were trying to whistle, make a noise. But nothing came out. She resumed staring at the wall.

  “Can you type?” On impulse, D.D. dug out her cell, then pulled up a text message screen. She indicated to the tiny letters. “Pick one. Type what you want to say.”

  The girl looked at the phone, then took it gingerly from D.D.’s hands, turning it over. She seemed genuinely curious. Eyeing the letters, the blinking cursor. Her fingers fluttered across the screen, almost in longing. Then she shook her head, appearing genuinely frustrated, and handed the phone back.

  A full minute had passed. Much longer and Martha would appear to see what was keeping them.

  “I think you know things,” D.D. tried again. “Much more than you let on.”

  The girl inhaled slightly, which D.D. took to be a yes.

  “When I go back, we have to ask the Counsels some questions. I’d like your answers, too.”

  Brown eyes widened in alarm.

  “No, no, there’s nothing to be afraid of. This is what we’re going to do. Stand where you usually do, arms by your sides. When I ask questions, show one finger for yes.” D.D. held up one finger. “Two for no. What is yes?”

  Shakily, the girl raised a single finger.

  “No?”

  Two fingers. D.D. knew it. The girl was plenty smart. Her “family” was taking terrible advantage her.

  “Do they hurt you?” D.D. asked gently.

  The girl didn’t move.

  “Are you scared?”

  Nothing.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this. Even if they’re your family and they’ve told you that you have no place else to go, that’s not true. I can help you find options.”

  To be honest, though, D.D. wasn’t sure just what those options were. She didn’t have jurisdiction here, let alone understand the available resources for displaced kids. But the sight of such a young girl already forced into a life of servitude because of—what, a childhood injury? The cop in D.D. was offended—not to mention the mother in her.

  Almost as if reading her mind, the girl slowly held up two fingers. Followed quickly by a faint shake of her head. There was something in the girl’s eyes. Not fear, D.D. thought. More like stubbornness.

  The sound of heels clacking across the marble foyer. D.D. quickly pocketed her phone. She and the girl turned as a single unit and headed back down the hall where Martha was already waiting for them.

  The woman eyed D.D. suspiciously. Then regarded the girl even more harshly. When neither said a word, she pivoted on one heel and led them back to the sunroom.

  * * *

  —

  THE SHERIFF WAS STILL TALKING to the mayor, keeping his comments brief. D.D. pulled her chair way out, the rude Yankee who didn’t know how to sit ladylike at a table. From this position, she had a clear vantage point of the mayor, his wife, and their niece, who was once more standing at attention against the wall.

  Time for the real questions.

  “In cases like this,” the sheriff said, “it’s best to keep an open mind. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.”

  The mayor and his wife nodded encouragingly, as if they understood they were about to be taken into some grand confidence.

  “Of course, we do have a suspicion.”

  More supportive nods.

  “Do either of you recognize this man?” Sheriff Smithers withdrew a photo of Jacob Ness. Not the best photo, D.D. thought, as it had been taken during his first arrest for beating his wife over twenty years ago. He was a hard-looking thirty even back then. Clearly a lifelong smoker, drinker, drug abuser, he stared into the police camera sullenly, his lip curled in a faint sneer.

  Martha stifled a gasp. “Why, that’s Jacob Ness. Of course we recognize him. He kidnapped that college student. What was it, five years ago? He’s a monster!”

  “The college student was from Boston,” the mayor filled in, eyeing D.D. with renewed interest.

  D.D. took the photo from Smithers, made a show of positioning it on her knee, where it just so happened to be turned in the direction of the wall.

  “Have you seen him around here?”

  “Isn’t he dead?” Martha asked. “I thought the police killed him. Are you saying he did this?”

  “Howard, Martha.” The sheriff held up a calming hand, regaining their focus. “These graves are old. Whatever happened here, there’s no need for immediate alarm. Having said that, something terrible happened in our own backyard. We need answers. And we owe it to the victims to get justice.”

  “Do you have any recollection of ever seeing this man in this area?” D.D. prodded again. “Doesn’t matter if it was seven, ten, fifteen years ago. Just, did you ever see him here?”

  “Absolutely not!” Martha answered first. “And we would know. We followed everything that happened in the news, the FBI raiding the hotel, saving that poor girl. Why, if we had ever seen that man in our town, you can believe, Sheriff, we would’ve rung you immediately. Thank heavens a man such as that never passed through our community!”

  “What about this vehicle?”

  Next the sheriff produced a picture of the cab from Ness’s big rig. This time both of the Counsels shook their heads.

  “Other loners that spring to mind?” the sheriff pressed. “Maybe the kind of neighbor most try to ignore but everyone’s a little nervous about?”

  The Counsels exchanged glances. Their shoulders had come down. If they were shocked before, considering a known serial rapist had passed through their community, they seemed more comfortable now. Back to the local misfits. All towns had some.

  “There’s Walt.” Martha brushed the back of her husband’s hand, as if for confirmation. “Walt Davies. He lives in his own cabin above the ridge. An old family camp. He keeps mostly to himself, one of those off-the-radar types. We only see him when he comes into town for supplies. Let’s just say he’s not the
most sociable . . . or hygienic . . . man.”

  “I’ve never considered Walt dangerous,” the mayor spoke up, frowning. “I’d guess he runs some moonshine. Hell, maybe has his own herb business, if you know what I mean. But he’s never done anything untoward. Most of us leave him well enough alone, and he returns the favor. Having said that, Sheriff, I doubt he takes kindly to government types. Before paying a visit to his homestead, I’d take some precautions.”

  Sheriff Smithers nodded his head at the warning, made a note. “Anyone else? Maybe a guest you see regularly, but who doesn’t quite fit? No hiking boots or interest in the great outdoors, keeps mostly to himself?”

  Martha waved a dismissive hand. “Many of our guests are loners who keep to themselves. They come to the mountains looking to get away. They have their own thoughts, their own problems. And they appreciate us letting them be.”

  “Do you have guest records going back fifteen years?” D.D. asked.

  The mayor looked at his wife. She shrugged. “I’d have to check. We installed our new computer system . . . I’d guess ten years ago? But I can look.”

  “We’d appreciate any and all records you have,” Sheriff Smithers assured her.

  “Going back fifteen years? That’s thousands of names, Sheriff.”

  “I know.”

  Martha sighed, as if resigned to her fate.

  “Great.” D.D. rose to standing. “We’ll be back tomorrow for the records.”

  Smithers blinked at her abrupt tone, but didn’t correct her as he also climbed to his feet.

  “Thank you for the coffee, ma’am.” He nodded to Martha, shook hands with Howard. D.D. didn’t bother. She was already halfway out of the nook. Sheriff Smithers hastened to catch up.

  “What was all that about?” he asked huffily as he finally reached her outside. D.D. didn’t answer right away, but waited till they were farther down the street.

  “I think they’re lying to us.”