“This is all I have,” she says.
No surprise there. “I want you to write down exactly what I tell you to.” I dictate seven words. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”
“I can’t do that. I don’t even know who it’s to. This is cruel. You are sick!”
I control my temper. “If I tell you who it’s for, will you write it?”
Vanessa stares at me. Tears stain her cheeks.
“How about this?” I recite the salutation.
“I won’t do that!” she shouts and strikes her fist on the desk top.
Vanessa appears to have found a modicum of courage.
“How about I shoot you in your left arm,” I say, thinking of what Emma did to me, “and then you write what I’m asking?”
I think that sounds reasonable.
“I can’t do write this. It’s too cruel.”
I press the barrel of the .38 against the back of her head.
“I have a good idea. Why don’t I blow your brains out first, and we skip the note altogether?”
“Oh, God,” she says, as she scribbles the message, “please don’t hurt me. I beg of you. You’ve seen my children. They are beautiful. They are innocent. Please don’t take their mother away from them!”
“Give me the note.”
Vanessa turns in her chair and hands me the note. I let it drop to the floor.
“Pick it up,” I order.
Her face is contorted with fear. When she leans over to pick up the piece of paper, I bash her head with the handle of the .38. The blow knocks Vanessa unconscious, and it sends a searing pain down my wounded arm. It is, in the moment, worth the agony, because I have to take Vanessa with me.
51
Aspiration
Emma looked into the open box. At first it made no sense. Just some clothes stuffed inside. She pulled out a blue dress and held it up. Emma didn’t recognize it. Although it was her size, that didn’t make any sense either. She looked back into the box. The next item was a black bra, which she could instantly tell was too big for her. Finally, there was a thong which was pinned to a piece of paper with the twin of Vanessa’s bloody earring.
Emma cried out.
The clothes told a horrifying story.
Emma held the note by its edges. For a long while she didn’t have the courage to read it.
She sat at the kitchen table, her pounding head in her hands. Her battered head had hurt when she’d left the hospital, but it hadn’t throbbed like it did now.
With a heavy sigh, she read the note.
Dear Emma, This is all your fault. Vanessa
She remained at her kitchen table weeping bitter tears. Poor, sweet Vanessa. Emma couldn’t bear to imagine the horrors she must have suffered. She thought of Dave and their kids and how devastated they would be. Between the clothes and the note, Emma couldn’t find any part of her to hold out hope for Vanessa.
When her eyes were dryer and after she’d blown her nose, she didn’t call Stella. Instead, she dialed Skip Munro’s cellphone.
“Hey Emma, how are you feeling?”
“Not great … on two counts.”
“If it’s your head, you should see a doctor,” he said.
“Yeah, probably should. Listen, I need to see you. I need to show you something.”
“I’m at home.”
She could hear the reluctance in his voice, but she asked, “Can I come there? It won’t take long.”
“Sure, I guess. Well, I don’t see why not.” He gave her his address.
She drove directly into the sun to get to Skip’s house. She began to experience double vision. She shouldn’t be driving. But when she glanced at Vanessa’s note and the box on the seat beside her, she knew she had to.
Skip’s pretty wife, a redhead with a wide smile, greeted her at the door.
“I’m Lorna, Emma. Skip’s in the backyard. And who’s this?”
“That’s my partner Pepper,” Emma said, “she’s friendly.”
Lorna studied Emma’s face. “You appear to have suffered.”
“You’re not kidding!”
Skip was sunning himself on a chaise lounge. It was late afternoon, warm but not too hot. There was a riding mower on the back edge of the yard. The lawn was half-mown and smelled delicious. Skip had a moisture-beaded beer can in his hand. “Can I get you one?”
“Thanks, but no. I don’t want to wreck your day off.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, sitting up. “Have a seat. It’s good to see you.”
Emma sat opposite him, perched on the edge of another chaise. She handed him the note, but he didn’t take it.
“Is it evidence?”
Skip was pretty quick. She nodded yes.
He gestured. “Just put it there on the table.”
He read the note standing up.
“Aw, shit,” he said shaking his head.
He went into the house and came back with a Ziploc. “Put it in here,” he said. “What’s in the box?”
“A blue dress and underwear. I assume they are Vanessa’s, but I must admit I don’t remember the dress.”
“I’m not going to open the box. I’ll call somebody from the lab for pick-up. But, I have to say, our unsub has been so careful in the past, I doubt we’ll find anything.”
“What are you going to do?” Emma asked.
“I really don’t know,” Skip replied. “Whoever is responsible is consistently three steps ahead of us.”
Emma felt, and must have looked shaky, because Skip put his arms around her and gave her a hug.
Lorna came outside. “Are you sure I can’t get you a beer? Feels like you need one.”
Emma refused again and thanked both of them.
She drove toward home feeling awful on every level.
Along the way, her head started to feel like it was about to explode. She knew she should listen to her body. As she drove through Hampshire toward her house, she took an unplanned detour. She went to the Hampshire Hospital Emergency Department.
Luckily for her, Dr. Emma McKay was on duty and saw her without delay. She ordered another CT. Emma was promptly taken to Imaging in a wheelchair.
Later, McKay arrived to explain her findings.
“I don’t think you’re the type of person I have to pussyfoot around. So, I’m not going to. Unfortunately, the medicine I prescribed hasn’t worked as I’d hoped it would. Your hematoma has expanded, and it is putting pressure on your brain. You suffered a harsh beating. To put it bluntly—forgive the pun—your brain bounced around inside your skull. We call it a coup-contrecoup injury. Judging by the CT scan, you must have a whopping headache.”
“Sure do,” Emma said. “What happens next?”
“The go-to treatment involves pretty major surgery. In this procedure, a neurosurgeon will open up part of your skull—a craniotomy—so she can remove the hematoma and reduce the pressure on your brain. However, there is a less invasive method called aspiration. The decision, of course, will be up to the neurosurgeon. I can recommend a good one. But I would start with this second option. The neurosurgeon will drill a small hole in your skull and use suction to aspirate the blood. A small hole versus a craniotomy will make a big difference in your recovery time.”
“Neither sounds particularly appealing,” Emma said with a weak smile. “But I definitely vote for aspiration.”
“Dr. Michaela Parker is a great neurosurgeon with privileges here. Do you want me to contact her?”
“Gotta be done, right?”
“Okay. I’ll call her first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, you will be sleeping here tonight,” she said sternly, “and you will not be checking yourself out like you did yesterday.”
“Roger that,” Emma said. “Now will you give me some morphine?”
“You’re funny. Here’s some Tylenol. It’s extra strength.”
Forty-eight hours ago, Emma couldn’t have imagined that she would be adding brain surgery to her list of woes. She resolved to stay
upbeat.
The investigation was at an impasse. Emma was committed to changing that.
First, she had to get her house in order. Not just her brain, she had to think of Pepper.
She swallowed her pride and called Mark.
52
Impasse
Judging Emma’s epidural hematoma to be sufficiently critical, Dr. Parker drilled a burr hole into her skull the next day. A few hours later, she pronounced the operation a success. The blood had been suctioned and cleared. Emma came out of anesthesia with an even bigger headache and a patch of shaven scalp. Dr. Parker assured her that she would soon be on the mend.
Emma would not be discharged until 3:00 p.m. Thursday afternoon. That timing, it turned out, was critical.
In the meantime, several things happened.
Late Monday night, Parker moved her from the post-op ICU into a single room, where she spent the rest of the night.
Tuesday, she was allowed to have visitors.
Her first visitor was wholly unexpected. Fifteen-year-old Sophie King knocked on her door.
“Hi, Sophie, this is a pleasant surprise,” Emma said. “How on earth did you know where to find me?”
“Long story. My mom’s friends with Caroline Stoner. She told her that you had to have some kind of yucky operation.”
“So much for HIPAA!” Emma laughed.
“What’s HIPAA?”
“It’s a law that says, among other things, you’re not supposed to talk about other people’s medical issues.”
“Whoops,” Sophie said, “am I, like, in trouble?”
“No of course not. But what brings you here?”
“I sorta thought I owed you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, but I’m glad to have a visitor. And see you again. Come, have a seat, and tell me what’s going on in your life.”
“Oh, pretty much same-same. I passed the course, and I got a job as a lifeguard at New Forest Lake,” she said proudly.
“Congratulations!”
“I’m thinking about becoming an EMT or even a police officer. When I get older, of course. What’s it like to be a policewoman? Is it scary?”
They were interrupted by a nurse who rolled in a cart with tiny cans of soda. Emma chose an off-brand ginger ale and asked, “May my friend have one too?”
The nurse said, “Be my guest.”
Sophie took a root beer.
“It can be scary, but most of the time it isn’t. It’s a good job. Plus, you get to help people. I guess you’ve heard about the unsolved killings that have been going on?”
“It’s all my parents talk about. It sure is creepy. The kids I talk to at the lake are all pretty spooked.”
“They shouldn’t be, unless they happen to know me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind,” Emma said regretting her words.
“Tell me,” Sophie insisted. “I’m not a kid, you know.”
Emma stifled a smile. Oh, to be a teenager again! “Are you sure you want me to explain?”
“Yup.”
“The unhappy truth is that I know all the victims.”
“That’s awful!” She suddenly stood up and stared at Emma. “Hey, you don’t think I could be his next victim, do you?” She looked genuinely scared. “I mean, I know you, too.”
“No, sweetie, you have nothing to fear. I’m sorry I said anything. I just feel so awful about the killings.”
Sophie appeared mollified.
Emma had a sudden thought.
“I know Joe Henderson knew Ethan Jackson. Do you happen to know if he knew Deb Barger and Vanessa Mack?”
“No clue. Joe’s friends don’t interest me.”
Worth a shot, Emma thought.
Sophie said, “I’m a little worried about my godmother, you know, Georgia.”
Teenagers have a startling way of changing the subject. Emma guessed it was because of social media. One non sequitur after another.
Emma said, “I know Georgia. She doesn’t like me very much.”
“Yeah, I know. Remember when you came over that day?”
“Uh-huh. What’s bothering you about Georgia?”
“Every Sunday, I go see her. It’s our special time together. Usually, she takes me out, and we do fun stuff. She doesn’t have any kids, you know. Except that time when you came over. Alphabetizing DVDs is not exactly my idea of a laugh-riot although it sucked when she made me leave.”
Emma grinned. “So, what’s happened between you and Georgia?”
“On Sunday, two days ago, Georgia called me and said she didn’t want to see me for a while. She really hurt my feelings,” Sophie said, suddenly pouting. “She didn’t sound herself. She sounded, um, mad.”
Emma didn’t care a hoot about Georgia. But, to be nice to Sophie, she said, “Angry mad or crazy mad?”
Sophie surprised her by saying, “Both, I think.”
That interested Emma. She’d long thought that Georgia was a little screwy. Georgia had often been unpleasant toward Emma, but she wouldn’t have thought that she would be mean or even crazy-mean to Sophie, who was clearly a good kid.
“I’m truly sorry to hear that, but I’m sure she’ll get back to you and smooth things over. She must’ve been in a bad mood, or maybe she has a headache like I do.”
Sophie shifted gears again and giggled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m not gonna let it get to me. I better run. I sure hope you feel better.”
She scooted out of the room.
Emma thought about disagreeable Georgia for a moment. She soon found that disagreeable. She picked up her iPad, found the online version of Tuesday’s New York Times crossword puzzle, and started tapping in the answers.
The next few days passed agonizingly slowly.
She telephoned Caroline Stoner a few times to learn if there was any progress in the search for Vanessa and/or Will. Each time, Caroline returned bad news. She reported that the entire department was sickened by their ongoing failure to nail down a single clue. She also told Emma that Dick Wardlaw was bearing down on Stella and had even threatened to remove her. She asked about Skip Munro. Caroline told her that he stopped by headquarters every day, growing more frustrated each time he did. She said that, according to Munro, the only fingerprints on the note were Emma’s and Vanessa’s. The lab found a couple of hairs on the blue dress, but both matched those taken from a hairbrush in Vanessa’s bathroom.
Mark paid her a short visit on Wednesday. She admitted to herself that she was glad to see him, but he remained cranky. He did say that Pepper missed her, that she was getting plenty of exercise, and that he promised to look after her until Emma was discharged.
Thursday morning, Dr. Parker stopped in to tell her that she would probably be free to go home that afternoon after a final CT scan.
Later, as Emma was getting dressed to leave, she heard her phone’s text tone.
Assuming that it was Mark, who had volunteered to drive her home, she casually checked the incoming text. What she read shocked her.
Meet me in Ella T. Grasso State Park at six, sharp. Come alone. No Pepper. Take the Pequot Trail exactly three quarters of a mile until you see an oak tree with a black X. I marked it with a Sharpie. Take a left at the oak. I will meet you in the clearing, one hundred and twenty-five yards into the woods. Will
While her shaking hands held the phone, lightning struck the back of her neck, traveled down her spine, and through her legs to the hospital floor below her feet. Along the way, the bolt thrashed through her stomach like a rabid snake. She gagged, feeling like she would never again be able to breathe.
53
A Button
The specter of coming face-to-face with Will after fifty-six days was unnerving. He’d ordered her to come alone. Should she defy him and bring back up? Pepper? Should she call Mark? Caroline Stoner? Or even Skip Munro?
She stood in her hospital room, half dressed. Shaking, yet paralyzed. She had three hours. Strangely, Emma
didn’t feel afraid. Fearful but not afraid. She realized she should, but she didn’t.
It was time to end this madness. If resolution required this showdown with Will, so be it. She couldn’t begin to guess his intentions. She had to allow for the possibility that Will was the serial killer … and that he intended to kill her, too. She had no intention of going unarmed. She had already shot at someone in the dark. Maybe Will, maybe someone else. Whoever it was, she believed that she had winged her target. There was an angry, probably wounded person out there who did not wish her well. During her time in the hospital, she had had plenty of time to think. More than ever, she was now convinced that she was the focus of the killer’s wrath.
Nonetheless, the last thing she wanted to do was shoot the man she still loved.
She also knew that she was going to respond as the situation demanded.
Resolute, she began to stop shaking and was able to finish dressing. She felt an eerie sense of relief that the finale was so close. However it went.
Hospital rules required an orderly to wheel her to the front door. She had already decided not to wait for Mark. Instead she took a taxi directly home.
She looked out the open cab window. The sights, sounds, and smells of her hometown whizzed by. There was a light rain falling. She had the macabre thought that this otherwise mundane trip through Hampshire might be her last. But she was too focused to let her imagination get the better of her.
She used the remaining time to decide whether or not to tell Mark what was happening. She knew that if she told him he would insist on protecting her. Although she had never thought of Will as Mr. Action-Man, he had a cunningness about him which she knew not to underestimate. He would’ve figured out a way of ascertaining whether she came alone or not. That helped her to make her decision.
Pepper and Mark greeted her at the door. Pepper showed unbridled enthusiasm. Mark appeared miffed that she hadn’t waited for him. “I was just about to pick you up,” he said. “How come you didn’t wait?”
“I just couldn’t stand to stay there another minute.” The lie tripped off her tongue.
Ever So Silent Page 24
