“No, but I suppose I could borrow Dad’s pickup truck for you to use. Not, of course, telling him whom it is for.” Georgia grinned.
They agreed to a plan. Georgia would call her dad and get him to come pick her up so that she could fetch the truck. Emma and Pepper would stay out of sight upstairs.
The rest of their conversation was about Will. Not, however, with its usual attendant rancor. Georgia even conceded that Emma must miss Will very much.
Emma fed Pepper while they waited for Frank Foster. When they heard his car arrive, Georgia said she’d be right back with her dad’s pickup.
The second Georgia left the house, Emma began searching it.
She started in Georgia’s bedroom, rifling through her closet and drawers. Georgia had a lot of clothes for someone who didn’t go out much. But Emma couldn’t find a single shirt missing a button. She continued searching the room, but she didn’t find anything unusual. She went back downstairs.
In the kitchen, she noticed that Georgia hadn’t taken her cell phone with her. She turned it on and was surprised (and relieved) to discover that it was not password-protected. Pressing the button for Contacts, she noted that there were very few. Forty-two, in all. Georgia didn’t seem to have many friends.
Under F, she found Georgia’s parents, of course, Frank and Joan Foster. There was also an entry for Will, but it was the number of the cell phone he had left at home when he had disappeared. She scrolled down and was shocked to see Ethan Jackson’s name under J. What on earth was he doing there?
She scrolled further not expecting to find anything more of interest. Was she wrong!
Under H, she came across Joe Henderson. Why would his name be in Georgia’s phone? She was flummoxed. What could those two have in common? Georgia and Joe? Or Georgia and Ethan, for that matter? She sensed that this was a critical piece of intelligence, but she didn’t yet understand why or how the couples were linked.
Hoping to find even more clues, she scrolled through the rest of the names.
She recognized a few names, but none appeared relevant to the case.
Deb Barger and Vanessa Mack were not on Georgia’s list.
Emma checked her watch. Georgia had been gone for twenty minutes. She would be back soon. Emma wondered if she had time to search the basement. She decided to risk it.
Georgia had a large workout room installed in the basement. It was a complete unit built within the larger basement. She owned a lot of exercise equipment. The room was finished with a bead-board pine ceiling and wall-to-wall gray carpeting suitable for a gym. All four walls had custom, built-in bookcases. There must’ve been a thousand books, many with elegant leather bindings.
Emma looked around. Pepper walked over to the bookcase opposite the only door, which had been ajar when they’d entered. Pepper didn’t make a fuss, but she carefully sniffed the middle section of the bookcase. She spent quite a bit of time sampling with her nose, but she didn’t give her trained signal that she had found something. Whenever Pepper sat, Emma took notice.
Suddenly, Pepper give a short warning bark. Too late, though, for Georgia was halfway down the cellar stairs.
“What the fuck are you doing snooping around my house?” Georgia shouted.
Emma’s first thought was: Something to hide?
“I’m really, really sorry,” she said without delay. “The last thing I want to do is infringe upon your hospitality. It’s just that you once told me that you worked out. Since I do too, I wanted to check out your equipment.”
“I never told you I worked out!”
Emma thought quickly. “Maybe Will mentioned it…”
“I would appreciate it if you kept out of my basement.”
In the relative safety of the kitchen, Georgia relaxed a tad.
She tossed Emma the key to her dad’s pickup truck.
“Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it,” Emma said, “and I apologize for going downstairs without asking.” She attached it to her own keyring on which she kept her house key, Archie’s house key, and her police handcuff key. “Don’t want to lose it.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Wait for dark, I guess. I might go upstairs and read, to kill time. Okay with you?”
“Hey, girl, it’s a free country! For most people, anyway.” That witticism caused Georgia to laugh out loud. Her sister-in-law hadn’t changed that much. Indeed, her left eye exploded into full-on spasm mode.
Tic-tock, Emma thought.
Later, in the guest bedroom, Emma locked the door and retrieved another of her disposable phones from her bag. She’d have to buy some more, she realized. Probably from a different store.
From memory, she dialed Caroline Stoner’s cell. Although she was concerned, she didn’t think the police would have time to triangulate her location if she kept the call short. Anyway, who would expect her to telephone a police officer?
“Caroline Stoner. Who is it?”
“It’s me. I need your help.”
There was a long pause. Caroline said, “Jesus, Emma, what are you thinking? I know you didn’t kill anyone, but I am in a distinct minority. You have got to surrender. It’s your only way out.”
“I can’t do that. If you believe in me, you can prove it by helping me. I’ve lifted a fingerprint from a button, which I found next to Vanessa’s body—”
“Now you’re concealing evidence, too.” Her voice raised in pitch. “You do know that everyone is hunting for you? You could get shot!”
“All I’m asking is for you to run a single print. If it comes back to the person I think it belongs to, we will know the identity of Mr. Sharpie. What do you say?”
Caroline didn’t say anything for what seemed like minutes.
Finally, she exhaled audibly. “Okay, but I don’t want to see you personally. I need to protect myself, not to mention my job. Come to my apartment tonight. Leave the goddamned button outside my door and then scram.” Caroline disconnected the call.
59
Night for Day
That evening, Emma offered to prepare dinner. Georgia refused, saying, “I don’t like people messing up my kitchen, but, hey, thanks all the same.”
She mixed an elaborate Cobb salad and served a bottle of white wine, which turned out to be as chilly as their conversation. After various attempts at small talk, they finally gave up. They finished the meal in silence. In her controlling way, Georgia wouldn’t let Emma help clean up.
Emma short-circuited the evening’s end. “I’ll be going out tonight. Late. I’ll try not to make too much noise.”
Georgia harrumphed, and Emma retired to the guest room.
She waited until 2:00 a.m. before leaving. The less cars there were on the road, the better her chances of making the round-trip unnoticed. Unfortunately, Caroline lived in downtown Hampshire. Emma had no choice but to go. She had to get the fingerprint to her.
She and Pepper drove into town. Emma wore a baseball cap, borrowed, tacitly, from her hostess. It was a hot night, and she had the windows open. Pepper sat beside her on the front seat.
Traffic was comfortably light. She did pass one Hampshire police cruiser driving in the opposite direction. She recognized Officer Pete Sinclair. He glanced at Frank Foster’s pickup truck but paid it no mind. She realized how tense she was.
Caroline lived in an apartment building on a street perpendicular to Main Street. The building stood between a liquor store and a thrift shop. She parked directly in front of 111 Essex Street and left Pepper in the truck. The street was empty. There was no buzzer system on the front door, so she was able to walk in.
Caroline lived on the third floor; Emma had been to her apartment before. Outside the door to 3B, she left the envelope containing the precious fingerprint, per her agreement with Caroline. She assumed the envelope would be safe. Despite a serial killer in their midst, Hampshire remained a relatively secure place to live.
Back downstairs, the main door to Caroline’s building, the one through whi
ch she had entered, had an old-fashioned lace curtain covering its window. She parted the curtain with a finger and peered outside. Essex Street remained empty and asleep. She walked confidently to her loaner, secure in the knowledge that Caroline would live up to her side of the bargain. If the partial print yielded a hit, via IAFIS, they would have their killer.
Pepper’s nose was outside the truck window, and she was wagging her tail. Emma noticed for the first time that Frank’s truck was a Dodge Ram. It wouldn’t do for Frank and Joan Foster to own a foreign vehicle.
She gave Pepper a pat on the head before rounding the front of the Dodge to the driver’s-side door. All of a sudden, a gazillion-watt floodlight turned Essex Street into day. Emma froze. Although temporarily blinded, she realized that the floodlight was mounted in a second-floor window across the street.
She heard footfalls as two people exited the facing building.
A shouted voice.
She instantly recognized—but still couldn’t see—that it was the voice of Detective Larry “Buzz” Buzzucano.
“Emma, let’s not make this harder than it needs to be,” he bellowed. “If you have a weapon, remove it slowly and place it on the ground in front of you.”
Emma turned and headed back to the front door.
Instinctively, she sought cover over full exposure.
A second shouted voice.
Officer Max Beyersdorf. Another of her ex-colleagues. He yelled, “The building is surrounded. You have nowhere to go. Time to talk, Emma, not to walk.”
She kept walking toward the door. When she got close, the curtain parted revealing Caroline Stoner in full uniform and a tactical vest. Her expression was hostile and unforgiving.
Emma turned back to face Buzz and Max. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash. Pepper launched herself out the truck window and hurtled toward Buzz. By now, Emma’s eyes had adjusted to the brightness. She saw that Buzz had drawn his weapon. When Pepper recognized a threat, she responded.
She screamed, “No! Pepper, no!” Pepper ignored her. The dog knew Buzz well. She didn’t aim for the arm holding the gun. Instead, she drove her front paws and the full inertia of her body weight into Buzz’s chest. He went down with Pepper on top of him. He cried out as his head hit the asphalt. Max automatically went to his partner’s aid.
Emma saw an opening. Max and Buzz were bunched together, and Caroline was still guarding the door. There was an alley to the right of the building across the street. She sprinted.
As she ran past the cops and Pepper, she heard a shot. Next, a horrifying canine yelp. Then, silence.
Emma wailed, but she kept running toward the cover of the alley. Would they shoot her next? Her eyes stung with tears. Jesus, not Pepper. God, she loved that dog.
She banged into a trashcan. Recovering her balance, she continued on, which was when she realized that she was not alone in the alley. She heard boot-steps pounding behind her and a voice, Caroline’s staccato words, “Emma. You’re a fugitive. Don’t make me shoot.”
Caroline wouldn’t shoot her. Would she?
Still, she picked up her pace. She struck another trashcan. Pausing for a split second, Emma tipped the trashcan over and rolled it back toward the street. The tactic worked. Caroline tripped, flew over the trashcan, and landed with a loud thud. Emma didn’t look back. And she no longer heard anyone following her.
Two streets later, she found another alley. She ducked into the entrance to give herself a moment’s rest. Pepper, she agonized, as she sucked air.
Emma figured that, if she could escape, the police might still run the partial print. There would be a lot of pissed off cops, Caroline and Buzz in particular, but, if they identified the print, the payoff would be the same.
The payoff worked for everyone except Pepper.
She heard sirens crisscrossing the neighborhood as she resumed her flight.
She ran a further mile or two until she was near the city limit. She had to hide repeatedly as strobing cruisers narrowly missed spotting her. At the edge of town, she was able to use wooded areas for concealment. For the first time since leaving Essex Street, and, as she reminded herself with despair, Pepper, she thought she might actually make it back to Georgia’s.
Exhausted and blistered, Emma finally arrived at the foot of Georgia’s driveway. She wasn’t running anymore, she was limping. The time: half past four in the morning. When she was within sight of Georgia’s house, she stopped. There was a light on in the living room. At 4:30? She knew she hadn’t left a light on. She’d been so surprised to escape that she realized she wasn’t taking normal precautions. She decided to approach the house obliquely.
She had developed a suspicion that Georgia was somehow involved. Somehow guilty. But of what she still wasn’t sure.
She retreated to the base of the driveway, took a left, and walked up the street which framed Georgia’s property on the east. In the distance, she saw a parked car. Strange, she thought, in this sparsely populated area. When she got closer, she saw it was a nondescript black Chevy. The car sat empty, yet, barring Georgia’s, there wasn’t a house anywhere near.
Despite being fed up with branches snapping her in the face, she soldiered through the woods. She worked her way all the way around the house until she was able to approach a living room window while still remaining concealed by a bush.
Lit by a single lamp, Georgia, fully dressed, sat at the end of the sofa. Her elbowed arm supported her head. She was sipping a whiskey. A man sat opposite her. They were chatting amiably. Emma thought Georgia’s body language suggested flirtatiousness. Maybe she did have a boyfriend.
Emma was so tired. She tiptoed to the next window, through which she hoped to identify the visitor. She was shattered to recognize Officer Chuck Smith. Without a doubt, he was on duty. Chuck loved whiskey, but he had a glass of ice water in his hand. While she watched, Chuck moved onto the sofa next to Georgia. Emma thought, How big is this conspiracy? Or was her sister-in-law just a slut?
She couldn’t imagine being more discouraged. She had no reason to expect any loyalty from Georgia. But was Chuck involved, too?
Emma was so tired …
With no options left, she skulked back into the woods, where she spent the remainder of the night.
60
Heart of Darkness
Emma found a small clearing twenty yards or so behind the tree line of Georgia’s yard. She collected handfuls of pine needles and mounded them into a makeshift bed. She tested it. Wet, but not horrible. Her back and legs cried for rest. She tried to run regularly, but tonight had been too much. She was too tired not to be able to sleep.
Sleep didn’t come quickly, though. It was impossible not to remember Pepper. Emma relived the gunshot and the shriek of pain, and she shook. Only Archie would understand how she felt.
In time, she tried to think more positively. Emma remembered Pepper’s curious behavior in Georgia’s basement. What had her keen nose picked up? Emma’s mind flew back to the scene of Ethan Jackson’s “suicide.” Like watching a replay, she could see Pepper storing Ethan’s scent into her olfactory memory. Had Ethan once been in Georgia’s cellar? Had a faint residue of him lingered there? Or had Pepper smelled something else which generated her attention? Somehow, Emma would have to get back into Georgia’s basement.
Exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, Emma watched the dawning sun play on Georgia’s house. Overnight, she had contracted chickenpox. Dozens of itchy, red mosquito bites poxed her bare arms.
Emma considered her predicament. In brief, she was fucked.
She had lost Pepper. First and foremost, Pepper was a service dog. Emma knew that Pepper would have gladly died for Archie if it meant saving him. She hadn’t been so sure about herself, but Pepper hadn’t hesitated.
Whichever was true, Emma felt honored to have spent the time she had with Archie’s courageous K-9.
On a more pedestrian level, she had lost her wheels, and she had lost her hideout.
She had the stre
ngth left to think … how important is a truck and a sanctuary? Those were potentially surmountable losses. She had escaped, and she was still alive.
Not surmountable, however, were Will, Deb, Vanessa, Ethan, and Pepper.
A lot was wrong with Emma Thorne’s life.
She moved closer to the tree line and watched the house. Her empty stomach protested. She needed water. A full two hours passed before Officer Chuck Smith opened the front door and left. Georgia was nowhere in sight. Chuck must’ve telephoned or radioed headquarters and been called back.
Emma kept waiting. Lunchtime passed. Still, no Georgia. She looked at her watch. Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Would it be Independence Day for her, too? She didn’t think so. Miracles were too much to hope for.
The fourth, and last, of her disposable phones was in her pocket. Should she use it? Of course.
“Georgia, it’s Emma, I’m in trouble!” It wasn’t hard to sound scared. “The police ambushed me last night. They shot Pepper. I barely got away. Can you pick me up? I’m in the parking lot behind Group Therapy. I’m in the back of Phil’s car.”
There was a moment of silence on Georgia’s end. Emma wondered if she was calling 911 on another line. She finally said, “What happened to my dad’s truck?”
“Never mind that! You have to help me. Please come!”
“Okay, okay. Take it easy. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Emma watched Georgia’s front door.
Ten minutes later, Georgia emerged and drove away.
Emma raced to the kitchen door, which was locked. She found a suitably hefty stone and smashed a hole in the glass. She proceeded directly down to the basement. Georgia had locked the door to the exercise room. Good, that means I’m on the right track. The door was hollow-core and easily kicked in. She busted through.
She went immediately to the section of the bookcase that had interested Pepper. Realizing she hadn’t a clue what she was looking for, she examined the books. All of them were neatly shelved, their spines in lockstep. She put her index finger on the top of a random spine, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried another. She couldn’t move that one either. The books were apparently glued together and formed a solid wall. Well I’ll be damned!
Ever So Silent Page 27
