by Lisa Regan
“I know about Andrew,” she said. “I know that he is Belinda Rose’s son. She had an affair with your husband, and Andrew was the result.”
Sophia’s hands went slack against the door. Her gaze dropped to her feet as Josie pushed her way into the foyer and closed the door behind her. “Why did you lie?” Josie asked.
Sophia took a moment to collect herself and then lifted her chin and glared at Josie. “You have no right to come here, barging in and making such outlandish claims. I’d like you to leave now.”
“Or what? You’ll call the police? Listen, I don’t care about your husband’s affair. I don’t even care that you lied to your son and told him he was adopted when he’s not. What I care about is finding Lila Jensen. I know that you remember her. Hell, I know you’ve been in touch with her.”
“I haven’t—I haven’t been—”
“Save it,” Josie said. “Lila has been wreaking havoc on my life for the last month. She’s done things it would be impossible to do without help. Sure, it was easy enough for her to find a couple of dumb teenage boys to carry out simplistic pranks or to rely on her old drug buddies for other things, but now she’s moved on to more elaborate schemes. Schemes she would need a lot more help for—money, a place to stay, a place to hold someone. You live all alone in this big house. You have money to spare. You’re the perfect target for someone like her. So tell me, what does she have on you that would make you help her?”
Sophia’s face was ashen. She twisted her fingers together, her eyes darting around the room. “I didn’t want to help her. I really didn’t. She’s not here, if that’s what you’re after. She wanted to stay here, but I told her absolutely not. I hadn’t seen her in over thirty years, then a month ago she showed up on my doorstep wanting money, a car. I told her I couldn’t do it, but she threatened me.”
“She knew about your husband’s affair with Belinda Rose,” Josie said. “She was going to tell Andrew that he wasn’t really adopted. That his father wasn’t the saint everybody thought he was.”
Sophia spread her palms in a helpless gesture. “What could I do? I didn’t want her to destroy Malcolm’s memory, his legacy. What does it matter if he slept with some girl thirty years ago? He did the right thing. He made sure that Andrew came to him and that he was a good father. Why destroy that now? And Andrew, he looked up to his father so much. He became a lawyer because Malcolm was a lawyer. It was just a little bit of money she wanted. That was all. What’s a little bit of money compared to my son’s memory of his father?”
“How much?” Josie asked.
Sophia folded her arms over her chest.
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand,” Sophia muttered.
“Jesus,” Josie said. “You gave her twenty thousand dollars?”
“It was a small price to pay.”
“Why did she come back? Why is she here? Why now?”
Sophia said, “She wouldn’t say, but I think she might be sick. She didn’t look well. I asked her the same thing you’re asking. All these years. I thought all of that was behind me. She said she had some scores to settle and she didn’t have much time left. I said, ‘Time for what?’ and she said that wasn’t my business.”
“Where is she?” Josie asked. “Where is Lila now?”
Again, Sophia looked all around the room, refusing to settle her gaze on Josie. She was like a small child. If she didn’t look directly at Josie, maybe Josie wouldn’t acknowledge her.
“Tell me!” Josie snapped.
Finally, Sophia sighed. She walked over to a table near the back of the foyer and picked up a purse. “I’ll take you to her.”
“Just tell me,” Josie said.
“It’s pretty remote,” Sophia said. “If she sees just you and not me, she’s likely to bolt—or come after you.”
Josie didn’t want Sophia coming along, but she couldn’t argue with that logic. If there was even the smallest chance of finding Lila and rescuing Trinity, Josie had to take it. “Fine,” she said, “but I’m driving.”
Chapter Seventy-One
They drove in silence, broken only by Sophia giving Josie directions to an old abandoned textile mill near the Susquehanna River. She parked the Camry along the access road and went to search the trunk for a flashlight. She made a show of riffling through the array of items that filled Sergeant Lamay’s trunk while Sophia waited in the passenger seat so that she could fire off a quick text to Noah. If Lila and Trinity were there, she would need backup.
Textile mill with Bowen, she sent.
He would figure it out.
The two of them walked along the old access road in darkness with only the moonlight to illuminate their way. If Lila was on one of the upper floors, Josie didn’t want her to spot the bobbing flashlight beam. Sophia, in two-inch heels, kept stumbling along the cracked asphalt. “Slow down,” she hissed at Josie.
“No,” Josie said simply. “You keep up.”
By the time they reached the southern entrance of the mill, Sophia was sweating and huffing out breaths. Josie stared up at the behemoth—five floors of old yellowing brick and smashed-out windows like empty eye sockets staring down at them. Josie felt a tickle along the back of her neck. “Where is she?” she asked Sophia.
“The third floor,” Sophia answered. “That’s all I know. This is where she said she was staying.”
For twenty thousand dollars, Lila could have done a lot better, but not many places would let you keep a hostage on the premises. “You go first,” Josie said, and she pushed Sophia through the creaky doors.
Once inside, she turned on the flashlight and swept it around the cavernous room. Broken glass, garbage, and other debris littered the floors. Old equipment sat abandoned like dilapidated sentries. A rat scurried just out of view as they walked through the place looking for the stairwell.
“Over here,” Sophia said, pointing to a set of double doors to their left. Graffiti and rust marred the paint on the doors, and a blackish fluid leaked from the wall above, over the door handles, and onto the floor. “Open it,” Josie said.
In the peripheral glow of the flashlight, Josie saw the look of disdain that Sophia gave her as she riffled in her purse. “We don’t have time for this,” Josie said.
A tissue appeared in her hand, and she used it to cover the doorknob before pulling it open. The door groaned behind them as they entered the stairwell. In the silence of the huge building, it sounded like the roar of a jet. The concrete steps crumbled beneath their feet, and Sophia stumbled again, grasping desperately for the railing. Josie kept the flashlight pointed ahead and her ears pricked for any sounds above them. They had gone up two flights of steps when Josie suddenly realized that she no longer heard Sophia’s labored breath behind her.
Instinctively, her free hand reached for her gun, but of course it wasn’t there. She curled both hands around the long handle of the flashlight, but it was too late. She was yanked back by her shoulder, down the steps, tumbling into darkness.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Josie fell and fell until she stopped with a thud on the landing they’d just cleared. The back of her head ached, and her right wrist throbbed. Searching around her in the dark, she realized she’d lost the flashlight. It must have broken on impact, because not even its beam was in sight. Feeling her way along the wall, Josie found the railing and pulled herself to her feet. Pain shot through her left ankle, and she stopped for a moment to try and listen over her thundering heartbeat for Sophia. Then she felt the cold, steel circle of a gun barrel against her cheek, and Sophia’s icy voice in her ear.
“Don’t move.”
Josie put her hands in the air even though she wasn’t even sure that Sophia could see her. She blinked several times, trying to acclimate her eyes to the absolute darkness of the stairwell. High above them on one of the upper flights of stairs, a thin shaft of moonlight crept in through one of the broken windows.
“If this is about your secrets,” Josie said, “no one is
going to hear them from me. I’m only interested in stopping Lila.”
“Oh, this is about my secrets all right, but not the ones you think.”
Josie shifted her face fractionally, nudging the barrel of the gun back slightly toward her ear. She could just make out Sophia’s angry glittering eyes in her periphery. “You sure you know how to use that gun?” she asked.
Sophia pushed the barrel hard into Josie’s cheekbone. “A rich old lady, living alone? You’re goddamn right I know how to use this.”
Josie didn’t doubt her. “What is Andrew going to think if his mother kills the chief of police?”
“He’s going to think I had no choice. Don’t you worry. I’ll cover this up just like I covered up Belinda’s murder. Except this time, the secrets will stay buried.”
Josie felt a cold shock go through her. “What are you talking about? You killed Belinda?”
“Of course I did,” Sophia spat. “She was a whore, pretending to be my friend while she screwed around with my husband.”
Playing for time, Josie asked, “You said you left the courthouse long before she died. You had Andrew. Did you know then that he was Belinda’s?”
“I didn’t know anything. I was blissfully unaware of what a disgusting pervert my husband was. Did you know he screwed every young woman who came into that courthouse? I think he even had an affair with Lila, but I could never prove it. I had no idea what he was doing. Belinda and I were good friends. Great friends. I trusted her, and I believed him when he told me he was trying to be a father figure to her.”
With each word, Sophia dug the barrel of the gun deeper into Josie’s cheekbone. Josie lowered her hands slowly and tried to shift away from Sophia, but she clamped a hand down hard on Josie’s shoulder. Josie had to keep her focused on her story and not on the gun she was holding to Josie’s head.
“You really believed your husband was trying to help Belinda because she was a foster kid?” Josie asked.
Sophia humphed. “I was young and stupid. I loved my husband, and I wanted to believe him. Then Belinda disappeared for a few months, and when she came back, she started seeing that teacher, Mr. Todd. She was more reserved those days, but we were still friends, so she confided in me—every detail about her relationship with Todd. I didn’t think there was anything to worry about between her and Malcolm.”
“But then Andrew came along,” Josie said. She tried to take a step, and Sophia, lost in tales of the past, moved with her.
“Yes, Malcolm came home and said he had seen a little boy who was up for adoption and fallen in love with him—would I adopt? We could do for this little boy what no one had done for my good friend, Belinda. Well, I met little Andrew, and I just fell in love with him. I was living the dream. A full-time mother. No more typing and getting coffee for these asshole judges and lawyers. Answering phones and filing. So tedious and boring.”
“If you didn’t know that Belinda was ever even pregnant, how did you find out about the affair?” Josie asked. The barrel of the gun had slid slightly, and she could feel Sophia’s hand tire with the effort of holding it up for so long.
“It was Valentine’s Day, 1984. Malcolm was working late. I put little Andrew into the stroller and walked him in the cold over to the courthouse. Pushed him right up to Malcolm’s chambers’ doors, and then I heard them. I heard them… screwing. I hid in the stairwell and looked through the window in the door, waiting to see who it was. Imagine my shock when Belinda walked out of Malcolm’s office, looking rosy-cheeked and satisfied with her buttons done up wrong.”
So Belinda had broken off her affair with Lloyd and Damon Todd’s father to pick back up where she’d left off with Malcolm Bowen.
Sophia lowered the gun to Josie’s waistline as she spoke, reducing the pressure and seemingly taking some pleasure from getting it all out at last. “I didn’t confront them. What would be the point? I hustled the baby home, put dinner on the table, and tried to get on with my life. But I just couldn’t forget.” She paused for a moment, taking herself back. “A few weeks later, I visited the courthouse during regular hours and ran into Lila. She could tell something was wrong immediately, so we went outside for a smoke break, just like old times, and I told her that I had seen Malcolm and Belinda. She said that she suspected he was probably screwing her before she’d disappeared too. Two years he was carrying on with that girl. That nobody. We had only been married for three.”
“So you decided to take matters into your own hands,” Josie prompted as, distracted by her memories, Sophia let the gun fall to her side. Relief flooded through Josie at having the barrel of the gun finally pointed away from her. She dared not make a move and break the trance. Noah and the cavalry would be there any minute.
“It was Lila’s idea,” Sophia explained. “She came up with a plan to lure Belinda out to a playground on the outskirts of Bellewood. She thought I’d just confront her, maybe throw a few punches. But when I saw her there, I just lost it. Two years. Right under my nose. Malcolm probably only adopted Andrew so he could get me away from the courthouse and they could carry on more freely. I hit her.”
“With what?” Josie thought she heard the sounds of cars over asphalt, but she couldn’t be sure. “With what?” she repeated.
“It was a bar from one of the jungle gyms; there was some storm damage and one of them had broken down. Belinda kept going on about how Malcolm loved her more than me, and that it was only a matter of time before he got rid of me. She would be eighteen in six months—all she had to do was wait, and then he would divorce me, take the baby, and start a whole new happy family. I didn’t even know that Andrew was her baby until that moment. The lies. My God, the lies. I picked up the bar and… I didn’t mean to kill her.”
“But you did. How did she get buried in Denton?”
“Lila took her. We put her in Lila’s trunk, and she said she would help me cover it up if I helped her with something else.”
“Helped her how?” Josie asked.
“She wanted money. She said her boss was… molesting her. She needed to get away. So I agreed. She took Belinda’s body and the money, and I never heard from her again. Until last month.”
“You didn’t give her money,” Josie said. “Your husband did. What did you tell him to get him to pay her off?”
“I told him everything. He had a choice: turn me in and become the judge whose wife murdered his underage mistress, or pay Lila and make the entire thing go away forever.”
“He chose his reputation.”
A loud bang sounded from below them, followed by shouts. In the moonlight, Sophia’s eyes gleamed with anger. She raised the gun back to Josie’s face. “What did you do? Who did you call?”
Josie didn’t answer. Instead, she turned toward the gun, knocking it out of Sophia’s hand and punching Sophia square in the face. Sophia stumbled backward, crying out as she fell. Josie dropped to her knees, searching frantically around the debris-strewn landing for the gun. One of Sophia’s hands clamped around Josie’s damaged ankle, making her cry out in pain. Josie kicked out, but Sophia had already pulled herself up and was looming over Josie. In her hand was the gun that Josie was searching for. She held it by the barrel, and before Josie had a chance to react, she brought it down hard onto Josie’s head.
The stairwell tilted, and Sophia’s shadowy form went out of focus. Josie tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t work. Next thing she knew, Sophia’s hands were under her armpits, pulling her up the flight of steps she had just tumbled down. Josie willed her limbs to fight back, but there was no response.
She was dragged quickly through a side door, and the sounds of boots pounding along concrete and the shouts she had heard earlier faded. The moonlight was brighter on the third floor, but still, Josie couldn’t seem to get her vision to clear. “Stop,” she mumbled. But Sophia kept dragging her along; she was surprisingly strong. Finally she dropped her, and Josie rolled onto her back. A giant soft-flow dye machine loomed over her, a vast network of piping
, nozzles, and pumps surrounding a massive cylinder so large that one would need a ladder to climb to the top of it. The tubular chamber had long since rusted, leaving a gash down the middle of it. Josie watched as Sophia slipped in and out of focus, poking her head into the jagged opening of the cylinder and turning back for Josie.
“No,” Josie said, her heart hammering. “I can’t…” she tried. “I can’t go in there.”
Sophia ignored her plea, dragging her closer and lifting and pushing her uncooperative body through the hole in the dye machine. The jagged metal edges of the hole scraped against Josie’s back, pinching through her jacket and T-shirt and painfully scraping away skin. Her arms and legs tried again to fight Sophia off, but Sophia seemed to be everywhere at once inside the cylinder, pulling her deeper into the darkness.
“I can’t…” Josie tried again.
Sophia laid her out flat on the cold rusted metal and lay down beside her. When Josie tried to speak again, Sophia clamped a hand over her mouth. “Now shut up,” she told Josie, “’cause we’re going to be here awhile.”
Panic burned through every cell in Josie’s body. She tried to get her bearings, to hold onto some piece of herself that understood that the darkness couldn’t hurt her—just as Ray had always told her—but she couldn’t. She was a young girl again, in the closet, spinning and falling through a dark abyss without end.
“I said shut up,” Sophia hissed, pressing her palm more firmly over Josie’s mouth. As Josie’s breath came faster and faster, her hands reached up, trying to pry Sophia’s hand away from her face. Sophia took her hand away momentarily, but all that came out of Josie’s mouth was a high-pitched noise—she was hyperventilating. Josie felt her arms being tucked against her sides, then she felt Sophia straddle her, pinning her in place and settling her weight across Josie’s middle. Sophia’s hand was across Josie’s mouth again. Josie’s chest burned with the effort of trying to take something more than the short, shallow gasps of sheer panic. With each moment that passed, she took in less and less air.
