“No. I just kept them in the bags. Like they had to be kept in mint condition.”
Zachary wondered how many skin cells the baby would have needed to shed inside the mittens for a lab to pull enough DNA to test and how long he would have had to have them on. The soother was a better prospect. It would be coated in the baby’s saliva.
“Would you be okay about giving the binky to the police to test for DNA?”
“Would I get it back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not.”
She looked at it for a long time. Finally, she sighed and nodded. “Yes. I guess.” She swallowed. “Let me take a couple of pictures of it, at least.”
“Sure. Of course. And you should probably be the one to hand it to the police. To preserve the chain of evidence. You’re the one who can testify that it was in your baby’s mouth. That you’re the only one who has ever had it in your possession.”
“I don’t want to talk to the police.”
“I’ll set up a meeting with Able. He won’t accuse you of anything. He’s not going to treat you like a suspect. He’s not one of the officers who initially investigated it. They’re long gone.”
“I thought you would do it.”
“I’ll come with you. I’ll do the talking. Everything except actually handing it over.”
She drew back. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it. I don’t know.”
“You’ve held on to it for thirty years. You can think about it for a few more days.”
“Yeah.”
“This could catch him, Heather. I’ve been reading about other cases that have been solved with DNA testing recently, and this could really work.”
She raised her eyes to him. “Do you really think so?”
“Yeah. We can’t go very far on physical descriptions or people’s memories three decades later. But if there is surviving DNA that they can test and search, the chances of getting some kind of hit are really good. A stranger assault way back then, there wasn’t much they could do. With your rape kit being destroyed, I didn’t think there was any chance at all of finding a stranger. But with this, it’s a definite possibility.”
“Okay. Give me some more time. I’ll think about it. Try to prepare myself.”
“Good. I know it can’t be easy for you. I know… I wouldn’t want to have to relive any of my experiences. And I wouldn’t want to have to face the police about them. But if this could end up putting the guy behind bars… it would be good for you to know that he wasn’t out there anymore. That someone actually was punished for it.”
“Yeah.” She touched his face gently, looking into his eyes. She ran her finger down his stubbly chin. He should have shaved before going to see her. Made himself more presentable. “It’s so good to see you again, Zachary. I never thought I’d see you again. When they separated us, I thought that was the end of it. That social worker always said she’d let us visit each other, but the longer it went… I knew she never intended to. She thought it was better if we just went on and lived our new lives and didn’t think about the past.”
“As if that was possible.”
She put both of her hands on his face, framing it, staring at his face as if she might never see it again. She ran her fingers over his features like a blind person. Normally, having someone that close to him, intruding on his space would have made him anxious and uncomfortable. But he didn’t feel that way with Heather. He took advantage of her closeness to examine her face as well, looking for signs of the little girl he had known. She had a sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheeks that were familiar. He remembered how freckled she would get in the summer, remembered her blond hair pulled back into tatty pigtails and pictured her laughing, caught up in a game with her siblings. It had been a long time since he had seen that girl.
“It really is me,” he told her.
“Yes. I can see.” She released his face and sat back again, holding the baby things in her lap. “I don’t know how they could have given us up. I know that the social worker said it was voluntary, that they hadn’t apprehended us. She said that Mom just couldn’t take care of us anymore, but they’d try to change her mind. Maybe after she’d had some time to get some rest, some of us would be able to go back home. But I never thought that was going to happen. I couldn’t understand why she gave us up in the first place. I know… it was hard, and she… I don’t think she liked being a mom. But I never thought she’d just give us away, like unwanted kittens.”
“It was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. The fire might have hurried her decision along, but I think it would have happened sooner or later anyway.”
“She said that I was incorrigible. That I was the worst and she would never be our mother again.”
Heather frowned. “She didn’t. The social worker never said anything like that. Why would she tell you something like that?”
“It wasn’t Mrs. Pratt who told me. It was Mom. She told me to my face. At the hospital.”
Heather gaped. Her eyes and her mouth were round circles. “How could that happen? The social worker took her to the hospital and let her say that to your face?”
“I think… she thought that when Mom saw me there, when she saw me, she would realize I was just… a hurt little kid and that she would want to take care of me. But she didn’t. She said she would never take us back again, especially not me.”
“You didn’t set that fire on purpose.”
He shrugged helplessly. “No. But I did cause it. She’s right about that. And if she’d taken us back, who knows what other crap I would have pulled. The house could have burned down with everyone in it. I could have been responsible for all of your deaths, not just for the family being split up.”
She put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “You’re not the reason the family split up.”
“I started the fire and the fire split up the family.”
“It would have happened sooner or later anyway. After that night… how much longer do you think they would have stayed together, even without the fire? Do you think Mom and Dad would have made up and been able to be a happy family after that? Tyrrell doesn’t remember how it was, but I know you do. You remember how they would fight. Not just arguing, not just yelling, but hitting and shoving each other around. I thought they’d kill each other one day. It’s probably a good thing that they broke up when they did, because I don’t think they would both have survived otherwise.”
Zachary had seen enough domestic abuse and infidelity cases since then to agree. Couples who fought didn’t just stop hitting each other one day. They didn’t quit until one of them was killed or had the sense to get out of the situation. Too often, it ended up tragically with one partner or one or all of the children in the morgue. Whenever he heard of one of those cases in the media where one of the parents had killed the children, he thought about his family, and about how lucky he was to have been pulled out of such an explosive and abusive home before it had happened to them.
Or on his darker days, how unlucky.
Zachary gave Heather’s knee a squeeze. She used to have such knobby little knees and stick-thin legs. But she’d grown into a woman. “You take whatever time you need to make a decision. And maybe… it might be time to tell your husband about what happened. I think he’d want to know and you need the support.”
“Did you tell Kenzie what happened with that sicko serial killer?”
She knew before he shook his head that he hadn’t. She’d known it when she had met Kenzie. Probably as soon as she had met Zachary.
“And have you told her about everything that happened when you were a kid?” Heather persisted.
“I don’t think I could remember everything that happened when I was a kid.”
“Have you told her any of it?”
“She knows generalities. About what happened to the family and me being in foster care. Some of what that was like.”
“And did you tell her about any of the sexual abus
e?”
Zachary’s throat was dry. He swallowed. “No.”
“Exactly. Then don’t be a hypocrite and tell me I should tell Grant.”
He nodded in agreement. It was easy to look at someone else’s life and say what they should do, and to repeat what he had heard other people say to him so many times. She should talk openly to her husband, get counseling, go into some kind of support group.
All of the things that Kenzie and Mr. Peterson said would help Zachary to heal.
It was easy to give advice. Not so easy to follow it.
21
He went home empty-handed and without Heather’s agreement to turn the pacifier over to Able. He thought that she would agree in time, but he understood her not wanting to face another cop over her rape. The cops who had further traumatized her during the investigation had made sure of that.
His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. Kenzie. He answered it hands-free, staring out at the highway ahead of him.
“I’m on my way back. Should be about half an hour. Are you off?”
“Just cleaning up,” she confirmed. “You did get out to see Heather, then?”
“Yeah. And after I left there, I went back to the scene… the neighborhood she lived in. The park is still there. Looks like most of the original homes are still there, though a few have been knocked down and replaced. I didn’t canvass any homes, but it looks mostly like younger families now, not the people who would have been there thirty years ago. I asked at the library about the old newspapers, and they have an archives room. I didn’t have enough time to go through it today, but maybe… I can look through the papers and see if there were any other assaults reported around the same time. Heather said that hers never made it to the paper, so maybe there won’t be. Maybe they didn’t report on stuff like that.”
He was just running through a stream-of-consciousness report of what had happened that day, trying to clarify and order everything in his own mind. He stopped, giving Kenzie a chance to contribute.
“That’s good. But…? Did Heather change her mind about tracking the baby down?”
“Oh! I didn’t catch you up… we went another direction. I asked her whether she had anything from the baby, anything that might have spit-up or any of the baby’s DNA on it.”
“And…?”
“She has a pacifier and little mittens. That she’s kept in plastic bags all this time and never told anyone about.”
“Are you getting them tested?” Kenzie’s tone went up, excited about the new lead.
“Maybe. She doesn’t want to go to the police herself, but I don’t want to break the chain of evidence. So she’s going to think about it. I think she will. I’m pretty sure.”
“That’s great! The pacifier especially should have enough DNA on it to test. Maybe there is a way to catch this guy after all.”
“We might just get lucky.”
Checking the gas gauge as he reentered city limits, Zachary decided he’d better fill up. There was an independent gas station nearby that often priced its gas a few cents cheaper than its competitors, so he thought he might as well go there rather than the station nearer his house.
He and Bridget used to gas up there all the time. It was close to their old apartment. He pulled up to a free pump, his mind flooded with memories. Was it silly to have romantic memories of filling the car with gas? Those first few months after they were married had been happy. They did lots of things together. Went to a lot of events, which required filling up the tank pretty often.
There was a yellow VW parked at one of the other pumps, which set his heart racing. It looked just like Bridget’s car. The owner was inside the convenience store, so he allowed himself to fantasize for a moment that it was Bridget’s car and they were both there together again. It was hard to stay focused on filling his own car with the yellow VW there.
His brain immediately went back to the days after the divorce when he had been tracking her movements. It wasn’t creepy, it wasn’t to threaten her or to show up places where she was. It was just… comforting to know where she was and what she was up to. Even as he pumped his gas, it was difficult to tamp down his impulse to meander past the yellow VW and see if he could unobtrusively slide a tracker under her bumper. He could crouch down to tie a shoe, make sure that no one was looking, and put it into place. Then once again, he’d be able to follow her on his phone and to know where she was at all times.
And she would find it again, and she would get a restraining order. And he could end up in jail.
He looked away from the car to the numbers on his pump as the tank was nearing full.
He looked back at the convenience store as a blond woman walked out and headed toward the yellow VW.
It was Bridget. He had to blink his eyes several times and shake his head before he was convinced that it really was her and not a flashback or hallucination. It really was her car. It really was Bridget.
He should have been thrilled at the unplanned sighting, but Bridget seemed pale. Maybe it was just the fluorescent lighting underneath the canopy. She opened her door and then stood there for a moment, her hand going to her pelvic area as if she were bloated or in pain. That was all it took for a kaleidoscope of memories to flood back of Bridget before and in the early days after her diagnosis. Before their relationship had blown apart and he had been excised from her life. As if she needed to surgically remove him before the cancer.
He stared at her, and as if his gaze were so intense that she could feel it, she turned and looked at him. Zachary swallowed. He immediately looked for an excuse to be there, a way to explain to him why he was in the same place as she was. Bridget slammed the door of the VW closed and marched over to him, her eyes blazing.
“Zachary. What are you doing here?”
He looked at the gas pump, where the numbers had quit moving. “I was out of town. I was just filling up. I remembered it was cheaper here.”
She looked at the gas pump. It was obvious that his tank had been low. He wasn’t just pretending that he needed gas while he stalked her. “Are you following me?”
“No. I haven’t done that for—” he choked, his voice betraying his emotion, “—it’s been months. I swear.”
“If you put anything on my car, I’ll find it! I’ll go straight to a mechanic and have him put it up on a lift, and he’ll find whatever you put on there!”
“I didn’t. I was just filling up. I didn’t realize it was your car until you came out.”
“Excuse me,” Bridget used a loud voice to address the potential witnesses, who were in their own worlds gassing up their cars or picking up snacks. She pointed at the VW. “Has this man been near my car? Did anyone see him walk up to my car or touch it or look in the windows?”
They looked around at each other, not liking being pulled into some kind of dispute. But everyone shook their heads, looking at Bridget with wide eyes.
“I’ve just been here, I didn’t get close to it,” Zachary insisted.
“Don’t try telling me you wouldn’t rather be over there, touching my car, looking through my stuff, putting a bug on it.” Bridget’s voice was harsh as she turned back to him.
Zachary shook his head, unable to find his voice. He was electrified by her proximity, his heart racing at being so close to her. Was it possible that she could stand there, just inches away from him, and not feel the chemistry between them? Kenzie insisted that the vitriol Bridget aimed at him was proof that she was still attracted to him, that it was just camouflage for what she was really feeling.
Being so close to her, Zachary just wanted to hold her and comfort her, to tell her that he was sorry and that they could get back together again. It was a complete betrayal of the relationship he had with Kenzie, but he couldn’t help the desire he felt whenever he was close to Bridget. He wanted to recapture those first happy days together.
Bridget stopped talking. She just stood there looking at him, breathing heavily. Her paleness was more than just the bluish li
ghting of the gas station. Her eyes rolled up as if she were going to faint and he released the gas nozzle and reached out for her, trying to catch her before she could collapse to the ground. She recovered and slapped his hands away, not letting him touch her.
“What is it?” Zachary asked. “Are you okay? Bridge?”
“Don’t touch me. I don’t need your help.”
His heart was beating so fast he was only a hair’s breadth away from a panic attack. But he had to hold it together for her. Despite her words, he was sure that she needed him. She was clearly sick.
Was the cancer back? He remembered how she had been in the days before and immediately after the diagnosis, before she had started treatment. Pale, nauseated, making frequent trips to the bathroom. They had both mistaken the early signs for pregnancy.
Zachary had been overjoyed at a positive home pregnancy test.
She had not been.
Not overjoyed and not pregnant.
“I didn’t follow you here. I didn’t know you were here. That it was your car here. Bridget, you’re sick. Let me help. Does Gordon know…?”
He reached toward her again, wanting to escort her back to her car, to settle her in and make sure she was safe to get home. Maybe he should call Gordon to pick her up, to avoid her having to drive when she was sick.
“Just leave me alone, Zachary. Don’t touch me. And if I see you near me or my car again…!” She didn’t voice the threat. “I’m going to get it checked out, and if you have put some kind of tracker or bug on it, I swear, I’ll have you in court for stalking.”
“I didn’t. I haven’t been anywhere near it.” He gestured at the people who had spoken up for him, the people who had agreed he hadn’t been close to the car.
“Maybe you didn’t now. Maybe it was earlier in the week, and you followed your tracker here so you could just happen to be where I was. I’m going to have it checked out.”
“Is it back?” He had to know. “Your cancer? Please tell if it is.”
He Was Not There Page 13
