‘Just want to talk a few things over with her.’
‘I told you. She’s not here,’ Ellis said, in a threatening tone.
Tom grimaced and turned away. He descended the steps and returned to his truck in the driveway.
‘What if something happened to her?’ Malcolm asked in a panicked tone.
Ellis ran a hand through his greasy hair. ‘Your aunt knows how to take care of herself,’ he said, closing the door as Tom pulled away. ‘Go on, get back inside,’ he said to Malcolm.
But Malcolm did not move. He stood watching Tom’s truck leave.
‘I said Get,’ Ellis repeated in a loud voice. And then he looked more closely at the boy. There were tears running down Malcolm’s face.
‘What the hell?’ Ellis demanded. ‘What are you now? A little girl?’
There were two vehicles in the Reeses’ driveway. One was a pickup truck and the other was a compact car with a hospice decal on the bumper. As Tom climbed the steps to the Reeses’ back door, he noticed that one pane in the door was missing and covered with a piece of cardboard. He lifted his fist and knocked.
At first there was no response and then someone called out, ‘Just a minute.’
Darlene opened the door. Behind her wire-framed glasses, her eyes were red-rimmed as if from weeping, but she gave him an unforced smile.
‘Hello there.’
‘Ma’am, my name is Tom Olson. I … am working with Blair Butler regarding an, um, a cold case?’
‘You mean that business with Muhammed and Molly Sinclair.’
‘That’s right,’ said Tom. ‘I haven’t been able to get in touch with her and her uncle said she may have come out here.’
‘Well, she was here at one point. She’s not here now,’ said Darlene. ‘But come in. Come in.’
Reluctantly, Tom followed the older woman to her living room. There a gray-haired guy in a bus-driver’s uniform, minus the tie, was sitting, reading the newspaper, while Fox News blared on the television.
‘Joe, this is a private detective, Tom Olson … This is my brother, Joe Reese.’
‘We’ve met,’ said Joe. ‘He was here the other day.’
‘He was?’ Darlene asked. ‘How come?’
‘Him. And Dietz’s niece. Blair.’
‘They were?’ asked Darlene.
Tom thought of that pink sock, stuck to back of Joe Reese’s vest.
‘Yes. We had some questions about Molly Sinclair.’
Joe shrugged, as if it were of no importance. ‘I forgot to mention it.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ said Tom, ‘why did Blair come over here today?’
Darlene sat down in the corner of the sofa.
‘Oh, that was for me,’ she said. ‘I asked her to bring some pills over to me that I left at her uncle’s. He and I are no longer … on good terms.’
‘So you saw her, when she brought the pills?’
‘No, I wasn’t here. My brother saw her. Didn’t you, Joe?’
Joe lowered his paper and looked at Tom with a timid expression. ‘I saw her. She was only here for a minute.’
Tom looked thoughtfully at the aging bus driver and wondered if he was telling the truth. It would not have surprised Tom if Blair had used those pills as an opportunity to question Joe Reese.
‘I know Blair had a few questions she wanted to ask you. Did she mention Molly Sinclair?’
Joe looked steadily at him. ‘No, she didn’t.’
‘Well, why would she?’ Darlene asked, taken aback.
‘She dropped off the pills and then she left,’ said Joe.
‘And did she say where was she going?’ Tom asked.
‘She didn’t say. She seemed like she was in a hurry to be on her way.’
‘Maybe she went back to Philly. She’s got an important job there,’ Darlene confided. ‘Her own company. I know she’s been anxious to get back to it.’
‘She wouldn’t leave without telling her uncle, would she?’ Tom asked.
‘She and her uncle were not on good terms,’ said Darlene. ‘And now I know why. It turns out that man has a very ugly side which I did not know about. He likes to collect things from the Nazis.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Tom.
‘You don’t seem surprised.’
Tom shrugged. ‘He’s always been like that. He used to have a big confederate flag on his front porch, got into a lot of arguments with people.’
‘Did you know that, Joe?’ Darlene demanded.
Joe sighed. ‘Well, everyone in town knew he was a nut. I just didn’t say anything cause you seemed to like the guy.’
‘I wouldn’t have liked him if I knew that at the beginning,’ Darlene protested. ‘Honestly, Joe. You might have warned me.’
‘Sorry,’ said Joe meekly.
‘Well, when I found out,’ said Darlene, ‘I told him I didn’t want anything more to do with him, but he couldn’t leave well enough alone. That’s how the back window got broken. He decided to let himself in. He thought he would win me back by leaving presents here.’
‘He had no right to do that,’ said Joe indignantly. ‘I’m going to send him a bill for putting in the new window.’
‘Anyway, I wouldn’t blame Blair for leaving without saying a word,’ said Darlene, shaking her head. ‘But I’m sure she’ll let you know.’
Joe stared into his newspaper, with a faraway expression on his face.
‘I hope so,’ said Tom.
‘If I hear from her, I’ll have her call you,’ said Darlene.
Tom thanked them. ‘I’ll let myself out,’ he said. As he walked back through the kitchen and out to his car, he kept picturing Blair arriving with the pills. Encountering Joe Reese. Saying … nothing? That part of the picture did not fit. He looked out across the driveway at the barn, the dark fields.
Where are you, he thought? What happened to you?
TWENTY-EIGHT
She was freezing cold and the pain in her head thudded so that every inch of her scalp and her face hurt. Even her hair seemed to hurt. Blair tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as if they had been pressed down and sealed together. Her cheek was mashed against the cold cement floor. She wondered if her teeth were still in her head. She ran her dry tongue over them and felt a moment of relief, when she realized that they were still there. And then, as she slowly began to have coherent thoughts, her heart began to hammer. Joe Reese had been wielding an iron shovel and he slammed it into her head. Had he cracked her skull? Was it dangerous for her to even move her head? Was she bleeding? She did not remember anything after the blow.
Where am I, she thought? She wanted to open her eyes, but she was afraid to. What if he were sitting opposite her, waiting for her eyes to open, waiting for her to look up at him? What if he wanted her to regain her wits before he began to hit her again? So he could feel her fear. Enjoy it. She would not put any sadistic impulse past him. Blair started to tremble, partly from the cold, and partly from the sickening anxiety centered in her gut. Her eyes still closed, she mentally took stock of her body. She was wearing her clothes. That was a relief. But her skin felt abraded, as if she had been rubbed, elbows, knees and midriff, by coarse sandpaper. Her right ankle throbbed, as if it had been twisted. Her shoes seemed to be gone.
She felt something flicker over her face, like a butterfly’s wing, and then she heard a harsh voice hiss, ‘Don’t touch.’
The sound of a voice was so unexpected that Blair was suddenly wide awake, completely conscious. She let out a cry and opened her eyes. The room was dark except for a dim light from a hallway.
Blair’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw a huddled form, crouched not far from her head. Blair’s heart was hammering. At first she thought it might be a dog, seated there on the floor, folded in on itself. Then, she was able to discern that the figure was a small human. She squinted and recognized a child’s dirty face. Two eyes, gleaming in the darkness, stared at her from under a tangle of hair.
‘Wake up,’
the child whispered. Blair could smell decay on the baby’s breath.
‘Trista, get away,’ the harsh voice insisted.
The child started and drew away from Blair.
Blair looked toward the corner of the room from which the voice emanated and saw that there was someone sitting in a molded plastic chair, watching her.
Blair tried to struggle up onto one elbow, but her arms were rubbery and she collapsed back onto the cold, cement floor.
The person in the chair stood up and walked over to where Blair lay. As the figure approached and squatted down beside her, Blair could see that it was a young woman. She was pale as a lunar moth and painfully thin. Her blonde hair hung lank around her face. As she approached, Blair could smell her shabby clothes, which had the odor, both dusty and foul, of unwashed fabric.
She looked Blair over, frowning. ‘Your head’s bloody. Are you all right?’ she asked.
Blair swallowed hard. She did not know how to answer. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. The thudding in her head was so intense that she could barely keep her eyes open.
‘Where am I?’ she whispered.
‘In the barn,’ said the woman. ‘The old tack room actually. He beat you up and shoved you in here.’
‘He hit me with a shovel,’ Blair managed to whisper.
The woman grimaced as she studied the wound on Blair’s head for a few moments.
‘That looks nasty,’ she said. Then, she straightened up and walked over to a shelf on one side of the room. She rummaged around with a basin, then came back to where Blair lay and reached out her hand.
Blair could feel cool drops of water showering over her. She began to shiver. The woman pressed the terrycloth rag she was holding against the wound in Blair’s scalp.
‘You hold it,’ she said. ‘Put it where it hurts.’
Blair reached up obediently and accepted the rag from the woman’s hand. She pressed it against the wound and immediately she felt an almost magical sense of relief.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t thank me. Nothing in here is clean. That cut on your head should be cleaned out. At this rate, it’ll get infected.’
‘Still. It feels better with the wet cloth,’ said Blair humbly.
The other woman straightened up and looked down at this stranger, splayed out on the floor.
‘Where did he catch you?’ said the woman.
‘Catch me?’ Blair said. As if Joe Reese was a hunter and she was his prey. ‘I was here. In the barn, looking around, and he … saw me. He told me to leave …’
‘You should have,’ the other woman whispered.
‘I guess I should have,’ Blair murmured. They were both silent for a few moments, each contemplating her own situation.
‘Why were you looking?’ the woman asked.
‘I was puzzled … I began to wonder …’
‘Wonder what?’ said the woman.
‘I smelled something cooking. Food cooking.’
‘Not cooking. Just heating. In the microwave. It’s all we have.’
Blair nodded, her gaze traveling over the sparse amenities. ‘And in the trash, I saw Tampax.’
‘Mine,’ said the woman.
‘There was water. Coming from under the door.’
‘I did that,’ said the woman. ‘I heard voices. I wanted to try and attract someone’s attention.’
‘I noticed it,’ Blair assured her.
‘There was no use in yelling. I’ve tried that before a thousand times. I thought maybe if I threw the water against the door it might run down and find its way out. Whoever was out there might see it.’
‘It did. It seeped out. I saw it,’ said Blair.
The woman nodded, her eyes alight, for a moment, that her idea had worked.
Then the enthusiasm disappeared from the woman’s eyes as if someone had blown out a candle behind them.
‘I asked him to open the door,’ Blair explained. ‘First he said he was going to call the police on me. But when I beat him to it, and tried to call a detective that I know … that’s when he hit me.’
‘Did someone come with you?’ the woman asked eagerly. ‘Does anyone know you’re here?’
‘No. I’m afraid not. I was alone,’ said Blair.
The young woman doubled over as if Blair’s words were a blow and let out an anguished groan. She fell to her knees on the cement floor folding her stick-like arms over her stomach. She averted her face.
‘Mama,’ the little girl pleaded, fear in her voice.
‘I’m sorry,’ Blair whispered.
‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ the child echoed, hovering near the kneeling woman.
The woman shook her head and groped for the child’s hand. For a few moments they were all silent. Blair felt tears running down her own face. She thought of Tom, warning her not to come here alone. Tom, she thought. Will you look for me? Will you try to find me? Wait, she thought. The phone. Call him. Call someone. For a brief moment her heart lifted. She fumbled in the pocket of her jacket. It only took a moment of groping frantically in all her pockets to arrive at the truth. Joe had taken it from her. It was gone.
Blair closed her eyes and felt the thudding in her head resume, worse than ever. She had been looking for answers about Molly and ended up stumbling into this trap. She thought of Joe Reese, with the pink sock stuck to his vest. This little girl’s pink sock. Blair’s teeth began to chatter and her stomach churned violently. She retched, but nothing came out of her mouth.
The child started to sniffle and the young woman murmured to her.
‘It’s ok. It’s all right.’
Blair looked at the two of them helplessly. How long had they been waiting for rescue? Praying to be found?
The young woman was struggling to compose herself, to reassure the child. Finally, she turned and gazed at Blair. She put an arm around the child and pulled her close.
‘I’m Ariel,’ said the woman. ‘This is Trista.’
With some difficulty, Blair moved her head so that she could see one and then the other.
‘Blair,’ she said.
Ariel nodded, and returned to the plastic chair. She sat down again.
‘You should get off that cold floor,’ she said. ‘That won’t help any.’
Blair nodded and once again tried to raise herself up on one elbow. She took a deep breath of the damp, fetid air and hauled herself up to a sitting position. The chill of the floor seemed to be seeping up into her bones. Suddenly, the child rushed to her side, patting her on the shoulder and trying to help lift her with her small, grimy hands.
The child’s earnest attempt to be helpful was touching.
‘Thanks,’ Blair whispered.
‘Trista. Come here,’ the woman commanded.
Immediately, the child let go of Blair and scampered to the woman in the chair. She climbed up into Ariel’s lap and Ariel enfolded her against her narrow chest. The chair was so flimsy that it would not have held the weight of two normal people, but Ariel and Trista together appeared to weigh about as much as a starving adolescent. They clung to one another and studied their uninvited guest. Ariel spoke dispassionately to Blair.
‘She’s never seen any other people but him and me.’
Blair shook her head. ‘No one?’
‘Nope,’ said Ariel. ‘She was born in this place.’
Blair’s eyes had adjusted to the dimness and she looked around the desolate room. There was almost no furniture and few belongings. There was a bench and a card table. A mattress covered with rumpled sheets was pushed up against the far wall. On the shelves there was a small microwave, a basin, a couple of plates and bowls. A picnic cooler. A stack of magazines. A plastic wastebasket. The paucity of comfort was breathtaking. Blair tried to pretend that she was not sickened.
‘How long have you been in here?’ Blair asked in a soft voice.
Ariel shook her head. Blair did not know if that meant that she did not want to answer the question
, or she simply did not know.
‘You mean …?’
‘I don’t know how long it’s been,’ said Ariel.
Blair closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to weep, but her hands and her lips were trembling with the effort.
‘I was fifteen when he caught me,’ said Ariel.
There it was again. The image of a creature hunted down, captured. She cleared her throat.
‘How old are you now?’ Blair asked.
Ariel sighed. ‘I don’t know.’
Blair stared at her. ‘What year were you born?’
‘1990,’ Ariel said.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Blair whispered.
TWENTY-NINE
Amanda heard the beep, removed the thermometer from Zach’s mouth, and looked at the temperature.
‘It’s down a little bit,’ she said. She looked at her son, whose face was flushed, his hair damp with perspiration. She reached a hand out and placed it on his forehead, as if she was unconvinced by the thermometer and only her own hand could accurately gauge his condition. ‘You’re feeling a little cooler.’
Zach gazed back at her listlessly. ‘Do I have to go to school tomorrow?’ he asked.
Amanda shook her head. ‘Nope. No school for you, buddy. You can just lie low for a day or two.’
As she shook down the thermometer and replaced it in its plastic case, she heard the doorbell ring. Amanda frowned.
‘Someone’s here,’ said Zach.
‘Dad will get it,’ she said.
‘Can I have another ginger ale?’ the child asked.
‘I’ll get you one. Want some crackers too?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Ok. I’ll be right back.’ She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Then she left him fiddling listlessly with his Game Boy and went out into the kitchen. She opened a new package of crackers and pulled out a can of ginger ale out of the refrigerator.
Peter came into the kitchen and looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘We’ve got company.’
‘I heard the doorbell. Who is it?’
‘Ellis Dietz. And Malcolm.’
The Girl in the Woods Page 22
