‘It’s time.’
‘Why can’t I just stay here, Mama?’
‘Because you gave Hugh the key to the house.’
FORTY-FIVE
Olivia was running down the hotel corridor when the call came through. It was Hugh’s number that flashed up on the screen.
‘Olivia? Darling?’
There was static on the line and in the background, the barking of a dog.
‘Oh, God, Hugh, tell me you’re not in that house.’
‘Yes, but I’m leaving right now, heading down the stairs as we speak.’
‘But—’
‘You were right, you know. There is something here. It whispers at you, over your shoulder. It’s . . . vile.’
‘Don’t talk to it, Hugh.’
‘Talk to it? I tricked it, Olivia. We’re all going to be safe, we’re all going to be okay. I know how to get Teddy back. Oh God, poor little baby. It’s a horrible thing, this—’
‘Hugh. Get out of there, get out of the house.’
‘Darlin’, I’m on my way. I’m going to get our baby right now. She’s alive, Olivia. She’s alive.’
He sounded so happy, Olivia thought, he was laughing, damn him.
‘Where is she, Hugh? If you know, tell me now.’
‘It’s not something I can tell, Olivia. It’s hard to explain. But I’ll get to her, I can do this, I swear.’
‘Hugh, what’s that noise?’
‘It’s the attic fan. Shit.’
The phone showed connection lost.
Olivia called 911 first, reported intruders without shame, and gave her name. The dispatcher wanted her to stay on the line but she refused, and rang McTavish instead. He didn’t pick up. It was a bad time not to have a car.
FORTY-SIX
When Olivia made it down to the hotel lobby, there was an airport shuttle in the circle drive out front, discharging a tired looking woman in a charcoal gray dress. When the driver tried to wave her away, Olivia opened her wallet and offered him everything she had in cash – sixty-eight dollars and thirty-nine cents. He took all of it, even the change. When she asked him to drive fast because it was an emergency, he said he’d do his best. As far as Olivia was concerned, his best was slow, and she chewed the inside of her lip and twisted her hands as he drove.
The police were there ahead of her. One patrol car, lights flashing. Parked on the curb out front. Hugh’s rental car was in the drive.
The shuttle driver eased to the curb and looked at Olivia over one shoulder, then handed back the cash.
‘Good luck, ma’am.’
‘Thanks,’ Olivia said. Then she was out on the curb and running up the driveway, noting as her stomach sank that every single light was on in the house. It was always like that, all the lights on, when the bad things happened. She was beginning to read the signs.
The front door was wide open and Olivia ran into the living room, stopping when she saw the uniformed cop on the stairs. His gun was drawn and he was crouched in the protocol firing position.
‘Stay right there, ma’am. Don’t move.’
‘But—’
‘I mean it. Don’t move.’
He was in his thirties, with brown hair, and the spooked look in his eyes made Olivia think he might well fire his gun. In the distance, she heard sirens.
‘Who are you, ma’am, and what are you doing here?’
‘I’m Olivia James, and this is my house.’
‘I’m going to need to see identification. We’ve had a report of intruders.’
‘Mike, I could use your help up here.’ A man, upstairs, another cop. Sounding panicked, sounding like trouble.
‘I’m the one who made the call. Look, my husband was here, Hugh James? We were talking on the phone and he said . . . he said there was someone in the house, and then the phone went dead. Is he here? I saw his car out in the drive, and I’m really worried that something happened to him.’
‘Can you describe him, ma’am?’
‘Five nine, slender, thick dark graying hair – likely wearing a charcoal blazer and loafers. Come on, you . . .’
‘Yes, ma’am. We’ve found him.’ The officer straightened from his crouch and came down the stairs, watching her. He did not holster his gun. ‘I’m going to need to see that ID.’
Olivia’s fingers were trembling and it was hard to get the driver’s license out of the plastic slot, and Olivia finally handed him her entire wallet. He studied the picture on the license, the name, and the address that matched the house. The officer holstered his gun, and Olivia took a breath.
‘You’ve found him,’ Olivia said.
The officer pointed to the couch. ‘I’m going to ask you to sit down, please, ma’am, we’ve got an ambulance coming—’
She ran past him, heard him shout something to his partner. She scrambled up the steps, noting that two of the spindles on the railing banister were splintered, one entirely broken off. Olivia recognized Hugh’s shoe as she turned the corner to the landing, a brown loafer, on its side against the woodwork. And Hugh’s Blackberry, up against the wall as if it had been kicked away.
There was another police officer in the hallway, and he was shouting something at her, but there was so much noise in her head she could not make out the words. And he could not move, he was holding Hugh by the legs, trying to relieve the pressure on Hugh’s neck as he dangled, hung from supporting struts on the attic fan with a long, red leather belt.
Olivia ran for the stepladder in the bathroom, thinking how handy it was to have it right when she needed it, and she held Hugh’s legs while the officer climbed and cut Hugh down. She could hardly hold Hugh when he dropped, but there were three of them now, one of the officers had him by the shoulders and it was awkward but they caught him and did not let him fall. Olivia worked the belt off Hugh’s neck, one of the officers started CPR, and there were more sirens and more men thundering up the stairs, and Olivia held Hugh’s hand, limp now but still warm, and turned away from the wide eyes, still hemorrhaging blood.
More paramedics arrived, shouldering Olivia aside, and she stood and watched them working. It was hard not to hope, but she knew as soon as she’d seen all the lights on inside the house. Hugh was gone. Just like everyone else.
She was aware when the paramedics gave up, she could feel it, sense it from the things they said, the way they slowed, the way they avoided her eyes. She walked to the end of the hall and picked up Hugh’s Blackberry. It was set on record. She slipped it into the pocket of her jeans and sat down suddenly, legs splayed out in front of her, like a child.
‘Ma’am? Ma’am, are you okay?’
Olivia pulled her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees. The nausea was sudden and intense. She breathed slowly, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, and tried not to vomit.
A paramedic guided her down the stairs, arguing over his shoulder with someone about whether or not to take her to an emergency room before Detective Withers arrived. No one asked Olivia’s opinion, which was just as well. She didn’t have one.
She sat obediently on the living room couch, puzzling over Hugh’s last words about Teddy until Donnie Withers had a uniformed officer come and take her away.
FORTY-SEVEN
Olivia was not sure of the time, for some reason she thought maybe three a.m., and her endurance was crumbling fast. She kept waiting for it to stop, the repetitive questioning. The interview room was metal tables and worn linoleum, rank with old sweat and fear.
She was distracted, having trouble concentrating on what Detective Withers said. Her body ached for sleep, but when she closed her eyes, she saw Hugh, swinging from that red leather belt. She was very aware of Hugh’s Blackberry, still tucked into the pocket of her jeans. Detective Donnie would go ballistic over the Blackberry. He would confiscate it and Olivia might never know what Hugh had taped if she handed it over to the police. From moment to moment she expected Detective Withers to insist she turn her pockets out.
Instead, he questioned her and w
atched her. She’d stood up at one point when she thought she’d heard McTavish in the hall outside the small, airless room with the door shut so tight.
Olivia listened to the voices in the corridor, an angry man, then a woman laughing in a mean sort of way. Not McTavish. It was the middle of the night, McTavish would be home asleep. Or maybe Detective Withers would keep him away. She wanted to ask for him, but knew it would complicate matters beyond belief. But she was alone and hungry for even a glimpse of a familiar and sympathetic face.
‘I want to go back to my hotel,’ Olivia said.
‘We’re almost done here, Mrs James. Please sit back down.’
Olivia sat. Clasping and unclasping her hands. Withers had said he was almost done. She just needed to hang on a little bit longer.
‘It’s the dog, that’s what’s got me bothered,’ Detective Donnie said.
Something about the offhand way Withers asked the question made Olivia wary, brought a cold edge of anxiety to the back of her neck. She told herself not to worry. That her state of mind was working for as well as against her – she might have trouble thinking straight, but she was also shielded from this man’s perceptive smarts by his expectations – her twitchy distractedness would be put down to shock, grief, and extreme anxiety for her child.
Olivia clenched her jaw. How much longer would this go on? How long before she could go back to her room? What if she just got up and left?
‘What about the dog, Detective? I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t get what you mean.’
Detective Donnie smiled as if that were exactly what he’d been waiting to hear her say. He opened a file and put two police reports on the table, lining them up side by side with care so that she could read them both.
‘The description of the mysterious dog you saw the night Teddy disappeared. It’s an exact match for the description of the dog that disappeared along with your sister, Emily, all those years ago.’ He picked up a swatch of paper. ‘German shepherd, tan and gray, black face, brindle markings. Unusual description for a shepherd, and it strikes me, you know? That this dog you saw looks exactly like your family dog, Hunter.’
Olivia gave herself a moment to think. ‘Except for the limp. The one I saw had a crippled back leg.’
‘True. Except for the limp. It’s my experience, Mrs James, that a good liar sticks close to the truth when they start to spin a tale.’
Olivia felt the heat rise in her face. Her cheeks going red. ‘You’re saying I made up this dog? For what possible reason?’
‘I’m saying it’s time you told me what really happened the night Teddy disappeared. Come on, Olivia, for God’s sake, this is your little girl, and we have two people dead at your house. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘I’m not the only one who saw the dog,’ Olivia said. ‘One of your own officers found a neighbor who saw him.’
‘You mean that Ackerman woman?’ Withers curled his lip and gave her a mean little smile.
And Olivia thought, yes, that Ackerman woman, who had somehow become her last hope. That Ackerman woman was going to have to help her somehow, because there wasn’t anybody else. Withers was useless, useless, all his efforts spent questioning her, instead of finding her little girl.
‘I want to go back to my hotel,’ Olivia said.
‘Call me,’ Withers said, pressing one of his cards into her sticky palm. ‘When you can’t stand it anymore, when you’re ready to tell me what happened to Teddy, when you want some peace in your heart.’
Olivia knew, then, that Detective Withers had given Teddy up for dead. It took all her strength just to get to her feet.
‘I want to go back to my hotel.’
When the uniformed officer dropped Olivia off outside the lobby, she went to Hugh’s room instead of her own. The police had been there, ransacking the room, while she and Detective Withers had talked. Hugh’s briefcase was in the center of the bed, canted to one side, flap open.
Hugh loved that briefcase, a vintage reproduction mailbag he’d bought through the J. Peterman catalog. It had cost him the earth. Olivia noticed the jumbled look of the papers inside. The police had gone through it thoroughly, leaving the contents askew – Hugh was habitual and organized, he would have been so pissed. His phone charger was in the briefcase, in a zipped compartment, so the police would be on the hunt for the Blackberry. Olivia plugged the charger into the phone and an outlet by the side of the bed, her hands shaking hard.
She went into the bathroom, splashing water on her face. Avoided looking in the mirror. She touched the handle of Hugh’s toothbrush, the razor he would no longer need. She knew she was preparing herself, gearing up for whatever Hugh had recorded. She left the clean white shirts hanging in the closet, and put on the soiled one Hugh had worn on the plane because it smelled of the shaving soap Hugh always used. She was ready now.
Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, working the Blackberry, bringing up that final video. She took a deep breath and pressed play.
The screen filled with Hugh’s face.
His mouth was open. Olivia could see the back row of his teeth. His scream mingled with the grind of an engine. He was in the upstairs hallway of the house, right under the attic fan.
Hugh’s head jerked back. As if he were being dragged.
‘No. God damn you.’ He flopped sideways, like a fish on a hook. ‘Love you. Olivia. Love you, love you Teddy, love you love you.’
The angle of the camera showed the right section of hallway at the top of the stairs, and the outside of Olivia’s bedroom. Olivia could see, right at the edge on the left, when Hugh suddenly swung up in the air. She trembled hard, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Hugh, she tried to whisper, but she could not talk. Her chest was hurting, her throat tight and dry.
Hugh laughed abruptly, and dropped to the floor. ‘You’re not going to win, you son of a bitch.’
The red leather belt swung into view, dropping in front of the camera from the ceiling fan.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Hugh said. ‘You son of a bitch.’
The last was a sob.
Olivia jammed her fist into her mouth.
The lights in the hallway began flashing on and off. Olivia could hear a dog in the background, barking hysterically. Hugh was up in the air again, as if lifted by a giant, invisible hand. He made a noise in the back of his throat, a harsh gurgling moan, suddenly cut off. Hugh’s feet cycled frantically, then stilled, dangling heavily, loose. The loafer on one foot was half off, and it fell from his foot, rolling sideways.
The dog stopped barking. The lights in the hallway switched off one more time, then back on. Olivia held the screams in her chest and watched another six minutes of the shoe in the hall before turning the video off.
FORTY-EIGHT
Olivia wakened the next morning to the patter of rain. She had spent the night curled up in Hugh’s bed, grateful for the light of the bedside lamp, cold, but unable to crawl beneath the covers, unable to get up and go to the bathroom when she felt the urge. Eventually the numbness had come, and she had slept.
It was dark out, a little before six a.m. Too early to knock on Patsy Ackerman’s door, but she could sit outside the woman’s house and wait.
It took a day and a half of off and on vigilance before Ackerman, exasperated, agreed to meet with Olivia the following evening to talk things out, if she’d please for God’s sake go home and stop leaving messages on the phone.
Olivia headed for Ackerman’s house right at dusk. It was still raining, hard and steady, but traffic was thin, and it took Olivia twenty minutes to get to Bearden from the hotel downtown. She was still staying in Hugh’s room, sleeping in his tailored white shirts, wondering how long his credit card would last and if she should be the one to shut things down. She knew he’d made her executor of his estate.
Olivia was stronger now. Armed with information. Full of purpose, and frayed but steady hope.
She took the long way round, passing Forest Heights and turning left on West
wood. That way she did not pass by the house. She hit a dip in the road and water sprayed from beneath her wheels, and she took the Jeep slow and steady on the curves. Hugh had warned her how easily a Wrangler could flip. McTavish had applied pressure and she had her Jeep, two cars now, her own and Hugh’s rental. She’d have to take the rental car back, eventually, so many things to do ahead, details, but not now. Teddy was her focus. Find Teddy. Anything else was noise in her head.
It was dark enough out, with the rain falling, that Olivia could distinguish the glow of light from inside Patsy Ackerman’s house. She parked out front, tucked a large brown envelope into Hugh’s briefcase, which had now become her own. She wedged it securely in the pouch next to her laptop, where Hugh’s Blackberry nestled, safe and secure, and snapped the flap into place. The leather should keep everything safe from the rain for the few seconds it would take to dash to the house.
Ack had been watching for her, and she opened the front door just as Olivia made it up onto the porch.
‘Right on time,’ Ack said. ‘Come in.’
Olivia ditched her wet shoes and left them on the mat by the door. She was dressed for comfort. Favorite worn jeans, and Hugh’s black cashmere sweater. She wore thick socks which felt slippery on the dark pine floors.
‘Thank you for this,’ Olivia said.
‘Sure. You’ve been camped on my doorstep for the last two days, so it was either this or call the police.’
Olivia looked at her feet.
‘Any news on your daughter?’
‘Nothing yet.’
Patsy sighed, and looked away. ‘Sorry. Really. Look, let’s do this back in the studio. I’ve got espresso on the boil, that okay with you?’
Olivia nodded. It was somehow easier not to talk.
The studio had been cleaned up a bit, and there were none of the sketches of Hugh on the easel. Olivia wondered what Ack had done with them. She did not want to know.
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