It was strange, Hannah thought, that she still had no real sense of Maureen. In cases she’d worked previously, Hannah had felt a personal connection with the missing person—even when that person was an eighty-year-old man or a twelve-year-old girl. She’d talk to enough loved ones, hear enough stories, that she’d develop an affinity with the victim.
But Maureen Russell remained a name and a few tagline descriptions. A pleasant though reserved woman with few close friends. Not unlike herself, Hannah thought. She’d heard no negative comments about Maureen but no heartfelt admiration either, which was interesting in itself. When tragedy struck, people were inclined to speak in superlatives.
And Sam? That was strange too, because Hannah felt she did have a sense of the man, and it didn’t fit at all with the way the case appeared to be shaping up.
She turned off the television and contemplated dinner. A tuna sandwich maybe, or a bowl of cereal. Anything that didn’t involve cooking. She wandered into the kitchen in search of inspiration.
Would Sam even be a suspect if not for his previous brush with the law? Sure, they’d look at him. Spouses and boyfriends were always on the radar screen. But they’d found no hint of affairs, domestic violence, threats, anything that would lead them to look more closely.
Except Dallas was right—Sam was holding out on them. He was cooperating, but only up to a point.
She opened the refrigerator then closed it again. Suddenly sick of it all, she decided to skip dinner. Time to prove to herself that she was still a desirable woman. Someone worthy of love, if only for a few hours. She changed into jeans and her red silk shirt and headed out for the solace of hard bodies and the anonymity of a town thirty miles away.
CHAPTER 18
I volunteered to spend the night in the spare bed in Molly’s room and promised we’d keep the hallway light on. Neither of us seemed in any hurry to close our eyes. We talked about the intruder again and how scared we’d been.
“I thought he was going to kill me,” Molly said. “And I was afraid it would hurt.”
“I think it was probably the scariest moment in my whole life.”
“Because you would miss me?”
“Oh, honey, I’d miss you so much my bones would ache.”
“Do you miss Mom that much?”
I nodded. “I do. But having you helps make it better.”
Molly traced a circle on her bedspread. “How did Mom die?”
“A bad person killed her, remember?” That was the explanation I’d given Molly when she was five, and it had sufficed until now.
“But how? Did he shoot her?”
“No, he choked her.” I debated adding that she’d been stabbed too. Brutally. But considering the ordeal Molly had been through that day, I decided to leave it at choking.
“Do you think it hurt?”
I imagined the terror must have been worse than any physical pain. I didn’t tell Molly that either. “I think it happened very quickly,” I said.
“Still ...” She shuddered. “Did they find who killed her?”
“No, they never did.” The time was coming when I would have to tell her everything. I knew it would be easiest if I did it in stages.
I took a breath and jumped in with both feet. “There were some people who thought I was the one who did it.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No, honey, I didn’t. I loved your mom more than anything on earth. Except you, of course. I would never hurt her.”
“So why would they think you did it?”
“It’s complicated. The police often suspect the husband when a woman is killed.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Often they’re right. But not in this case.”
She was quiet a moment, no doubt contemplating the alien concept of a world where love could change so unequivocally to rancor. “They finally believed you though. They know you didn’t kill Mom?”
In truth, I doubted I’d won anyone over to my side except the single juror who stood in the way of my conviction. Certainly not my former in-laws. And chances were, even the juror wasn’t convinced of my innocence. Reasonable doubt was an amazingly amorphous concept.
“Right,” I told her. “They finally believed me.” There were times when truth was an equally fluid concept.
I had just finished with a patient the next day when Dallas showed up and asked me to come with him down to the station.
“Did you get him?” I asked, wondering how I’d identify the masked intruder. Maybe they’d do a voice lineup.
“We’ve got a few more questions,” Dallas said.
“So ask. I haven’t remembered anything new though.”
“I’d rather you came with me.”
It wasn’t about the intruder, I realized suddenly. It was about Maureen.
“What about the guy who broke into my house? He held Molly at knife point!”
Dallas rocked back on his heels. “It’s not an MO that’s come up in any other reports.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? So what if he’s not breaking into every other house in Monte Vista? He wasn’t a common house thief, Dal ... Detective Pryor. He wanted something from me.”
“And you have no idea what he was after, or who Eric is?”
“Right.”
Dallas smiled. He had unusually thin, flat lips, and maybe that was why the smile seemed insincere. “So what is it, exactly, we’re supposed to be doing?”
“Whatever it is cops do to solve a case.”
“Come on down to the station, Sam. Let’s talk there.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
Dallas shook his head. “We just want to talk, Sam.”
“Forget it.”
Dallas perched on the corner of my desk, shoving a stack of papers aside to make room for himself. “How was your anniversary dinner Saturday night?”
So that was it. They’d discovered Maureen and I hadn’t made it to Pietro’s. I waved the question aside. “We decided not to go out after all.”
“On your anniversary?”
I flashed an intentionally patronizing grin. “Dallas, I know you’ve never been married, but believe me, you can have more fun at home than by going out.”
He met my grin with one his own. One that said he didn’t believe a word I was saying. “You got her something, at least? Jewelry, flowers, something to mark the day?”
“Flowers.”
“Where’d you buy them?”
Zap. I’d walked into a trap of my own making. That’s why attorneys always warned people to keep their mouths shut.
I glanced at the clock.
In less than twelve hours, the kidnappers would contact me again. With my dad’s help, I could get Maureen back. Once she was safe, I would tell the cops everything.
“Sorry, Dallas. I don’t have time for this.”
“So you’re refusing to cooperate in helping us find your wife?”
I hesitated. “That’s your interpretation.”
“We’re onto you, Sam. You may think you’ve covered your tracks, but you’re wrong.”
CHAPTER 19
I leaned against the stucco wall by the Washhouse, a few feet from the pay phone. The tension of waiting was unbearable. I checked my watch for the third time in as many minutes. Twelve minutes past eight.
What if they never called?
Afraid of missing them, I’d arrived early and had been pacing the tiny strip mall for the past half hour, never venturing far from the phone or my Audi. Locked in the trunk was a brown grocery bag of cash—nothing larger than a hundred, just as they’d instructed. A tenuous lifeline to my wife’s safe return.
I hadn’t been able to raise the full two hundred and fifty thousand, but by cashing out my IRAs and borrowing from my dad, who in turn had drawn on his line of credit at the bank, I had close to half of what they wanted.
I’d also put a note in the bag asking for more time to deliver the balance. I spent hours on the no
te, writing and rewriting and then starting over again from scratch. Was it better to beg or be tough? To offer a lengthy explanation or a cursory excuse? In the end, I settled for what I hoped was a personal and heartfelt plea for understanding.
If the kidnappers were at all reasonable—a big if—they had to know it would take longer than forty-eight hours to raise all the money. If they were unreasonable, or simply nuts ...
My throat tightened, and I fought a wave of nausea.
A young woman emerged from the laundromat, a blue denim laundry sack slung over one shoulder. A heavily pierced couple, both of them long and lean, entered the QuickStop next door. The German shepherd in the minivan a few cars from mine began to bark.
All around me, life went on as usual.
I could barely breathe.
The evening was cool, but my skin felt clammy with sweat. I checked my watch again. Fourteen minutes past eight. Had I misunderstood? Gone to the wrong laundromat? Had I, despite everything, screwed up? Maureen would wind up dead, and it would be my fault.
I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. When it did, it caught me by surprise. The harsh noise shattered the night air like an explosion. I grabbed the receiver on the second ring.
“I’m here,” I said, sounding surprisingly calm. Inside, I was churning.
A soft breath. “Sam?”
Maureen! My heart did a double backflip.
“Honey, are you all right?”
“Oh God, Sam. Help me.” It sounded like she was crying.
“Have they hurt you? Are they—”
There was a shuffling sound on the other end of the phone. “Just do what he says. I want to come home. I want—”
More shuffling, and then another voice came on. Not mechanical like the last time but still distorted. “I’m going to give you the directions only once, so listen up.”
I scrambled for the pen and paper in my pocket.
“Turn left onto Hawthorne when you leave the shopping center. Go six blocks. Turn right onto Hess. At the second stoplight is a Shell station. And a phone booth. Wait for my call there. Make sure you aren’t followed. Any sign of the cops, and your wife dies.”
“About the money,” I said. “I have—”
There was a click, and the line went dead.
My mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow. I got into the Audi, started the engine, and backed out of the parking spot. I looked around the lot as I left. No one else left when I did.
The directions were easy. I drove with one eye on the rearview mirror. I was going to be damn sure it didn’t even appear as if someone might be tailing me. I was taking no chances.
How would he know if I was being followed? Was he watching?
I found the Shell station and the phone. It was in an old-fashioned enclosed booth, probably the last such relic in the county. A broad-shouldered man was inside, the phone pressed to his ear.
Panic began to build inside me. What if the kidnappers thought the busy phone was a ploy on my part? What if they thought I was in cahoots with the guy? Then I thought, maybe it was a ploy—something the kidnappers had planned. I couldn’t think straight. I had trouble breathing.
I gave it three minutes. Then I moved closer to the booth. The guy inside had his back to me, and his black leather jacket filled the window. His head was shaved, making it hard to miss the snake tattoo on the right side of his neck. Not someone I wanted to mess with.
But I had no choice. I knocked on the window. He turned slightly, and I caught the glint of metal from a pierced lip.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’m expecting—”
He opened the door a crack. “Wait your turn, dickhead.”
“How long do you—”
He turned his back on me.
I checked my watch, gave him another three minutes. He wasn’t talking, but he put more coins in the slot. He had to be on hold, or maybe waiting while the person on the other end looked for something. That could take forever.
Finally, I heard mumbled conversation on his end. Talk and then more talk. I could feel the pressure building inside me. I knocked on the window again. He ignored me.
At last, he hung up and opened the door. The phone rang immediately. He picked it up.
“No,” I yelled out. “Don’t touch it.” I scrambled for the phone.
“You expecting a call? A special lady friend, maybe? Someone you don’t want your wife to know about?” He seemed amused and held the receiver to his ear.
Please, don’t let it be them, I prayed. Don’t let this go all wrong.
“Give me the phone. Please.” I sounded like a kid begging the school bully for the return of his pilfered lunch.
The man grinned and hung up. “Musta been a wrong number.” He climbed into a dented El Camino and roared off.
Jesus, what now? Would they call back? I stepped inside the booth to claim it for my own. It reeked of piss and rancid grease.
I waited for what seemed like forever before the phone rang again.
“What are you trying to pull?” demanded the voice.
“There ... there was someone using the phone when I got here,” I stammered. “It wasn’t my doing. I tried to get him off.”
“I like things to go according to plan.”
“Me too.” I gulped. “Listen though, about the money ...”
Silence. But I could hear breathing on the other end.
“I’ve got it. Not quite all, but a lot. The rest I can get—”
He hung up on me.
I collapsed against the wall. I’d lost her. The woman who’d brought laughter back into my life and made me whole again. I’d failed her when she needed me most. In the back of my mind, I could hear her crying, Help me, Sam. I want to come home.
The phone rang again. I grabbed for it.
“Take El Dorado Avenue past the railroad tracks to Buckey Road. A half mile past the speed-limit sign, you’ll see a drive on the left. Take it. A quarter mile in, there’s an old barn. Park in front, go inside, and place the bag in the center. Back out and leave.”
“What about Maureen?”
A stretch of silence. “I don’t know, Sam. You’re only giving me part of the money, maybe I’ll give you part of Maureen.”
My breath caught.
“Which part would you like, Sam? A thumb? An arm? A breast?”
Bile rose up in my throat. “No, please. Don’t hurt her. I’m going to get the money. I just need until Monday.”
Silence. I thought he’d hung up on me.
“The banks are closed over the weekend,” I pleaded. “Please, I’ll have it on Monday.”
“I’ll give you until Monday, Sam. But I’m charging interest. Ten percent. That’s ten percent of the total. Another twenty-five thousand, in case you can’t do the math.”
Monday. A balloon of hope rose in my heart. By Monday Molly’s trust money would be in a local account under my control. I could pay the kidnappers the rest of the ransom. Maureen would be safe.
I wasn’t stealing, I reminded myself. I was saving Maureen’s life. And I was going to repay every cent. Both to Molly and to my dad.
But at the same time I made that promise, I wondered how I’d manage it.
“I’ll be in touch,” the voice said. The line went dead.
My entire body was drenched in sweat. My limbs were rubbery. But I’d gotten a reprieve.
Slumped against the side of the phone booth, I took a minute to pull myself together. Images of Maureen’s imminent homecoming cycled through my mind. I could feel the warmth of her skin, taste the sweetness of her kiss. Whatever petty grievances we’d fought about in the past, we’d put them behind us. We’d be together again. That was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 20
Despite the encroaching darkness and the remote location, I found the barn without difficulty. It was a tilting, weathered structure that stood near the charred remains of what must once have been the main house. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
I pulled onto the packed dirt in front of the barn and extracted the brown paper sack from my car’s trunk. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. Then a twig cracked.
An animal, I told myself. Still, goosebumps rose at the back of my neck. What if it was an ambush?
But he wanted the rest of the money, didn’t he? There was no reason for him to harm me.
Not yet, anyway.
Carefully picking my way over strands of fallen barbed-wire fence, I walked the short distance across a field to the barn door. The soft gray twilight had deepened to the cusp of night. I could still make out shapes and shadows and find my way without stumbling. But it was dark enough that those same shapes and shadows toyed mercilessly with my imagination. I wanted to deliver the money and be gone.
The barn door was massive. It creaked and groaned when I pulled on it but swung open more easily than I expected.
I heard a rustling inside. The band of tension around my chest tightened. I listened harder.
A faint squeaking, like a mouse. And then a rush of movement overhead. I dropped the bag and crouched forward, protecting my face with one arm.
Bats, I realized a moment later. Only bats. I almost laughed with relief and stepped inside.
The barn looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. Except by bats, and probably rodents and spiders. And kidnappers.
I wondered if Maureen was anywhere close by. She loathed creepy-crawly things. Even flying creatures like birds and butterflies made her nervous if they didn’t keep their distance.
I placed the sack on the floor as I’d been instructed then backed out the way I’d come in. I kept waiting for something to happen, though I wasn’t sure what.
Nothing did.
Feeling oddly hollow and let down, I got into my car and drove away.
I retraced my route, taking Buckey to El Dorado. There, I turned right and pulled off onto the shoulder about a hundred yards from the intersection. It wasn’t a real shoulder, just a wide, flat space on the side of the road partially obscured by manzanita and willow.
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