"How did your husband get along with Tamara in the year before she disappeared?"
"If you mean that stupid police report—"
"You did call the police?"
"Yes, but—"
"Your husband did knock Tamara down the stairs, resulting in a trip to the hospital and permanent scarring?"
"The paramedics called the police, not me. It was an accident, but by the time the police had given the report to me to sign, it looked like my husband had ..."
"Assaulted her? You did sign the police report?"
"Yes. I was angry at Jonathan. No charges were ever brought. It was an accident, I tell you. I was there." She made a washing gesture with her hands, then clenched them firmly together under her chin, as if to stop them from talking.
"Did your husband have a number of arguments with Tamara during that time?"
"Several. Naturally. He was concerned at the way she’d been behaving."
"When Tamara disappeared, you were quite adamant when you talked with the police that she had not just run away, is that correct?"
"Uh-huh. I knew she didn’t."
"Why were you so sure? She had developed a problem with drugs. She had threatened to leave. She didn’t get along with her father. She didn’t talk to you ... Why were you so sure?"
"I just knew she wouldn’t take off like that."
"Did Mr. Sweet go out again that night, after you returned from your meeting?"
"No!"
"You were concerned about her. He didn’t go out to look for her?"
"I said he didn’t."
"Was he suffering from the disability that requires him to use a wheelchair at that time?"
"No. The car wreck happened the following year."
"Your husband also gave a statement, Mrs. Sweet. Twelve years ago. You evidently haven’t reread it recently in preparation for your testimony." Nina brought up her copy.
Mrs. Sweet said, "Oh, yes. He ran out for half an hour, but he didn’t see her."
"How do you know that?"
"It says so right here—"
"Do you have any personal knowledge that he never found her?"
"Your Honor, is this attack on my husband allowable?" Mrs. Sweet said, shifting in her seat.
"You’ll have to answer the question," Milne said.
"I can’t believe she’s doing this!"
"Answer the question."
"How could I have personal knowledge?" Mrs. Sweet shouted. "I wasn’t with him! But I know he didn’t do it!"
"And how do you know that?"
"Because she did it!"
"Who?"
"Terry London!" Mrs. Sweet said defiantly.
"Did she tell you she killed your daughter?"
"She didn’t have to. It was there, in her attitude, the night she showed us the film. I couldn’t prove it. I just knew, when I saw the film, that Tam was dead, and that Terry London knew all about it." She hid her face in her hands.
"Let’s give the witness a moment, Your Honor," Nina said. Milne nodded, and Nina sat down. The courtroom filled with whispers.
Nina’s hand sketched a funny animal picture: a rabbit and a catlike lynx. She looked down. What was her unconscious mind trying to tell her? The secret was there, but it was so extraordinary, so perverse, that none of them were bold enough or smart enough to perceive it.
Terry had known it was beyond their experience, and she had enjoyed the mystery.
Damn her! Terry had been a part of the darkness. At that moment, Nina felt no sadness that she had been swallowed up in it. Matt was her victim, not the other way around.
Mrs. Sweet was quiet again. Nina said, "You don’t have any proof that Terry London killed your daughter, do you?"
"No," she said in a subdued tone.
"Her manner at the time of the screening indicated to you that she knew who killed your daughter?"
"To me, yes. Other people might not have been so aware as I am. My husband doesn’t agree with me."
"What did she say that caused you to think she had something to do with your daughter’s death?"
"Well, when Doreen was watching the film for the first time, for instance, she asked Terry, ’How did you know Tam tripped on the way out and was limping a little? I’d forgotten it myself!’ How could she know that? And Terry just laughed. She wasn’t there, how would she know!"
"Perhaps it was just her artist’s vision," Nina said dryly.
"And the jacket," Mrs. Sweet said.
"What?"
"The jacket. Tamara’s rabbit jacket. We had forgotten to mention to the police that Tamara had worn that jacket that night. And Terry put the girl in the reenactment into a rabbit jacket exactly like Tamara’s. How did she know to do that?"
"I believe you’re supposed to be asking the questions, not the witness," Milne said to Nina.
"So Terry seemed to know more about the disappearance than she should?" Nina said.
Mrs. Sweet said, "Where is that jacket?" almost to herself. It was eerie. Nina had asked herself that question only a few minutes before.
"Answer the question," Milne said to Mrs. Sweet.
"Oh. She knew. I could see it in those yellow eyes of hers," Mrs. Sweet said.
Nina brought her back to the pills she had found in Tamara’s drawer and made the other point she had prepared for this witness, that Tamara might have been killed as part of a drug deal. She had fought to bring in this theory over Hallowell’s objection. Milne had allowed it. She had high hopes that the jury might find reasonable doubt from this alternate theory for Tamara’s murder.
Several times during the course of the rest of the long day of cross-examination, Nina lost her concentration. The drug theory, Mr. Sweet, Mrs. Sweet’s theory that Terry was the shooter, the invasion of privacy lawsuit—she covered all these points, the preludes to her defense case, thoroughly and methodically. But she could hardly wait for the court day to be over. She felt close to the secret of Tamara’s death.
As soon as the recess for the day was called and the jury had filed out, she and Sandy gathered their papers and left. On the drive back to the office in the Bronco, Sandy kept glancing at her curiously. Finally, she said, "I’ve seen that look before. Like you’re wrestling with the devil." But Nina kept silent throughout the drive to the office.
When they arrived, Sandy and Wish left their boxes of files and went home, leaving Nina alone.
She called Andrea and said she’d be late. She closed the blinds, locked the door to the outer office, and ate a yogurt from the minifridge in the conference room. No matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding afflicting her, or get her thoughts together. She was too tired. She just couldn’t concentrate.
Maybe a short nap would help. She put her head down on the desk and fell asleep.
When she woke, sunset filled the lakeside window of her office. It was eight-thirty on a summer night, warm—as Tahoe got on deep summer nights—balmy, perfect, the moon just rising. Her shoulder muscles had frozen and her eyes felt like the Gobi after a sandstorm. She got up, yawning, and raised the blind on the window that framed her view of the lake.
Across the terra-cotta marshland, Lake Tahoe burned into the windless sky, rose and orange and magenta. Behind the lake, the western mountain ridge sawed black against the colors, splitting the sky and water. Gulls danced a slow dance on the currents. No one walked the trail down to the water.
The sun had set on this majestic scene for many millions of years. Nature was at her grandest.
But it had no human scale or function. She was alone in a small outpost in the middle of mountains, with her cares and conflicts, and the sunset breathed loneliness.
She touched the scar on her chest. It had become a habit in these moments. What had Sandy said? Something about fear boring a hole through her.
She took her notes from the day and began flipping through them, stopping at the animal picture again. Animals with human heads.... winter, fur coats...
&n
bsp; The phone rang. She turned from the window and picked up the receiver.
"Nina? Get over here," Matt said. "Bob’s missing again."
40
"HE RODE HIS BIKE DOWN THE BLOCK. HE WAS SUPPOSED to be back in ten minutes, way before dark. That was an hour ago. I cruised up and down the streets. I looked everywhere," Matt said, his voice rigid with apprehension. "He swore he wouldn’t do this again. He swore it to me."
"His backpack. Did he take it?" Nina said. They stood together in the doorway, looking out at the street.
"No. It’s in the kids’ room. No note, nothing like that." Andrea, behind Matt, folded her arms around Troy and Brianna, trying to look calm.
"Troy. Brianna. Did Bob say anything to you about running away? Did you see anything at all?" Brianna sucked her thumb vigorously, her eyes wide, shaking her head. Troy said he hadn’t.
"Nina, let’s call the police," Andrea said. She held out the cordless phone.
"You shouldn’t have waited this long to call me!" Nina shouted. "You shouldn’t have let him go out alone!" She took the phone. Her hand shook. "It has something to do with the trial," she cried. The abyss opened beneath her feet and she fell. Somewhere down in the chaos Bobby, too, was falling.
She dialed 911. They told her to look around some more. He hadn’t been gone for long enough. She should call back in another hour if there was still no sign of him. Matt left again to search.
She called Collier at his office. He said, "Someone will be out to your house as quick as I can get them there."
She called the jail. They hadn’t seen him. She called Paul at home in Carmel, across the state.
"Paul, Bob’s gone. I don’t think he ran away. It’s something else."
"Jesus. How long ago?"
"An hour and a half. It’s dark out now, and he knows what being late will do to Matt and me. He only took a short bike ride!"
"What do the two kids say?"
"They don’t know anything. He didn’t take anything with him. He didn’t run away this time, I know it. Collier’s sending some patrol officers to help search. Matt’s out there riding around. Paul, I—I’ve been stirring up such ugly feeling in the trial ..."
"Check every house on the block. Call the hospitals, the bus depot. Check every restaurant around. Search his room. Look for notes, maps, anything unusual. Check your messages at the office every ten minutes. Keep the phone line at the house free in case you get a call." Paul paused.
"I need you, Paul."
"Listen. Don’t break down now, you can’t afford to. I’m already on my way. It’s ten P.M., too late to get a flight out of the airport or arrange a quickie charter on a Cessna. I’ll drive. I’ll be there by two A.M."
"I knew you’d come."
"I never should have let you chase me away. You had a bad case of pretrial jitters and I took it personally. Get Sandy over to the office. I’ll stop by on the highway to check in on my way up without tying up your home line," Paul said grimly. "Keep your chin up. He needs you. Don’t leave that phone!"
The minutes crawled by. Andrea went next door with the kids to make the calls. The police still hadn’t arrived. She was alone in the house.
She couldn’t stand sitting there by the phone. She went upstairs to his room to search for some clue, anything. There was nothing. She picked his pajamas off the floor, folded them carefully, set them on his bed. They smelled like him.
She picked up his seal, tucked lovingly under the covers by Bobby, and put it in her pocket. He would want it right away, wouldn’t he? His favorite thing.
The phone rang, and she dove for the upstairs extension, picked up the receiver, and said breathlessly, "Bobby?"
"Is this the lawyer lady?" said a jovial man’s voice, a little slurred and slow. She knew immediately who it was.
"What do you want?"
"I want to talk to you. Your kid is visiting me and I know you’ll want to see him."
"Please. Don’t hurt him!"
"You call the police?"
"No," Nina said. "He hasn’t been gone that long."
"That’s good. Very sensible. Don’t call them. Come on over. You and me, we have to talk."
"Sure," Nina said. "Okay. Just don’t—"
"You bring any police, then the l’il fan might have an accident before they can get close."
"No police. Don’t hurt him. Do you want money?"
"Money? I don’t need your money. Like I say, just bring yourself."
"All right. Where?"
Ralph Kettrick didn’t answer immediately, and she heard wheezy breathing, a stifled cry—Bobby—oh God!
"The Angora Ridge Fire Lookout," Ralph said. "Be there, or be square." With a grotesque laugh, he hung up.
Paul started calling as soon as he hit 101 at Salinas, but no one answered at the house. He was at Pacheco Pass—stopped for gas, promising himself a cellular phone by tomorrow—when he finally got through, but it was Andrea who answered. "They’re both out looking, Paul. Nina’s in the Bronco and Matt’s knocking on doors. Nina really thinks he’s been kidnapped, I could see it in her eyes."
"Okay. You stay right there by that phone. Someone might call you, understand? I’ve got her car phone number here somewhere. If I don’t reach Nina for some reason, when she gets back, make her stay there. They might refuse to talk to you. Next time I’ll call Sandy at the office."
"She should be there by now. There’s a policeman coming up the walk," Andrea said.
"Good. Make him take it seriously." He hung up and jumped back in. For the next fifteen minutes he screeched around the sharp curves of the pass into the San Joaquin Valley in the van.
He was furious with himself. He could have been there, prevented it. He had been taking a good hard look at himself over the past few days anyway, and he had been about ready to come back up and apologize for being a prize asshole. She had needed him. This might not have happened.... Where could the kid be? The first few hours were the most important. Murders occurred much more often than kidnappings. There was a good chance the kid was already dead.
Bob woke up slowly. He opened his eyes to utter darkness. He was lying on a wood floor in a small dark room that stank, really stank. He’d never smelled anything like that before, a rank-out putrid smell that wafted up through the floor. Something was in his mouth, and he couldn’t spit it out, wadded-up fabric that got into his throat and made him gag. His wrists and ankles hurt sharply—he was tied up! He struggled wildly.
The flashlight blinded him. "So you ain’t dead," Ralph said. "It’s hard to judge how hard to hit with a l’il dude your size. Bet your head hurts bad. No use squirming, boy, you’re tied tight while I decide what to do with you. Hell, it was your mom I was looking for, but don’t worry. She’ll be along soon. She was sitting right there by the phone, and I told her she could visit you, long as she left the police out of it. I got to go outside for a minute, but I’ll return directly."
Bob’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. He seemed to be in a shack, a chicken coop or something, his pants sticking to a dirty wooden floor. Too spooked to cry, he tried to hear something in the stillness.
Ralph clomped back in and sat down in the corner with his legs drawn up. "Thought that might be her," he said. "We want to be ready for her visit."
He didn’t talk for a while. Bob strained as quietly as he could to pull his hands out of what tied them.
"You know, death is all around us," Ralph said in a ragged voice. "That’s what Terry told me. Back when I was just a little older than you, fifteen. She told me, Ralphie, half of us don’t deserve to live anyway. Lyin’ sacks of shit, that’s what the girls are."
"Now your mom, she’s got my dad thinking bad things about me. That ain’t right, is it? Is it?" His hard foot kicked out, and Bob yelped from the pain in his leg. "Oh, I forgot," he said with a laugh. "So, like I say. If I let her keep goin’ like she is, my dad’s going to have to put me away. Why’d she have to pick on me? I never did her any harm. All I wan
ted was to be left alone. Shhh. I think I hear your mom. Let’s listen."
No sound at all. Then ... the crackle of dry pine needles. Bob pressed fiercely against his bindings.
"Be right back," Ralph whispered. "Don’t go ’way."
Ralph had said he’d kill Bob if she didn’t come alone and unarmed, in a voice dripping jocular menace. Nina believed him. She knew exactly what she should do. Call the police immediately, and leave everything in their hands. If a client had called her in this desperate situation, that’s exactly what she would have said.
But she sat at the kitchen table under the stained-glass globe that lit the kitchen table, rocking slightly, biting her knuckles.
Bob was all that mattered. Ralph could probably kill him before the police could get to him.
He was holed up at the fire-tracking station on Angora Ridge. A boarded-up building perched uneasily where the ridge road widened slightly, on the steepest portion of the ridge, it sat at the top of the trail where Tamara had died. She remembered the view from the station. To the north, Fallen Leaf Lake and Lake Tahoe stretched into the sky and snow-topped mountains, and to the south, the expansive green valley that fringed the city of South Lake Tahoe spread out below, as finely detailed as a Turkish carpet, magical, flying between mountains.
Sneaking up on Ralph would be very difficult.
She rocked. Bob was her connection to life, the only one she had, really.
She had to do something. Think!
Paul wouldn’t be there in time. She couldn’t involve Matt and Andrea in such danger. The cops ... loudspeakers, a hostage situation ... and Ralph, obviously sick in the head. Deadly.
But what could she do alone? Offer herself as a sacrifice? Apparently Ralph wanted to kill her. Could she talk him out of it? But why would he let Bob go?
He wouldn’t. So ... go alone, appear to surrender, get a gun on him, and shoot him if she had to. ... Matt had a gun, which he kept locked up in a wooden case in his closet. He had told her where the key was hidden, in case of emergency.
Nina rushed into the bedroom. Yes, the key was there, taped behind the dresser mirror. And the old Colt .45 was still in the case, with six bullets. Her fingers clumsy, she loaded it, thinking about how she hated touching it.
Invasion of Privacy Page 38
