by Wanda Dyson
Quickly Jan gathered up all the copies and slipped them into a file folder. She’d only searched through the files for Zoe Shefford. She needed to go back and look at the files for missing children. More than likely she’d find a solitary blond girl somewhere in the background, trying to help.
“I thought you were working on the latest disappearance.”
“Emily Terrance. I’ve already done all I can on the story and turned it in to Ed.”
“I just can’t believe we’ve got something like this going on in our town. Three little girls. Gone. It’s enough to make you wonder. I mean, in a big city, sure. But not here.”
“It’s not just big cities anymore, Lois. Evil is everywhere.”
Lois shuddered. “I’m glad right now that I don’t have kids. It would drive me nuts constantly wondering if they were in danger. I’d have to lock them up in their rooms or something.”
Janice felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been so caught up in the details of the kidnappings, she really hadn’t thought about how the mothers and fathers must feel. She’d seen their tears, documented their impassioned pleas, but it was just news copy. At twenty-three, Janice felt that having children was something for the faraway future, not something she thought much of in the present. What would it be like to have a child and then have someone take that child? She couldn’t relate. Couldn’t imagine.
Grabbing her purse, she jumped up from her chair. “I have some more research to do.”
#
Rene closed the car door and started up the front walk, groceries in hand, when a light blue convertible pulled up to the curb. She spotted the blond hair and knew immediately that it was Zoe Shefford. Halting at the bottom of the front steps, she waited while Zoe climbed out of her car and joined her.
“I hope I haven’t stopped by at a bad time.” Zoe sounded nervous.
“Not at all,” Rene responded with a welcoming smile. “Come on in.”
She settled Zoe at the kitchen table while she put on water for tea then quickly put away the groceries. A few minutes later, she placed a mug of tea in front of Zoe along with a small plate of shortbread and then settled into the chair across from the young woman.
“I gather you wanted to talk to me about something?”
Zoe nodded as she stirred sugar into the steaming tea. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said. You know, about my gift not being from God. I guess I just need some clarification or something. None of it makes any sense to me.”
“I know. And I’m sorry about what happened over at Karen’s that day. I didn’t mean to come on so strong or so negatively. You had all the best intentions.” She dipped a piece of shortbread in her tea and gathered her thoughts.
“I really wanted to find Mrs. Matthews’s baby.”
Rene nodded as she swallowed. “I know you did, sweetheart. But we couldn’t let you get involved.”
“Why not? I mean, if I could have found the child, wouldn’t that have been a good thing?”
Rene watched as Zoe dropped her hands into her lap. She felt sorry for the young woman. “It might have been a good thing, Zoe, but it wouldn’t have been a God thing. And there is a difference. Zoe, you’re searching for answers, and they have nothing to do with Jessica Matthews.”
Zoe’s eyes met hers and held. Rene could easily read the questions and the confusion. Zoe’s next words caught her off guard. “Did Karen Matthews hurt her baby?”
#
Unaware that her mental state was being discussed at that very moment by her neighbor, Karen Matthews entered her daughter’s nursery. She knew she was only tormenting herself, but she couldn’t help it. She moved past the crib, her fingers trailing over the smooth wood, before reaching out for the soft pink bear on the dresser. She folded it in her arms and held it close as she stood there in her daughter’s room.
Was she dead? Was she alive? Was she gone forever? Would she be coming home someday?
Questions with no answers. Torment without relief. Grief without understanding, and loss without ending.
She wanted to hold Jessica one more time. No. That was a lie. She wanted to hold Jessica and never let her go. She wanted to bury her face in Jessica’s soft skin and breathe her in. Listen to her little heartbeat. Smell the powder and shampoo and the very essence of her precious daughter. She wanted to see Jessica laugh and to hear her cry. To watch her sleep and stretch herself awake with that soft mewling cry for her mommy.
And she’d never let her out of her sight again.
What would she pay to get Jessica back? Anything.
Zoe Shefford?
The name rose up inside her, taunting her, teasing. Zoe had found other children. She could find Jessica. What real harm would it do?
Plenty.
Karen dropped down in the rocking chair, tears welling up in her eyes. The silence in the house seemed overwhelming. She glanced over to the blanket that Zoe Shefford had held in her hands.
Zoe might be able to find Jessica. Was it worth it? What would be her punishment for disobeying God? Wasn’t her daughter’s life worth anything?
What if Rene Taylor is wrong? What if she’s just some fanatic?
“Karen?” Ted stood in the doorway. He had gone to help someone from work move into a new home and was a mess. He looked as though someone had dragged him behind the truck. His pullover and jeans were dusty and streaked with dirt. His dark brown hair was ruffled, as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it, and his dark eyes were solemn. He looked as bad as she felt.
Karen lifted her face and gazed through red-rimmed eyes at her husband. “Are you home already?”
“It’s after four. Have you been in here long?”
After four? Where had the time gone? She shook her head, setting the bear down on the dresser as she moved over to him, lifting her face for a kiss. “No. Not long. How did the move go?”
“Not bad. Harry had enough people there to make it go fast. We were done a lot earlier than I thought we would be. He just overlooked pulling up the kids’ swing set, so Jack and I were elected to pull it out of the ground and tear it down.” He looked down at his shirt and frowned. “As you can see, the swing set won the tug of war.”
Karen smiled wearily. “It was nice of you to help them.”
“Harry’s helped me out on more than one occasion.” He pointedly eyed the bear on the dresser. “You’re not making this any easier on yourself, coming in here and looking at all this. You know that, don’t you?”
Karen gazed up at him. “Staying away doesn’t make it any easier. Coming in here doesn’t make it any easier. The truth is, until Jessica is home, nothing will be easier.”
Ted turned and walked toward the bedroom. “And what if she never comes home, Karen? What then?”
Karen followed him to the door of their bedroom, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper by the bathroom door. “Never comes home? I can’t even go there, Ted. This is our daughter we’re talking about. How can you just write her off?”
Pulling a clean shirt out of the dresser, he used his hip to nudge the drawer closed and yanked the shirt over his head. “I’m not writing her off, Karen. I’m trying to face reality here. I can’t bury myself in grief and stop living.”
“And that’s what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know!” Ted hissed with frustration as he pulled the shirt back off and tossed it on the bed. “Yes! Maybe! You moon around with that sad face and cry at the drop of a hat. How long can you live like this?”
“I’m trying to deal with this, Ted. My daughter has been kidnapped. I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. I don’t know if she’s coming back or not, but I’m not ready to bury her yet.”
“Your daughter?” Ted stepped into the bathroom and shoved back the shower curtain. He turned on the water before looking at her. “How about our daughter?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
Ted brushed past her. Karen rushed dow
n the hall after him, following him into the kitchen. “You meant it exactly that way. Ever since Jessica was born, it’s been Jess this and Jessica that. I’ve become incidental at best.”
“That’s not true!”
Opening the refrigerator, Ted stared at the shelves. “No? When was the last time you went shopping? Did it ever dawn on you that I might want to eat something?”
Karen nipped her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry.”
“But,” he muttered, slamming the refrigerator door shut, “you stepped into Jessica’s room and that was that. Good old Ted was forgotten.”
“Please, Ted.”
“Please, what? Overlook this? Forget this? Or forgive this? Which is it, Karen? Just last month, you came home from church with Jessica and told me what a wonderful, inspiring message Reverend Pollack gave about trusting God. Now you act like God doesn’t exist!”
“What?”
He started opening cabinet doors, pointing out the lack of food. “If you trust God with our daughter, then act like it. Get on with your life and trust God to bring her home!”
Karen took a step back, wanting to deny and defend but finding it impossible to do so. He was right. She hadn’t been trusting God at all. She’d let everything go. It was a wonder Ted had clean clothes to wear. The dry cleaners! She was supposed to pick up Ted’s suits two days ago!
Ted slammed one of the cabinet doors. “I’m going to take a shower. Do you think you could manage to call out for food?”
Karen nodded meekly as he stormed out of the kitchen. With trembling hands, she reached for the take-out menus stacked near the phone. She would run by the dry cleaners on her way to pick up the food.
Ted didn’t need to know she’d let him down again.
#
FBI profiler Adam Zahn’s voice came across the line low and steady. JJ could almost picture him—suit and tie, dark hair, mustache, and broad shoulders to go with that steady personality. He had to give the guy credit. Zahn worked fast. JJ had called Thursday night after Emily Terrance’s disappearance. It was now Saturday afternoon.
“It’s hard to say if you have a serial killer on your hands with what little information you’ve given me, but if we go on the assumption that you do, I may be able to help.”
JJ grabbed a legal pad and turned to a clean sheet. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“It’s hard to pinpoint the exact reason your unsub is going after children, but I suspect it’s for their innocence or their purity or their goodness.”
“I thought this was all about control.”
“It is. You’ve got an unsub who strikes and then retreats. There could be months, even years, between killings. He is careful and organized, leaving few, if any, clues behind.”
JJ snorted softly. “No kidding. We have no fingerprints, no DNA, no fibers.”
“Exactly. He’s a pro and the worst kind of killer there is. He can sit back patiently and watch you chase your tail. If my guess is right, he’s probably been at this for years.”
“Insane,” JJ muttered darkly, seeing a long trail of unsolved murders in his future.
“Far from it. He probably appears perfectly normal to everyone around him. You could pass him in the grocery store, the mall. . . . He’s the man who helps you buy a house or a car, or he could be your electrician. He’s more than likely a white male between the ages of thirty-five and fifty. Neatly groomed, above-average intelligence, and probably has no traceable history of mental illness, although that’s not a guarantee.”
JJ sighed, shaking his head. This wasn’t much. The profiler hadn’t been exaggerating. “Okay, we have two little girls, both six years old, and an infant—”
“I don’t think the infant is in this. Just my gut talking when I read over the reports. It’s a different M.O. entirely. You’ve got two different things going on here.”
JJ slapped his hand down on his desk. “Yes! Finally someone who agrees with me!”
“Been fighting the politics game, eh? How well I remember. Give you the job because they say you’re the best man for it and then tell you how to do it every step of the way, even when you know they’re wrong.”
“Exactly.”
“Well,” Zahn said with a chuckle, “tell them I said you’re right.”
“I will. And then I’m going after Karen Matthews.”
“If you’re hunting a serial killer, do you really have time to worry about this case with the baby?”
“Probably not, but this has become somewhat personal for me. I want to nail that lady to the wall for killing her baby. And I will. I most definitely will.”
chapter 10
Monday, April 17
Zoe was jerked out of sleep before her alarm went off by the sound of a lawn mower under her bedroom window. After another restless night tossing and turning, she’d finally drifted off to sleep just before dawn. Gina had come to her in her dreams, calling to Zoe through the swirling mists. Zoe had run to her, but each time she came close, the child would disappear in the shadows. And Rene Taylor would appear, shaking her head and saying, “This is not of God,” over and over.
The dread that had been building all night was still with her as she slipped into her robe. It dragged at her limbs and shadowed her thoughts.
With a groan, she stumbled to the kitchen and started the coffee. Just once, she’d like to see Frank put her on the end of his route instead of the beginning. Every Monday morning, he started his day with her. He was dependable. Irritatingly so, sometimes.
She turned on the television and flipped through the channels to catch the news. When she saw a familiar newscaster’s face appear, she tossed the remote down on the counter. It slid across the tile and went crashing to the floor.
Zoe dove for it and missed, watching it bounce off the little carpet in front of her sink. Picking it up, she turned it over and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t broken.
“And it came to pass, as we went to prayer, a certain damsel possessed with a spirit of divination met us.”
Confused, Zoe looked over at the television. The bouncing remote had changed the channel. In place of the newscaster, there was a young man in a suit and wire-rimmed glasses.
“Today we would call them psychics,” he said to his television congregation. “And Paul cast that evil spirit out of her.”
Zoe changed the channel. Evil spirit. Hogwash.
By the time she was out of the shower and dressed, she’d forgotten about the TV sermon and Frank was mowing the backyard. With coffee in hand, she stepped out on the deck and watched him.
Frank Harrow was close to fifty years old with a shock of gray-streaked dark brown hair. He was a big man, although he only stood an inch less than six feet. Broad of girth, he had big hands and thick fingers that were uncharacteristically nimble around the delicate blooms he nurtured. His wife had cancer and the prognosis wasn’t good. Frank mentioned that his daughter had come from California to help take care of her.
Hiring Frank to take care of her yard had not been her idea. It had been her father’s. She frowned, remembering how Frank had shown up one morning with a copy of his contract.
“Your father hired me to take care of your lawn this summer. He tells me you travel a bit. It’s all paid for, Miss. No need to worry about it.”
As much as she wanted to call her father and tell him once again that she didn’t want any favors from him, she just hadn’t been able to resist Frank’s forlorn expression when she said she didn’t want the service. Five years later, he was still taking care of her yard. Besides, the man did a great job, even if he had remained aloof and cool toward her. He mowed the lawn, weeded the flowerbeds, and even planted flowers if she didn’t get to it. He wasn’t being paid to be friendly.
The engine on the mower suddenly died, and Zoe looked up to see Frank take a pair of pruning sheers out of his back pocket.
“Morning, Frank.”
Frank tipped his head. “Morning.”
“How
’s your wife, Frank? She feeling better?”
Frank frowned as he shook his head. “Chemo’s taking its toll.”
“I’m so sorry, Frank. You’ll give her my best, won’t you?”
The man nodded and went back to his pruning, and Zoe went back inside to make breakfast. The whip-whir of the weed whacker kept her company through a light breakfast of coffee and toast. Her thoughts kept pulling back to Gina Sarentino. It was a vague pull she knew well. As soon as she finished breakfast, Zoe called Mrs. Sarentino.
“Would you mind if I came by? I have a feeling I might be able to find Gina.”
#
Gerry Otis scratched at the beard he was growing, now nearly two weeks old, and squinted at the fax he’d just picked up. A detective for nearly thirty years, he had been passed over for one promotion after another, but unlike most men, Gerry didn’t take such things to heart. He was content exactly where he was. The way he figured, the more responsibility he took on at the station, the less time he had for his wife and four children, and he was nothing if not devoted to his family.
He’d let the younger, more ambitious men, like Johnson and Casto, burn out trying to make it to the top. They didn’t have wives waiting for them at home or children who needed a father to guide them. He worked his forty to fifty hours at the station—except when it came to cases like these kidnappings—and gave one night a week to the church youth, but that was only because his four boys were all involved in the youth group.
“Anything? You’re staring at that thing like it has four heads and a forked tail.” Matt Casto walked up, coffee in hand.
