by Stacy Finz
“The lawyers are in chambers,” Sully told Cash. “I think they’re working out a deal.”
It wasn’t unusual to pick a jury and then have a defendant realize he liked his chances better with a plea bargain. The prosecution was seeking the death penalty but might settle for life in prison without the possibility of parole to save the victims’ loved ones from having to go through a lengthy trial.
“How do the families feel about it? Are they okay with a deal?” Cash asked.
“Diego Vasquez is a strict Catholic; he’d be good with a life sentence. The Farmingtons are flat-out anti-capital-punishment. The other two families”—Sully shrugged—”I don’t know.”
“It would save all of them from having to listen to the confession tape.”
“Yup. It would be good for everyone all the way around.” Sully nudged his head at Cash, his meaning clear. Cash wouldn’t have to testify and detail just how badly the case got screwed up.
Cash checked his watch. “They’ll be breaking for lunch soon. You think the judge will let the jury go for the day?”
“It’ll depend on if and how fast they can hammer out an agreement. Why have the jury come back tomorrow only to excuse them from the case?” Sully said, and Cash nodded.
“I’ll be back before lunch with a status report.” Sully rose and returned to the courtroom, careful to quietly close the door behind him.
Cash bobbed his head at two deputy US marshals he recognized as they passed in the hallway. The Phillip Burton Federal Building was huge, taking up an entire city block. The FBI’s San Francisco field office was on the thirteenth floor, and for many years, he’d roamed the building as if it were home. Even now, the smell, a combination of old wood, cleaning solution, and human sweat, was as familiar as his own aftershave.
He mulled the possible plea bargain and measured his reaction. If anyone deserved to be executed for his crimes, it was Charles Whiting. But Cash wasn’t averse to taking death off the table. The important thing was that Whiting would be locked away forever and could never hurt anyone again. And if it would give the victims’ families closure without them having to sit through the torturous details…well, he was all for that.
The part he was conflicted over was not having to testify. On one hand, he had no appetite for finger-pointing. On the other, divulging the agency’s missteps might be cathartic. Although the press had already told part of the story, few outside the Bureau knew the full extent of just how far south the investigation had gone. As far as Cash knew, reporters weren’t wise to the fact that he’d been thrown off the case for sparring with his superiors over the direction they’d taken.
Cash wished he could talk to Aubrey about the plea bargain, get her thoughts.
And then was surprised by the path his mind had veered on to. When the hell had that happened? He’d always been a lone wolf, and suddenly he was bending the ear of his beautiful neighbor. Spilling his guts about the case that kept him awake at night. Asking for advice on his daughter. Telling her about Marie and voicing his regrets about not knowing Ellie.
He checked his phone again. Early this morning, he and Aubrey had exchanged texts, wishing each other luck. He’d driven to the city the night before and stayed at his parents’ house. Aubrey had been running errands most of Sunday, so they’d never gotten to talk before he’d left for San Francisco. Now, the texts felt pro forma and impersonal.
Cash started to send her a message, but Sully exited the courtroom and came toward him, and he put his phone away.
“They’ve got a deal. LWOP, not death,” he said. “The judge is excusing the jury now. The Farmingtons asked if they could talk to you.”
Cash tensed but nodded. He’d dreaded this moment, but it was time to cowboy up and tell them how damned sorry he was. How he wished he could turn back time and do right by their daughter.
“As soon as the jury’s gone, the judge said you could use his chambers. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”
“All right,” Cash said, girding himself for the Farmingtons’ anger and pain. He’d only had Ellie a month and he already felt her blood flowing through his veins. If anyone ever physically harmed her or stood by while someone else did, there was no telling what he’d do.
Sully slipped back into the courtroom, leaving Cash alone with his thoughts. Again, he was tempted to call Aubrey but didn’t know how much time he had to talk or whether he’d be interrupting her. Instead, he paced the hallway, waiting for Sully to wave him into the courtroom. About ten minutes later, one of the deputy marshals escorted him into the judge’s chambers.
A couple younger than Cash’s parents sat on a love seat with their hands folded in their laps. Though he’d never met the Farmingtons in person, only on the phone, he recognized them instantly from the pictures he’d seen in the newspaper. They got to their feet the moment he entered the room. Cash went to shake their hands, but Mrs. Farmington enfolded him in her arms.
“I hope it’s okay for me to hug you,” she said, her voice trembling.
Cash was caught off guard and for a beat didn’t say anything, letting his arms dangle at his sides as he stood stiffly at attention.
“Betsy, let the man breathe,” Mr. Farmington said and rubbed his eyes.
Cash rebounded and politely hugged Mrs. Farmington back. “It’s all right,” he told Mr. Farmington but felt like the worst kind of phony. If he’d only spoken up, Casey might be alive today.
“Thank you,” Mr. Farmington said. “Thank you for everything you did.”
“You mind if we sit down?” Cash planned to tell them the truth and needed out of this clinch to do it.
Mrs. Farmington was reluctant to let go, clinging to him for a few seconds longer, before breaking the embrace. Mr. Farmington took her arm and they returned to their places on the sofa. Cash sat in the chair facing them.
The judge’s chambers were large and reminded Cash of a drawing room you’d find in an old home in Pacific Heights. Masculine, with dark wainscoting, rows of bookcases, an antique mahogany desk, and a seating area that felt more like a living room than an office.
“We didn’t want to put you on the spot, Special Agent Dalton. We just wanted to extend our appreciation for all you’ve done…the confession…putting Charles Whiting away for life.”
The title didn’t escape Cash. Special Agent Dalton had been his identity for more than a decade. “I’m no longer with the Bureau. Please, just call me Cash.” He cleared his throat, struggling with how to explain. “The fact is, I wish I’d done more. A lot more. I might’ve been able to save Casey’s life.” He paused, hoping to let the gravity of that statement sink in.
Mr. Farmington held up his hand. “We’re aware of the facts, Special…Cash. Casey was everything to us, and I made it my life’s mission to ferret out the truth. We know you disagreed with your superiors on the original suspect. We know the mishandling of the case may have contributed to Casey’s death and spent much of the grieving process fuming at law enforcement. But with time comes clarity. Casey loved running those trails and was a fearless young woman. Obstinate too. We raised her that way and were proud of the person she had become.” Mr. Farmington faltered with emotion, then pulled himself together.
“What I’m trying to say is that we’ll never know for sure whether Casey would’ve heeded the warning to stay out of the park. The only thing we know for sure is that Charles Whiting was a monster who took the lives of four innocent women, including our precious daughter. If it wasn’t for you, the mystery of who killed her might not have been resolved. If it wasn’t for you, that son of a bitch might still be walking the streets, free to kill again.”
Mr. Farmington broke down, sobbing into his hands. His wife pulled him close, and they cried in each other’s arms. Their love for their daughter and for each other was so palpable, it was powerful. It should’ve been heartachingly sad, but it coursed through Cash l
ike a river of hope. All he could think about was Ellie and the love a father had for his daughter. And Aubrey, a light so bright it illuminated a path through the dark these last few weeks.
“You’re our hero,” Mrs. Farmington said through tears. “Thank you for giving us closure. For giving Casey justice.”
* * * *
Cash canceled dinner plans with his folks, hoping if he left the courthouse now he could avoid most of the traffic on I-80 and be at Dry Creek Ranch before nightfall. He drove with the music on, feeling lighter than he had in months. Not completely absolved, but the heavy weight that had been pressing on his chest for months had been lifted. He could breathe. And maybe, just maybe, the nightmares would go away.
At a stop sign, he checked his phone. Nothing from Aubrey, but what did he expect? She thought he was in court and was probably consumed with the possibility of a new job, not with him. He made his way across the city onto the Bay Bridge and rolled down his window, enjoying the cool coastal breeze. When he got to Fairfield, he considered stopping for lunch. All he’d had for breakfast were two slices of toast and a cup of coffee and he was starved. But he decided to push on to beat rush hour in Sacramento.
He was thirty minutes away from the capitol when his phone rang. Disappointment stabbed him when his caller ID showed it was Jace, not Aubrey.
“What up?”
“Where are you?” Jace asked, sounding anxious.
“I’m on my way back, Whiting took a deal and the judge sent the jury home. You catch a break in the Beals case?”
There was silence, and for a minute, Cash thought he’d lost the call. “Jace?”
“Ellie’s gone.”
Chapter 22
The man sitting next to Ellie smelled like a combination of pot and BO and he kept staring at her. She wanted to move to another seat, but the bus was crowded and she was afraid he’d get angry if she got up. The minute he’d stepped onto the bus, Ellie had gotten a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mom called it an “instinct.” Maybe it was, but the man just looked like bad news to Ellie.
He had a tattoo on his face and these really scary rings in his nose, and his clothes were dirty and sort of tattered. And he seemed mean, like he never smiled or anything. And he kept looking at her in a way that gave Ellie the creeps.
She desperately wanted to call her dad to tell him she’d made a big mistake, but she’d lost her phone. Maybe it was still at the pool, or she might’ve dropped it on her way to the bus station. She’d been in such a rush to get away before Travis or Grady noticed she was gone that she’d been disorganized. The worst part was, she’d had to travel in a bathing suit, cover-up, and a pair of shorts. Anything else would’ve made Mrs. Jamison suspicious. She was smarter than she looked, which meant Ellie hadn’t been able to bring a suitcase with any of her clothes with her.
So here she was next to a perv, who was probably wanted for assault and battery. He kept checking out her legs, making her want to puke.
In two hours, they were supposed to reach Reno, where she had to transfer buses. Hopefully, at that point she’d lose him.
Without her phone, she couldn’t even call Mary Margaret to let her know when she was getting in. Three days, according to the schedule. Seventy-seven hours and fifty minutes to be exact. Then she’d be back in Boston and she could visit her mom’s grave and figure out where to live. Either with Linda, Uncle Woody, or with Mary Margaret, if Miss O’Malley said it was okay.
For some reason, none of those options sounded that good anymore. Linda and Uncle Woody had their own families, and she might feel like a mooch living with them. And Mary Margaret could be superphony sometimes, like when she would tell Father John he was the best and make fun of him behind his back. Mary Margaret was also kind of competitive. One time, she made Ellie cry for being too skinny.
Right now, Ellie was sort of missing her dad, even though he would probably be happy she was gone and out of his life forever. At least if he was here, though, he wouldn’t let the creep next to her keep checking her out.
Thank God, he’d fallen asleep. Ellie scooted to the edge of her seat to avoid having his greasy head on her shoulder, wishing she could steal his phone and call her dad. Even though her dad wouldn’t miss her, he’d be worried because he used to be an FBI agent. She could at least tell him she was okay.
Sort of.
A tear leaked from her eye and she swiped at it with her hand before anyone saw. As it was, the driver had thrown her some serious side-eye when he scanned her ticket. The grouchy lady at the Greyhound station hadn’t questioned her too closely. Ellie had had to show ID, and the only one she owned was a student body card from St. Agnes, which said Tosca, not Dalton. Otherwise, the lady might’ve called her dad or Uncle Jace.
It was weird, because it had only been a couple of hours and she already felt homesick for the ranch, which wasn’t even her home. Her home was in Boston. But Dry Creek Ranch was kind of cool, especially the horses. And she liked having cousins; she didn’t have any with her mom. And Travis and Grady were fun, even if they were spazzes. Uncle Jace and Uncle Sawyer were cool too. And she’d really miss Aubrey, who was moving away to Las Vegas anyway. So what was the point of Ellie staying?
Her dad would probably follow Aubrey there, and they’d get married and have a bunch of kids. And he would love Ellie even less than he loved her now, which was more a responsibility type of love than the real kind.
Still, she was having second thoughts and wished she’d stayed at the pool with Travis and Grady and Mrs. Jamison.
“You got a cig?” The creepy guy was awake and breathing his bad breath on her.
“No.” It wasn’t like he could smoke it on the bus anyway. What he really should be asking for was deodorant, he stunk so bad.
Ellie tried to ignore him, but he was back to staring at her. “Please don’t do that.” She turned in her seat so he couldn’t look at her anymore.
“How old are you?” He slid closer to Ellie, and she almost threw up.
“Sixteen,” she lied, hoping it might scare him. If he knew she was only twelve, he would think he could get away with stuff.
“Sweet Sixteen, huh?” He raised his pierced brow and eyed her boobs. Ellie didn’t really have any, not like Mary Margaret, who already wore a bra. “Where you going, Sweet Sixteen?”
She stammered, afraid to tell him the truth. What if he followed her to Boston? “Texas,” Ellie said, because Dennis Thomas had moved there in the fourth grade and Sister Diana had made them all look at Texas on a map.
“Me too.” He grinned, and his teeth were really yellow, like he hadn’t been to a dentist in two or three years. “We could hang out.” He brushed up against her and she wanted to cry, wishing someone on the bus would notice and let her sit by them.
“My dad’s in the FBI,” she blurted out. It made her sound like she was a six-year-old, but she didn’t care. Ellie just wanted him to leave her alone and thought if she told him her father was a cop it might scare him.
“Is that why you’re running away?” He laughed like it was a big joke, his garbage breath stinking up the entire bus.
“No, I’m going to visit my friend in Boston.” Oops, she’d already told him Texas. Ellie hoped he hadn’t noticed the slipup. As her mom would’ve said, he didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed. He might’ve even been on something. PCP or crack.
“Boston? What happened to Texas?”
Ellie wanted to bite her tongue off. How could she be so stupid?
He slung his arm over her shoulder and she wanted to die. “Let’s stick it to Daddy when we get to Reno.”
She didn’t know what that meant but was smart enough to know whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Ellie wanted to fold herself into a tiny ball so he couldn’t put his grubby hands on her. And she wanted her father. Even though he didn’t love her, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her
. She at least knew that much. He’d let her stay in his room that night she’d had the bad dream and was always globbing suntan lotion on her face and killing all her spiders.
If the bad man knew what was good for him, he’d keep away from her. Because if she ever got her hands on a phone, her dad would make him sorry.
* * * *
Cash’s heart stopped.
Later, he’d remember how he’d managed to pull off the exit and find his way to a Denny’s parking lot without losing his mind. His immediate reaction was to lash out at Jace—then Mrs. Jamison. But it wasn’t either of their fault, and playing the blame game wasn’t going to get Ellie back.
“What are the boys saying?” he asked Jace, trying to stay calm as he clutched the phone to his ear. It was another hour to Dry Creek and he’d have to rely on his cousins to search until he got there. Right now, he wanted to flag down a fucking airplane.
“That she left the pool to go to the bathroom. About twenty minutes went by before Mrs. Jamison became alarmed. When she went to check the ladies’ room, Ellie was gone.”
“Did anyone see her in the bathroom?” Cash started his engine. He was holding on to his sanity by a thin thread, but he needed to keep moving.
“Nope. One of the girls at the pool went to the locker rooms about the same time as Ellie and swears she didn’t see her in the restroom.”
“Ah, Jesus.” Cash’s mind was swirling a thousand miles a minute with every possibility. All of them horrible.
“Let’s not overreact. She probably got upset about something, maybe felt like a fish out of water with some of the other kids, and took off for the ranch.”
Dry Creek Ranch was more than six miles from the high school, much of the route along the highway.
“I’m getting back on the road,” he told Jace. “Do you have a deputy going over there? How about 49? Is someone searching for her along the highway?”
