by Blake Pierce
At some point after the scrub and during the massage she fell asleep. When the masseuse woke her, it was 3:30 in the morning. She thanked the woman for the treatment she couldn’t recall getting and retreated to the quiet room, where she crashed for three hours.
When her alarm buzzed her awake at 6:30 a.m., Keri didn’t exactly feel refreshed. Her skin was raw and it wasn’t just her injuries that hurt. Almost every muscle in her body ached. She knew she was supposed to have showered right after the treatment but she’d just been too tired. Whatever the woman had done to her while she slept, Keri was paying the price for it now.
She dragged herself to one of the showers and stood under the water for fifteen minutes, letting the warmth soothe her battered body. When she felt something approaching normal again, she got out and returned to the locker room.
Still in her robe, she took out the Android phone again. She turned it on, hoping that some password had magically auto-populated on the screen overnight. No such luck. The word “password” with the empty rectangle below it stared back at her, almost taunting her.
Trying to keep her cool, Keri returned it to her bag, changed into her fresh clothes—her standard slacks, shirt, and comfortable shoes—and headed out.
She arrived at Catherine Maroney Wexler’s house ten minutes early and used the extra time to scarf down the blueberry muffin she’d grabbed at a coffee shop on the way over. As she sipped her coffee, she looked at the phone with the downloaded data one more time.
She knew this was getting ridiculous. It was starting to look like all the crazy risks she’d taken the night before were for nothing. She wasn’t going to just have some “eureka!” moment and suddenly understand the inner workings of Jackson Cave’s brain. And if she didn’t know how he thought, there was no way she would ever break the code.
That’s not quite true. I do know one person who might have some insight into how Cave’s mind works.
Keri glanced at her watch. It was 7:58 a.m. There was no time to do anything before the interview with Kendra’s sister. But after it was over, she knew exactly where she was going—to see a ghost.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Keri tried to keep her cool despite her growing frustration. Catherine was surprisingly unhelpful for someone whose sister was missing. After welcoming Keri into what she announced as the drawing room of the old-fashioned, ornate Gothic Revival–style home, Catherine asked the housekeeper to bring them tea.
It struck Keri that this was a woman far more interested in appearances than her older sister. She had the same long, dark hair but she was more heavily made up, even at eight in the morning, than Kendra was in any picture Keri had seen.
She was slightly shorter and thinner, in a self-starved kind of way. She also looked like she’d had some plastic surgery, even though Keri guessed that Catherine was about the same age as her.
“So you moved out here after Kendra did?” Keri asked while they waited for the tea.
“Yes, she’s three years older than me and I was inspired to pursue acting by her. Of course, by the time I got out here, she had given that up and was working as a junior publicist. I think her attempt at stardom left her with a bad taste in her mouth.”
“You mean the photos?” Keri asked.
“How do you know about those?” Catherine asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“It’s my job to know these things. That’s something I wanted to ask you about. My understanding is that you met Rafe Courtenay to make the most recent payment on Sunday. He said that was the first time anyone other than Kendra had dropped it off. Why the change?”
Catherine started to respond but stopped herself when the housekeeper brought in the tea. Only when the woman left did she answer.
“I have no idea. We’d only ever talked about those photos once, way back when I first moved out here and she was warning me about how unscrupulous people could be. I didn’t even know she was being blackmailed. So it was a total surprise when she asked me to do this. All she said was that she had to deal with something important and it couldn’t wait. I was really sketched out by the whole thing. But she sounded desperate so I agreed.”
Catherine took a forceful sip of her tea, almost as if she were using its warmth to steady herself. Keri plunged ahead, not wanting to give her time to get too comfortable.
“She didn’t give any details on what she was dealing with?”
“No,” Catherine replied. “She said something about making things right. But other than that, she was pretty tight-lipped.”
“Mrs. Wexler, we have indications that your sister may have just run away. Do you think that’s possible? Could she could have just up and left town without telling anyone?”
Catherine put down her cup of tea and looked Keri squarely in the eyes.
“Listen, Detective, my sister and I aren’t very close anymore. She thinks I sold my soul.”
“Did you?’ Keri asked, not mincing words.
Catherine paused for a moment before answering. She seemed to be genuinely pondering the question.
“I don’t know. Acting was hard. And then I got married to a real estate developer who happens to be fabulously wealthy. I have two kids. I spend time at our club. I’ve had the occasional nip and tuck. She thought I gave up too easily on my dreams. But I’m pretty happy with my life.”
“And what do you think of her?”
“I think my sister is an amazing woman. I mean, we’re talking about a person who learned Spanish as a kid back in Phoenix so she could better connect with the illegal immigrant children at the shelter where she volunteered. But she’s not the type to be satisfied with what she has. She was an amazing publicist but she got bored just smoothing things over for celebrities. So she started that foundation. She does amazing work to help those kids but she also wanted to travel the world, to try to coordinate satellite clinics in third world countries. But Jeremy was satisfied keeping the charity local. I think she got frustrated with that. Especially because of the kid issue.”
Keri tried to keep her expression even as her breath quickened. In her experience, “kid issues” often played a prominent role in marital conflict.
“What kid issue?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could, not wanting to tip Catherine off to her heightened level of interest.
“She couldn’t have them—they found out about five years ago. I think she threw herself into this work as a way to compensate. I know she got down sometimes. That’s part of why she kept so busy. She hated being bored and Jeremy was more than satisfied just living the life they had. I think he was happy with it just being the two of them.”
“Do you think that boredom could have manifested itself in other ways?” Keri asked.
“Are you asking if she might have had an affair?” Catherine asked point-blank.
“Yes,” Keri said just as bluntly.
“Like I said, we weren’t that close anymore so I wouldn’t be the person to ask that question. Mags Merrywether would know more about Kendra’s secrets. But it would surprise me. My sister had a strongly attuned moral compass. It’s part of why we drifted apart. She thought mine didn’t work as well.”
“Okay. I think I have what I need. But there is one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You never really answered my question. Do you think Kendra might have just left?”
“No, Detective. The Kendra I knew never would have abandoned her life here, not unless she had a really good reason.”
“Then if she didn’t leave on her own, can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?”
Catherine sat quietly for a minute, deep in thought. When she looked up, Keri knew her answer before she spoke.
“I really can’t,” she finally said. “Most people—Jeremy, Mags, the kids she helped—adore her. We aren’t best friends but I love her dearly. She’s my big sister, you know? But someone with active animosity toward her? No, I can’t think of anyone.”
Keri thanked her and
left quickly. As she walked back to her car, one frustrating thought stuck in her head.
Back to square one.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Keri sat still, trying to hide her anxiousness as she waited for her guest to be brought into the cold, windowless, concrete-walled room.
The only amenities were the metal table in the center of the room and two metal benches on either side of it. All were bolted to the ground. Most everything was bolted down in the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in downtown Los Angeles.
That was the formal name of the county jail. It was supposed to be a way station for people awaiting trial or transfer to a long-term prison. But because of overcrowding, it often housed convicted criminals for weeks, months, and even years at a time, until a spot opened up somewhere else.
That was the situation of the man she was waiting for, Thomas “Ghost” Anderson. Anderson was a professional kidnapper who often abducted children for a fee. Sometimes his clients were couples uninterested in the formal adoption process. Other times, those hiring him had more nefarious intentions.
Keri had learned of him while searching for information on Evie’s abductor. At one time, she even thought he might be the culprit, before meeting him in person. Despite eliminating him as a suspect, the more Keri had thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Evie’s abductor had also been a pro. So she had decided that in order to catch a professional child abductor, it might help to pick the brain of another one.
And Anderson had indeed been helpful. He’d given her background on how the underground world of child abductions operated. He’d given her the street name—“the Collector”—of the man whose MO most closely matched how Evie was taken.
And most relevant to Keri now, he’d told her about how a few corrupt defense lawyers sometimes acted as intermediaries between abductors and potential clients. He mentioned one name in particular, his own attorney, Jackson Cave.
Why he’d been so forthcoming, Keri had no idea. She had promised to write a letter to the parole board on his behalf, something she hadn’t done yet due to her showdown with Pachanga and subsequent hospitalization and recovery.
But that hardly seemed like enough of a reason for Anderson to give up so many trade secrets. She got the sense that he was playing some longer game. But for the time being, if he could help her, she didn’t care what it was.
And she was pretty sure he could help her now. After all, as one of Jackson Cave’s clients, he had spent many hours with the man. And Anderson was perceptive, scarily so. If anyone could hazard an educated guess as to what Cave’s password might be, it was him.
The door to the room opened and Keri sat up straight, pushing any extraneous thoughts out of her head. When it came to Thomas Anderson, she needed to be at the top of her game.
He shuffled in, wearing shackles on his feet and handcuffs on his wrists. It was hard to be sure, but she thought she detected the slightest of limps.
Just like the last time they’d met, he wore his bright orange prisoner jumpsuit. Just like last time, his thick black hair was parted neatly, as if he’d wet it down in anticipation of their meeting.
But unlike last time when he’d already been sitting down in the room waiting for her, she could now gauge his height and build. He wasn’t especially tall, maybe five foot eight. But he was squarely built. And for a man in his fifties, he’d clearly made an effort to stay in shape. Even under the loose jumpsuit, she could tell he regularly used the jail’s weight room.
If possible, it looked like he had gotten even more tattoos in the two weeks since she’d last seen him. Almost every visible inch of skin on the right side of his body, from his fingers to his ear, was covered with them. And now there was a small bandage on the outside of his wrist that she suspected covered a new piece of art. Interestingly, the left side of his body was completely devoid of ink.
Keri looked at his face and saw his dark eyes studying her closely. She could see him doing some kind of mental calculation. She didn’t take offense, as that’s exactly what she’d been doing to him.
“New tattoo?” she asked, nodding in the direction of his wrist as the guard attached his shackles to a bar on the table.
“A sparrow,” he said. “I’d show you but it’s still too raw and bloody to really appreciate it. How are the ribs?”
“Still sore,” she answered, trying to hide her surprise. The nature of her injuries hadn’t made it into news reports and she hadn’t moved at all since he entered the room. “How did you know…?”
“Your breathing is more shallow than the last time you visited me, which indicates either a rib injury or a muscle pull in that area. And the way you’re carefully keeping your arm away from your side, so you don’t accidentally bump them, suggests ribs.”
“Very perceptive, especially for a man who should probably be using a walker. Is it just arthritis or did someone sweep the leg in the yard?”
Anderson smiled, revealing a mouth of full of gleaming white teeth.
“Touché, Detective Locke. In fact, my leg injury was the result of an altercation. I got it defending your honor.”
“What?”
“There was a report on the news about your run-in with Alan Pachanga. Congratulations, by the way. Another prisoner saw you at the press conference, sitting there in your wheelchair, pleading for help finding your daughter, and said you seemed like a real bitch.”
“I am a real bitch,” Keri admitted.
“Be that as it may, I thought it was quite inappropriate of him to say it and I told him so. He took umbrage with my comment. A squabble ensued, which is how I suffered the sprained knee you noticed.”
“Did you get in a few licks at least?” Keri asked, suspecting that Thomas Anderson, even at his age, could do some serious damage.
“I should say so. He’s still in the infirmary. Something about broken fingers, a shattered kneecap, and a hairline fracture of the skull.”
He listed off the injuries as though they were items on a grocery shopping list. It reminded Keri that despite his genteel manner the man across from her was very dangerous.
“Wow,” she said, trying to act unperturbed, “I’m surprised they let you have visitors after that.”
“They wouldn’t normally. I’ve actually been in solitary confinement since it happened and will be for the next two weeks. But I guess they make exceptions for visits from law enforcement. So I suppose I should thank you for allowing me to get some comparatively fresh air and stretch my legs a bit.”
He tried to lean back in his chair, as if attempting to luxuriate in his surroundings, but the shackles prevented him from getting too comfortable.
“Well, it just so happens I know a way you can thank me,” Keri told him.
“Just saying ‘thank you’ isn’t enough?” he asked, with just a hint of feigned insult.
Keri wanted him to know she was serious so she leaned in and spoke plainly.
“I’m looking for something a little more substantial.”
Anderson smiled ever so slightly, enjoying a lingering pause before finally responding.
“It would be my pleasure. Can I assume that you’ll reciprocate in some way? After all, the parole board can only process so many letters of recommendation.”
Keri couldn’t tell if he was genuinely unaware that she had yet to write the letter or was testing her.
Best to come clean with this guy. If he stops trusting me, he’ll never help.
“About that,” she said, “I’ve been a bit busy since we last met, what with finding Ashley Penn’s abductor, getting in a life-or-death fight with him, and spending a week in the hospital. So I haven’t had a chance to get to your letter just yet. I didn’t want to rush it, you know.”
Anderson nodded, seemingly untroubled by the delay.
“I appreciate your honesty, Detective Locke. But it would be nice if you could get to it soon. Maybe by the time I’m released from solitary. I have a parole hearing in November and I’d love
to add it to the official record.”
“You really think it’s going to make any difference when you’ll have just been in the hole for a month?”
“You’d be surprised,” he replied. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
She already knew that to be the case. When she’d first reviewed his records, she saw that he had acted as his own counsel at his most recent trial. Apparently, he’d been so convincing that if the case against him hadn’t been ironclad, he might have gotten a hung jury.
“If you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Anderson, I’m less surprised that you can be convincing than I am that you’re in here in the first place. You seem so meticulous. I’m amazed you got caught.”
Anderson chuckled softly before answering.
“I think meticulous is a wonderful word to describe me, Detective Locke. Perhaps that’s why I became a librarian.”
“You were a librarian?” Keri couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.
“For over thirty years, the last ten at the Los Angeles Central Library. Have you ever been? It’s a real jewel. As to my getting caught and convicted while being so very meticulous, that is quite a stunner. Almost suspicious, don’t you think?”
Keri tried to let it all sink in. Anderson having been a librarian was unexpected enough. But he seemed to be suggesting that his incarceration might be partly of his own design. It was all too much to process at once. And none of it was relevant to the reason she had come here. She needed to get this conversation back on track.
“I will definitely write that letter soon,” she promised, forcing herself to maintain a polite, playful tone, despite her growing impatience. “But as I mentioned, I could use your help with something, if you’re so inclined.”
“Of course. I’ll do what I can, within reason. What is it?”
Keri glanced up at the guard standing in the corner of the room.
