‘‘What happened to Melissa?’’
‘‘Ichanged the whole operation,’’ he told her, avoiding an answer.
‘‘When Icame in there was no way out for these women! No one ever intended to give them their freedom. They paid for a new freedom; what they got was slavery. It was me who got Klein involved, me who pointed out there was just as much profit in selling them a driver’s license as there was reselling them into prostitution!’’ He was red in the face and practically coming out of his chair.
‘‘Pointed out to whom?’’ she asked angrily. ‘‘Ithought you hadn’t made the connection to the higher-ups?’’
Coughlie cocked his head at her like a puzzled dog.
‘‘You know what Ithink, Brian? Ithink you’ve made it all up. I don’t know if you fooled yourself at first into thinking you were running an undercover operation, but Idoubt it. Ithink that was your fallback plan all along—to come up with some cockamamie story about a oneman sting. Ithink you slipped. You saw an agency swallowed by bureaucracy and a tide of humanity that was never going to be checked. You saw all that money, and all that opportunity—all the corruption around you—and you—’’
‘‘I’ve documented everything,’’ he protested. ‘‘Every cent.’’
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‘‘And it doesn’t mean a thing if it wasn’t okayed by Talmadge.’’
‘‘And if Talmadge is on the take? How could Irisk that?’’
‘‘You’ve got it all figured, don’t you? Getting people killed, accepting bribes. You can justify it all.’’ She added, ‘‘Am Isupposed to erase the video for you? Erase it and forget all about Melissa?’’
‘‘She infiltrated the operation. Ididn’t even know about it until you confirmed it.’’
‘‘You’re going to blame me? You . . . bastard!’’ She dove at him. The chair went over and she clawed his face, drawing blood. Coughlie dumped her and smacked her across the jaw and jumped to his feet. He grabbed hold of the cable running into the TV monitor and followed it to the console and began tearing equipment off the shelves, frantically ejecting cassettes and tearing the tape from them. ‘‘Where is it?’’ he roared.
‘‘It doesn’t exist!’’ she hollered back him, freezing him. He turned, wild-eyed.
‘‘There is no tape!’’ she said.
He drew his weapon. ‘‘Iwant it now.’’
Holding her hands out in front of her to ward him off, she sat up slowly and reached for the console. Her palm held down a square button. ‘‘Okay,’’ she said, her voice echoing through overhead loudspeakers. She pointed into the studio, a dazed Brian Coughlie still holding his weapon on her.
An exhausted Lou Boldt stood on the other side of that glass. First one, then a second uniformed officer stepped out from behind the huge black curtains that surrounded the studio’s walls. All held handguns trained on Coughlie.
She said, ‘‘The tape you saw on the ship? A blank. Boldt arranged to have it delivered. It was the psychologist’s idea—Matthews. She said your ego would allow you to believe you could convince me to destroy it.’’
‘‘Iwas undercover!’’ he shouted through the glass. ‘‘Ican prove it!’’
‘‘Where’s Melissa? What have you done with her?’’
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‘‘Drop your weapon!’’ Boldt’s muted voice shouted back. Stevie tripped another button on the console. ‘‘Itaped your visit, Brian. The whole confession. How’s that for irony? I’ll probably win that Emmy Melissa promised after all.’’ She stepped up to him.
‘‘Where the hell is she?’’
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‘‘Inbrothelbyairport,’’thewoman’sdeepvoicesaidontheother end of Boldt’s receiver. He knew that woman’s voice, but he didn’t bother to identify it by name. She gave him the address and said, ‘‘She in room on second floor. She not in good shape, but she alive. Best Icould do. So sorry.’’
Boldt took McNeal with him and a radio car as backup. The drive to the airport was typically about twenty minutes. They made it in twelve.
‘‘She just calls up and tells you this?’’ Stevie said.
‘‘That’s it.’’ Boldt caught himself grinding his teeth and let his jaw hang slack to try to relax.
‘‘No explanation?’’
‘‘She pressured them into keeping her alive. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’’
‘‘She has that kind of control?’’
‘‘And then some,’’ he answered.
‘‘And waits until Coughlie is indicted to tell us?’’
‘‘If he hadn’t been indicted, we’d have never gotten the call. She’s not an angel. She’s a politician. She’s buying herself a future break . . . and she’ll get it.’’
‘‘But Coughlie could have used Melissa to plea bargain. How stupid can you get?’’
Boldt said, ‘‘Depends on what’s left of her. How much Coughlie knows. A jury might not be too sympathetic.’’
‘‘Torture?’’
‘‘They wanted that tape badly. Iimagine that’s what kept her alive until our friend stepped in.’’
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‘‘These people are not human beings.’’
‘‘That’s the way they think. That’s where it all starts.’’
She nodded. ‘‘She’s alive,’’ she gasped.
They drove past neighborhoods where the houses all looked the same and the cars were the same. Big groups of sameness. He felt bothered and anxious.
‘‘Another example of the wonderful cooperation between media and law enforcement.’’
She laughed out loud. ‘‘You win!’’
‘‘No one wins,’’ he said. ‘‘Not ever.’’ He pulled the car to a stop, a patrol vehicle parking alongside of him. The sign said NUDE GIRLS. The two-story building was painted Cape Cod gray and had enough parking for a convention center. ‘‘Are you prepared for this—for what we might find?’’
‘‘No,’’ she admitted. ‘‘Are you?’’
‘‘Gloves?’’ Boldt said, handing her a pair.
‘‘I’m not wearing gloves,’’ Stevie replied, handing them back, hurrying from the car. ‘‘Come on!’’
Boldt produced the warrant, but the uniforms led the way inside. It smelled foul, a combination of air freshener and human hell.
‘‘She had a shaved head when she came in,’’ Boldt told the obese manager, a sweaty man who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, get up out of the worn red couch. He was drinking a dark cocktail on the rocks. He smoked a thin foul cigar with a white plastic tip. McNeal took off up the stairs. Boldt indicated for a uniform to follow her. He turned and climbed the stairs himself, leaving another uniform by the door. ‘‘No one goes anywhere,’’ he told the kid. He remembered being that young—remembered the feel of the gun on his belt and the smell of the leather. He climbed the stairs heavily. Stevie opened one door after another—bare buttocks, sweating flesh. A salesman’s suit carefully arranged on a chair. The smell of pot and booze and familiarity. The uniform lingered a little too long at each door. Stevie moved faster and faster. Nine doors. No Melissa. Her movements became frantic. She felt tears in her eyes and tension in every limb. An ache so deep inside her—an ache only a
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woman understood. Another flight of stairs. She ran now, out of breath, nearly out of life. The uniform lumbered up behind her, but she turned to see it was Boldt.
‘‘Easy,’’ he said. ‘‘We don’t want to scare her.’’
‘‘Scare her?’’ she barked back at him, incredulous.
‘‘Just go easy,’’ he repeated. He fired down to the uniform, ‘‘Where the hell are the EMTs? Get on the horn!’’
‘‘EMTs?’’ Stevie whined, now slowing as she reached the third floor.
Boldt handed her the gloves again, his arm outstretched. ‘‘Be smart,’’ he said.
She accepted them limply. ‘‘Oh, God . . .’’
They both paused by the only door that was locked. Boldt whispered, ‘‘She mustn’t see anything but joy in your face. You understand how important that is?’’
Tears spilled down from her swollen eye.
‘‘Freedom is a fragile thing,’’ he said.
She nodded faintly.
‘‘Are you ready?’’ he said, his shoulder against the door. She struggled with the gloves, sniffled and drew in a deep breath. But the tears would not abate. Her shoulders shook. Her throat tightened. She nodded. ‘‘I’m ready,’’ she said. Boldt broke open the door.
‘‘Thank God!’’ Stevie McNeal whimpered, running inside and falling to her knees.
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ThelateOctobersunplayedlowandsoftonthehorizon,reminding Stevie McNeal of the yellow headlights on cars in Paris. She had thought about traveling, but it wasn’t right yet for either of them. ‘‘You see the sailboat?’’
Melissa didn’t answer. She didn’t rock the rocker. She just sat there staring out blankly.
Corwin had been good enough to loan them the cabin indefinitely. Marsh grass fluttered in the strong breeze that accompanied every sunset. A sturdy stand of cedar stood at water’s edge like a wall. She gave Melissa a bath every evening before bed, like a mother with her child. She soaped the skin where they’d used cigarettes to burn her, she cleaned the loins they had soiled with their filth. But she couldn’t reach the woman’s thoughts, couldn’t clean there. They were trying a combination of massage, acupuncture and therapy. A woman psychiatrist recommended by Matthews made the ferry ride to the island twice a week. She said she was encouraged, but Stevie wasn’t buying it. For all she could tell there had been no change whatsoever.
Melissa ate, though precious little. Stevie supplemented her diet with one of those chocolate drinks intended for the elderly. They slept together in the same bed because the nightmares and sweats could be horrible, and Stevie wanted to be right there when she was needed. The night before Melissa had crept across the bed in her sleep and had snuggled up to Stevie and had cried for the better part of an hour, though Stevie didn’t think she’d ever been awake. Maybe it was an improvement; she intended to tell the shrink about it. The word was 378
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that she would come back slowly. Maybe the crying was a step forward, maybe a step back. Stevie wasn’t leaving anytime soon. She brought her a cardigan sweater and helped it around her bone-thin shoulders and stroked her cheek with the back of her hand and said, ‘‘Ilove you, Little Sister,’’ as she did so many times each day. Love was what would heal. Stevie knew this. She trusted it.
‘‘You’re safe here,’’ she said, a knot in her throat. Melissa reached up, took her hand and pulled it into her lap. Stevie dropped to her knees, tears coming now, for this was the first time anything like this had happened. It wasn’t much, granted; but to Stevie it meant the world. She whispered to the woman in the rocker,
‘‘Every journey begins with but a single step.’’ No reaction. Nothing. Stevie started the rocker gently rocking. She thought Melissa liked that. She wasn’t sure. She kneeled uncomfortably, but kept her hand there in her sister’s lap, the grip weak but intentional. She wasn’t going to move. She could barely breathe.
The sun became a yellow eye and then winked them into dusk. Stevie’s legs went numb with the kneeling, and her arm fell asleep to where it was a bundle of needles. But she didn’t move, didn’t speak. The darkness played out on the western sky and the first stars appeared.
‘‘The first stars are the strongest,’’ Stevie said. Nothing. No reaction whatsoever.
‘‘As long as it takes,’’ she whispered.
Still nothing.
The moon rose behind them and threw shadows into the trees. A satellite crossed the sky. Stevie watched as Melissa’s dark eyes followed it higher. And then she noticed the rocker was still moving and realized that she was not the one driving it.
‘‘I’ll get dinner going,’’ she said, reluctantly pulling her hand free. There would be other chances to hold hands; she would make sure of that. She stood, her tingling legs barely able to support her. The rocker continued to move. She backed up slowly across the porch, supporting
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herself against the shingled wall, unable to take her eyes off that slowly moving chair. A month earlier a rocking chair moving like that wouldn’t have meant anything to her.
She was learning.
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Boldt slipped into bed, believing her asleep. He felt absolutely exhausted, and yet his mind was spinning. He wasn’t sure he’d find sleep himself.
She said, ‘‘There’s nothing there.’’
‘‘Where?’’ he asked, his eyes still not accustomed to the dark.
‘‘The tests. They came back negative.’’
Boldt switched on the bedside light. Both he and Liz squinted. He switched it back off. ‘‘You took the tests?’’
‘‘We can exist in separate beliefs,’’ she said. ‘‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’’
‘‘A leap of faith,’’ he whispered, remembering what Daphne had said.
She rolled away from him, but backed up to where her skin met his and together they made warmth. He slipped his arm over her and held her close.
She fell asleep first, her breathing stretching out, her ribs rising and falling against his arm. Her body twitched several times and then she was still again, her steady breathing the only sound. Boldt dozed off after a while. Pulled down by a weighty fatigue, the darkness claimed him and he found a few hours’ peace. 381
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To contact Ridley Pearson’s website: www.ridleypearson.com
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Document Outline
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 1 0
CHAPTER 1 1
CHAPTER 1 2
CHAPTER 1 3
CHAPTER 1 4
CHAPTER 1 5
CHAPTER 1 6
CHAPTER 1 7
CHAPTER 1 8
CHAPTER 1 9
CHAPTER 2 0
CHAPTER 2 1
CHAPTER 2 2
CHAPTER 2 3
CHAPTER 2 4
CHAPTE
R 2 5
CHAPTER 2 6
CHAPTER 2 7
CHAPTER 2 8
CHAPTER 2 9
CHAPTER 3 0
CHAPTER 3 1
CHAPTER 3 2
CHAPTER 3 3
CHAPTER 3 4
CHAPTER 3 5
CHAPTER 3 6
CHAPTER 3 7
CHAPTER 3 8
CHAPTER 3 9
CHAPTER 4 0
CHAPTER 4 1
CHAPTER 4 2
CHAPTER 4 3
CHAPTER 4 4
CHAPTER 4 5
CHAPTER 4 6
CHAPTER 4 7
CHAPTER 4 8
CHAPTER 4 9
CHAPTER 5 0
CHAPTER 5 1
CHAPTER 5 2
CHAPTER 5 3
CHAPTER 5 4
CHAPTER 5 5
CHAPTER 5 6
CHAPTER 5 7
CHAPTER 5 8
CHAPTER 5 9
CHAPTER 6 0
CHAPTER 6 1
CHAPTER 6 2
CHAPTER 6 3
CHAPTER 6 4
CHAPTER 6 5
CHAPTER 6 6
CHAPTER 6 7
CHAPTER 6 8
CHAPTER 6 9
CHAPTER 7 0
CHAPTER 7 1
CHAPTER 7 2
CHAPTER 7 3
CHAPTER 7 4
CHAPTER 7 5
CHAPTER 7 6
CHAPTER 7 7
CHAPTER 7 8
CHAPTER 7 9
CHAPTER 8 0
The First Victim Page 37
