Closer Than You Think

by Karen Rose

  ‘Mrs Lowell mails the checks herself, but I suppose anyone auditing the accounts would see them as well. And anyone they told, of course. Here is the list.’

  Faith’s heart sank. It was pages and pages long.

  ‘How many names are on it?’ Deacon asked grimly.

  She leafed through the pages, her heart sinking further. ‘Hundreds.’

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 11.45 A.M.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Mrs Winston.’ Scarlett led the woman who’d seen the Maguire and Sons mystery woman into an interview room where the CPD sketch artist waited. ‘This is Sergeant D’Amico. She’ll be working with you today.’

  D’Amico was a sweet-faced woman who didn’t look like she’d ever said a cross word. Based on the two years they’d spent on patrol together, Scarlett knew that to be untrue. Lana D’Amico was a damn fine cop and a brilliant sketch artist, and her sweet face put the witnesses at ease. Scarlett had been specifically thinking of Arianna when she’d requested D’Amico. But she was as tough as any other cop, and had a mouth on her to match it.

  ‘I’ll wait outside. Thank you again, Mrs Winston. You’re in good hands here.’

  Scarlett stepped into the hall just as her phone started to buzz in her pocket. For a moment she frowned at the caller ID. It was her own cell number. Her phone had been ‘spoofed’. Companies that would reroute a call and relabel its caller ID could be found in five seconds on the Internet. Careful here, Scar.

  ‘This is Detective Bishop,’ she answered. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m helping you.’

  Scarlett controlled what would have been a sharp intake of air. The man’s voice was deep and . . . like music. The saddest music she’d ever heard in her life. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I’m going to send a set of GPS coordinates to your phone. It’s a cabin in the Daniel Boone National Forest. Under the floor are four bodies. I believe three of them are yours.’

  Three bodies. Oh God. Not Corinne. Don’t let her be one of them. ‘How do you know they’re mine?’

  ‘One is wearing an Earl Power and Light uniform. I saw him on the news. There is also an old man and a woman.’

  Scarlett’s heart sank. ‘And the fourth body?’

  ‘He belongs to me. I have to go now.’

  The call disconnected and seconds later a text was delivered to her phone, also from her own cell phone. GPS coordinates, just like he’d said. Had she just spoken to the killer? She didn’t think so. If it had been the killer, he would have insisted Faith accompany her. No, this wasn’t the killer. But then who?

  Scarlett started for the elevator, dialing Novak’s number as she jogged, scowling when she got his voicemail. ‘It’s Bishop. Call me ASAP. I just got an interesting phone call.’

  Her next call was to Isenberg, and she quickly updated her boss. ‘Can you have someone escort Mrs Winston out and tell D’Amico to go to Arianna’s room by herself? I already cleared her with the uniform on guard duty outside Arianna’s room, and the kid shrink, Meredith Fallon, will be there while D’Amico sketches. The coordinates are about two hours from here, but I’ll shave some time off of that.’

  ‘I’ll get a trace placed on the call,’ Isenberg said.

  ‘You can try, but I wouldn’t bother. He used a spoofing service to make it look like he was calling from my number. Spoofed calls get wired through a dozen different servers before they hit the recipient’s phone. I’m going to ask Novak to contact the closest Fed office to the coordinates for backup before we alert the locals. I don’t want my crime scene demolished by a well-meaning deputy. Can you have Crandall find the owner of the cabin at the coordinates?’

  ‘Will do. Drive carefully, Scarlett. Keep me apprised.’

  Eastern Kentucky, Wednesday 5 November, 11.45 A.M.

  He was becoming very irritated by the Longstreet bitch, but at least she hadn’t known how to cover her tracks. Disgusted, he stood behind the cabin, staring at the trail that was so obvious that it was probably visible from space. She’d run into the woods. Not down the road as he’d thought. The footprints he’d been following were a decoy. A damn ruse.

  From the look of the trail, it appeared that Longstreet had dragged Roza kicking and screaming every step of the way. There might be some hope for the child yet. Which was good, because he had plans for her.

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 12.05 P.M.

  Sitting at Deacon’s desk, Faith looked up from the long list of Foundation recipients she’d been reviewing when Deacon returned from Isenberg’s office. He sat on the edge of his desk, his muscular legs stretched out, his arms crossed over his chest. His grim expression told Faith what she needed to know about the phone call he and Isenberg had just had with Bishop.

  ‘It’s Corinne, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘The dead woman?’

  ‘I would have to assume so,’ Deacon said quietly. ‘No one’s gotten to the cabin yet. I have to leave now and catch up to Bishop.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Faith whispered. ‘For the locksmith and the power company man. For Corinne and for Arianna too. She’ll be heartbroken.’

  He took her hand, squeezed it hard. ‘I know. There’s something else, though. The cabin belongs to a business registered to Della Yarborough.’

  ‘Jeremy’s ex-wife.’ Disappointment and fury mixed with her sorrow. ‘Dammit. I can’t believe it’s Jeremy. I just can’t accept it.’ She watched his jaw grow taut. ‘There’s more?’

  ‘Yeah. Jeremy and Stone are gone. As in “in the wind”, not dead.’

  ‘But . . . how can they be gone?’ she asked. ‘I thought they were being watched.’

  ‘I had three Feds watching – one each for Jeremy, Keith and Stone. One followed Stone to a bar last night, then followed him back shortly thereafter. When I told the agents to pick them all up, the house was empty. The agents found a dirt road in the trees well behind the mansion. It had recently been driven over by a large vehicle. Range Rover size.’

  ‘So they escaped. Which means they’re out there somewhere, maybe waiting for me.’

  ‘Most likely. I need you to stay safe. I can’t be worried about you and do my job too. Understand?’

  ‘Yes. Go now. I’ll be fine here, surrounded by cops.’

  Deacon nodded, then fixed his gaze on the far wall, lowering his voice to a murmur. ‘I’d kiss you goodbye, but there’s no privacy here.’

  ‘Later you can kiss me hello. Go. Bring Corinne home.’

  He left with a hard nod. ‘Stay here. Be safe.’

  Faith watched him go, his leather coat tails flapping behind him. Then she closed her eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Isenberg asked quietly from behind her.

  ‘No,’ Faith whispered without opening her eyes. ‘How will I tell Arianna that Corinne is dead? And that my uncle did it? How can I tell Arianna that my uncle was the monster who tortured her and would’ve killed her too?’

  ‘And that your uncle is also trying to kill you?’

  Faith nodded, tears burning her throat, stinging her eyes. ‘He’s killed all of these people, Lieutenant. There’s no way I can make amends.’ She angrily dashed away the tears that blurred her vision. ‘But at least I have this list. I can help identify the seven other women that were buried in that basement, whose names we don’t yet know.’

  Isenberg squeezed her shoulder, the gesture unexpected but welcome. ‘Good girl. How had you planned to do that?’

  ‘By going through each name.’ Faith thumbed at the edge of the stack, riffling the pages. ‘There are over eighteen hundred names on this list.’

  ‘Wow. Your family has been very generous.’

  ‘I know.’ One side of her mouth lifted. ‘So we’re not all bad. Tobias established the Foundation thirty-eight years ago, the year after Joy died. The same year he stole my grandmother’s land and sold it. I figure we don’t have to go back more than ten years. That’s how long Sergeant Tanaka thought the basement windows and doors had been b
oarded up. Going back only ten years cuts the number to just under five hundred names. The board had decided to give out fewer small grants and more large ones, so that works in our favor. If we could separate out the blonde females, we could further reduce the list, but these are just names. I’m sure Henson kept files on the recipients. I can ask for them.’

  ‘And I’ll send over uniforms to bring them here. I started a warrant for the list this morning, just in case he didn’t give it to you. I can amend that to the boxes of files.’ Isenberg made a face. ‘And then it’s just old-fashioned tedious examination of each name to see if they’re still alive. Or have been reported missing. I’ll get a team of clerks up here to do the analysis.’

  ‘I’d like to help,’ Faith said. ‘I need to help. I need to do something.’

  ‘And we want your help,’ Isenberg said. She motioned to Kimble, who was sitting at his desk. ‘Detective Kimble is going to take you to the house to look for souvenirs.’

  ‘But Deacon said he wanted to be there,’ Faith said.

  Isenberg shrugged. ‘That was before Bishop got the call about the cabin. Any of my clerks can crunch through the names on that list, but only you know about the house, and we do need those souvenirs, if they exist. We’ll clear the area of all non-essential CSU personnel and alert the uniforms on the scene to be alert for a sniper attack.’

  ‘You’re wearing Kevlar, aren’t you, Detective Kimble?’ Faith asked lightly.

  ‘Always,’ Kimble said. ‘And so will you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Eastern Kentucky, Wednesday 5 November, 1.05 P.M.

  ‘Just a little further, Roza,’ Corinne coaxed. ‘Please. Just a little bit further.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Tears streamed down the child’s face. ‘I can’t, ’Rin. My feet are bleeding.’

  ‘I know. So are mine. But we should get to the main road soon.’

  ‘You said that already. Lots of times.’

  ‘I know, but—’ Corinne cut herself off. ‘Wait. Did you hear that?’ After what seemed like an eternity in the woods, she’d heard a car. ‘Come on, Roza! Hurry!’

  She caught the girl’s hand, yanked her to her feet and dragged her toward the sound – then yelped when she slipped on the dew-covered grass and encountered only air. She was falling, rolling, sliding down a huge hill, hitting rocks and brush all the way down.

  When she finally came to a stop, she rolled to her back with a groan. She’d hurt before. She was in agony now. ‘Roza?’ she called, gritting her teeth.

  ‘Over here.’ Roza’s voice was thin. Weak. ‘I think . . . My head’s bleeding.’

  Corinne’s pounding heart skipped a beat. ‘No. I didn’t drag you all this way to lose you to a damn hill.’ She shoved herself to her hands and knees, lifting her head to squint around, looking for Roza’s dark head. She dragged herself to Roza’s side.

  The girl was bleeding profusely from a cut over her eye. ‘It’s not good, but it could be worse,’ Corinne said matter-of-factly. ‘Head wounds bleed like a bitch. Trouble is, every inch of me is filthy. I need to find something clean to put over your wound. Wait here.’

  ‘Okay,’ Roza said sleepily.

  ‘And don’t go to sleep,’ Corinne ordered. ‘You might have a concussion.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘It means don’t go to sleep.’ Corinne staggered to her feet and took a moment to let her dizziness fade. When it didn’t, she squinted and did a three-sixty, taking in the landscape.

  It really was a road. At the base of the hill was a small parking lot, big enough for four or five vehicles. Eventually someone would come by here, but how long would that take?

  He could still come. He could still find them. I should have killed him. I should have stabbed him in the back. Or hit him with the shovel again and again until he was dead.

  She’d allowed her fear to overwhelm her reason. She looked up the hill, half expecting him to be standing there, then heard the low rumble of another vehicle. Frantically she searched for cover, but there was none. The road ran through a vale, hills sloping up on both sides.

  Be friendly strangers, please. Drawing a breath, Corinne stood her ground and waited, prepared to throw herself into the road to stop them if need be.

  A Subaru came around the bend, looking like it had spent most of its time in the forest off-road. It slowed when it saw her. Slowed and pulled over. A man got out, walking toward her carefully, his face in the shadow of the far hill.

  ‘Are you all right, miss?’ he asked, his deep voice a smooth rumble over her ears.

  ‘No. I need help. My . . . my sister is hurt and needs medical attention.’

  He came a step closer, hands up, palms out. ‘I’ve got first-aid training. Maybe I can help.’

  Corinne took a step back. He wasn’t the man she’d stabbed. This one was just as tall, and was still a big guy, but not nearly as massive as the man who’d tried to grab her at the deer blind. He wore a weathered brown leather jacket where the other guy had worn a black windbreaker over a black hoodie. But their hair looked the same – same color, same style. Her heart began to pound in fear.

  He stepped into the light and her instincts screamed for her to run. His body wasn’t the same, but his face was. Run! Run! But Roza couldn’t run. I can’t carry her.

  She’d used one of the knives on the big guy and had lost the others when she fell. She slipped her hand in her pocket, felt the Swiss army knife she’d taken from the dead man in the van, but she knew she’d never be able to pry the blade out. Her fingers were too stiff and swollen. It was useless, except to maybe throw at him.

  She didn’t even have the shovel anymore. She’d dropped it long ago.

  She took another step back. ‘Maybe you could just call 911.’

  ‘Fine. I can do that. Just . . . relax.’

  Relax? I don’t think so. Fighting the hysteria she could feel rising, Corinne edged back toward Roza. His hand slid into his coat pocket and an instant later white-hot pain exploded in her thigh. She heard the gunshot as her knee buckled, taking her down.

  Face down in the dirt she screamed, the pain consuming. ‘You sonofabitch!’

  Roza. She pushed up on her elbows, tears streaming down her face. And then she couldn’t breathe, all the air shoved from her lungs when she was tackled from behind. She fought hard, thrashing, bucking, trying to throw him off.

  ‘Stay down!’ The man rolled sideways, barely giving her room to draw a breath.

  He had a gun, but he was aiming up the hill, not at her. He fired, the recoil jerking down his arm and into his body. No, not the recoil, she thought a split second later when he collapsed on top of her. He’d been shot.

  Shot protecting me. What the fuck? She lay there trembling. Everything was quiet. Then another shot cracked the air. The man’s body jerked again and she felt a burning in her side.

  Shot again. Both of us. The bullet had first hit the man who shielded her. Then me. She heard footsteps, then someone sliding down the hill. He’s coming. He’ll kill Roza.

  She looked to the side, saw the gun loosely clutched in her rescuer’s hand. She didn’t know who he was or why he’d shielded her, but she did know that if those footsteps got any closer, she and her mystery rescuer would both be dead.

  The bastard who’d shot them had a rifle. He’d been up on the hill when he fired the first shot. She had to move fast or he’d shoot her again.

  He’d shoot her again anyway.

  Sucking in a breath, she shoved at the man on top of her until she could roll out from beneath him. She grabbed his pistol and swung up her arms, aiming straight up. Fingers, work. Work, dammit. She curled one finger over the trigger and squeezed. All she saw was the look of surprise in eyes peeking out from a ski mask before she started firing.

  He was less than ten feet away, his rifle up against his shoulder, aimed straight at her. Corinne’s first shot hit him squarely in the chest and she felt sick as the recoil sent new pain up he
r arm. He staggered back but didn’t fall, so she shot him again.

  What. The. Fuck? He was wearing body armor.

  He lifted the rifle and she fired once more, hitting his arm this time. A wave of curses flowed out of him but he backed up to aim again.

  I’m dead. That’s it. And then an engine roared behind her. The Subaru rushed past her, going straight for the masked gunman. The gunman sprayed bullets into the windshield and the tires, then turned and ran. The Subaru did a crazy turn, coming to a stop in a spray of dirt and leaves about fifty feet away.

  Corinne stared at the vehicle, air sawing in and out of her lungs. Who was driving? She couldn’t see anyone in the front seat.

  And then she saw the gunman again. He was running away from her, around the bend and out of sight, something small and dark draped over his shoulder.

  ‘Roza! No!’ Corinne tried to stand, but her leg wouldn’t support her. She sank to the ground, her side burning like liquid fire, watching as the man climbed up the hill and disappeared. He has Roza. Utterly spent, she sat on the ground and sobbed. ‘He took her.’

  ‘Girl.’ The deep voice was gravelly. Broken. ‘You there.’

  Corinne looked at the man who’d taken a bullet for her. Two, actually. ‘What?’

  ‘My phone. In my pocket.’ His breathing was labored. ‘Call 911.’

  Still sobbing, she pulled his phone from his pocket just as the ground trembled. The Subaru’s driver’s door had opened and a man tumbled from its front seat. A huge man.

  Corinne gasped. It was the man she’d hit with the shovel near the deer blind. He’d been driving the Subaru, hunkered down. He’d scared the gunman away. Now he stretched out his arm. ‘Don’t hurt him,’ he begged. ‘Please. My brother was trying to help you.’

  ‘I won’t hurt him,’ she promised. Hands shaking, she dialed 911 and nearly cried when she heard the operator’s voice.

  ‘What is the nature of your emergency?’

  ‘Three of us, hurt. Two of us shot. One got stabbed, but that was an accident, I swear.’

  ‘Where are you?’