In the garage, Shannon pulled on plastic gloves. He threw open the door to the car, kneeling down to check under the driver’s seat. After a few tries, he pulled out a folder, looking hopeful for the first time. He opened it, and we both gasped.
Not one or two photos, but several dozen fell out. I squatted down next to Shannon, staring at the smiling pictures on the cement floor. All of them were pre-pubescent girls, ten or maybe twelve years old. Each photograph had neatly written details involving the girls’ schedules on the back.
“There’s not one of Alice,” I said. “I mean this picture looks like her, but it’s not her.” I pointed and Shannon turned the picture over.
“This address is across town. Maybe he removed Alice’s picture.”
“Or maybe she wasn’t planned. He’d thought she was a miracle.”
Shannon stared at me. “You didn’t say that before.”
I swallowed. Great, now I was a suspect again. “Imprints are often feelings . . . it’s hard to know what part to explain. I . . . these are the hardest imprints I’ve ever had to read.” Stupid tears clouded my eyes, and I wanted to look away to hide the emotion I knew was in them, but Shannon trapped me with his stare.
He reached out and set a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Heat spread through me from his hand, though I hadn’t realized until that moment that I was cold. Strange how my heart was breaking for the girls and still somehow had the energy to register a reaction to his touch.
“He’s going after her, isn’t he?” I said. “But when?”
Shannon’s fingers ran down the list of details on the little blond girl’s photograph. “Says she starts walking to school with a brother, but they separate a block before the school.” Shannon held the picture closer to his face. “It also says the school doesn’t call if kids don’t come. They just assume the child is sick and send an email the next day. It’s up to parents to excuse absences.”
“So he’d have all day to get away.”
“Not if I get to him first. But my guess is he’ll act today. Before we have a chance to sift through the evidence. It would sure help if we knew what he was driving.”
“Maybe we can.” I stood quickly. “But I’m going to have to touch everything here.”
Shannon didn’t hesitate. “Do it.”
It took thirty minutes, but I finally discovered an imprint Truman Grendel had left on the garage opener near the door. He’d been angry but contained as he’d slapped the opener as he was about to leave.
“Got it,” I said, “We’re looking for a black van.”
Chapter 7
Shannon stood inside the open garage of a house whose owner had let us inside, keeping out of sight, but in position near the wall where he couldn’t be seen. Shannon’s partner, Detective Roscoe, and two other policemen were likewise hidden along the street in cars that belonged to residents, or in bushes—whatever they could find. The address on the photograph of the girl with the blond hair was next door to where we were now, and our theory was that address marked where the children separated.
I was seated inside a car in the garage, my head resting against the door where no one could see me from outside. But I could see the children as they walked down this hilly street in the direction of the school. We’d been nearly two hours, talking occasionally through the open car window. I wasn’t sure if I was here because Shannon worried they wouldn’t find Trina with Grendel, or because he wanted to make sure I didn’t tip Grendel off. I’d given up caring about anything but trying to help the girl who’d left the button imprint. To save her as we hadn’t been able to save Alice Craigwell.
More detectives and officers were targeting other addresses and pictures in Grendel’s folder, and part of me hoped he wouldn’t show up here, but the other part of me felt it was inevitable. I believe he’d taken Alice when presented with the opportunity because she looked like this girl. Having failed, it was in his organized nature to proceed with his original plan.
Shannon’s radio let off a tiny bit of static. “We have eyes on a girl matching the description,” said an officer, giving the location.
Seconds later another officer radioed in. “I see her now too. She’s with a boy. Should be coming onto the address.”
“Any sign of a black van?” Shannon asked.
“Not yet. The children are separating, though.”
“I see her,” Shannon said.
My heartbeat thundered in my chest. I hadn’t slept, but I wasn’t tired, fueled by adrenaline and a bagel someone had offered me at some point in the morning.
I couldn’t see the girl yet from my vantage point inside the car, but I did see the black van drive by.
The van stopped. A man climbed out and walked around to the rear of the vehicle. He opened one of the two back doors.
Now I could see the girl walking in his direction. A group of kids passed him. Even if she screamed, by the time they looked around, she’d be inside the van. So many people driving by, but all of them in a hurry. If we hadn’t been here, would anyone have witnessed her abduction?
“Go, go, go!” Shannon shouted. He bolted from the garage.
I jumped from the car to see him running across the driveway and flying into Truman Grendel. Grendel staggered back and then lashed out at Shannon, connecting with his jaw before trying to run. Shannon grabbed him and threw him against the side of the van, punching him hard. The man collapsed to the sidewalk. Roughly, Shannon rolled him over, pushing down on his back with one knee. Shannon was cuffing Grendel by the time the three other officers hurried onto the scene.
I craned my neck to peer inside the open back door of the van. Nothing. Detective Roscoe climbed inside and emerged seconds later, shaking his head.
“Where is Trina Ball?” shouted Shannon, still on top of Grendel.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer.” Even with his face smashed into the sidewalk, Grendel managed to sound mocking.
A crowd was growing, both of school children and neighbors, and even passing cars were slowing down or stopping. Standing in the crowd was the blond girl who did look a lot like Alice. I wondered if the police would ever tell her parents the danger she’d so narrowly escaped.
Shannon rolled Grendel over. “So help me, after what you did to that little girl, I’m going to get it out of you one way or the other.”
“Threatening me, officer?” Grendel said. “In front of all these innocent children?”
“We’ll have to take him in,” Roscoe said, a restraining hand on Shannon’s shoulder.
Shannon’s nostrils flared. “He’s not going anywhere until he gives us something.”
Leaving them to hash out the matter, I slipped around to the driver’s side of the van. The front door was open, and I ran my hands over the seat, the steering wheel, and the dash. Nothing but annoyance. Until I touched the keys.
Probably the right mix now. I stared at the inert form of the girl, smiling. She was still breathing but definitely out. So maybe less of the mixture for the younger girl.
Or was she breathing? I couldn’t really be sure. But it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t need her after today. It was time to move on.
I left the cabin, whistling and jiggling the keys in my hand. Keeping a copy of these after redoing the cabin had been a stroke of pure genius on my part. It was one of my best remodels, and with the owner’s primary residence in Europe and their proclivity to use the cabin only during the ski season, it made the perfect place to hide until I put the next phase of my plan into action.
Better hurry. The food I paid cash for would arrive later this morning. Should be enough to see us clear through summer if needed.
I started the van’s engine and drove away.
He drove away, but not before I glimpse the number on the house: 418. Somewhere out there was a cabin with those numbers. And Truman Grendel had been there just over an hour ago.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I jerked around to find Shan
non standing there, his bottom lip bleeding where Grendel had hit him. I expected him to lecture me on contaminating evidence, but he just said, “Find anything?”
“It’s Trina Ball. We have to hurry.” I told him what I’d seen, hoping he’d be able to use his contacts to put the rest of the address together.
“Just a minute.” He pushed past me and leaned inside the van while I bit back my impatience.
After what seem like forever, he emerged and slammed the door. “Okay, let’s go.”
We turned from the van, only to run into Shannon’s partner.
“Uh, what’s going on here?” Roscoe said.
“Got a partial address of where he might have the girl,” Shannon told him.
Roscoe’s eyebrows arched so high, they were in danger of flying off his face. “Oh, yeah? Let me see.”
“It’s nothing you can see,” I said.
He smirked. “Look, I know you’ve got my partner on board with this psychic stuff, but all this”—he waved his hands at the van—“is because that boy Caleb and the neighbor identified the suspect and his car in the neighborhood.”
“From a drawing Ms. Rain created,” Shannon reminded him.
“Fine. Play it your way, you go ahead and do whatever you feel you have to. I’ll get this creep booked and interrogated. We got enough to hold him. Forensics might be able to tell us where the van’s been.”
Shannon didn’t point out that the forensics teams were still busy at the house, but I could see it in his eyes. Then again, I didn’t know him that well, so maybe I was putting my own feelings into it. I didn’t much like his partner, but he seemed like a good cop.
“I’ll let you know what we find,” Shannon said.
“I won’t hold my breath.” Roscoe stalked away.
Shannon and I began the walk to the next block where we’d left his car. “So,” I said, “how are we going to find the rest of the address?”
“There can’t be too many cabins with that address in an hour radius. I’ll have them run it for us at the station.”
“You have a little blood . . . uh, here.” I pointed to my own lip to show him where.
He wiped it away with a finger. “A scratch. The creep hits like a girl.”
“Not like me. I took taekwondo lessons as a kid.”
He laughed. “If you’re going to keep reading imprints, you might want to take that up again.”
“I have forgotten a lot,” I admitted.
There was an easiness that hadn’t been between us at any point in our relationship so far, but I knew that didn’t mean he trusted me or liked what I did. He wanted to solve cases. Period.
He looked over at that moment, phone to his ear. Our eyes caught and held. Then someone answered on the other end of the line, and he started talking.
In the end, there was only one address that matched what I’d seen, and that was in an unincorporated area of Clackamas County near a place called Rhododendron. Shannon put on his siren and we cruised along the highway so fast that I was worried about getting there in one piece. Once we turned off in Rhododendron, he barely slowed.
We came on the cabin suddenly after rounding a bend, its upscale features notable behind the thin layer of trees. “That’s it.” I confirmed. “But how are we going to get in?”
Shannon pulled out a set of keys. “I might have taken these from our perp’s van. By the time they look for them, we’ll have them back.”
The cabin had an unremarkable entryway that was partially blocked by several large boxes. A laptop sat on a coffee table in the vaulted living room. Shannon started toward that, but I headed down the hallway, retracing Grendel’s steps from the imprint. I steeled myself against the harsh reality that we might be too late, as we had been for little Alice.
There she was, a thin, frail figure on the huge king-sized bed, her dark hair spread out over the blue quilt under her. She was nowhere near the “big oaf” she’d been portrayed by Grendel’s mind, though the points of her tiny breasts under the shirt showed the beginnings of maturation. She lay with one arm secured to the bedpost by black straps I’d forgotten seeing in the imprint, but remembered now. She didn’t look as if she’d moved since Grendel had left her here.
I rushed to her side, but somehow Shannon was there in front of me. His eyelashes momentarily left shadows on his face as he checked her pulse.
“She’s alive,” he said grimly. “Heartbeat’s faint, though. I don’t think we have much time.”
“Call an ambulance. You have service?”
“They’ll take too long. We’ll meet them.” Removing a knife from his pocket, he cut off the straps, while I tucked the quilt around her.
In the car, I sat in the back, cradling Trina’s head and upper body. “Keep checking to see if she’s breathing,” Shannon told me. “We may have to resuscitate her.”
I nodded. Trina appeared to be in a coma. Had she inhaled Grendel’s chloroform mixture or had he made her drink it? I rubbed her cheek. “Trina, we found you. You’re okay. Hold on, honey. That man will never hurt you again. Please, hold on.” I kept up the dialogue, patting her cheek, rubbing her hand. Anything to let her know she wasn’t alone, that she was safe.
Shannon drove like a maniac, phone jammed to his ear as he explained the emergency to hospital staff and yelled at them to hurry. Finally, he pocketed the phone.
“They’re on their way. Watch for an ambulance with lights.”
I didn’t reply. But after ten minutes, I said, “Shannon, I think her breathing—”
“What!” he barked, twisting his neck to glance into the back seat.
“It seems better. Maybe.”
In the next moment, Trina opened her eyes. They were brown, a light brown that reminded me of fall. She sucked in a breath. “It’s not a dream?”
I shook my head. “No, we’re taking you home.”
She sighed and shut her eyes again. For a moment, I thought it was over, but she was still breathing, and her hand clutched mine.
Forever seemed to pass until we saw the ambulance racing toward us on the freeway. We swerved to the side of the road and jumped out of the car as they did a U-turn and pulled up behind us. Then it was over all too fast, with them whisking her away to Portland.
Shannon and I stood near his car, staring at the empty highway. The weak May sun shone down on us like a promise. With my bare feet planted in the dirt by the side of the road, I felt a connection with the earth. A peace.
“She’s going to be okay,” he said. “We did good.”
I nodded. “I hope so. Just give me a moment before we go back.”
He leaned against the side of the Mustang and folded his arms. “Take all the time you need.”
Chapter 8
Three days passed. Tawnia had spent the last two nights at my place after I confessed I was having trouble sleeping, even with the help of my parents’ book of poetry and Winter’s picture of Summer.
“How can I come to terms with not saving Alice?” I asked Tawnia Friday morning.
“If you hadn’t found her, you wouldn’t have saved the other girl,” Tawnia reminded me. “You should go to the funeral. Isn’t it today? I think you need closure.”
I was pretty sure going to the funeral of someone I didn’t know meant I needed my head examined.
Yet hours later, I was at the mortuary. I’d gone out for a drive and an early lunch and ended up here instead. Jake would have come with me, or Tawnia, but there hadn’t been time to tell them. I slipped quietly into a seat near the back of the mortuary chapel, tucking my bare feet under my dress and hoping no one recognized me.
Instinctively, my fingers went to the bump of the tiger’s eye button in the pocket of my skirt. I’d been carrying it around since Tuesday, unsure what I was going to do with it. I wouldn’t touch the button with my bare hand because of the imprint, but I couldn’t bring myself to give it to the police or throw it away. It had represented hope to a little girl who had desperately needed something to
help her hold on.
“Uh, excuse me,” a woman behind me leaned forward to say. “They’re trying to get your attention.”
I looked to the front of the chapel in time to see Mr. Craigwell separate himself from his family and move in my direction. With effort, I gave myself a mental push and came to my feet, stumbling into the aisle.
Just give him your condolences, I thought.
I opened my mouth, but before anything came out, Mr. Craigwell said, “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to thank you.”
“Thank me?” I hoped I didn’t look as stunned as I felt.
“Without you . . .” The big man’s voice wavered, but he plunged on. “Without you, we might never have learned the truth. We may never have found her. Or it may have been years.”
I should have something comforting to say to him, but I didn’t. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Every day I wish it had ended differently,” he continued. “God knows that I do. I’ve cursed God and myself and everything that went wrong that day. I’ve sworn to kill that sick creep.” He took a deep breath. “But I also talked to the other girl’s parents, and they told me a little of what their daughter suffered. I’m glad . . . I’m glad my baby didn’t have to endure that. At least we have that much. We know she’s at rest.” He was crying now, and so was I.
I started to hug him, and he enveloped me completely with his big arms.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Sorry that I hadn’t made it in time. Sorry that nothing anyone could have done would have changed his daughter’s fate.
“I know.” He stepped back bringing both hands up to wipe his cheeks. “Look, you ever need anything, you come to me.” With a watery smile, he released me and strode back toward his family.
I stared after him until I felt someone touching my arm. I turned to see Detective Shannon Martin standing next to me. His eyes were as beautiful as I remembered, and the rest of him also looked good in the black suit. Only the scruff on his face, which had grown past the point of ruggedness, looked rather disheveled. He was still hot, though, if anyone cared to notice.
First Touch Page 6
