The Bodies Left Behind: A Novel

by Jeffery Deaver

  The girl blinked.

  “We’re going to take you for a ride to see some nice people.”

  “Where’s Mommy?”

  “These are some very nice people. You’ll like them.”

  “I don’t like Mommy’s friends.”

  “No, they’re not friends of hers.”

  “Where’s Chester?”

  “We’ll get Chester for you,” Brynn said. “That’s a promise.”

  The social worker put her arm around Amy and helped her to her feet, then wrapped the blanket tighter around the girl. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  The girl gazed absently at Michelle and nodded.

  The young woman watched her go with such a look of affection that one might have thought she was the girl’s mother.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I know all you’ve been through. But I have something else to ask.”

  Michelle glanced at her.

  “It’ll be a couple of hours before your brother gets here?”

  “I guess.”

  “I know this is hard. I know you don’t want to. But will you come back to my house for a little while? We’re not too far away. I can get you a change of clothes, something to eat and drink.”

  “Brynn,” Graham said. He was shaking his head. “No.”

  She glanced his way but continued speaking to the young woman. “I need you to tell me everything you can remember about Hart. Anything he mentioned or any mannerisms. Or anything Emma might’ve said about her case. While it’s fresh in your mind.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “She needs rest,” Graham said, nodding at Michelle.

  “She has to wait somewhere.”

  “No, it’s okay, really,” Michelle said to Graham. “I don’t want him to hurt anybody else. I’m not sure what I can do. But I’ll help.” Her voice was firm.

  The medical examiner’s van headed off, the two bodies in the back. Brynn noted that it was her husband who seemed the most upset of any of them as they watched the departure of the boxy vehicle, sickly yellow-green. The sky was now light, the color of diluted egg yolk, and the traffic was thicker, easing through the one open lane, gawkers taking in the overturned SUV, the dark puddles on the highway.

  Brynn explained to Tom Dahl about interviewing Michelle. “She can wait at my house until her brother arrives. Anna’ll look after her while I’m at the state lab.”

  The sheriff nodded. Then said, “And we’ll need to talk to you, Graham, about what happened with Eric. Can you come down to the station?”

  Graham looked at his watch. “I should get Joey to his English tutor.”

  Brynn said, “He can stay home today. We’ll both be too busy.”

  “I think he should go.”

  “Not today,” Brynn said.

  Graham shrugged then turned to the sheriff and said that he’d call the station and arrange a time.

  Dahl then extended his hand to her. She blinked at the solemn gesture. She took it awkwardly. “I owe you more than a half day, Brynn. A lot more.”

  “Sure.” She took Michelle’s arm and they followed Graham to his truck.

  “MOM. LIKE, WHERE

  were you? Shit. What happened to your face?” “Just an accident. Watch your language.”

  “My God!” Anna cried.

  “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right. It’s all black and blue. And yellow. And I can’t even see what’s under the bandage.”

  Brynn recalled that she’d have to make an appointment for a new molar. She touched the gap with her tongue. The pain had vanished. Her mouth just felt weird.

  “What happened, Mom?” Joey was wide-eyed.

  “I fell.” Brynn hugged her son. “Tripped. You know how clumsy I am.”

  Her mother eyed the bandage and said no more.

  Michelle walked into the living room. The tape on her ankle—and the painkillers—had done the trick. She was no longer limping.

  “Mom, this is Michelle,” Brynn said.

  “Hello, dear.”

  The young woman nodded politely.

  “Joey, you go upstairs. I’ll call your tutor. Graham and I’ll be busy today. You’re staying home.”

  Graham said, “Really. I can drop him off.”

  “Please, honey, it’ll be better.”

  “You two are a mess,” Anna announced. “What happened?”

  Brynn glanced at the TV, off at the moment. Her mother would find out soon enough but she was glad the local news wasn’t on. “I’ll tell you in a bit. Joey, you’ve had breakfast?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Upstairs. Work on your history project.”

  “All right.”

  The boy trooped off, with a glance back at Michelle. Graham went into the kitchen.

  In her deputy voice, her calm voice, Brynn said, “Mom, Michelle’s friends were killed. That was the case I was on tonight.”

  “Oh, no.” Shocked, Anna stepped close and took Michelle’s hand. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Her brother’s on his way. She’ll be here for a little while until he gets here.”

  “You come over here and sit down.” Anna indicated the green couch in the family room, where Graham and Brynn sat together in the evenings if TV was on the agenda. It was perpendicular to Anna’s rocker.

  Michelle said, “I’d really like to take a shower, if I could.”

  “Of course. There’s a bathroom down that hall. There.” Brynn pointed. “I’ll bring you some clothes. Unless you’d rather not.” Thinking of the woman’s earlier aversion to wearing Emma Feldman’s boots.

  Michelle was smiling. “I’d love some. Thanks. Anything you’ve got.”

  “I’ll hang them on the door,” Brynn said, thinking that at last she’d have a use for her skinny-girl jeans, which she hadn’t worn in two years but hadn’t quite been able to throw out.

  Anna said, “There’re bath towels in the closet. I’ve got coffee. Do you want tea? I’ll make you some food.”

  “Thanks. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Brynn noted that the woman’s last complaint about her blood sugar had been eons ago.

  Anna led her to the bathroom and returned.

  “I’ll give you the details later, Mom. They tried to kill her too. She found the bodies.”

  “No!” Anna’s hand went to her mouth. “No…What’s the poor thing going to do? Should I call Reverend Jack? He could be here in ten minutes.”

  “Let’s ask her. Might be a good idea. But I don’t know. She’s had so much coming at her. And one of our deputies was killed.”

  “No! Who?”

  “Eric.”

  “That cute boy? With the brunet wife?”

  Brynn sighed. She nodded.

  With the brunet wife and a young baby.

  “Did you get shot?” Anna asked abruptly.

  “Collateral injury. Like a ricochet.”

  “But you were shot?”

  She nodded.

  “What on earth happened?”

  Brynn’s calm broke, like pond ice cracking. “Some really bad things, Mom.”

  Anna hugged her, and Brynn felt her frail body shaking, as was her own. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry. But everything’s going to be fine now.” Her mother stepped away, turning quickly, wiping her eyes. “I’ll get breakfast going. For you too. You need something.”

  A smile. “Thanks, Mom.” Brynn watched her go and then called into the kitchen, “Where’s Graham?”

  “Was here. I don’t know. Out back, I guess.”

  Water began to flow in the front bathroom. The pipes squealed.

  Brynn went upstairs to get some clothes for Michelle. In the bedroom she looked at her matted hair, the cuts and bruises, the white bandage with its aureole of yellow and purple.

  She replayed Comp’s horrific death: the look on his face as he gazed at Hart, revealing pure betrayal.

  Then the image of Hart�
�s face looking back at her as he sped away in the stolen sedan, the image frozen over the bead sight of the pistol she held firmly.

  You should’ve killed me….

  She wanted a shower badly but she’d get clothes for Michelle first. She’d interview the young woman, then call Tom Dahl and the State Police and FBI with any new information about Emma Feldman or Hart or his partner that Michelle could recall—something that might lead to Mankewitz. Then she’d speed up to Gardener and bully the evidence through the crime lab.

  Brynn found a T-shirt, sweats, the jeans, socks and a pair of running shoes. She’d get a garbage bag for Michelle to put her dirty clothes in. She supposed the designer items would have to be dry cleaned. She whiffed, smelled her own sweat, powerful. Smelled rusty blood too, mixed with the perfume of antiseptic.

  In the kitchen the tea kettle started whistling, then stopped.

  Listening to the whining pipes in the first-floor bathroom, Brynn rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window, looking out at Graham’s truck. She was thinking of the evidence in the glove compartment, wondering how long it would take to get answers from the State Police lab in Gardener. Fingerprints could be done quickly now, thanks to the FBI’s integrated identification system. Ballistics would take longer but Wisconsin had a good database that might be able to trace one of the slugs in Hart’s or Comp’s pistols to prior crimes. Which might in turn lead to a full identification…or at least to somebody who could be pressured to dime Hart out.

  Not a single print on the brass…She sighed, shaking her head.

  A thought occurred to her. Brynn sat down on the edge of the bed, absently poked her tummy, as she often did, and called Tom Dahl.

  “How you doing?” he asked. “Exhausted, betcha.”

  “Not yet. Waiting for it to hit. Got a question.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “About the scene at Lake Mondac.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You said Arlen’s Crime Scene folks searched the house with a metal detector and all they recovered was brass, right?”

  “Yep. Fancy thing. Not like what the tourists use looking for arrowheads.”

  “And no firearms?”

  “Just brass and spent shells.”

  “You said they searched the streams?”

  “Yep. Found some brass there too. It was everywhere. Place was a turkey shoot.”

  As I well know. “Now, Michelle said she picked up one of their guns. She shot Hart with it. And then the tires. She used up all the ammo and threw it in the stream.”

  “Wonder why nobody found it. Maybe it was one of those other creeks.”

  “I’d love to get my hands on it…. And I don’t like the idea of unaccounted-for firearms. Anybody over at the house still?”

  “Pete Gibbs’s there. And Arlen has a couple of his boys. Might be somebody from Crime Scene too.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  “Wish you’d get some rest.”

  “All in good time.”

  She hung up and pulled on sweats, then called Gibbs at the Feldman house.

  “Pete. It’s me.”

  “Oh, hey, Brynn. How you doing?”

  “Ugh.”

  “I hear that.”

  She asked if any Crime Scene people were still there.

  “Yep. A couple of ’em.”

  “Do me a favor. See if anybody’s recovered any pistols.”

  “Sure, hold on.”

  After a moment he came back on the line and reported that all they’d found were a few more shell casings that’d been missed last night. No weapons.

  She sighed again. “Thanks. How you doing?” He sounded shaken. She assumed it was Munce’s death, but there was another source.

  “Kind of an unpleasant thing happened,” he said ruefully. “I had to break the news to one of the Feldmans’ friends. She hadn’t heard. Man, I hate doing that. She broke down. Went totally bonkers.”

  “A friend?”

  “Yeah. Took her nearly a hour to calm down. Though she was one lucky lady, I’ll tell you. She was supposed to come up last night but something happened at work. She couldn’t get on the road till this morning. Imagine if that hadn’t happened.”

  “Where’d she drive up from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “You get her number?”

  “No. Didn’t think to. Should I have?”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  Brynn sat back on the bed, considering this.

  A second houseguest was coming to visit last night? Another woman, and also from Chicago?

  Wasn’t impossible. But wouldn’t Michelle have mentioned her? And why wouldn’t the two women drive up here together?

  An absurd thought began unraveling…

  Embarrassingly absurd.

  Yet Brynn couldn’t quite dismiss it. All right, she’d been assuming all night that Michelle was the Feldmans’ houseguest. But when she considered the question now, she realized that she had no evidence that she actually was.

  In fact, Brynn thought, what if she was a stranger who wanted to pretend she knew them? I gave her all the information she’d need to play the role. “Are you their friend from Chicago?” I asked her. “What’s your name?” Which told her I didn’t know anything about her. “Did you practice law with Emma?”

  I’m an actress….

  But, no, this was crazy. What would her motive be for lying?

  Brynn gasped as another thought occurred to her, answering that question with horrifying clarity. On the interstate—at the Snake River Bridge—she’d recovered handguns from the men: Hart’s Glock and Comp’s SIG-Sauer. With the weapon that Michelle claimed to have found that meant the two men had brought three semiauto pistols and a shotgun.

  Even for professional hit men that seemed excessive.

  And why had Crime Scene found all that brass with the metal detector but not the missing pistol?

  My Lord, what if the gun wasn’t Hart’s or Comp’s, but Michelle’s?

  But why would she bring a gun with her?

  One answer: because she’d been hired by Stanley Mankewitz to kill Emma Feldman and had brought along Hart and Comp, intending to kill them at the scene.

  And leave their bodies behind, the fall guys.

  Then Brynn recalled Michelle reaching into her jacket at the interstate. She wasn’t reaching for the knife; she was going for the gun she’d been carrying with her all night.

  Which meant she still had it.

  On the first floor the pipes stopped squealing as Michelle shut off the water.

  WITH A GRIMACE

  toward the empty gun lockbox, Brynn ran into the hallway and stepped into Joey’s room and took him by the shoulders. “Mom, what’s wrong?” His eyes were wide.

  “Listen to me, honey. We have a problem. You know how I tell you never to lock your door?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, today’s different. I want you to lock your door and not open it for any reason. Unless it’s me or your stepdad or Grams.”

  “Mom, you look funny. I’m scared.”

  “It’ll be okay. Just do what I tell you.”

  “Sure. What—”

  “Just do it.”

  Brynn closed the door. She ran down the stairs as quietly as she could, intending to get to the only guns nearby: the ones in Graham’s truck, sealed in evidence bags.

  On the second-to-the-bottom step Brynn stopped. The bathroom door was open. No sign of Michelle.

  Go for the truck or not?

  “Tea’ll be ready in just a moment,” Anna called.

  Brynn stepped into the ground-floor hall.

  Just as Michelle walked through an archway four feet away. In her hand was a small black automatic pistol. It was known as a baby Glock.

  Their eyes met.

  As the killer spun toward her, Brynn snagged a picture off the wall, a large family photo, and flung it at her. It missed but as she dodged, Brynn launched herself forward. The women
collided hard, both grunting. Brynn fiercely gripped Michelle’s right wrist, digging her short nails into the woman’s skin as hard as she could.

  Michelle cried out, striking Brynn’s head with her free hand.

  The gun discharged once, then, as Michelle lowered it toward the deputy’s body, it fired three times more. All the slugs missed.

  Anna screamed and called for Graham.

  Brynn slammed a fist into Michelle’s face. She blinked in pain and spit flew. Eyebrows narrowed, her mouth a taut grimace, Michelle kicked Brynn’s groin and elbowed her in the belly. But Brynn wasn’t letting go of the gun, nothing could make her do that. The anger of the terrible evening, fueled by this betrayal—and her own gullibility—burned within her. She flailed and kicked and growled the way she had when the wolf approached them in the woods.

  The women grappled, knocking over furniture. Michelle fought furiously—no longer the helpless dilettante in the thousand-dollar boots. She was crazed, fighting for survival.

  The gun fired again. Then several times more. Brynn was counting the rounds. Baby Glocks held ten bullets.

  Another sharp crack—and the weapon was empty, the slide locking back automatically, awaiting a fresh clip of ammunition. The women went down on the floor, Brynn pounding the woman’s head, aiming for her throat. Michelle fought back just as fiercely, though—muscles toned at a health club, if that story was true, and backed by pure desperation.

  Still, there was no doubt in Brynn’s mind that she was going to stop this woman, kill her if she had to, no doubt whatsoever. Using hands and teeth and feete… she was pure rage, pure animal.

  You should’ve killed me….

  Well, this time I won’t make the same mistake.

  Her fingers found Michelle’s throat.

  “Jesus, Brynn—” A man ran through the door and for a tiny portion of a second Brynn thought it was Hart. But by the time she realized it was her husband the distraction had had its effect. Michelle broke free and slammed the gun into Brynn’s wounded cheek. The pain was so intense her vision clouded and she retched.

  Michelle hit the lock on the gun and the receiver snapped shut. Though the gun was empty it appeared loaded and ready to fire. She aimed at Graham. “Keys. To your truck.”

  “What are you—? What?”