Piece of My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  Peace? Why did she deserve peace? Roseanne at least had a reason for taking his daughter away from him. His brain made him do things that scared her. But what Michelle had done was unforgiveable. His only crime was infidelity. He didn’t deserve to lose the right to know his son—to even know about his son—as punishment. “I need to see you in person,” he had pleaded. “To hear about his birth. You at least owe me that.”

  Oh, in the end, she had found her peace all right. Thanks to the sedative he had slipped into her cranberry juice and club soda, she was sloppy and slurring as she rambled on about the nice Irish priest who found the perfect couple to steal his son. And then she flew high as a kite after he placed that needle in her arm. It hadn’t taken him long to make a mess out of her apartment. He knew from his brother that the cops would put two and two together: A former junkie, dead of an overdose. Case closed.

  He hadn’t pumped the fatal dose of heroin into her vein until he had the information he needed. Even after he pulled out his gun and threatened to shoot her in the head, Michelle refused to tell him where the baby was. Instead, she had begged him to leave the child—his child—alone. “I swear to you, I would not have given him up unless I knew he was going to a good home. He’s a happy little boy. I see pictures on the mom’s Facebook page. He has two adorable little sisters—twins. His father’s a successful lawyer—his uncle just got named a federal judge. He’ll have every opportunity. Please, just let him have his life without the two of us to mess it up.”

  She died trying to protect her son, but ended up giving Daniel what he knew would be enough information to identify the family. How many new federal judges could there be?

  Now he patted Danny Junior on the top of his head. “Good job on the puzzle, buddy. Do you know what this place right here is?” He pointed to the District of Columbia.

  “That’s Washington, D.C.,” Danny said.

  “Is that where you live?”

  He searched his son’s eyes as he mulled over the right answer.

  “No, Daddy. That’s where that other family lives. I live here with you. Are we in New York?”

  Daniel’s heart soared with happiness. This was his second chance at fatherhood, and it was working. That’s why those hallucinations of Roseanne and Bella had stopped after he killed Michelle, or at least, he had thought so until today.

  “No, Danny. Our house is right here,” he said, dropping a finger a couple inches to the right. “In a state called Delaware.”

  His mind raced with a blend of triumph and hope. He had finally won his boy over.

  He was also proud. His plan had required a level of patience and planning that he had wondered if he still possessed. He waited a full five months after Michelle’s death, wanting to be certain that no one connected the boy’s eventual disappearance with his biological mother’s tragic demise. Then, a month ago, he tucked a miniature GPS tracker beneath the bumper of the Buckley family’s minivan after following Danny’s fake mother to a Costco parking lot. He watched the car’s movements for patterns, hoping to find the perfect opportunity to bring Danny back home where he belonged. In the end, he hadn’t needed the tracker at all. He made his move after seeing the woman’s Facebook post about going to the Hamptons for a family vacation, assuming an abduction outside the D.C. area would deflect any possible suspicion from him.

  An alert sounded from his cell phone. It was the latest update from the GPS tracker. He had decided to leave the tracker in place rather than risk being seen retrieving it. According to the spy gadget’s manufacturer, the device was untraceable, but out of caution, Daniel had routed the alerts through three different layers of forwarded, anonymous accounts.

  Daniel began to blink rapidly as he felt a vein pulse against his right temple. According to the tracker, the minivan was moving south on Coastal Highway, only eleven miles from his house.

  He placed his fingertips against the side of his head, trying to stop the throbbing. “Go to your room, Danny. Daddy needs to think.”

  Chapter 60

  Marcy flinched at the sound of her cell phone. According to the screen, it was Andrew. “Hey, are you close?” she asked.

  “Still forty minutes out. Any word from Laurie and Leo?”

  “No. And not from the FBI or Detective Langland yet, either. I’m jumping out of my skin, knowing that Johnny might be a few miles from here.”

  “Did you find a good meet-up place?”

  “Remember that outlet mall on Highway 1 as you’re coming into town?” It had been a couple of years since they had visited Rehoboth Beach, but Andrew had a good memory.

  “Right side of the street?”

  “Exactly. It’s a crowded lot, and I’m parked at the back. Seemed like a safe enough place to wait for now.”

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you there. Make sure you’re sharing your location with me, so I can find you in the actual parking lot once I arrive.”

  “Good idea.” A beep sounded in her ear as another call came into her phone. The screen said it was a blocked caller. “There’s another call. I better get it in case it’s the FBI.”

  “Okay, hang in there, babe. This is going to be over soon. I can feel it. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” She hit a button on her phone to accept the new call. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Buckley?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Eddie Miller calling from Long Island about your son, Johnny. My colleague Detective Langland wanted me to check in since she’s got her hands full right now with Johnny’s case.”

  “Did she get hold of the FBI yet in Delaware? I’m at the edge of town now. Are they coming?”

  “Yes, they have a couple of agents on-site now, in fact.”

  “Already? I got the impression she was wading through a maze of red tape.”

  “She was, but once she got the right person on the phone, the pieces fell into place quickly.”

  “So they’re at Turner’s house? Now?”

  “No, no. Not yet. They’re nearby, though, making plans for your son’s extraction. Where exactly are you? They want to make sure you’re there when it goes down. It’ll be a comfort for little Johnny to see his mother immediately.”

  Her eyes watered at the thought of holding her son again. “I’m at the outlet mall on Highway 1.”

  “Okay, if I give you an address, can you find it?”

  “Yes, as long as my phone GPS can pull it up.” She foraged in her purse for a piece of scrap paper and jotted down the address.

  “You’ll actually need to go north away from Rehoboth Beach. The town name is Lewes: L-E-W-E-S.”

  “That’s where Daniel Turner lives. What if he sees them coming?”

  “We had the same operational concerns here, but the FBI assured us they know what they’re doing. The lots out there are several acres, and they say the area is wooded, near the state park. I’m told the address you’re looking for is an adjacent property, marked by a mailbox out front, then you turn left down a long dirt road. But hurry, Mrs. Buckley. They’re getting everything in place to move in. If everything goes smoothly, you’re going to have your son back real soon.”

  Chapter 61

  After hanging up the phone, Daniel Turner unlocked the wall safe that was hidden behind a painting of the Jefferson Memorial. He pulled out all of the bills inside—close to a quarter million dollars, his emergency cash in addition to the four million dollars he had from his lawsuit settlement, stocked away in an offshore account. Once the cash was loaded, he placed his handgun on top, zipped the duffel bag, and made his way downstairs.

  He found Danny perched on the edge of his bed, pretending to be at ease, but Daniel could see the boy was nervous.

  Why wouldn’t he be? He had finally gotten adjusted to his new home—with his real father—when Daniel had to ask the boy for his fake mother’s telephone number. “I just want to tell her that you’re safe and happy here, Danny, so she won’t be worried about you anymore. You want her to
be able to sleep at night, don’t you?”

  The boy had nodded and recited Marcy Buckley’s cell phone number from memory.

  Daniel knew the name of the lead detective from the news reports covering Danny’s disappearance, so had claimed to be Detective Langland’s colleague. From there, Marcy had confirmed his worst fears. They knew he had the boy. Even worse, the police in New York were bringing in the FBI, which meant his brother, Charlie, couldn’t be the one to save him from jail like he did after that unfortunate incident with Roseanne.

  “Did you call… Marcy?” Danny asked.

  “I did. She was relieved to know you’re here and doing well. She has her two other children—her actual daughters—so I wouldn’t worry anymore about the Buckleys. They’ll be fine.”

  Danny’s face scrunched up as he began to sniffle, and Daniel wondered if perhaps he had gone too far.

  “Hey, remember how I told you that the more I trusted you, the more privileges you’d earn?”

  Danny nodded, his eyes laced with a mix of hope and wariness.

  “How do you feel about going for a car ride? The beaches here are beautiful.”

  “Really?” His eyes widened, and Daniel’s heart swelled. It was the first time the child had seemed genuinely happy in his presence.

  He still couldn’t figure out how the police had narrowed in on him. When he drove to New York, he had swapped his license plates for a set he stole off a car in D.C. And Michelle had been adamant that she never told anyone the identity of Danny’s real father.

  He shook off his lingering curiosity. What mattered now was that they were looking for him, and he had no desire to be found.

  Maybe he would even let Danny hug Marcy one final time to say good-bye. When the FBI arrived, they would find her body on the empty lot that Daniel owned behind this one. The discovery of a homicide would trigger a wide-scale police response that would include local and state police in addition to the FBI agents who were already on their way. The ensuing chaos would give him extra time to get out of the area. And he and his son would find another place to live under new names, never to be seen again. Roseanne had disappeared with Bella. There was no reason he and his son, Danny, couldn’t do the same.

  Chapter 62

  As Marcy Buckley took the right turn off Route 9, her GPS system advised that she was only three minutes from her destination.

  Based on the map, she was fairly certain that the address she’d received from Detective Miller was about a quarter mile from the entrance to Daniel Turner’s property, which was located around the next turn, and before the state park. The FBI had been correct that the area felt more like the woods than the outskirts of a crowded beach vacation community.

  She had just gotten off the phone with Andrew, who was still half an hour away. She pulled up Laurie’s number on her phone and hit the call button. As she listened to the unanswered rings, she passed a woman around her age working on a fence at the side of the road. Behind her, two miniature goats frolicked in the open field. Her heart hurt, imagining Johnny crying out from the passenger seat: “Mama, look at the baby goats. Can we stop and say hello? Please, please?”

  Laurie’s outgoing message pulled her back to reality.

  “Hey, Laurie. I’ve called a few times, and it kept going straight to voicemail. It’s ringing now, at least. Hopefully that means your plane has landed. A Detective Eddie Miller called me from East Hampton. He works with Detective Langland and told me where to meet the FBI. I assume you and Leo have the same info. I don’t want to jinx it, but it feels like this is actually going to work. Say a little prayer, okay?”

  Marcy pulled her car to a stop at the sight of a rickety green mailbox with peeling paint, the house number she was looking for barely legible on the side of the box. Beyond the four-by-four holding up the mailbox, she made out tire tracks of dirt imprinted in what was otherwise an untended lot of overgrown grass and weeds.

  She saw no sign of the FBI or other law enforcement, but recalled the assurances of Detective Miller: The lots out there are several acres, and they say the area is wooded, near the state park. I’m told the address you’re looking for is an adjacent lot, marked by a mailbox out front, then you turn left down a long dirt road.

  This was no time to hesitate. Johnny had spent nine days in captivity. The least she could do was drive through unfamiliar land to be there for him, waiting, once he was free.

  She took a deep breath as she made the turn, feeling truly hopeful for the first time since Johnny disappeared.

  Chapter 63

  Daniel Turner drove the quarter mile from his driveway to a dirt road leading into the seven-acre corner lot behind his own property. The main entrance, to which he had directed Marcy Buckley, corresponded to the street address on the town’s survey. He was taking the back road in, but eventually, he and Mrs. Buckley’s paths would intersect.

  He had bought this parcel three years earlier from the Garney family, who had eight sons, only four of whom moved out of the family home after becoming adults. The remaining sons hosted parties four nights out of the week and raced dirt bikes around the property by day—the louder the better from all indications. Even when Daniel had been a Harley fan, he had never approved of bikers who intentionally made as much noise as possible. And after the settlement from the accident, his first priority had been to find a remote and quiet respite from society. When it became clear that the Garney boys were going to interfere with those plans, he struck a deal that the parents could not refuse, buying the property only to tear down the house and add to his vacant land.

  He cut the engine next to a small pond on the property, before a cluster of trees he’d need to hike through to reach the cleared land where the ramshackle house had once stood. Next to him in the passenger seat, Johnny reached for the clasp of his seatbelt.

  “You should stay here,” Daniel said.

  “By myself?”

  He sensed fear in his son’s voice. He never wanted his son to be afraid again. “Not to worry. This is an extra property I own. I just need to check on something real quick before we head for the beach.” He had decided that keeping Danny in the car was the safest plan. He had no idea how long it would be before the FBI arrived.

  Still, after he retrieved his gun from the duffel bag in the trunk, he made a point to be sure that Danny saw him holding it, just in case. “It’s for my safety while I check out the property,” he added.

  He noticed that Danny slumped lower into his seat. He was such a good boy. And Danny had been compliant to a T. He trusted him not to run away while he was gone.

  He walked away with a satisfied smile. They’d be off to a fresh start in no time.

  Chapter 64

  The clerk at the rental car counter at the Salisbury Regional Airport handed Laurie a form in triplicate with a ballpoint pen. “I just need you to cross the t’s and dot the i’s,” she reported cheerfully, as a chime sounded from Laurie’s briefcase.

  Next to her, Leo was on his own phone, still trying to navigate the bureaucracy of the FBI.

  They had no time to spare. She took the pen from the clerk. The sooner they could hit the road, the better. Her phone stopped ringing.

  Chapter 65

  Marcy had driven about a quarter of a mile onto the property, searching for any sign of the FBI agents, when the path of flattened grass came to an end. If she drove any farther, she’d have to trample over growth that was nearly four feet high.

  She turned off the engine of the minivan, expecting the FBI to suddenly announce its presence. Greeted with silence, she stepped from the minivan and walked toward the one patch of land that had been cleared, presumably for a new house to be built.

  Still, no one came.

  She had turned back toward her car when a man emerged from the woods behind the clearing.

  “Mrs. Buckley?” he called out.

  “Oh, hi. I was starting to wonder if I went to the wrong place.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m Special Ag
ent Gregory Jenson. The rest of my team is set up about fifty yards into the woods here. We’re being cautious about anyone spotting our activity.” He must have noticed her eyeing his polo shirt and khakis warily. “Sorry, I was off duty when we got the call out. I came straightaway.”

  He pulled a wallet from his back pocket and flashed what looked from this distance like a badge. As he replaced his wallet, she noticed the firearm tucked into the side of his waistband.

  “Just follow me this way,” he assured her.

  Marcy was three steps from entering the woods when a chill ran up her spine. For the second time in a week, she thought about the words of her former acting coach: Pay attention to what you know, because every experience you ever had might be important right now.

  First it was Detective Langland asking a colleague that Marcy didn’t know to call her with this address. Until then, Langland had always been the one to contact Marcy and Andrew directly. Now she was greeted by a single FBI agent, rushing her into the woods. Her son had been missing for eight days, and suddenly she was being asked to hurry to his suspected kidnapper’s neighborhood, alone. None of it made sense.

  “I’m going to wait in the car until my husband gets here. He’s only two minutes away,” she lied, turning back toward her van.

  “This can’t wait, Mrs. Buckley.”

  She picked up her pace, knowing that a real FBI agent would not sound so panicked.