by Brenda Novak
“And they found a tire track on the side of the road, but it was too faint. The pictures they took didn’t show the ridge detail they needed. But some guy has figured out how to do enhancements on the computer and build a 3-D model from there. They’re having him help, will be testing the enhanced impression against the tires on your van in a few weeks.”
His eyes narrowed. “Good for them. Won’t change anything. I had nothing to do with the Emma Ventnor case.”
“You weren’t at work when she went missing.”
“I was getting a bite to eat.”
“Where?”
That cocky smile reappeared. “Hell if I know. All the details from that day are fuzzy.”
“What happened, Gordon? Was she screaming, fighting? You couldn’t subdue her even with your super athletic and tricky wrestling holds? You had to kill her?”
She was taunting him, knew how quickly he could get incensed from gibes of that sort.
“I wouldn’t make fun of those holds, if I were you,” he gritted out. “I could choke you out in a matter of seconds.”
“Is that what you did to her? Choked her out? Why did you pick her as one of your victims? Did you see her coming out of the school and start to follow her? Spot her in traffic and decide to wreck into her car to get her to pull over?”
“You’re an idiot,” he said. “If I wrecked into her car, there would’ve been damage on my van, right? Did you ever see any damage?”
The warning in his voice let her know she was going too far—that she was making an enemy for life. Gordon wasn’t the forgiving sort. But Savanna didn’t dare back off. This was the moment. She had to pull out all the stops, do everything she could. “Bumpers don’t always show damage, Gordon. That van was like a tank.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and stood.
Savanna’s nails bit deeper into her palm. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my cell. I’d rather be sitting there, dreaming of taking off your clothes and—” he ran a hand over his neck “—doing what I like to do in bed than see you sitting here, doing everything you can to help the police.”
He meant he’d rather be in his cell, dreaming of choking her. She understood the allusion, but he could easily claim he meant something else, so that did nothing to help the case against him. He hadn’t stated it such that the recording would shock or appall a jury. Even that brief touch to the neck, so meaningful a gesture to her, could be construed as though he just happened to be touching his neck.
Savanna was still hanging on to the phone when he hung up on his side and walked away.
Shit. She’d blown it, gotten nothing.
* * *
Gavin had been waiting to hear from Savanna for nearly four hours. He’d texted her and tried to call. He’d even checked in with Detectives March and Sullivan. They hadn’t heard anything, either. Sullivan said that not long after visiting hours, he’d driven by and didn’t see her car in the lot. He indicated it wasn’t at the motel, either.
Gavin didn’t hear back from Savanna until ten-thirty, which was eleven-thirty Utah time. “Are you okay?” he asked. Branson and Alia were in bed and the babysitter was watching TV, so he’d returned to his house for the night. He’d been sitting in his living room, watching the basketball playoff game he’d recorded earlier, pausing every so often to check his phone and try to reach her.
“I think so.”
She didn’t sound okay. She sounded rattled, upset. “Are you sure?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
He’d been lying down. Sitting up, he muted the television. “What happened? Why didn’t you call me right away?”
“I had my phone turned off.”
“While you were doing what?”
“Nothing. Driving.”
“Where?”
“Aimlessly.”
He let his breath go in a sigh. “It must not have gone well.”
“It didn’t,” she admitted, and he listened without comment as she repeated the conversation she’d had with Gordon.
“Damn,” he said when she was done.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“So where are you now?” he asked.
“Driving aimlessly soon turned into a dedicated effort to reach Salt Lake as soon as possible. I couldn’t bear to stay another night in Nephi. I was going to catch the first flight out, come home right away instead of waiting until morning.”
“But...”
“But by the time I got here, it was too late. The last flight left at ten.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stay over in Salt Lake and catch your scheduled flight in the morning?”
“No. I need to get something later.”
He’d been so sure she’d say yes that he’d turned the game back on. “Wait, no?” He silenced the TV again. “Why would you need a later flight? I thought you were in a hurry to get out of there.”
“I was. I am. But I can’t face that Gordon will be getting out, know he’ll make our lives a living hell. I have to do something.”
“Like what?”
“He said if he wrecked into Emma Ventnor’s car there’d be damage on the van, right?”
“March told us it was a small enough dent that there might not be. That sort of thing happens all the time. That’s why she felt safe going with the fake tire track evidence.”
“I know, but the tire impression stuff didn’t seem to worry him, either.”
“So maybe he’s innocent.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You seem more certain now than you’ve been recently.”
“I vacillate. But when I saw him, I got the creepiest feeling. He did rape those women. It was almost as if he wanted me to know it—that he didn’t care enough to hide it from me anymore, since he felt he was no longer in danger of going to prison, and he knows I’m not interested in patching up our marriage. Someone who’s been wrongly accused wouldn’t act that way.”
“That concern goes well beyond us.”
“I know. But while I’ve been sitting here—”
“Where?”
“In the airport.”
“If all the planes to California have left, why are you still there?”
“I’ve been thinking, trying to figure out what to do.”
“There’s nothing more you can do.”
“There might be. Certain things have occurred to me. When Dorothy came to my house after Gordon was arrested, and I had to call the cops to have them take her away, there was some damage on the front right panel of her car. I didn’t think anything of it, because her car is a piece of junk, anyway, and the damage had been there for a while, but now I’m beginning to wonder how long ago that accident occurred.”
Gavin scooted forward. “You’re thinking Gordon might’ve been driving her car when he kidnapped Emma Ventnor?”
“It’s a possibility. He stayed with her every once in a while. Stands to reason if his van broke down—and it did give him some trouble last year, although I can’t recall the exact dates—he might have borrowed her car for the day.”
“Maybe the police need to take a look at it, see if they can find any paint transfer that might prove it was the one that collided with Emma’s.”
“Except she wrecked into you when she came out here, remember?”
He fell back. “That’s right. Damn it. We can’t catch a break.”
“What if she did that on purpose, Gavin?”
“Hit my truck?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t until I mentioned Emma Ventnor that she started to act strange, remember? Before that, she was determined to start a fight with me. After, she backed away and took off. I’m wondering if she was remembering Gordon coming home a year earlier
with some story about how he accidentally hit something with her car.”
“And by crashing it into my truck, she was able to report it and have it repaired.”
“Maybe she hasn’t had it repaired. It’s very possible she hasn’t had the money to pay the deductible. But hitting you helps, right? Now she has a legitimate excuse for the damage, should anyone ask, and chances are no one will be able to say exactly what that panel looked like before.”
“That gives me chills.”
“Me, too. I have to go over there, see if it’s fixed. If it’s not, I’ll take some pictures and send them to Sullivan and March, in case there is something remaining from Emma’s car. I asked Sullivan to search Dorothy’s house once already, told him that Gordon stayed there on occasion and could easily have hidden trophies or other evidence in her garage or basement, and he said he couldn’t get a judge to sign off on the warrant. Maybe this will change things.”
“Whoa, wait. Don’t go over there alone.”
“Dorothy’s twenty-two years older than I am.”
Gavin had heard enough about Gordon’s mother to believe she was also a little unstable. “That doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous. She could...hit you with something or who knows what.”
“I’ll only take a peek in her garage. She won’t even know I’m there.”
“Savanna...”
“I have to do something, Gavin. What we tried didn’t work. That means, in a very short time, a very dangerous man will be dumped back into society. Gordon’s release feels so imminent that I’m more afraid of seeing that happen than I am of facing down Dorothy.”
Gavin hated the thought of her being up there on her own. “I should’ve come with you.”
“I’ve got this. Don’t worry. Her garage isn’t even attached to the house. I’ll slip in tonight while she’s sleeping, use the flashlight on my phone to check the car, take all the pics I might need and get out.”
“Then why can’t you catch your flight in the morning?”
There was a slight pause before she said, “Oh, that.”
Gavin felt a fresh wave of concern. “Yes, that. You’re making me nervous. What do you have planned?”
“I’m also going to take a look through the house once she leaves for work. She freaked out when I brought up Emma Ventnor’s name. I have to figure out why.”
29
It was nearly two in the morning when Savanna walked down the alley that led to the detached garage of Dorothy’s rental house. She wore black jeans, a black top and a black beanie she’d bought at a twenty-four-hour Walmart. The goal was to blend in, go unnoticed, but no one else was out. The neighborhood remained quiet and dark, with only a sliver of moon grinning above the treetops.
Off in the distance, a dog barked. Savanna wasn’t sure what she’d do if she happened to set off a dog who was much closer...
There was nothing she could do, she decided, except take the pictures and get out before Dorothy and the neighbors reacted to the noise.
Fortunately, she didn’t encounter a dog. She reached the small one-car garage without incident, and she didn’t have any trouble getting into it, as she’d feared she might. Dorothy hadn’t even bothered to lower the door. Or maybe it was broken. The house and garage Dorothy rented were built in the 1930s, and nothing under her stewardship was in particularly good shape. That was one of the things Gordon had always complained about. He’d often called his mother a slob and recounted stomach-turning incidents of foraging among pots and pans filled with food that’d been left out for days in order to get enough to eat as a child.
Savanna wasn’t looking forward to searching the house, partially for that reason. But she was going to do what she could while she was here. Gordon’s taunting smile had made a lasting impression. She thought of that, pictured it, whenever fear threatened to stop her. She had to make sure he didn’t get away with what he’d done. He believed she was powerless, had mistaken her inherent kindness for weakness. But she’d show him she had far more grit and determination than he’d ever given her credit for.
At least, she hoped she’d be able to show him that. It would depend on what she found here tonight, and tomorrow when she returned to look through Dorothy’s house.
Once she stepped inside the garage, Savanna used the flashlight on her phone to walk around and inspect Dorothy’s Toyota Celica. Sure enough, evidence of the accident with Gavin’s truck was still there. Dorothy or someone else had pulled off the front bumper—or it had fallen off—but the damage was mostly to the right front panel, where Savanna would expect to see it if that same car had been used to hit Emma Ventnor’s car.
“Did you hit Gavin’s truck on purpose, Dorothy?” Savanna whispered. “And, if you did, did you do enough to camouflage that earlier accident?”
Savanna prayed she hadn’t. This could be the only hope of justice for Meredith Caine, Theresa Spinnaker, Jeannie West, Emma Ventnor and who could say how many others.
Savanna’s heart raced as she took several pictures. She was tempted to send them to Sullivan right away. But she wasn’t sure they’d make a difference, and she held off in case he tried to stop her. She didn’t want him to know what she was doing until she’d also searched the house.
Since Gordon could have stuck something above the rafters or in one of the old, warped cupboards along the right side, she decided to stay and search the garage instead of waiting until tomorrow for that, too. She knew she might not have a better opportunity. The opening faced the neighbor’s backyard, and that neighbor could have kids or animals who would be out during the day. The longer she stayed, the more she ran the risk that the neighbor might get up to go to the bathroom and see her light bouncing around. To avoid that, she checked the garage door situation, found there was no electric opener attached and she could close it manually.
Apparently, it wasn’t broken. Dorothy had just been too lazy or unconcerned to lower it the last time she’d driven her car, probably because she didn’t have anything to protect. There were no bikes or tools in her garage or anything like that. Even her car wasn’t worth much.
Once Savanna had the privacy to use her flashlight without fear that it might be spotted, she pulled on the gloves she’d also purchased at Walmart and looked through the car.
She found nothing unusual. Cigarette butts and smashed cigarette cartons, empty coffee cups, food wrappers. There was a letter from Gordon on the floorboards of the passenger seat that Savanna took a few minutes to read, but it didn’t give away anything important. Gordon would know better than that, since all prison mail was monitored. He was merely telling his mother that he needed more money, that his cellmate was a “dick,” that his defense was “shit” and would never work, that Savanna would come around eventually, to keep working on her (Savanna had to roll her eyes at that) and not to talk to the police at all or they’d take something she said and “make it into something it wasn’t.”
When she finished the letter, Savanna sat back in the bucket seat and tried to think. She had pictures of the accident, but what if they didn’t show anything? What if the collision with Gavin had indeed obliterated the evidence of what had come before? She needed to find something that connected him to one of the victims he couldn’t explain away, like his bloody clothes. Where would he have hidden them?
Not in the garage, she decided. If Dorothy was so complacent that she didn’t close the door, anyone could gain access to the things in here. Her house would be a safer bet. But it was so small. Savanna couldn’t imagine Gordon being stupid enough to hide anything under his bed or anywhere else his mother might easily run across it...
The basement was a strong possibility, though. Basically a dank, dark hole in the ground, lit by a single bulb dangling from the ceiling, it had to be filled with all kinds of spiders, but Savanna knew Dorothy kept some storage down there—Christmas decoration
s and such—because she’d seen it, had helped carry up boxes on occasion. The basement wasn’t a pleasant place to go, however, so other than grabbing something from that small pile, if she decided to decorate, Dorothy wouldn’t stay down there long. Savanna couldn’t imagine she’d ever bother to check the creepy perimeter, especially in one particular section, an area maybe eight feet by eight feet, where there wasn’t even room to stand up all the way...
If Gordon had hidden anything at Dorothy’s, he’d hide it there, Savanna decided. He’d feel it was safe in such a spot. He’d also have fairly easy access to it, which could be important to him if it was a trophy or something else he prized due to the memories attached.
That sounded plausible, but she could be looking for something that didn’t even exist. Maybe he didn’t take trophies. And maybe he’d washed his bloody clothes while his mother was at work and worn them again, or burned them in her fireplace.
Savanna closed her eyes. She was an amateur, and she was searching for a needle in a haystack. Was she being foolhardy for even trying?
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
She turned it over to see that Gavin had texted her. You’re scaring the shit out of me. Are you out yet? How’d it go?
She sent him the pictures. Then she searched the rest of the garage. It was filled with nothing but junk, stacks of old newspapers and magazines and worthless items Dorothy had collected from yard sales.
I’m out now. She sent that text to Gavin as she hurried down the alley and around the next block to where she’d left her rental car.
Did you find anything?
Nothing. Just the damage on her car. She must not have had the money for the deductible, like I said.
That may be our saving grace.
We can hope.
Are you really going back in the morning?
She got into her rental car and locked the door. I know it seems hopeless. But I have to try.
How will you know when she’s gone?
I’ll drive down the alley and look for her Celica. She leaves the garage door open, so it’s easy to tell when she’s home.
