“Not when we were here last time?” He waved toward the back of the house. “When you were entertaining your friends?”
“Hal,” Harper said.
But Hal didn’t stop. The anger had built like steam in a compartment that was increasingly too small. “It’s a fair question,” he said, half to Harper. “Because, Mrs. Schwartzman, you didn’t seem to want to help when she was trying to get away from him, when you told her that she should stay married to a monster.”
Georgia sucked in air, pressing her hand to the base of her throat as though Hal were coming for her neck.
“Hal,” Harper whispered again.
But Hal shook his head. “You were supposed to protect her. That’s a mother’s job. Or if you couldn’t protect her, at least believe her. When she told you that her husband hit her, at least give your own child the benefit of the doubt.”
Tears welled in Georgia’s bright-blue eyes, spilling over and trailing down her cheeks. “I thought I was protecting her. I believed Spencer was a good man.”
“You believed it after he threw her across the room? After she lost her daughter? Your granddaughter.”
“That’s enough, Hal,” Harper said, but Georgia put a hand on Harper’s arm and shook her head.
“He’s right,” she whispered. “I was blind.”
“How did you not see what he was?” Hal couldn’t help but ask. Maybe he did want to understand her. Maybe he needed to know why she’d let Anna down.
“I was alone and afraid. Sam had died.” She swept her arm into the air. “He was everything—for both of us—and then he died.” Her mouth twisted in grief. “I had no idea how to go on—how to do . . . any of it. Spencer seemed so competent, so—” She cut herself off, holding a hand over her mouth as she started to cry in earnest.
But he didn’t feel sorry for her. Losing a husband and a father was bad enough, but Georgia had made that loss so much worse. “To help your daughter with her grief, you saddled her with an abusive husband? To help you?”
“God, no. Of course not.” Sobs shook her shoulders. “I just didn’t want her to be alone. She was an only child, like me. I was afraid for her. I didn’t want her to feel how I did. She and Sam had been so close, and without him, I didn’t know . . .”
“Anna doesn’t need taking care of. She can take care of herself. Don’t you realize how strong she is?”
She cupped her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “Please. I don’t know what to do. You have to find her. You have to make sure she’s all right.”
“So now you want to protect her? It’s a little late.” He spun and began to pace.
Harper didn’t move. “Mrs. Schwartzman, what did you want to tell us? Why did you ask us to come here?”
Hal rubbed his head, making another loop of the room. This was a waste of time.
“Mrs. Schwartzman, please,” Harper said.
“Please,” Hal growled. “Is there anything you know that can help us find Anna?” He thought of the baby. Her grandbaby. Who was going to bully her into telling them something he could use? Only him. And he’d do it gladly.
“I followed him,” Georgia Schwartzman said. “Saturday.”
Hal froze. “What?” Why hadn’t she told them this when they were there yesterday? He clenched his fists. “Where did he go?”
“He went to the bank downtown. The Wells Fargo, and then he drove out toward Judson.”
“I don’t know Judson,” Harper said, her pen poised on her notebook.
Georgia Schwartzman waved her hand as though it were irrelevant. “It’s a poorer neighborhood. I was surprised he went out there.”
“And you followed?” Hal pressed.
She nodded, averting her gaze as she spoke. “He stopped at a convenience store and came out with a plastic bag. I couldn’t tell what was in it at first, but he didn’t get in his car. Instead, he walked into a playground—it was empty. He sat on a bench and pulled something from the bag. It was difficult to see what it was. Something in packaging, which he unwrapped.”
God, don’t let it be his lunch.
“Then he put it to his ear. Like it was a phone.”
A noise came from Harper.
A burner phone.
Hal moved beside her. “What then?”
“He sat on the bench for about ten minutes and made phone calls.”
He opened his notebook. “When was this?”
She pointed to the kitchen. “I wrote it down in my planner. I have the address of the convenience store, too.”
He nodded. “Could you get that?”
“It’s in the kitchen.” She waved, and they followed. She opened one drawer and then another.
Hal felt the tension mount in his gut. She couldn’t find the planner. But when she turned to face him and Harper, she held a small book in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.
Hal stared at the bag. “What is that?”
“It’s the phone.”
Hal reached for the bag. “The phone he was talking on?”
She nodded, letting him have it. “After he left the playground, he dumped the bag in a trash can and got back into his car. I waited until he was gone and went to the trash can to retrieve it. I don’t know why, but something made me think it might be useful.”
Hal took her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
She let out a little squeak.
“Will it help you find her?” Georgia asked, her eyes wide and afraid. For the first time, she looked like a mother.
“It might,” Hal said with a rush of genuine hope.
Please, God. Please give us a lead to follow.
47
Monday, 4:50 a.m. MST
The air under the sheet was stuffy and the metal awkward in Schwartzman’s hand as she worked through the last millimeters of the thick rubber collar. Her arm ached, and her fingers were tight, stiffened in the position of gripping the thin metal triangle. Her cutting hand was wrapped in a flannel pajama top for protection. Even then, the cotton sheet was spotted with blood from where the metal had nicked her neck and stabbed into her left hand, which held the collar steady. Every so often, she had to stop the process.
Twice, she’d gotten up and gone to the bathroom to drink clean water from the toilet tank. At some point, she rose and made her way to the kitchen, ate something, and stretched her fingers, bending them backward on the countertop.
Tears filled her eyes at the pain, and as a distraction, she stared at the spot on the wall where she’d last seen Hal’s face. Then she returned to the bedroom to hide herself back under the sheet. She’d been at it all night, working as consistently as her fingers would allow, listening for the sounds of someone coming.
Outside, the black sky lightened to a deep purple and then magenta. She set the metal down and pulled the collar from opposite ends, twisting it to try to broaden the cut. She had been sure the rubber would eventually tear. But it didn’t give. Not a millimeter. Her stomach growled again, the effort burning through calories her body didn’t have stored. But she refused to stop. Not until she was free.
To keep herself awake, she’d taken to biting into her lower lip as she worked, creating small cuts that bled. The pain kept her alert, even as exhaustion overwhelmed her. She stretched out her arm and closed her eyes. Just for a minute.
She was so close. She would be free so soon . . .
48
Monday, 7:14 a.m. EST
Not surprisingly, the burner phone Georgia Schwartzman had retrieved from the park trash can was dead. Luckily, the charging port was common enough, and the cord for Georgia’s Kindle fit it perfectly. While they waited for the phone to come to life, Georgia made breakfast.
Hal spent the passing minutes staring at the phone and willing it to come to life. Twice, the screen brightened, but when he went to make a selection on the screen, it went dead again.
“You’ve got to let it charge awhile,” Harper told him, not for the first time.
Hal texted Telly a
sking for updates, even though Telly had promised to be in touch the minute he heard anything. When two minutes passed without word from Telly, Hal’s chest began to tighten again, so he texted Roger and then Hailey to keep himself busy. Asked if they’d linked the knife the San Francisco police had found in the trash can to a suspect in the Stockton Street stabbing.
Neither responded. Not that he could blame them. It was 4:00 a.m. in San Francisco.
Georgia served breakfast at the kitchen island, biscuits still steaming and hot with a thick meat gravy. Hal was ravenous, fighting not to eat too quickly. His plate was almost empty and Georgia was offering seconds when the phone finally came alive for real. The breath hitched in Hal’s throat as he took the phone into his hands, as though it were a tiny, broken bird he had to save.
The phone was flip style, as basic as they came, the screen pixelated and gray. When the display came to life, the battery showed two bars. Pushing his plate aside, Hal drew a breath and navigated directly to the call history.
There were only two calls on the phone’s history—the same number twice. Area code 208.
“Area code 208,” Hal said.
Harper was on her phone. She looked up a moment later. “Idaho.”
Hal hit redial and listened to the phone ringing on the other end. Once, twice, then a voice. “You know it’s five a.m. out here.”
Hal punched up the volume as Harper leaned in. Hal tried to think of something to say.
“Thought you weren’t in until later. You already landed?”
Hal’s heart trumpeted in his throat. With a glance at Harper, he tried to raise his voice to a higher decibel, fisted his hand, and muffled his response. “No. Not yet.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Who is this?”
“Who is this?” Hal asked without disguising his voice.
“Shit,” came the response, and the line went dead.
“Do you recognize the voice?” Harper asked.
“I don’t know.” Hal’s mind raced, the few words playing in his head over and over. There was something about that voice. The slight twang of country that gave it a nasal quality. Idaho. Idaho. “We need to track the number.”
Hal dialed Telly. After four rings, the call went to voicemail. He didn’t have time to leave a message. Ending the call, he redialed immediately. Once, and then another time when he got voicemail again. Finally, Telly answered.
Talking as fast as his lips would move, Hal told Telly about the burner phone and explained that he needed to trace the number’s owner.
Telly didn’t miss a beat. “Give me the number.”
Hal read it out loud and then repeated it to be certain he had it right. “I need the information, Telly. I need it now. This guy—he’s got her. I know he does.”
“I’ll get it. Give me five minutes.”
Hal ended the call and clutched the phone in his fist. For a moment, he was at a loss. He should be moving. Going to Idaho? But the area code didn’t mean that was where the phone was. It could be anywhere. He needed to know who owned the phone.
Unable to sit still, Hal dialed the Idaho number again, turning the phone to speaker. It rang only once before a voice said, “You’ve reached Tyler. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”
Tyler. Tyler . . . He couldn’t think of anyone named Tyler, but the voice was familiar. Tyler. Idaho.
“Who is it?” Georgia asked. “Do you know him?”
Harper was watching him, too. But he didn’t answer them. He was thinking.
Hal dialed the number again, closed his eyes, and listened to the voice. And then he realized why the voice was familiar.
It belonged to the morgue assistant who had attacked Anna more than a year before. Not Tyler, though. The guy’s name was Roy. Roy Butler.
Hal’s phone rang. Telly. He answered it, breathless and pacing the room, although he didn’t remember standing from the kitchen island.
“I’ve got him,” Telly reported. “I just sent you an image. Name is Tyler—”
“Butler?” Hal asked.
“Yes. How did you—never mind,” Telly said. “We’re getting the cell records, narrowing down the cell towers, but the cell phone company has some initial reporting. The phone’s somewhere in northern Idaho, near the Washington-Idaho border. It’s an active spot for us—Hayden, Idaho, is a headquarters for the Aryan Nation.”
Idaho. Anna was in Idaho. With the Aryan Nation.
He was going to Idaho.
“As soon as we narrow on his location, I’ll get a team out there.”
“Keep me posted.” Hal ended the call and turned to Harper and Georgia. “I need to get to Idaho. I’ve got to call the airlines.” Already, his mind was spinning over the details. How fast could he get there? What airline might get him closest? Hands trembling, he pulled up a map on his phone. From Greenville, there wouldn’t be anything direct. Damn it.
“I can take you to the airport now,” Harper said.
Frantic and desperate, Hal turned toward the door. Idaho was a day’s travel. It was too far.
“I think I can help,” Georgia said, busy typing on her phone.
“You did help,” Hal told her. “The phone was a huge help.”
“Wait just one minute,” Georgia said, still typing. Her nails clicked on the screen.
Hal glanced at Harper. He needed to call the airlines. If there was a morning flight, he wanted to be on it. “Thank you, Georgia, but we really need to go now.”
“Oh, but just one minute—”
Hal tensed his muscles as though ready to launch himself toward the door. “How far is the airport?”
“About thirty minutes, I’d say,” Harper said.
He glanced at Georgia, who was still staring at her phone. A moment later, it dinged, and she smiled. She looked up at him. “I got you a ride to Idaho.”
“A ride?” There was no time to drive to Idaho. “I think I’ll fly.”
Georgia smiled. “Of course. My friend Patrice’s husband has a jet. A very nice jet.”
At the word jet, his mouth fell open.
“Patrice was one of the ladies here yesterday. Her husband, Bill, is on his way to Seattle today, but he’s willing to make a stop in Idaho. And his pilot can be ready to leave at 8:15 a.m.” She glanced at her watch. “That gives you just enough time to get to the private airfield.”
Hal was speechless.
“Private airfield,” Harper said.
“It’s right at the small downtown airport. Do you know where that is?”
Harper glanced at Hal and shook her head.
“It’s just inside the 385 loop,” Georgia said. “Write your number down here, and I’ll text you the directions.”
Hal wrote his number on the pad of paper.
“I’ll send you Bill’s contact information, too. Call me if you have any problems, but he’ll be there.”
Tears welled in Hal’s eyes. How long would it take to jet to Idaho? He would be there today. Would he see Anna today? Was it possible? He blinked back the emotion and took Georgia’s hand in both of his, enveloping her tiny palm and her wrist like they were a couple of playing cards. “Thank you.”
“You go get my girl, Detective.”
“You’ve got my word.” Hal gave her hands a final squeeze and started for the door.
“And if I can ask for one more thing?” Georgia called out to him, her voice cracking.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll come back with Anna and the baby,” she said, searching his face.
She knew it was his baby. Of course she did. “You better believe it,” Hal said.
Georgia smiled a shy smile and then waved them off. “Go on now. Hurry up.”
Hal couldn’t help but run for Harper’s car. Forty minutes until the jet left. Four, maybe five hours to Idaho.
He reached the car, laid his palm on the warm roof, and closed his eyes. I’m coming, Anna. Hang on.
49
Monday, 10:3
2 a.m. MST
The sound of a car engine jolted Schwartzman awake. Heart pounding, she sat upright in the bed. Her fingers found the sharp metal triangle sitting atop the sheets. The light had shifted in the room, and the soft gray of dawn outside the window had given way to a bright midmorning.
She had fallen asleep.
The engine outside grew louder, closer. She felt for the collar, praying that she’d managed to free herself, but it was still there, split but not broken.
She pushed the sheet off her head and studied the bed. There was blood everywhere. Heart drumming, she listened for the car while she yanked and twisted on the collar, the last millimeter of rubber still holding it on her neck.
Her pulse throbbed. She had maybe three minutes until the car arrived at the house. If she couldn’t get the collar off, she had to hide the blood. Moving frantically, she rose from the bed, fumbled to take off the hoodie, and buttoned her own shirt over her bra. She balled the bloodied hoodie and shoved it in a bottom drawer.
Then she picked up the metal with the sleeve of her flannel button-down and began to carve into the rubber with fury. She let out a cry as she caught the skin on her neck but did not stop. The car grew closer, her motions more frantic. She jabbed her neck again and again. Sawed, pulled at the rubber, chafing the back of her neck as she struggled to free herself.
Gravel crunched under the tires of the approaching car. Tears streamed down her face as she dug the metal slowly through the rubber. She pressed the metal hard and made a final cut.
The collar broke free.
She gasped as the cord retracted, the collar flying up to the ceiling. As it passed her face, the end of the collar snapped her in the eye. She blinked white spots and dropped the metal. Rubbed her neck as she listened to the car.
The engine seemed close now. Every pop and clink of gravel against the tires and undercarriage grew louder. She glanced around the room and realized she was still a sitting duck. She needed a weapon. If he was coming here to hurt her . . .
Dropping to the floor, she scanned the floor for the little triangle. She couldn’t see it. Where had it gone? She thought about gripping the tiny piece of metal. How would she hold it? It was too small. She would have to be too close.
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