I Know a Secret

“Something that Amalthea told me. She said I’m too sure of myself and it makes me blind. Unable to see the truth.”

  “She was messing with your head again.”

  “What if we’re all blind, Jane? What if Martin Stanek isn’t guilty of anything?”

  Jane gave a groan of frustration and abruptly turned the car onto the next exit ramp.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to Brookline. I’m going to show you the old Apple Tree Daycare Center.”

  “It’s still there?”

  “It was in a wing of the Staneks’ house. Frost and I walked the property yesterday. The place has been on the market for years, but there’ve been no offers. I guess no one wants a house with satanic vibes.”

  “Why are you taking me there?”

  “Because Amalthea put that bug in your ear and now you’re doubting everything I tell you. I want to show you why I think Martin Stanek is guilty as hell.”

  By the time they arrived at the Stanek property, the sun was already setting, and the trees cast spindly shadows across the snow-covered front yard. The signpost still stood near the gate, but the shingle for Apple Tree Daycare was long gone, and the only evidence that children had once played in this yard was a dilapidated swing set. Maura lingered in the warm car for a moment, reluctant to trudge through the cold to that sagging front porch. The house was a traditional New England Cape with wooden shutters and double-hung windows, the clapboards now feathered with peeling flakes of paint. Disintegrating roof shingles littered the snow with flecks of asphalt.

  “What exactly am I supposed to see in there?” said Maura.

  “Come on in.” Jane shoved open her car door. “I’ll show you.”

  A path to the front porch had already been trampled through the ankle-deep snow during Jane and Frost’s visit the day before, and they followed the same iced-over footprints to the porch.

  “The stairs are coming apart, so be careful,” Jane warned.

  “Is the rest of the house in such bad shape?”

  “The place is basically a teardown.” Jane lifted a rock near the doorstep and retrieved a key. “I don’t know why the Realtor even bothers to lock the door. She should invite vandals to torch the place and take care of the problem.” Jane pushed the front door, and it gave a haunted-house creak as it swung open. “Welcome to Satan’s Daycare.”

  It felt even colder inside the house, as if a chill had been permanently trapped within these walls. Maura stood in the shadowy foyer and surveyed peeling wallpaper printed with dainty pink roses, a floral print that probably graced the homes of countless grandmothers. A cracked mirror hung in the hallway, and the wide-plank pine floor was littered with dead leaves and other detritus that had been tracked inside or blown in by the wind whenever a visitor stepped through the front door.

  “The stairs lead up to three bedrooms, where the Staneks lived,” said Jane. “There’s nothing to see up there, just empty rooms. Their furniture was auctioned off years ago, to pay for the family’s legal bills.”

  “Martin Stanek still has title to the place?”

  “Yes, but he can’t live here because he’s a registered sex offender. And he couldn’t keep up with the property taxes, so he was forced to put the house on the market.” Jane gestured down the hallway. “They operated the daycare center at that end of the house. That’s what I want you to see.”

  Maura followed Jane past a bathroom with missing floor tiles and a toilet stained with rust and stepped into what had once been the Apple Tree playroom. Wide windows faced a backyard where saplings had sprung up, the woods marching ever closer to the house. Water had seeped through the roof, and the carpet stank of mold.

  “Take a look at the wall,” said Jane.

  Maura turned and stared at the gallery of portraits, the faces now familiar to her.

  “You recognize her, don’t you?” said Jane, pointing to an image of a serene-faced woman holding two eyeballs in her hand. “Our old friend Saint Lucy. And, look, there’s Saint Sebastian, skewered by arrows. Saint Vitalis. Saint Joan, burned at the stake. Irena Stanek taught catechism classes at her church, and she made sure the kids here learned all the saints’ days. She even had them write their names under the saints who were honored on their birthdays. Look who wrote her name under Saint Lucy.”

  Maura frowned at the block letters, written in a childish hand. Cassandra Coyle.

  “And there’s Timmy McDougal’s name, under Saint Sebastian. And Billy Sullivan’s under Saint Vitalis. It’s like these kids signed their own death warrants twenty years ago.”

  “You can find pictures of saints in any Catholic school classroom. This doesn’t prove anything, Jane.”

  “This is the house where Martin Stanek grew up. Every day, he saw this wall of saints. He knew which kid’s birthday was Saint Lucy’s day or Saint Joan’s day. And see how Irena marked the martyrs with gold stars? Hooray for you, your saint died a gruesome death! Stoning, crucifixion, flaying alive. The church’s greatest hits are right here, and Martin lived with them. Maybe he was inspired by them.”

  Maura focused on the image of paired martyrs, one holding a sword. It was the same pair of martyrs she had seen in the stained-glass window in Our Lady of Divine Light. Saint Fusca and Saint Maura. Beheaded.

  “And here’s the name of our fifth child witness. The one we can’t locate,” said Jane. She pointed to the name Holly Devine, printed neatly beneath the image of a man with blood streaming from his gaping mouth.

  “Saint Livinus,” said Maura.

  “If we don’t find Holly soon, that’s how she’s going to end up. Like poor old Saint Livinus, who had his tongue ripped out of his mouth to keep him from preaching.”

  Shivering, Maura turned away from the wall of horrors. In the deepening gloom, the house had grown even colder, and she felt the chill sink deep into her bones. She went to the windows and looked at the overgrown backyard, which was now receding into shadow.

  “I keep thinking about Regina,” said Jane. “What if I’d been one of the parents who sent a kid here? You do everything you can to keep your kid safe and protect her from monsters, but then you have to pay the bills and go to work. You have to trust someone with your kid.”

  “You’re lucky you have your mom to watch her.”

  “Yeah, but what if my mom couldn’t do it? What if I didn’t have a mom? I’m sure some of these parents didn’t have a choice, but couldn’t they sense that something was wrong about this place?”

  “You say that only because you know what happened here.”

  “Don’t you feel the vibes?”

  “I don’t believe in vibes.”

  “Only because you can’t measure them with one of your fancy scientific instruments.”

  “What I can measure is temperature, and I’m cold. If there’s nothing else to see here, I’d like to—” Suddenly Maura paused, staring at the trees. “Someone’s out there.”

  Jane looked out the window. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “He was standing right at the edge of the woods. Facing this way.”

  “I’ll take a look.”

  “Wait. Don’t you think you should call for backup?”

  But Jane was already running out the back door.

  Maura stepped outside and saw Jane dart into a thicket of evergreens, where she was quickly swallowed up in the shadows. Maura could hear her moving through the underbrush, twigs snapping under her boots like sharp explosions.

  Then silence.

  “Jane?”

  Heart thumping hard, Maura followed Jane’s path across the yard and plunged into the gloom of the woods. The snow hid roots and fallen branches, and she was as noisy as a buffalo as she stumbled and crashed her way among the trees. She imagined Jane sprawled in the snow, imagined a killer standing over her, about to deliver a fatal blow.

  Call for backup.

  She pulled the cell phone out of her pocket and with chilled fingers tapped in the code to unlock it. Then she he
ard a shouted command:

  “Freeze! Police!”

  Maura followed the sound of Jane’s voice and stumbled into a clearing, where Jane stood with her weapon drawn. Yards away stood a figure with arms raised to the sky, face hidden by the shadow of a jacket hood.

  “Do you want me to call for assistance?” Maura said.

  “First let’s see who we have here,” said Jane, and she barked at the figure, “State your name!”

  “Can I lower my arms first?” came the calm reply. A woman.

  “All right. Slowly,” said Jane.

  The woman lowered her arms and pushed back the hood of her jacket. Despite the fact that a gun was pointed at her, she appeared strangely unruffled as she regarded Jane and Maura. “What’s this all about? Did I break some law just by walking around the neighborhood?”

  Jane lowered her weapon and said in surprise, “It’s you.”

  “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  “You were at Cassandra Coyle’s memorial service. And Timothy McDougal’s. What are you doing on this property?”

  “I was looking for my dad’s dog.”

  “You live around here?”

  “My dad does.” The young woman pointed at the faint glow of houselights beyond the trees. “His dog got out and I’ve been searching for him. I saw your car, and I wondered if someone was trying to break into the old daycare.”

  “You’re Holly Devine, aren’t you?” said Jane.

  For a moment the woman didn’t answer. When she finally did, her words were barely a murmur. “I haven’t been called that name in years.”

  “We’ve been trying to find you, Holly. I kept calling your father, but he refused to tell me where you were.”

  “Because he doesn’t trust anyone.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to trust me. Your life may depend on it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Let’s go someplace warm and I’ll tell you.”

  THE SOUND OF A BARKING dog greeted them as they walked up the porch steps to the modest home of Earl Devine. It was a big dog, by the sound of it, and Maura hung back a few paces, imagining fur and teeth flying out at them as Holly opened the front door. The black Lab seemed far less interested in the visitors than in Holly, who knelt down to grasp its head in her hands.

  “So you came home on your own, you bad boy,” she scolded. “That’s the last time I go looking for you.”

  “Who are these people, Holly?” demanded a gruff voice. Earl Devine glowered from the hallway, where the lights cast a yellowish glow on his face. Judging by his clothes, which hung like drapes on his gaunt frame, he had recently lost a great deal of weight, but he faced Maura and Jane with arms flexed and hands closed in fists, as if ready to deliver blows in defense of his daughter.

  “I went out searching for Joe and I ran into these ladies at the old daycare,” said Holly. “I guess Joe decided to come back on his own.”

  “Yeah, he came back,” Earl said, but his attention remained on Jane and Maura. “Who are you?”

  “I spoke to you on the phone, Mr. Devine,” said Jane. “I’m Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston PD.”

  Earl looked at her outstretched hand and finally decided to shake it. “So you found my girl anyway.”

  “You could have saved me a lot of trouble by just telling me where she was.”

  Holly said, “I told them you don’t trust people, Daddy.”

  “Not even the police?” said Jane.

  “The police?” Earl Devine snorted. “Why should I? All I gotta do is watch the news. These days, we’re as likely to be shot by a cop as helped by one.”

  “We’re only trying to keep your daughter safe.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said on the phone, but how would I know if you were telling the truth? How would I know you’re really a cop?”

  “My dad’s got a reason to be cautious,” said Holly. “There’s a guy who’s been stalking me for a while. I had to change my last name from Devine to Donovan so he couldn’t find me.”

  “He kept calling here, asking for her,” said Earl. “He even got some woman to call, said she was a journalist who wanted to talk to Holly. I wasn’t gonna trust you just because you claimed you were a cop.”

  “Who was this stalker?” asked Jane.

  “Some young man Holly used to know. I never did like the looks of him. He kept coming by here asking about her, but I think I finally scared him off. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away from my girl.”

  “They’re not here about my stalker, Daddy,” said Holly.

  “It’s about the Apple Tree Daycare, sir,” said Jane.

  Earl frowned at her. “Why? That happened a long time ago. It’s over and done with, and they sent those people to jail.”

  “Martin Stanek has been released. We think he wants revenge against everyone who sent him to prison, and we’re afraid he might come after Holly.”

  “Has the man threatened her?”

  “No, but three of the children who gave statements against Stanek have recently been murdered. A fourth has gone missing. You can understand why we’re concerned about your daughter’s safety.”

  He stared at Jane for a moment, then gave a grim nod. “Let’s hear what you plan to do about him.”

  They sat in Earl Devine’s cramped living room, where the frayed sofa and Naugahyde armchairs seemed as if they’d been part of the house for so long they were now melded to the floor. One of the chairs bore the permanent imprint of Earl’s backside, which he now planted onto the cushion. Holly brought out mugs of coffee for the two visitors, but Maura took one look at the stained rim and discreetly set down her cup. She saw stains everywhere—rings on the area carpet from past doggie accidents, cigarette burns on the sofa armrest, a faint veil of mold on the ceiling where rain had once leaked in. There were no books or magazines in sight, only a stack of Pennysavers and newspaper coupons. Throughout the conversation, the television stayed on, an eternally glowing presence in the room.

  “Those kids’ names were sealed by the court. That’s what the prosecutor promised us,” said Earl Devine, his gaze hard on Jane’s face. “How did you even know to come looking for Holly?”

  “Actually, Mr. Devine, your daughter put herself into the picture.” Jane turned to Holly. “You went to both Cassandra’s and Tim’s funerals. So you must have known they were both murdered.”

  Earl frowned at his daughter. “You didn’t tell me you went to their funerals.”

  “I needed to find out if their murders were connected,” said Holly. “No one was saying anything.”

  “Because at the time no one realized there was a connection between them,” said Jane. “But you knew, Holly. You could have made my job a lot easier by just picking up the phone and calling the police. Why didn’t you call?”

  “I hoped it was a coincidence. I wasn’t sure.”

  “Why didn’t you call, Holly?” Jane repeated.

  Holly stared back at her, momentarily silenced by the sharp tone of the question. Meekly, she dropped her gaze. “I should have. I’m sorry.”

  “If you had, Bill Sullivan might still be alive.”

  “What happened to Billy?” said Earl.

  “He disappeared,” said Jane. “Based on the circumstances of his disappearance and the blood in his car, we believe he’s dead.”

  Maura stayed focused on Holly, and she saw the young woman’s head snap up at this latest revelation. Saw genuine shock in her eyes.

  “Billy’s dead?”

  “You didn’t know about that?” said Jane.

  “No. No, I never thought he would be…”

  “You said four children were dead,” said Earl. “You’ve only told us about three.”

  “Sarah Byrne died in a fire in November. It was classified an accidental death, but it’s now back under investigation. So you can see why we’ve been trying to contact your daughter.” Jane looked at Holly. “Is there some reason you’ve been avoiding th
e police—”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Earl cut in.

  Jane lifted a hand to silence him. “I want to hear from your daughter.”

  With everyone watching her, Holly seemed to reach deep inside herself for the courage to answer. She straightened and met Jane’s gaze. “It was dead and buried and I wanted it to stay that way. I didn’t want everyone to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “About the Apple Tree. About what those people did to me. You don’t seem to understand how something like that changes you. Or what it’s like when everyone knows you were molested. When they look at you, the whole time they’re imagining…” She hugged herself and stared down at the stained carpet. “To think it was my mom who made me go to that place. She said it wasn’t safe for me to be home alone after school. She thought there were men lurking behind every bush, waiting to rape me.”

  “Holly,” said Earl.

  “It’s true, Daddy. That’s the way Mom was, imagining rapists everywhere. So every day I had to climb into his bus, and he drove us there. We were like lambs going to the slaughter.” She raised her eyes to Jane. “You’ve read the files, Detective. You know what happened to us.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Jane.

  “All because my mother wanted me to be safe.”

  “Let go of the bitterness, Holly. Doesn’t do you any good now.” Earl looked at Jane. “My wife had a difficult childhood. Things happened to her when she was a little girl, things she was ashamed of. She had this uncle who…” He paused. “Anyway, it made her terrified that something like that could happen to Holly. She died a few months after the trial ended, probably from all the stress. Holly and I had to fend for ourselves, just the two of us, but I think we’ve managed okay. Look at my girl now! She went to college, got herself a good job. The last thing she needs is for people to dredge up that Apple Tree business again.”

  “This is for Holly’s sake, Mr. Devine. We want her to be safe.”

  “So arrest the bastard.”

  “We can’t, not yet. We need more evidence.” To Holly, Jane said, “I know this is difficult for you. I know these are bad memories. But you can help us send Martin Stanek back to prison for good.”