Closer Than You Think

  When his cargo was safely buried, he’d make Faith sorry she’d ever left Miami.

  Mt Carmel, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 7.35 P.M.

  Deacon parked behind Adam’s sedan. The house was huge, an imposing structure that would have been perfect for the Addams family. It certainly wasn’t a house that seemed to fit the woman who stared out the window of his SUV, her bandaged hands lightly folded in her lap.

  She hadn’t moved a muscle, yet her body vibrated with tension. Which was to be expected, Deacon thought. He had all but accused her of a terrible crime. She wasn’t involved. He knew it in his gut. But she kept too many secrets. Her arrival was too coincidental. And her newly discovered past appeared to be far from pristine.

  Crandall’s call had rocked him. Dr Faith Frye, therapist. To sex offenders. Deacon had dealt with her breed before, the bleeding hearts who believed that the monsters who raped children could be rehabilitated. They were as bad as defense attorneys. Maybe even worse. At least defense attorneys could claim to be defending the accused’s constitutional rights.

  Sex offenders could not be rehabilitated, and any therapist who believed they could was—

  Deacon reeled himself back in before he disintegrated into a mental rant. Faith Frye had paid for her association with child rapists, and paid dearly. One of her clients had attacked her, then stalked her after his prison release.

  She’d submitted thirty complaints to Miami PD in the last year. That she’d changed her name and relocated a thousand miles away was understandable. That she wouldn’t have needed to if she’d chosen a different client population was undeniable.

  But even after hearing her admit to her profession, he couldn’t believe everything Crandall had told him. Couldn’t believe Peter Combs’s stated reason for attacking her with a knife. Couldn’t believe Combs’s claims that she’d cheated on him, that she’d been having an affair with him.

  That was simply . . . vile. And if it is true? It couldn’t be. You just don’t want it to be.

  Still, he knew that Faith Frye, or Corcoran, or whatever she called herself, wasn’t involved in whatever had brought Arianna Escobar to this place. The woman who’d bloodied her hands, knees and feet to help a girl would never be in league with those who’d abused her.

  Four years ago or now. He simply could not believe it.

  ‘This is your house,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ she said bitterly. ‘Beautiful, ain’t it?’

  Interesting. When she’d called his eyes beautiful, she’d been awed. But when she used the same word for the house, he heard hatred. ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  A slight hesitation. ‘I was here when I was told that my mother had died. I was here when they buried her.’

  ‘So you have bad memories of the house? Then why did you decide to live in it?’

  ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she said cryptically. ‘What are they looking for?’ she asked, pointing to ten arcing beams of light moving methodically away from the house.

  ‘The other victim,’ he said, needing to see her reaction.

  She swung her head to stare at him, new horror in her eyes. ‘There were two girls?’

  ‘Yes. Arianna Escobar and her friend Corinne Longstreet. They disappeared from their college campus Friday night.’

  ‘Oh my God. And you think they were in my grandmother’s house?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. ‘The locksmith. Have you found him?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Do you have any other keys to the house?’

  She shook her head. ‘The only key I had didn’t fit the front door. I told you that already. I got it from my grandmother’s attorney, and when I told him it didn’t work, he said it was the only key she’d given him. That’s why I called the locksmith.’

  He believed her. ‘Let me see what’s what. Then we’ll talk some more. Stay here, please.’

  She nodded slowly, reminding Deacon of a porcelain doll. Only her head moved, every other muscle and every feature on her face frozen. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, shaken.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Adam coming across the front lawn, urgency in his step.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ Deacon said. He rushed through the antique wrought-iron gate that Adam held open. ‘What do we have?’

  ‘Nothing good, for the victims or us. We have signs of a fight and gunfire. On the side of the house and at the back corner. CSU found two bullets embedded in the wall, and four casings.’

  ‘More casings than bullets,’ Deacon said. ‘Some of his bullets could still be in his victims, then. Arianna has a wound in her leg. Was the bullet still in it when Faith found her?’

  ‘No clue. You want me to find out?’

  ‘Later. We’ll get Bishop to ask the ER doc. What else?’

  ‘This.’ Adam held out a sixteen-inch-long tube and a dart. ‘Found it in back of the house, along with a can of bear mace. Tanaka searched the Earl Power truck and found another tube about six feet long and a case filled with more darts. I called the power tech’s boss, who said that Ken Beatty was mauled by a dog a few years ago. He had no knowledge that his employee carried tranquilizer darts, but he wasn’t surprised.’

  ‘Then the power tech fought back,’ Deacon murmured. ‘What else?’

  ‘Someone drove a van from the driveway on the west side of the house across the grass. Stopped three times. Once at the kitchen door, once in the back, and once at the side. There are signs of a body being dragged across the back of the house, but only halfway. The trail stops at the same place the van stopped.’

  ‘He put the body in the van. Can CSU estimate the body’s size?’

  ‘Only that whoever it was, was big.’

  ‘Corinne Longstreet is five-six, a hundred thirty pounds.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘We’re talking two-fifty big. Like Ken Beatty, the Earl Power tech. Plus, the meter’s back there and there’s blood spatter along the back wall.’

  ‘Shit. I was afraid of that. What about the third van stop?’

  ‘A lot of blood on the grass. Enough that the person probably bled out. No casings found.’

  ‘Any trail from the blood on the grass to the power meter?’

  ‘No, none. We’re talking two separate victims. Likely shed at different times. The blood on the grass isn’t fully dry. The blood found around the power meter is.’

  ‘So two victims. We’ve got Arianna Escobar and Ken Beatty. We also still have a possible locksmith and Corinne Longstreet unaccounted for. I have a bad feeling about the van’s first stop. He may have taken Corinne away through the side door, but let’s get inside and see what we find.’ Deacon started for the house’s front door, but Adam held him back.

  ‘Wait. What possible locksmith?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Faith said she called the power company to turn on her electricity and a locksmith to change the lock on the front door. The key she’d been given didn’t fit. Which makes sense if someone has been using her house to hide his victims. If it were me, the first thing I’d do is change the locks so nobody could come in and catch me.’

  Adam gave him a hard look. ‘Faith?’

  ‘That’s her name, yes.’

  ‘You mean you believe her story?’

  ‘Yes. She’s still hiding something, but I don’t believe she hurt Arianna.’

  ‘Even after everything that Crandall told you about her changing her name?’

  Adam’s tone had taken on an ugly, troubling edge. ‘I confronted her about that. She admitted it.’

  ‘After you confronted her. She didn’t offer it up. What about her trial?’

  ‘Faith Corcoran wasn’t on trial, Adam,’ Deacon said. ‘She was the victim. It was the sex offender who attacked her with a knife who was on trial.’

  ‘The sex offender she was sleeping with,’ Adam shot back, no longer hiding his contempt.

  D
eacon fought back the sudden surge of anger that took him by surprise. ‘Or so claimed the sex offender. Since when do we believe the word of a scumbag over a public servant? Crandall didn’t say that anyone believed him. There was never an indictment because there was no evidence to support it.’

  Adam shrugged, his eyes harsh and angry. ‘Where there’s smoke . . .’

  ‘There’s fire?’ asked a voice from behind them.

  Both Deacon and Adam turned to see Faith standing on the other side of the gate, her bandaged hands looking like white mittens as she clutched the iron bars. Her pale cheeks bore two streaks of crimson, her chin trembled. But her eyes flashed fury. Standing there, her red hair tumbled around her shoulders . . . She looks like a flame.

  Adam was regarding her steadily. ‘You have to admit that we have a remarkable set of coincidences here, Dr Frye.’

  ‘It’s Corcoran,’ she corrected crisply. ‘I thought you were going into the house.’

  Deacon gave Adam a stand-down look. ‘We’re about to, aren’t we, Detective Kimble?’

  ‘We’ll need a warrant unless she gives us permission to break the door down. The key in her purse didn’t fit.’

  Deacon barely contained his surprise. ‘You tried it already?’

  ‘After she gave you permission to search. I had one of Tanaka’s guys get her purse from the Jeep. She’s telling the truth about the key not fitting.’

  The look Faith shot Deacon was like a jagged blade. ‘This is why I don’t trust cops. You were supposed to search only if I was present. If you need to break the door down, then do it. Better yet, I’ll do it.’ She pushed open the gate, but Deacon grabbed it to stop her.

  ‘Dr Corcoran, wait. Faith,’ he added when she continued to push the gate. ‘You don’t have any shoes. Stay here.’ When she didn’t listen, he hardened his voice. ‘Stop. That’s not a request.’

  She was vibrating with fury. ‘You agreed that I’d go with you.’

  ‘That was before we found evidence of a gunfight around back,’ he snapped. That got her attention, thank God. She took a step back, her eyes wide with shock. ‘We don’t know what we’ll find inside,’ he said more gently. ‘I have to focus on finding the second girl. I can’t be worrying about your safety.’

  ‘Okay.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Have you found the power company man or the locksmith? They were here because I called them. I . . . I’m responsible for them. For their safety.’

  Adam smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant. ‘You are very good, Dr Frye. I almost believe you.’

  ‘Detective,’ Deacon warned.

  ‘No, Agent Novak,’ she said, ‘it’s quite all right. I’m accustomed to the innuendo, and familiar with the whole good-cop-bad-cop routine, so don’t waste your efforts. I’ll ask again – did you find those two men?’

  ‘No,’ Deacon told her, unwilling to say any more. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because she already looked so devastated. ‘We’re wasting time. Corinne might still be alive. Do I have to have an officer escort you back to the SUV?’

  ‘No.’ She took a step back. ‘I’ll go. Just find the other girl.’

  ‘Thank you. Detective, let’s go.’ He started walking, relieved when Adam cooperated. But then he heard his cousin muttering under his breath.

  ‘Just find the other girl,’ Adam mimicked.

  Deacon grabbed his arm, yanking him to a halt. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

  ‘What’s wrong with me? I’m not the one drooling over a possible suspect.’

  Deacon stared at the man who seemed like such a stranger. ‘I am not drooling. And she’s not a suspect. Not yet, anyway. At this point she is a witness.’

  ‘She aids sex offenders. And guess what, Agent Novak? The girl she found was raped.’

  Deacon went still. ‘I know Arianna was raped,’ he murmured. ‘But just because Corcoran counseled offenders does not make her a suspect.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘She shacked up with a rapist. How do you know she didn’t know the girl was there? That she’s not covering for a new lover?’

  Deacon grimaced at the instant picture his mind conjured, pushing it away before it could stick there. ‘Because she called 911. Because she guarded the girl.’

  ‘With the gun she just happened to have with her?’

  ‘The gun she carries because she’s been stalked.’

  Adam’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘What did she say that made you drink her Kool-Aid?’

  Beautiful. She’d called his eyes beautiful.

  But that wasn’t why he believed her story. Though it sure doesn’t hurt, does it?

  ‘At this point, she is not a suspect,’ he said evenly. ‘And until we determine that she is, you will show her respect. Got it, Detective?’

  ‘Got it, Special Agent Novak,’ Adam said coldly. ‘I’m yours to command.’

  Deacon hesitated, not trusting the Adam who stood before him. ‘I need you focused,’ he whispered. ‘Not jumping to conclusions based on the unsubstantiated testimony of a convicted sex offender. I need you to help me find Corinne Longstreet. Are you with me?’

  ‘Totally,’ Adam said coldly.

  Hoping he was making the right choice, Deacon motioned him to follow. ‘Then come on.’

  Miami, Florida, Monday 3 November, 7.35 P.M.

  Detective Catalina Vega leaned against the door frame of Davies’s office, waiting impatiently for her boss to finish his call. He took one look at her and motioned her to come in.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said into the phone. ‘Something’s come up here. I’ll see you at home. Love you too.’

  Hearing Davies talk to his wife so tenderly always made Cat both wistful and hopeful at the same time. She’d all but accepted that she could either be a cop or have a normal, healthy relationship, but not both. And then Davies had found his CiCi, and somehow they made it work.

  Davies started cleaning off his desk, locking up his files. ‘What do you have?’

  ‘Not Faith Frye, that’s for damn sure. I can’t find her anywhere. She’s disappeared.’ Cat crossed his office, holding her phone so that he could see the photo on her screen. ‘I started with her last known residence this morning. This is it. Or what’s left of it.’

  Davies frowned at the burned shell of a building. ‘What the hell? When did that happen?’

  ‘Thursday night. Faith wasn’t there at the time. Her super hadn’t seen her in at least a week, but said he’d seen her car parked in the lot outside as recently as Saturday morning. I traced her through her credit cards to a hotel downtown where she stayed for one night, then a second hotel where she stayed one night, and so on, and then . . . nothing. Since Saturday there’s been no trace of her, no more credit card charges. She cleaned out her bank accounts and quit her job.’

  ‘She’s on the run.’

  ‘I hope so. I’ve been trying to get a lead on where she’d go. I’ve called her cell and home phone. Both go straight to voicemail. Her co-workers said that while she wasn’t unfriendly, she didn’t have any close relationships at the office. After Shue was killed, she became withdrawn. Kept to herself. Wouldn’t walk or go out to lunch with them. Came in early, left late. Alone.’

  ‘She was afraid they’d be in danger. Caught in the crossfire, like Shue.’

  Cat nodded. ‘That’s what I think too. None of her co-workers were shocked when she quit because she transitioned all her clients to the other counselors first. Nobody was left hanging.’

  ‘Even the offenders?’

  ‘She hadn’t been working with offenders anymore. She left that job after Combs’s attack and went to work in Shue’s organization, where her client list was all victims. The woman in the cubicle next to Faith’s said that she came in one morning, cleaned out her desk, tendered her resignation and walked out without drama. She hasn’t contacted any of the other agencies in town looking for work. I called her parents’ house in Savannah, but according to Lily Sullivan, her stepmother, Faith wasn’t there. Lily would only
tell me that she’d pass on the message that I’d called. I asked to speak to Faith’s father, but according to Lily, he’s too ill to come to the phone. She said that talking to a Miami cop would upset him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Faith was married to one – Charlie Frye, a uniform out of Central District. I didn’t realize she was Charlie’s ex when I talked to her about Shue’s murder.’ Cat made a face. ‘I knew Charlie before he married Faith. Actually went out with him a few times. He’s not . . . a modern man.’

  Davies’s brows shot up. ‘He likes ’em barefoot and pregnant?’

  ‘Well, his new wife is pregnant for the third time in four years, but I got the sense that she wanted to be, so that’s good for her.’

  ‘You met her?’

  ‘Today, when I visited Charlie to find out if he’d seen Faith. The new wife seems to like being a homemaker, which, again, is great if that’s her choice. And to be fair, Charlie was clear when we dated that that was what he wanted in a wife, which is why we only went out twice. I was surprised to find out Faith had married him at all, much less stayed with him for nine years.’

  ‘Had Charlie Frye seen her?’ Davies asked pointedly, bringing her back to topic.

  ‘No, not since their divorce. He said that he knew that Combs had stalked her for a year, but didn’t seem torn up about it. Said she’d danced with the devil and was now paying her due.’

  ‘I assume he meant her alleged affair with Combs,’ Davies said. ‘I looked her up after you left this morning,’ he added when she blinked in surprise. ‘I read the report on her attack four years ago and the transcripts from Combs’s trial. The ex-husband believed Combs?’

  ‘Yeah, he did. He wouldn’t say why. But that’s not why they got divorced. Combs didn’t accuse her of anything until the trial started. She’d already filed for divorce by then because Charlie had been cheating with the current wife.’

  ‘A real winner. But surely her family isn’t judging all of us by Charlie.’

  ‘I don’t know. Lily wouldn’t say more even when I told her it was urgent. I’m pretty sure she knows where Faith is. I didn’t tell her why I was asking. I wanted to keep the details of the Prius tampering under wraps as long as I could. But then CSU found this on the Prius.’