‘We read it already,’ Deacon said. ‘Where do we start?’
‘What did you find, Deacon?’ Joseph asked calmly and Deacon drew a breath.
‘The kid’s backpack, or at least the one he was carrying. McManus had figured all the roads that would lead to that WMA.’
Joseph wished he’d stopped for a cup of coffee. ‘WMA?’
‘Wildlife management area,’ Deacon said. ‘We got two teams of dogs to search, using the coat Ford was wearing when he was found.’
‘Which wasn’t his coat,’ McManus said. ‘It was a size too small and smelled like skunk. The scent led us to the backpack. It was off the road in a snowdrift.’
‘It held some beef jerky, three knives, a dead flashlight, and this.’ Deacon swung his legs over the edge of the bed and angled his laptop so that Joseph could see.
It was a photo of a purse, the kind with a wrist strap. The hairs on Joseph’s neck lifted. ‘And inside the purse?’
‘ID.’ Deacon clicked to the next photo.
It was a girl, seventeen years old, dark brown hair. Her address was Wheeling, West Virginia. ‘Heather Lipton. Ford said “Heather” when he first woke up.’
‘When did he wake up?’ McManus asked.
Joseph told them about the second dose of ketamine and the violence with which Ford had woken thirty minutes after being brought into the ER. ‘The doctor said he screamed Kim’s name and Heather’s. I assumed they’d heard him wrong and that he was saying MacGregor.’
‘Heather Lipton disappeared last summer,’ McManus said. ‘She’d been on her way to a concert with her friends. Their car broke down and Heather decided the concert was too big to miss. She set off hitchhiking, even though the other girls begged her not to. She never showed up at the concert. We had search crews out every day for a month. Cops, Feds, community volunteers. It was like she vanished into thin air. This is the first lead we’ve had.’
Dread building in his gut, Joseph slid the contents of the envelope to the bed. There were copies of newspaper articles and a series of police reports, typed on an old fashioned typewriter. Grace Kelly Montgomery had been abducted in November of her senior year of high school. She was seventeen. Also missing was Daphne Sinclair, age eight. The report included photos, taken on school picture day. Daphne had blonde pigtails and an engaging grin. Kelly’s photo was her senior portrait.
‘Seventeen,’ he murmured. Like Heather Lipton. What the hell was this about?
He leafed through the pages that documented the search and subsequent discovery of little Daphne hiding in a bathroom stall at a rest stop off the interstate near Dayton, Ohio. She’d been dirty and half frozen. And unable to tell them where she’d been or how she’d escaped. Or even if her cousin still lived. ‘“One week later Kelly’s body was found,”’ he read quietly. ‘In a state park north of Dayton, Ohio.’
‘I remember this now that I’ve read the report,’ McManus said. ‘I was only five and my mother and all the neighbors were scared to let us walk to and from school alone.’
‘What the hell is all this about? Where’s the connection to Doug?’ Joseph whispered, staring at the grainy copies of the old photos.
‘We need to talk to Ms Montgomery,’ McManus said. ‘And we need that kid to wake up and tell us where the hell he found that purse.’
‘You said Agent Kerr was setting up a search,’ Joseph said. ‘Over what area, and what kind of support?’
‘Canine units and foot teams for now. We’ve got a helicopter coming from Charleston. We’re starting from where we found the backpack.’
Joseph rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, thinking. And as he breathed, he could smell Daphne’s scent on his hands. ‘Let’s go talk to Miss—’
A shrill scream cut him off, quickly followed by another scream.
‘Joseph!’
Daphne.
Baltimore, Maryland, Wednesday, December 4, 8.10 P.M.
It took Cole a few minutes to find something to pry the door open. Luckily it was a regular door, not a super-secure steel model like his great-grandfather had used when he built the place. Or so Aunt Betty had told him.
All the good tools were up in the garage, but he’d found a fire axe in the storage closets. It looked super-old. Cole hoped he didn’t break it. He slipped the axe blade in between the door and the frame and yanked.
The door flew open like it was butter, revealing the girl who’d begged him for help. She was small and still, lying in a cot like the one he’d seen in the other room. Cole leaned over her, studying her. She was college aged, Asian. He touched her forehead. She was also burning up. Hopefully she doesn’t have a contagious disease.
He sat on the floor next to her, his back to the wall. ‘Great,’ he muttered. ‘I’m stuck in a bomb shelter with Typhoid Mary.’
‘Kim.’
Startled, he flashed the cell phone light in her face again. ‘Excuse me?’
‘My name is Kim,’ she said in a voice that sounded like sandpaper. ‘And I don’t have typhoid. Your brother stabbed me and my leg is on fire.’
‘Which brother? I have two.’
‘Doug.’
‘I don’t have a brother named Doug.’
‘You’re Cole, right? The one who gets suspended all the time?’
He scowled. ‘Yes.’
‘Then you have a brother named Doug.’
Wheeling, West Virginia, Wednesday, December 4, 8.28 P.M.
Daphne’s scream still ringing in his ears, Joseph threw open the door and ran the length of the hall to Ford’s room, where there was chaos.
The uniformed officer who’d been on guard duty was on the floor, bleeding profusely, a knife imbedded in his gut. A nurse knelt beside him, already doing first aid.
Daphne stood beside Ford’s bed, shielding him with her body. Her eyes were wide and filled with abject fear as she pointed to the door. ‘Scrubs. He’s wearing scrubs. Old man, gray hair. Six feet, maybe. Hector followed him.’
Joseph took off again, looking over his shoulder. Deacon was behind him, laptop under his arm, shoving his feet into his shoes as he ran. ‘Deacon, pull up hospital security video. Get a description, put out a BOLO.’ He drew his weapon and pointed to McManus. ‘Let’s go.’
He entered the nearest stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. He heard a door slam below and ran faster, blowing through the exterior door in time to see a white truck peeling out of the parking lot. Hector had started to chase the truck on foot but had given up and was running back.
By the time Joseph got to his car, the truck would have been on the interstate already. McManus ran past him, carried by the momentum of running down the stairs.
‘I got his license plate.’ Hector called and, breathing hard, recited it to McManus.
‘Call it in,’ Joseph said. ‘White truck, taillights looked like a Suburban.’
McManus nodded. ‘Dispatch, this is Detective McManus.’
Joseph turned a slow circle, searching the parking lot as McManus put out the BOLO, eyes narrowing at the sight of a car with its trunk partially open. He ran over to find the car’s tire flat and blood spattered on the hubcap. A cell phone lay on the ground about ten feet away. Another slow turn had Joseph’s racing heart sinking.
Against the building was a dumpster. From behind it extended a bare arm. Again he ran. The arm was attached to a man, stripped down to his briefs. Blood had pooled beneath his head and torso, the latter the result of a stab wound that had split the man’s abdomen wide open.
Joseph knelt, pressing his fingers to the man’s throat. ‘He’s still alive, barely. Hector, run upstairs and get a doctor. They’ll need something to stop the bleeding.’
McManus ran up, phone in hand. ‘I called Dispatch and they’re calling the ER. They should have someone here in a minute.’ Then McManus sighed. ‘That’s Billy Pratchett, a guy I went to school with. He’s a nurse here.’ He nodded to Joseph. ‘I’ll wait with him. You go check on Ms Montgomery.’
‘Thanks.’ Joseph made his way back up the stairs, more slowly than he’d come down. What the hell is going on here? He walked back to Ford’s room, where things seemed more under control. The uniformed officer must have been taken to another room, because he wasn’t there.
Ford was awake and sitting up, peering at his mother through bloodshot eyes.
Daphne sat in a chair, her back to him. Her wig gone. Curls. Her head was covered in tight blond curls. But she wasn’t looking at him now. She was staring at her hands. Joseph imagined that this wasn’t the way she’d envisioned laying herself bare. So to speak.
Why ever would she want to cover up curls like that? His hands itched to touch her, but he stayed where he was, in the doorway. Later he could touch all he wanted.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked quietly. ‘Did you find him?’
‘No, but we did find a nurse named Pratchett. It looks like he was attacked for his clothing and ID badge. Detective McManus is with him now. We got a BOLO out on the man and his vehicle. Now, please tell me what happened here. Where is the uniformed officer who was here before?’
‘He was taken to surgery,’ Daphne said. ‘I wondered how the intruder got in. I guess now I know.’
She still hadn’t looked at him. ‘Daphne, what happened?’ He touched her shoulder. ‘Talk to me.’
‘Hector got here right after I did and we went to get a cup of coffee,’ she said. ‘I thought Ford would be all right with an armed guard. When we came back, the officer was standing guard and the door was closed. He said a nurse had come in to give Ford a new IV. But a nurse had just finished doing that. I pushed at the door, but the old man had put a chair across it. I could see him through the window.’ Her voice shook and big tears plopped onto the hands she’d twisted in her lap. ‘He had a pillow over Ford’s face.’
‘I’m okay now, Mom,’ Ford said thickly. ‘Please don’t cry anymore.’
‘How’d you get in the room?’ Joseph asked her.
‘The officer broke the window with a fire extinguisher and reached through to move the chair. We pushed open the door and rushed in. The man grabbed me and put a knife to my throat. Tried to drag me out with him. I fought him and he grabbed my hair.’ She smoothed a hand over her curls self-consciously. ‘When it came off in his hand . . .’ Her chuckle was watery. ‘It surprised him. He yelled and threw it. That’s how I got away. If my hair hadn’t . . . you know, come off, then he would have gotten me across the throat. Bye-bye me.’
Joseph’s blood chilled. When he’d entered the room, he’d been so focused on the chaos that he hadn’t noticed the wig was gone. He hadn’t realised how close he’d come to losing her, yet again. ‘Then what happened?’ he asked hoarsely.
‘He was fast for an old guy. He threw me down, stabbed the officer and threw him into Hector. He ran like hell and Hector chased him. I screamed for you.’
‘Did you know him, Daphne?’
Her eyes flickered uncertainly. ‘I didn’t see his face. He was either bent over putting the pillow on Ford’s face or he had my back pulled against his chest. But it wasn’t Doug. He was too tall and too old.’
‘That’s okay,’ Joseph soothed. ‘Hector got a good look at him and Novak’s looking at security videos. Between them we can get an ID.’
‘I’m back,’ Deacon said from behind him. ‘We got his face. I made a still and faxed it to the local PD and to the Pittsburgh field office. They’re putting up road blocks. They said McManus called in a white pickup.’
Crouching next to Daphne, Joseph looked over at Ford. The boy was still out of it, but some clarity had returned. ‘It was a white Chevy pickup, son.’
Ford’s mouth fell open. ‘He . . .’ He closed his eyes, then opened them, his effort to focus admirable. ‘Can I see his photo, please?’
Deacon crossed the room. ‘I’m Special Agent Novak, FBI. It’s good to meet you, Ford.’ He showed the photo to Ford and the boy flinched.
‘Yeah, that’s one of them.’
‘There was more than one?’ Joseph asked, sharing a glance with Deacon.
‘Yes. There were two. One was this old man. He had the cabin and the truck was his. Heather. Last name, last name.’ He closed his eyes, murmuring to himself. ‘Ice tea.’ His eyes opened. ‘Lipton. Heather Lipton. I found her purse under the seat of his truck. I didn’t see her in his cabin, but I got free and pretty much got out of there. I took all of his knives and all his clothes and put them in the truck. Stripped him naked and took his shoes. Tied him and left him in the cabin. Figured that even if he got loose from the twine I used, he wouldn’t get far buck naked in the snow.’
‘Smart,’ Joseph murmured.
Daphne sat like a statue, her eyes on the paper in Ford’s hands. She could see the face, upside down. She knows him, Joseph thought, his heart beginning to race.
‘I drove about thirty miles, I think,’ Ford said, ‘then the piece of shit ran out of gas.’
‘So you walked?’ Deacon asked.
‘For miles. Oh, wait.’ Again he closed his eyes. Then rattled off a license plate number, the same one Hector had noted earlier. Kid’s got an amazing memory. ‘That’s the white truck. I think I remember it right.’
‘You remembered it perfectly,’ Joseph said. ‘We spotted it driving away.’
‘Good. I rolled his fingerprints across the blade of one of his knives before I left the cabin. I didn’t want to drag him with me, but I thought you could run his prints.’
‘Very smart and incredibly practical,’ Joseph said, impressed. No wonder my dad thinks this kid’s a genius. ‘I don’t know that I would have thought of that.’
Ford leaned forward, touched his mother’s knee. ‘Mom? I’m okay.’
She nodded. ‘I know, honey. It’s just . . . I’m emotional.’
‘Do you remember which way you walked?’ Joseph asked.
‘For a long time I stayed on a road, but then the road ended and there was nothing but woods. At one point there was a fishing area with picnic tables. I sat there for a while. Looked like it was only accessible by boat. It was really snowing hard by then. I couldn’t see a thing. I followed the waterline inch by inch and finally I found a road and stayed on it until . . .’ He frowned. ‘There was a van. It stopped and I thought I was okay. But . . .’ He lifted the hospital johnny to look at his thigh. ‘Sonofabitch tased me. Again. And shot me up. Again. That’s all I remember until I woke up here.’
‘What about the other guy?’ Joseph asked.
Ford’s expression changed, becoming grave. ‘That was him, the one who tased me last night. The old guy said it was the other one’s idea, that they were asking for a ransom. Five million dollars.’
‘No one ever called in a ransom demand, Ford,’ Joseph said.
‘There was something else going on. Strange stuff. There was a shed. When I first woke up, I was in this shed that had been a garage. Detached. Which was weird because when I finally got to the cabin, I think it was smaller than the garage. I woke up the first time and the guy who tased me was there, whispering in my ear, then shooting me up. What was it? It wasn’t heroin or meth, was it? Please say it wasn’t.’
‘Ketamine, which is used as a sedative,’ Joseph said. ‘Addictive but not at the levels you’ve received. Also fentanyl, which is a narcotic. Again, not addictive at the levels you received. Don’t worry. What else do you remember?’
‘When I woke up the next morning there was this smell. Something dead. I got the blindfold off and it was . . . cats. One was decomposing and the others were just bones.’ He paused, remembering. ‘Another weird thing, the decomposing cat had been dug up. It was wearing an old collar, but a brand new tag. The tag had a cat’s name.’
Daphne had begun to tremble. ‘Fluffy?’ she whispered.
Ford’s frown was immediate and sharp. ‘Yes. How did you know that, Mom?’
Abruptly Daphne reached for the photo in Ford’s hand. ‘Let me look.’
Joseph held his breath because she was holdi
ng hers. She gripped the paper and spread it across her thigh to keep it from shaking. Then jerked her chin down to look.
‘Oh God,’ she whispered. She’d started to hyperventilate. ‘Can’t be can’t be can’t be.’ The words ran together, like a prayer. ‘What did he say, Ford? Exactly?’
Ford cleared his throat. ‘I’m back. Did you—’
What color was left in her face drained away. ‘Miss me?’ she finished.
‘Yes,’ Ford said, alarmed. ‘Mom? What’s happening here?’
Joseph gently turned her so that she looked at him. ‘The old man, the man in this picture. It was him, wasn’t it? The one that took you and your cousin.’
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Why is he doing this?’
‘I don’t know, but we will find out. I promise you. But you know what I need from you. The whole story. Because somewhere in there is a connection to a guy named Doug who wants your life to be a living hell.’
‘There are still two girls out there,’ she whispered.
‘Maybe three,’ Joseph said. He pointed to the picture of the old man. ‘Ford found evidence that this man’s taken another seventeen-year-old girl.’
‘Another?’ It wasn’t even a whisper. More an exhale. She fixed her gaze on Joseph’s and the temperature around him seemed to plummet. There was knowledge in her eyes, terrible knowledge. And terrible guilt. ‘I’ll tell you everything. But you should update the BOLO.’
‘With what?’ Joseph asked, almost afraid of the answer.
‘Now you can add his name. He’s Wilson Beckett.’
Joseph couldn’t control his reaction. Utter shock. And then anger as the implication set in. ‘You knew his name?’
She flinched slightly but didn’t break eye contact. ‘Yes. I’ve always known.’
Chapter Twenty
Wheeling, West Virginia, Wednesday, December 4, 9.30 P.M.
‘Thank you.’ Daphne took the cup of coffee Hector offered, her hands shaking with a combination of cold and shock.