Sophie’s mother answered, “Karen King.”
“This is Emma Thorne. I’m looking for—”
“Emma Thorne? What do you want with Sophie?”
“She texted me some days ago, and I don’t have her cell phone number.”
“She texted you?” the mother said in horror. “The police say that you’re a serial killer. It’s all over the papers and the TV news. Please don’t hurt my daughter.”
Karen hung up.
Emma knew one truth. She would once again be the lead story on the evening news.
She found Georgia’s BMW M6 in the barn and tried the key. She didn’t want to call the police and not have the means to escape. The engine caught and purred. She left it running while she hurried back into the house and dialed 911 from Georgia’s landline. The Hampshire Police Department had recently adopted the Enhanced-911 system, which incorporated automatic number and location identification. She knew that the dispatcher would see the name and address of Georgia Foster and a map pin-pointing her house.
“What is the location of your emergency?”
Emma quickly said, “Listen carefully, Will Foster and Georgia Foster are locked in a vault in the basement of this house. One of them requires an ambulance. Georgia is guilty of kidnapping if not murder. Bring a safe-cracker.”
The dispatcher demanded, “Emma? Is that you? You’re not making any sense.”
Emma wasn’t ready to throw herself on the mercy of her former colleagues.
She replaced the receiver, grabbed Georgia’s two cell phones, found a floppy hat on a peg in the hall, and hurried back to the M6.
66
“I’ll get it, Dad!”
Although her head felt like a balloon about to burst, Emma had the BMW’s windows lowered. The breeze, blowing through her hair, enhanced her bitter-sweet freedom.
She was confident that the entire police force would be responding to 36 Roughland Road.
She returned to her nagging feeling that Sophie King had an important message for her. Maybe she should try to go to the King’s house and …
… and what?
Who opens their door to a serial killer?
She could wait for Sophie to leave, but it wasn’t likely that the girl would be allowed out at 10:30 p.m.
She pulled the BMW to the side of the road. She opened both of Georgia’s cell phones. In the Contacts section, she quickly found Sophie’s cell number. How dumb of me. She noticed that neither Ethan Jackson’s nor Joe Henderson’s numbers were in either phone. How many cell phones did Georgia own? Or maybe she had guiltily deleted both names.
Emma called Sophie, who answered, “Georgia?”
“No, Sophie, it’s Emma Thorne.”
“How come you didn’t text me back?” She sounded petulant. “It was … it is important.”
“Sorry. I was busy.”
“I was just trying to help you with your investigation, like you helped me.”
Emma said, “What did you want to tell me?”
“Wait a second! That’s weird. Someone’s at our front door.”
Emma heard her shout, “I’ll get it, Dad!”
Emma shouted, “Do not answer the door, Sophie!”
She got no reply.
A moment later, Emma heard a terrified scream and what sounded like the cell phone landing on the floor.
Then dead air, as if the phone had stopped working.
“Sophie? Sophie!” Emma called.
Emma looked at Georgia’s mobile screen.
Call Terminated.
Emma put the BMW in gear and skidded into a U-turn. The King house was roughly ten minutes away. She made it in five.
The front door was open when Emma jumped out of the car. Karen King was on the phone. With 911, Emma assumed. She heard Karen say, “Come quickly! Please!”
Emma saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Her husband stepped into the doorway and put his arms around her shoulders. He looked at Emma. “Oh God,” he said, “what are you doing here? Did you have something to do with this?”
“What happened?” Emma asked, although she was sure that she knew the answer.
Karen started blubbering. “I can’t talk to you. They say you’re the killer!”
“For fuck’s sake,” Emma said, “just tell me what happened to Sophie.”
Mr. King said, “Hold on, Karen, I’ve got a feeling about this. I’m going to tell her. We were upstairs … oh, Jesus, this is terrible …”
“I’ll help you,” Emma said firmly, “but I need to know exactly what’s going on. Tell me.”
Karen said, “Like Henry said, we were in bed. We heard the doorbell, and we heard Sophie say that she would get it. Then we heard a scream. Then we heard a muffled scream. Next, a car drove away really fast. We ran downstairs. The door was open like you see it. And, oh my God, my baby …”
“So, you didn’t see who was at the door?”
“No,” Karen said hollowly.
Emma heard a siren. Her heart started to pound. Before running back to the BMW, she paused long enough to tell them, “I know who did this, and I’m going to find Sophie and bring her home.”
Henry firmly closed the door. She heard the deadbolt snap home.
Somehow, Emma found the courage to believe her own words.
At the end of the driveway, she turned in the opposite direction from the approaching siren. She saw the flashing lights of the arriving cruiser in her rearview mirror as she sped away.
Sophie wished she hadn’t been such a bitch to her mother recently. She had been so teen-aged. She would do anything for a hug from Mom right now.
God, would she ever see her parents again?
In the back of the car, she was terrified. Way more scared than she was when Joe Henderson had led Emma on that asinine wild-goose chase and when the Escalade had flipped. Her wrists and ankles were zip-tied together. There was a smelly rag stuffed in her mouth, bound with duct tape. Scariest of all was the black hood covering her head.
Would Emma be able to save her again? Emma must certainly know that something truly hideous had happened, but would she be able to figure who her abductor was?
Prayers didn’t come easily to Sophie, although her parents never missed a Sunday mass. Tonight, she prayed earnestly that … somehow … she would make it home again.
67
“Welcome Home”
What wasn’t even remotely clear was how the hell Georgia had escaped from the vault. Did she have otherworldly powers? It sure seemed like it. And in what condition had she left Will? Was he wounded, in need of medical care? Or was Will dead? Emma shuddered.
The only other possibility was that the police had opened the vault, and Georgia had talked her way free. Emma dismissed that scenario as absurd.
No, actually neither was possible. The timing simply didn’t work. If not Georgia, there could be only one other suspect. Joe Henderson. And, if Joe had abducted Sophie, was she headed to sex-slavery? Could Joe be Mr. Sharpie? Was sex-trafficking the gateway drug to serial murder?
She stopped the BMW and made a call to Detective Dave Swanson of the Lincoln Police Department. She did not expect a warm welcome.
“Dave, this is Emma Thorne—”
“Jesus, Emma, there’s a murder warrant out for you and you conned me into thinking you were still chief of police. If you’re calling me because you’re scared of the Hampshire PD, I can set up a meet where you’ll be safe. Turn yourself in—”
“Shut up! I don’t have time for this. How long have we known each other? I murdered fuck-all!”
“I’ve known Skip Munro a long time, too. Skip’s no dummy—”
“Listen to me! One question. Did you guys ever bust that photo studio front for the trafficking ring?”
“I can answer that. Don’t you read the newspapers?”
Not lately, she thought.
Dave continued, “We arrested three male adults and freed six minor females.”
“Okay, second question,
then. Did you arrest Joe Henderson?”
“He wasn’t on scene when we busted that hell hole. The D.A. says that one of the guys we charged is likely to flip. Then we’ll get a warrant for Joe. We believe he’s the money—”
“Thanks Dave. You’re a true friend.” She disconnected.
Gunning the BMW, Emma sped to Archie’s house.
She needed a gun.
Regrettably, Lieutenant Skip Munro had out-thought her on that score. During the time she had been on the run or in Georgia’s basement, Munro had emptied the gun safe. Inside was an official CSP form listing the weapons which had been confiscated.
Frustrated, she drove home. She needed some kind of weapon before confronting Georgia.
Where she expected to see a dark house, instead she was alarmed to find brightly lit windows throughout the downstairs. She had underestimated the persistence of the Hampshire PD.
Why were her former colleagues still hunting her? Between her 911 call asking them to respond to Georgia’s house and Sophie having been snatched … wouldn’t they be a tad busy?
And surely, they could see that she, Emma, couldn’t be responsible.
She drove past and left the BMW around the corner. She reconnoitered on foot. She sneaked through her neighbor’s backyard as silently as she knew how. Not silently enough. She peered through the kitchen window and came face-to-face with a large, barking dog, whose front paws were balanced on the edge of the counter. The dog was a Belgian Malinois—who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sergeant Pepper. The dog’s bark morphed into ecstatic yip-yips.
Emma was the happiest she had been in recent memory.
She ran to the door and flew inside. Pepper greeted her in spasms of wriggling joy. She jumped up, placing her paws on Emma’s chest, and licked her face. Strict no-nos at any other time. Emma couldn’t care less. She kissed her repeatedly, unable to believe she was alive and well.
“Who is there?” she heard Mark Byrne shout from the living room. He came running into the kitchen. “Hey! It’s you! Welcome home!”
“It’s good to be home.”
Mark asked, “May I give you a hug?”
“Sure can.”
They hugged, and Mark kissed her on the ear.
Emma said, “I was so sure that Pepper was dead. I can’t believe this. I’m so happy.”
Mark’s explanation tumbled out. “She was at the vet for three days and two nights. You’re going to get a whopping bill. But Pepper never gave up. She was determined to survive and to heal. She took a bullet in her hindquarters, but it missed her femur and went right on through. By the way, Buzz feels terrible about it. Caroline Stoner called me when Pepper was discharged, and I’ve had her ever since. I hope you don’t mind that we’ve been staying here. At my place, Pepper wouldn’t stop bitching, if you’ll pardon the pun. As it is, she’s been sitting by your front door for the past five days. Still, she’s made incredible progress.” He concluded, “We just got back from a long walk.”
Emma knelt to inspect Pepper’s wounds. The dog was still so excited that Emma had to rub her ears to calm her. Where Pepper’s fur had been shaven, she could see neat sutures closing both the entry and the exit wounds. “The vet did a great job. So, did you,” she said.
Mark said, “Where on earth have you been hiding out?” Of course, he knew nothing of her imprisonment.
Emma explained where she had been.
“Shit on a stick,” he exclaimed. He studied her face as he said, “So Will is still alive …”
Emma then explained why she wasn’t sure.
He thought for a moment before saying, “But Georgia has to be Mr. Sharpie?”
“I don’t think it’s possible, unless she’s a magician. I feel pretty certain that we’re looking at Joe Henderson.”
“The guy you chased and rescued that girl from, Georgia’s goddaughter. Jesus, how bizarre can it get?”
“The very same guy to whom you, Pepper, and I are going to pay a visit. Because I think he snatched Sophie King earlier tonight.”
Mark’s eyes bulged. “Whaat?”
She nodded and told him of her visit to the King household and about the sex trafficking ring in Lincoln.
He shook his head and sat down at the kitchen table. “And I thought my home had all the villainy a town could offer. Jamaica Plain doesn’t hold a candle to Hampshire.”
“C’mon,” she urged.
He checked his wristwatch. “It’s two in the morning.”
“Now’s the time.”
“You’re right,” he said seriously. Mark’s usual flippant demeanor seemed to have deserted him. “I have to get a couple of things from my car before we go.”
Emma hoped those would include some heavy weapons.
She had a bad feeling about Joe Henderson.
68
Crazy Bitch
Mark, Pepper, and Emma piled into Emma’s car and sped toward Henderson House in the early hours of the morning. Near the end of his driveway, they found an overgrown farm road off Meadow Drive to hide the car, and they proceeded up the long driveway on foot. Emma put her key ring in her back pocket and carried the policeman’s friend—a four-D-cell Maglite flashlight. It was switched off.
She counted on Mark to be carrying, too.
On the way, Mark observed in a quiet voice, “This place must have set Joe back a shit-load.”
“Trafficking in virgins,” Emma whispered back, “must be good business.”
Although it was nearly two in the morning, there were plenty of lights on in Joe’s house.
Emma and Pepper proceeded to the front door while Mark took the back.
Emma pounded on the door and waited to the side. Pepper was a quivering mass of anticipation. There was no answer. She found a doorbell and pressed that. Inside, “La Cucaracha” played loud and long. Emma hadn’t credited Joe with a sense of humor. There was still no answer.
Behind her, Emma suddenly heard a car screaming up the driveway. It was a Corvette. She remembered Sophie telling her all those weeks ago at the conclusion of the car chase that Joe owned a Corvette.
Indeed, Joe pulled to a stop in front of the front door, jumped out, and slammed the car door behind him. Sophie wasn’t in the passenger seat.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Emma felt amazingly calm. She also felt brave. She was confident that, one way or another, Joe would lead her to the end of this madness.
Wagging warily, Pepper kept her brown eyes fixed on Joe.
“Where have you been, Joe, and where is Sophie King?”
“None of your business is the answer to the first question. And no fucking idea is the answer to your second. You’re not a cop, so get off my land and out of my life.” He took a menacing step toward her. Pepper tensed. “You’ve caused plenty of trouble, already,” he added.
“Not going to happen. We’re not going anywhere until we see Sophie and bring her home—”
Joe said quickly, “Who’s we?”
“I meant Pepper and me.”
Emma wanted to bet that he had accepted her lie. But then he pulled a gun from his waistband.
She took a step backward as Pepper went rigid. “No need for that, Joe. Give me Sophie—I know you snatched her—and we’ll be on our way.”
“She isn’t here.” In that, Joe had made a blunder similar to hers earlier. She took him to mean that Sophie had been there.
Suddenly, Joe looked confused, but his anger quickly returned.
Emma pressed: “I know about your dirty little operation down in Lincoln, selling under-age girls. I know that it got busted. And I know that the Lincoln PD plans to come after you—”
For a skilled sociopath, Joe’s reaction surprised her. His face immediately betrayed surprise and fear.
He waggled his gun in front of her face.
Emma continued, “I can’t prove it … yet … but I believe you murdered Ethan Jackson, Deb Barger, Vanessa Mack, and Stella Weeks. You’re standing in some dee
p shit, Joe. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Waving that gun around is only going to make matters worse.”
“You crazy bitch, I didn’t murder anyone!”
“Okay, I’ll settle for Sophie. Where is she?”
And where the hell was Mark?
“Like I said, don’t know. Anyway, you’re the murderer. You knifed Georgia’s girlfriend in your kitchen—”
“Georgia’s what?”
“You heard me. Georgia was having it on with Stella, the sexy sparkplug. You didn’t know that? Some detective.”
Emma needed a moment to regroup. She remembered seeing them together at Ethan’s funeral. But lovers hadn’t crossed her mind. Finally, she said, “You seem well-informed.”
“Yeah, Georgia told me all about them. Every so often, I fuck Georgia, too.”
“Didn’t you just claim she’s into women?”
Joe got the same snarky grin he’d had when he’d greeted her in his bathing suit. “What can I say? Women just can’t resist me.”
In her peripheral vision, Emma spotted a fleeting shadow at the corner of the house. She willed her eyes to stay focused on Joe. Unfortunately, Pepper wasn’t able to do the same.
Joe read the situation correctly. He whipped around, spotted Mark, and shouted for him to come forward.
“I’m armed whoever the hell you are, and I won’t hesitate to blow your brains out. Drop your weapon, raise your hands, and walk slowly toward me.”
“Take it easy, big guy,” Mark said flippantly, “I’m unarmed.”
Mark stepped out of the bushes. He joined our little gathering on the driveway with his hands above his head.
Joe said, “No wisecracks, asshole. Lie on the ground face down. Spread your arms and legs wide.”
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Book ’em, Danno.” Mark muttered.
Emma chimed in, “More like Mr. Sharpie.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up!”
Joe searched Mark thoroughly. Within moments he found a snub-nosed revolver in Mark’s ankle holster and a pair of black matte handcuffs looped through the back of Mark’s belt.
Ever So Silent Page 30