In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ I tell him, still shaken from the realization that it’s Jonathan. This whole time he’s been guarding June, flirting with Hannah, maybe even dating her, acting all concerned. And he was the man behind it.

  Nate shakes his head. ‘No, you’re not.’

  He pulls out his own phone and starts scrolling through numbers.

  ‘I am,’ I say to him as he puts the phone to his ear.

  ‘I need an address,’ Nate says to the person on the other end of the line, who I assume is someone at the Sheriff’s department. Nate turns his back on me and pulls a pen from a pocket to scribble something on the back of a receipt, Jonathan’s address. Perhaps Hannah’s there.

  A sudden dread fills me, almost paralyzing me. What if he’s hurt her already? Or what if she’s not there?

  The elevator doors open onto the lobby as Nate hangs up the phone. He darts out, and I follow him, determined to go with him.

  ‘Ava, go back,’ he says, spinning around to confront me. ‘You can’t come with me.’ He points back towards the elevator. ‘Let me do my job.’

  I shake my head vehemently. I’ve already almost lost one daughter, I’m not going to stand around and do nothing when my other daughter is in danger. ‘Either you let me come with you or I’m telling everyone who will listen that you tried to initiate a sexual relationship with me – a witness – the wife of your prime suspect.’

  His mouth falls open and he stares at me in shock.

  ‘You want to stay on this case and salvage what’s left of your career?’ I ask him.

  He glares at me in disbelief, and I hold his gaze, refusing to budge. ‘OK, fine,’ he finally snaps, still glaring furiously.

  We start jogging towards the front doors. ‘You set it up,’ he says, shooting a look my way. ‘The interview with that journalist. You lied about June waking up, didn’t you? You did it on purpose?’

  I shrug. ‘It worked, didn’t it?’ I want to yell at him that I wouldn’t have had to do anything if he’d known his own junior officer was the one involved, if he’d done his damn job. I solved the case on my own.

  ‘Where’s June?’ Nate asks as we reach the door.

  ‘Somewhere safe,’ I say.

  ‘It was stupid,’ Nate mutters angrily as we weave past patients on our way to the door. ‘You could have been killed. You put yourself in danger.’

  I shake my head. ‘Hannah’s in danger. We need to find her. Let’s go!’

  Reluctantly Nate nods and we hurry outside towards his car, passing a stream of SWAT and police officers, who rush by, storming inside the hospital. They probably think it’s an active-shooter situation and I duck my head and clutch my bag containing the gun closer to my side.

  ‘Mrs Walker?’

  I think about not turning around but I recognize the voice. It’s Dr Warier, running after me. The look on his face is one of shock. June. That’s all I can think. Something must have happened to her.

  ‘You need to come with me,’ Dr Warier says urgently and swivels on his heel to head back inside.

  ‘Why?’ I stammer.

  ‘There’s been an accident.’

  An accident? Is he talking about Jonathan?

  ‘She’s in the ER.’

  She? June! Something’s happened to her. Goddamn Gene. He had one job. I told him not to leave her.

  ‘Come quick!’ Dr Warier says, beckoning me over his shoulder.

  I look back to see Nate frowning at me and I’m torn for one indescribably awful moment between June and Hannah. It’s like Sophie’s Choice. But my feet make up my mind for me and I rush after Dr Warier. I need to know what’s happened.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Nate asks, racing by my side.

  I shake my head. I can’t speak, focused only on Dr Warier up ahead, running back inside the building, heading for the ER.

  He leads us through the maze of cubicles before stopping outside one and pulling back a curtain to reveal a bloodied, bandaged patient lying on a bed. A nurse is inserting an IV line into the back of the patient’s hand while another is drawing blood.

  June? I think, in shock. Because it isn’t her. I’m confused and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m looking at Laurie, who is almost unrecognizable, her face lacerated and swollen and her neck in a brace.

  ‘Jesus,’ I whisper, rushing towards her side. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was in a car accident,’ Dr Warier tells me.

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Earlier today. They only just found the car. On the 33, out towards Rose Valley.’

  The 33 is notorious for accidents. It’s a winding mountain road and people always take it too fast. But what was Laurie doing all the way out there?

  ‘Someone called it in,’ Dr Warier explains, ‘but the cops did a drive-by and couldn’t see the car at first – it was covered over by trees. They had to airlift her here.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say, swaying as I take in the damage done to Laurie’s face and body. ‘Is she going to be OK?’

  ‘We’re just getting her ready for surgery. She has multiple fractures, including her hip and thigh. We’ve notified her next of kin but as soon as I saw her ID I recognized her from the ICU and thought you’d want to know.’

  I take Laurie’s hand in mine. ‘Laurie?’ I say, squeezing her palm. There’s no answer. ‘Is she conscious?’ I ask the nurse drawing blood.

  ‘In and out,’ she answers, focused on the needle.

  ‘Laurie?’ I try again, louder this time. ‘It’s me. Ava.’

  She moans and her eyes flicker open. She stares at me dully, then registers it’s me and her mouth twists at the edge. ‘Ava,’ she whispers through cracked lips, clutching for my hand.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask her.

  She closes her eyes and murmurs something but I don’t hear it, as another doctor has arrived, syringe in hand, and is trying to get between us.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dr Warier says, trying to move me out of the way. ‘We need to get her to the OR. They’re waiting. I just thought you would want to see her.’

  The woman inserts the syringe into Laurie’s cannula. Laurie mumbles something. I reach for the doctor’s arm and stop her. ‘Wait.’

  ‘What?’ I ask Laurie, leaning closer, so my ear is close to her lips.

  ‘Hannah,’ she croaks.

  ‘Hannah what?’ I ask.

  Laurie opens her eyes, forcing out the words. ‘I saw her.’

  ‘Where?’ It’s Nate. He’s moved closer too.

  ‘Here, at the hospital.’ She licks her cracked lips.

  ‘What did you see?’ I ask, my nose almost pressed to hers. I want to shake the answers out of her.

  ‘She was arguing with a man . . . that deputy . . .’

  ‘Jonathan,’ Nate mutters, glancing at me.

  ‘I thought at first it was just a lover’s tiff but then . . . another man,’ Laurie whispers. ‘He . . .’

  ‘What other man? Did you see him? What did he look like?’

  The anesthetist, oblivious to the importance of our conversation, starts to plunge the syringe into Laurie’s IV. ‘Stop!’ I yell, but too late.

  ‘Laurie?’ I shout. ‘Who was it? What happened?’ I shake her hard by the shoulders. ‘What did you see?’

  Her eyelids flicker closed. ‘Another man. He . . . put . . . van.’

  I glance at Nate. He pulls out his notebook and pencil. ‘Do you remember the van? Anything about it? Color? License plate?’

  Laurie slumps unconscious on the pillow.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ interrupts Dr Warier, and I notice the orderlies waiting behind him. ‘We need to get her to the OR.’

  ‘Laurie? Laurie?’ I shout, but there’s no waking her up. The orderlies start wheeling her out of the cubicle. Shit. That might have been our only chance. What did she see? I turn to look at Nate, who looks just as frustrated as me.

  As they wheel Laurie past I suddenly catch sight of something.

  ‘Wait!�
� I say again, lunging towards them, grabbing the corner of the bed to stop it. The orderlies scowl at me but Nate sees what I’m seeing and holds up a hand to keep them at bay.

  He takes Laurie’s elbow and gently turns it so we can see the inside of her forearm. There, scrawled in lipstick, is a series of numbers and letters.

  ‘What is that?’ a nurse asks, cocking her head to read it better.

  ‘The van’s license plate number.’

  Chapter 51

  I catch up to Nate in the parking lot as a stream of media vans and more cop cars come screaming through the entrance.

  Nate ignores them and keeps jogging towards his car, beeping it open as he goes. I race around to the passenger side and get in before he can change his mind and though he gives me a black look he says nothing.

  The radio buzzes urgently to life the moment we get on the highway. ‘Officer 212.’

  Nate grabs for the receiver. ‘This is Officer 212. Go ahead.’

  ‘10-5, the van is registered to a Calvin Williams. White male, thirty-four years of age, few misdemeanors on record for petty theft and a couple of DUIs.’

  ‘Address?’ Nate asks.

  ‘3598 Lost Canyon Road.’

  ‘10-4.’

  Nate hangs up the radio and steps on the gas.

  ‘That’s way out,’ I say. ‘It’s off the 33.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nate says.

  ‘That’s the direction Laurie was driving,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah,’ Nate mutters, hunching over the wheel and pressing his foot even further to the floor. More cop cars go flying past us on the other side of the road, heading towards the hospital. I wonder what’s happened to Jonathan. Did I kill him? The thought is fleeting. I don’t care. But if we don’t find Hannah and Jonathan dies, I might never find her. I have to hope and pray they’re both still alive.

  I grip the car door as we take the entrance ramp to the 101 and swerve in front of a twelve-wheeler before flying across two lanes of traffic. I want Nate to go faster but he’s already driving at one hundred ten.

  ‘Hannah must have figured out it was Jonathan,’ I mutter, trying to put all the pieces together. ‘She must have confronted him.’

  But why? Why didn’t she tell me instead? Where would they take her? What are they planning on doing to her? What if they’ve already done it? They’re trying to silence her, like they tried with June. What if it’s already too late? What if she’s already dead and buried somewhere?

  Bile rushes into my mouth and I gasp and scramble for the window, trying to open it.

  ‘You OK?’ Nate asks, his hand resting on my shoulder.

  I shake my head, dizzy. Panic is making me hyperventilate. ‘Hurry up!’ I whisper. ‘Please.’

  I clutch the seat as Nate presses his foot to the floor and weaves in and out of traffic, a look of determination on his face. Please God. I can’t stop praying. Please let her be OK. Please don’t let them hurt her. And Laurie, please let her be OK too.

  I can’t believe that it was Jonathan. But of course it was staring me in the face the whole time. He’s the right height, the right build. He’s the man I slashed with the knife and smashed with the chopping board. He hid the injuries under his uniform and Sheriff’s hat, but even so, how could I not have seen it?

  ‘I told you it wasn’t Robert,’ I spit at Nate after a minute, unable to hold myself back.

  Nate looks over at me. ‘I knew it wasn’t Robert,’ he says quietly.

  I double-take at him, speechless. What the—

  ‘He was covering for Gene.’

  I stare at him, my mouth falling open. He knew all along? Then . . . why? Why did he charge him and put him in jail?

  ‘The Oxnard Sheriff’s department had already ID’d Gene as a possible small-time dealer,’ he says, glancing quickly my way. ‘That’s what he was arrested for a year back, that time you came to get him from the county jail. Jonathan tried to pull him over on suspicion of possession, he’d been seen with one of Raul’s boys doing a deal on the street, and Gene led him on a three-mile car chase. By the time he was pulled over the drugs were no longer in the car. We figured he must have dumped the drugs out the window somewhere en route and then gone back for them later. We let him go because we thought we could keep him under surveillance, see if we could gather more evidence to charge him later for something bigger than a misdemeanor.’

  It takes a while to sink in. The whole spiel Nate gave me about being able to get the charges dropped, the way he made it seem like a huge favor – it was all a lie. They already had a plan to let him go.

  ‘When they called me about the break-in at your place,’ he says to me, ‘I guessed it had something to do with Gene and his drug dealing. That maybe he’d pissed off the wrong people. It’s not a big leap of the imagination.’

  ‘So why didn’t you arrest him then? If you were so sure?’

  He pulls a face. ‘What for? We questioned him but he refused to talk and we didn’t have enough to charge him. Then along came all the insurance stuff. And suddenly we had enough to arrest Robert. We figured Gene would do the right thing at that point and come forward to get his dad off the hook. But he didn’t.’

  I stare at him. ‘So the whole conspiracy to commit murder charge, that was just a strategy? You knew it wasn’t true – that Robert was innocent?’

  ‘I knew it wasn’t likely,’ Nate says, his eyes on the road. ‘Those add-ons to insurance policies are standard. Any good lawyer would have been able to get that charge thrown out or been able to beat it in court.’

  ‘I didn’t have a good lawyer.’

  Nate shrugs. ‘We were going to let him go but he put in a no contest plea.’

  I stare at him incredulous. ‘But you let me believe my own husband tried to have me killed . . .’ I stare out the window. Nate knew Robert was innocent and he still arrested him? And he knows about Gene and the drugs. They’ve known all along. Everyone’s been lying about everything. Nate made me doubt my own husband. Guilt adds itself to the slush of emotions I feel towards Robert.

  Nate glances over at me again as I stare dumbfounded out the window. ‘My guess is that Gene didn’t come forward and Robert isn’t talking because Raul threatened you.’

  I try to keep my expression blank. Robert might still be in danger if I talk.

  ‘Am I right?’

  I turn to glare at him. ‘What does it matter? It wasn’t Gene. And it wasn’t Robert who organized the break-in. And it wasn’t Raul either. It was your own damn partner! You need to let Robert go,’ I shout. ‘He shouldn’t be in jail.’

  ‘He’ll be out by tomorrow,’ Nate answers.

  I let my head sink back into the seat and try to put the jumbled pieces together. Jonathan was the deputy who pulled Gene over that fateful day eighteen months ago. He knew Gene was dealing but he let him go so he could keep him under surveillance. But then he must have decided at some point it was more lucrative to rob him than to arrest him.

  With a sudden jolt, a memory flashes from that day we went to pick up Gene from jail. Hannah was talking to someone when I came out of Nate’s office. It was Jonathan, now I think back on it. They were flirting.

  Did they stay in touch? Was something going on between them even before they reconnected in the hospital? I remember the other day, how I walked in on them in June’s room, both red-faced. I thought she was upset about June, but what if they’d been arguing? Had she guessed his involvement in the crime and confronted him? Was he threatening her – forcing her to stay quiet?

  A deep shudder wracks my body when I think of all the times Jonathan asked me how June was doing – the fake look of concern on his face. I think about the time he was meant to be guarding the door but was strangely absent from his post when the attack on June happened.

  It takes us almost thirty minutes, even driving at ninety miles an hour with lights flashing, to reach the turn-off on the 33 that leads down Lost Canyon Road. I spend the entire journey on the edge of my seat, trying not
to think the worst about what might have happened. Please let her be alive. That’s all I care about.

  I place my hand inside my bag and grip the gun. If this man, Calvin, has hurt my baby in any way whatsoever, I will kill him.

  It’s getting dark as we make our way through the canyon, which is deep in shadow. It’s a dead-end road, twenty miles long, ending in a state park and nature reserve where I sometimes hike. Towards the park end of the road there are a few ramshackle old houses hidden away in the trees. There’s an air of Deliverance about it – dusty pick-up trucks and boarded-up windows, tire swings hanging forlornly from gnarly tree branches. In the summer the risk of wildfires makes it a fairly treacherous place to live, and in winter when it rains there are flash floods, which wash the road away and cause mud slides. On top of that, there’s only one way in and out and no cell-phone reception.

  We drive in silence, counting up the numbers, until Nate slows to a crawl, his headlights illuminating a mailbox with the number 3598 on it. The name Williams is written there in boxy white letters.

  It’s fully dark now. Nate kills his lights and pulls the car over to the side of the road. We peer through the trees. It’s pitch black, no moon, and it’s hard to make out the shape of a house, though a golden light flickers in the distance, indicating something’s back there.

  ‘There!’ I say, pointing. ‘Do you see that?’

  About one hundred meters down the dirt drive there’s a van parked beneath an awning. We can’t make out the license but I know that’s the van. Nate seems to be hesitating.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ I urge.

  ‘Back-up. We need SWAT. We don’t know how many of them there are or if they’re armed.’

  ‘We need to get in there,’ I say. ‘What if something happens to Hannah? What if she’s hurt?’ I grab for the door handle. I’m not just sitting here waiting for back-up. Not when my daughter’s in that house. Nate grabs my arm and hauls me back.

  ‘OK. I’ll go in but you have to stay here.’

  I think about arguing but finally nod.

  Nate moves to get out the car but then stops and turns back to me. ‘You bring your gun?’ he asks.