by Chris Mooney
And yet … and yet on some level, even before he found out about Lou’s trip to Paris, hadn’t he known his mother wasn’t coming home? Hadn’t he known that, over the course of the five months she was gone, if she had really wanted to come get him, wouldn’t she have made some sort of arrangement? Some sort of effort? She would have tried something.
Your mother could be very persuasive with that soft gentle voice of hers—you know that better than anyone. Smoothest liar I ever met, your mother.
Funny thing about the mind—how it could take each experience and trauma and shave off the parts it didn’t need or want. Easy to store that way, he supposed. Or maybe it was a survival mechanism. Maybe the brain simply couldn’t handle cataloging the polarizing depths of how some of us could love and hate and kill in equal measures. Maybe the reason he couldn’t see himself as an alcoholic with a violent temper that mirrored his murderous father’s was the same reason he couldn’t see Sarah willingly walking off with Jonah, Jess being unfaithful, his mother never coming home because she didn’t have any room for him in her new life. To accept the truth was to accept all of it, and he could feel his mind crumbling under the sheer weight of it.
Mike pictured Lou lying back in his bed, his hands clasped behind his head and beads of sweat running down his forehead as he stared at the bars of his jail cell.
Admit it, Michael. Your life was much simpler when you were busy hating me.
A blue-gray Volvo came to a stop at the corner of Dibbons Street, and then banged a left and made a quick right into Terry’s driveway. At first, Mike thought that the Volvo was going to back up and turn around; then Terry came rushing out of her door and down the stairs, one hand clutching both a bulky black leather briefcase and her purse. She looked up the street as if expecting to find someone. Mike had already sunk further down in his seat.
This is ridiculous. He took out his cell phone and after he dialed Nancy’s number, he inched back up and peered over the truck’s dashboard. Terry was still leaning into the passenger side window of the Volvo. The briefcase, he noticed, was no longer in her hands. Just the purse.
“What’s up?” Nancy asked.
Mike explained what was going on, watching as the driver stepped out of the Volvo.
Nancy said, “ You recognize the guy?”
Salt and pepper hair, kind of tall—around six one—wearing a white shirt and chinos with sneakers. Mike was positive he had never seen this guy before. “No,” he said. “Right now he’s running up the stairs to Terry’s house.”
“And what’s Terry doing?”
“She’s getting behind the wheel of the Volvo…. Now she’s pulling out of the driveway.”
“Can you see the license plate?”
“Yeah.”
“Give it to me.”
Mike did, and right as he finished, Nancy said, “ Follow her. I want to know where she’s going.”
“Don’t you think we’re being—”
“Just do it. She know you drive a truck?”
“I have no idea.” Terry had pulled out of her driveway and was now driving down the opposite end of the street, away from him. Mike wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder and started the truck.
Nancy said, “ You ever follow someone?”
“Yeah, I do it all the time, pick women out, stalk them for fun.” He drove down the street. The Volvo was at a STOP sign. No directional was on.
“What you want to do is to stay as far behind her as you can without losing her,” Nancy said. “If she’s checking around to see if she’s being followed, she’ll be looking two or three cars behind. Since you’re in the truck, you’re sitting higher up, you have a better view of the road and don’t need to be as close. You got a friend who can keep an eye on her house until I get there?”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme here?”
“That a yes or no?”
“I have someone in mind.” Mike was at the STOP sign now.
“Have him call me. Stay on Terry, and whatever you do, don’t lose her.” Nancy hung up.
The Volvo had turned left and was now driving up Grafton. A mile or two down the road were the exits for Route 1.
So Terry was going out for a drive. So what?
Why would she take this man’s Volvo? Why not take her own car?
He started to rattle off possible explanations: Maybe there was some mechanical problem with her car. Maybe—Who the hell knew? There could be a dozen explanations, all of them perfectly valid.
Still, as he drove, he felt Nancy’s paranoia mixing with his own. Okay, Terry had acted weird, even a little fanatical about the whole abortion thing. And yes, when she came out of her house, she had looked around the street, checking it out. Why? Was she looking for him? The police?
And let’s not forget her mentioning the items Jonah stored underneath the floorboards in his bedroom.
Mike called Bill.
“I need you to do me a big favor, and I don’t have the time to get into the reasons why,” Mike said. “I just need you to do it, okay?”
“Lay it on me.”
“You got a pen?”
“I’m in the kitchen next to the chalkboard. Shoot.”
Mike gave Bill a brief explanation of what was happening, then rattled off the address and Nancy’s cell-phone number. “Watch the house,” Mike said. “Call Nancy, tell her you’re there, keep her updated.”
“I’ll keep my cell phone on,” Bill said. “Where are you going?”
“I wish I knew.”
CHAPTER 47
For the next two hours, Mike followed Terry as she drove north on Route 93 and then 89, passing through a good chunk of New Hampshire and now heading into Vermont with no signs of slowing.
Tailing someone was hard—much harder when there were no cars between you. Right now they were traveling on a quiet, two-lane stretch of highway lined with trees on both sides, the Volvo a good ways ahead of him but still visible and still driving a steady sixty-five. Terry hadn’t sped up once. Either she wasn’t in a rush to get to her new destination, or she was being a stickler for the speed limits because she didn’t want to take the chance of getting pulled over.
Terry, what the hell are you up to?
And what was the connection to Sarah? The question kept buzzing around in his head, searching for an answer as he drove.
Mike checked the fuel gauge. The first tank was about empty, but the second tank, thank God, was full. Terry was going to have to stop and get gas at some point. She had to be getting close to a quarter of a tank by now.
His cell phone rang. Nancy.
“Sorry it took me so long to call, but the computer friend I use just finished going through Terry Russell’s phone records. No phone calls either to or from Arizona on the house phone or from her cell,” she said. “And the fibromyalgia? That’s a lie too. Checked the medical databases and came up dry.”
“Who owns the Volvo?”
“That would be Anthony Lundi, owns a home in Medford, married, two kids, used to be a cop and took early retirement about six years ago—don’t know why yet. I do know two things about the man. First, he was arrested for disorderly conduct—this was after he retired—for, get this, protesting at an abortion clinic.”
First Terry’s wacko reaction, now this information on her friend.
“Second,” Nancy said, “the man’s quite the cleaner. For the past half hour, I’ve been watching this guy through my binoculars. Right now he’s scrubbing down the walls in Terry’s apartment. I’m thinking of hiring him to clean my place.”
“He could be just helping her with the move. When you leave an apartment, you’re supposed to clean it.” Mike said the words but didn’t fully believe them.
“Or, if you’re like Ted Bundy, you meticulously clean your apartment and car to get rid of evidence.”
“Of what?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. What’s Terry doing?”
“Still driving.
”
“This is really starting to stink. Stay on her and don’t lose her,” Nancy said and hung up.
The warm sun that had greeted him this morning was now gone, replaced by dark gray clouds. Mike watched the Volvo dip over the horizon. He stepped on the gas a little to catch up.
Was she heading to Canada?
You’ll find out soon enough.
Mike saw a long stretch of empty road. The Volvo was nowhere in sight.
Panic gripped him. On the far right were a Mobil station and a Burger King. If she hadn’t pulled in there, she must have taken the exit after the station.
Check the gas station first.
Mike floored the gas and headed straight into the Mobil parking lot. Let her be here, Jesus God, don’t let her have taken an exit—
The Volvo was parked at one of the full-service pumps. He didn’t know whether or not she was in the car; maybe she had left for a bathroom break and to get something to eat. But it was her car. He recognized the license plate.
Mike did a three-point turn and parked the truck at a pump three lanes over, figuring he might as well get gas since he didn’t know how much longer Terry was going to be driving. His truck wasn’t exactly concealed, but Terry would have to look behind her in order to see it. He was in the middle of refueling when he saw Terry walk out of Burger King’s front doors. She couldn’t see him. Her back was toward him, and as Mike watched her, he noticed she took her time walking back to her car, and she wasn’t looking around like she had when she left her house. She seemed relaxed. Good. She climbed back inside the Volvo and started the car.
Mike waited a moment,wanting to give her a head start, and when he climbed back inside the truck, he saw that Terry had pulled up next to a pay phone and was now standing outside, making a phone call. He turned around and drove to the opposite end of the lot and backed into a space near the air hose. Terry, he could see, had hung up and was walking back to her car.
Only she didn’t drive way.
Two minutes passed. Five. Terry was still there.
Could be eating her lunch.
Or she’s waiting for someone.
And then another thought, this one new and alarming: If Terry was, in fact, waiting for someone, what would he do after this person or persons showed up? He could only follow one.
Call the police.
And say what? Hello, my name is Michael Sullivan. I’m the father of Sarah Sullivan, the girl who’s been missing for five years. What I need you to do is to come and arrest Terry Russell, Francis Jonah’s former hospice worker.
And what is the emergency,Mr. Sullivan?
The emergency is that Terry Russell is acting very strange. She’s lied to me and now she’s using a friend’s car and is driving through Vermont and heading only God knows where—Canada would be my guess. And she just used a pay phone to call someone. I don’t know who she called, but I do know she has a cell phone.Very suspicious, don’t you think?
Maybe her cell phone has bad reception.
Or maybe this has something to do with Jonah—and Sarah. Why else would she hop in her friend’s car and drive north?
I see your point, Mr. Sullivan. While I have you on the phone, can you please give me your chest size? We like all of our mental patients to feel comfortable when we fit them with a straitjacket.
I’m serious.
Of course you are. Those voices in your head can be so darn convincing! Now when the doctors come, Mr. Sullivan, don’t you worry. It’s just a shot, just a tiny sting, and all those nasty voices in your head will float away. Now where did you say you were again?
Right now Terry was alone.
Take a chance now or wait it out?
Mike grabbed his cell phone, got out of the truck and started running.
CHAPTER 48
Mike opened the passenger side door and threw himself inside. When Terry saw him, she jumped, and the burger and fries spread out on the waxy yellow paper on her lap fell on the floor, the paper drink cup sliding from her hand and spilling against the console separating the two seats.
“What are you—”
“Merrick never told you where the items were found,” Mike said, “and yet you knew they were found under the floorboards under Jonah’s bed. That’s pretty specific,Terry.”
“I never said—”
“Cut the bullshit. It’s over.”
She made a move for the door. He reached across her chest and pounded her door lock shut.
“Stop it, you’re crazy—”
He clamped his hand over her mouth. “You scream and the police will come,” he said. “I don’t think you want that, do you, Terry?” He shook her. “Do you?”
Her nostrils flaring, sucking in air, she looked at her rearview mirror. Mike glanced over his shoulder out the back window. People were walking across the lot of the gas station to Burger King but nobody was looking in this direction. On the backseat was the black leather briefcase she had carried with her out of her house.
“We’re not going to stick around for your friends,” he said. “I’m going to remove my hand and you’re going to keep your voice down, got it?”
She nodded.
Mike slid his hand off her mouth. Terry licked her lips, her eyes wide and scared.
“I overheard the police talking about it,” she said, her voice low, trembling. “They said they found a doll and your daughter’s snowsuit. That’s the truth, I swear to you.”
“Then you won’t mind talking to the police. Now drive.”
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
Terry started the car. Mike sat half twisted in his seat, watching her face as she put the car in gear. Her door was locked; he was in no danger of her trying to leave.
She stopped at the end of the parking lot. “Where do you want me to go?” she asked.
“South. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back home and get this car back to your police friend Anthony Lundi.”
No change in Terry’s expression. “May I please put my seatbelt on?” she asked.
“Go ahead.”
Very calmly, she put her seatbelt on, then used the power buttons on her door to roll up the windows. She turned left and drove back down the highway, never driving over sixty-five, both hands on the wheel—ten and two o’clock, just like the rules said.
“Your friend Anthony Lundi,” Mike said. “What’s he doing inside your house?”
“Knowing Tony, he’s probably cleaning.”
That took him by surprise; he had been expecting to catch her in another lie.
Terry continued: “I’m in a lot of pain right now, so I called Tony and asked him to come over and help me clean. He’s going to help me finish packing and then help me move the boxes.”
“The pain from your fibromyalgia.”
“Yes. Tony was kind enough—”
“You don’t have fibromyalgia.”
Still no change in Terry’s expression.
“And you never received any phone calls from Arizona,” Mike said. “I had you checked out.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not going to try and deny it?”
“My friend Sally lives in Nashua, New Hampshire. She just got a job down there.”
“I know about your friend Tony’s arrest for protesting an abortion clinic.”
“That was a long time ago. He doesn’t do that anymore. I told him there isn’t any point in protesting. God will deal with those people when it’s time.”
She said those people with acid, but the rest of the words calmly rolled off her tongue, the nervousness gone, the expression relaxed now, as if she were alone in the car, enjoying a leisurely drive through the countryside.
Keeping an eye on Terry, Mike reached into the backseat, unzipped the pouches of the briefcase and found what felt like a laptop computer. It was—one of those thin, lightweight models. He held it near her face.
“Why’d you drive all the way up here with this?” Mike said.
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br /> “My hard drive has crashed. I can’t retrieve any of my files, so my friend offered to take a look at it for me. He’s an expert at retrieving data from corrupted disk drives, so I drove up here to meet him.”
No hitch in her voice, no hesitation.
“His name is Larry Pintarski,” she said. “I can give you Larry’s name and address if you want to call him. But we’ll have to stop and use a pay phone. I couldn’t get a signal on my cell phone.”
“So you dropped what you were doing and drove all the way up here.”
“This is the only time he can work on it.”
“Why’d you borrow this car?”
“Because I’ve been having transmission problems with my car, and I didn’t want to risk taking it on such a long drive. I have an appointment at the garage on Monday.”
Mike glanced quickly out the back window. No cars behind them.
“There’s no conspiracy here,” Terry said. “My checking accounts, my resume—my entire life is on this computer and I need—”
“Why didn’t you drive to this person’s house?”
“Because his house is very hard to get to. Last time I was there was two years ago and I got lost. I’m awful with directions. To make it easier on me, Larry told me to meet him at the gas station. That’s what I was doing when you abducted me.Go ahead and call him if you want.”
Terry answering all the questions so smoothly, making it all sound so rational, he found a part of himself responding to her.
“Mr. Sullivan, you’re under a great deal of stress—and understandably so. I don’t have any children myself, so I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through. What I do know, what my area of expertise is, is grief. I know that sometimes grief can be so powerful it can blind you. I understand that, and I want to help you. Just tell me what you want.”
“I’m going to find out the truth about my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes, understand?” Mike trying to scare her now.
“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
The same words Jonah used that morning out on the trail.
“The person responsible for what happened to your daughter has since passed on,” Terry said. “I can’t change that, and I can’t change the fact that those three girls are with God now.”