The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  “Delmar,” she said, leaning close to him, “listen to me. Can you hear me? Were Matt and Lionel here? Did they do this?”

  No reply. Just short and sharp breaths like pistons, eyes riveted on a point above him, like he was clinging onto something that was slipping through his grasp. “Delmar. I need to know if they had a kid with them. Did they have a little girl with them?”

  The rasping slowed. Delmar turned his gaze on her, locked it there for no more than a couple of seconds, then he fell silent. His face grew still while the life drained from his eyes.

  “Shit. Delmar,” she yelled and shook him by the shoulders but it was too late and she knew it. Now she had to get out of there. But when she got to her feet and carefully stepped back from his lifeless body, the toe of her shoe had touched the edge of the pool and now she was tracking blood across the floor. “Oh, man,” she muttered. “How could I be so dumb?”

  She quickly went to the rear of the house in search of a bathroom so she could clean the blood off her shoes, peering into one room then the next. At the back of the house, she found it, but when she pushed open the door the first thing she saw was a woman—probably Delmar’s wife—propped drunkenly up against the toilet bowl, arms and legs thrown wide and a bullet hole in the side of her head. She also had a phone in her hand. Kelsey figured she was probably calling for help when they caught up with her, and almost at the exact moment she realized that the police were probably on their way, she heard the sound of cars and the slamming of doors from out front.

  “Oh, no. Please God, no.” She quickly exited the bathroom and went straight to the front of the house, angling herself in next to one of the front windows so she could and peek out. Three cops were just getting out of a cruiser that was parked hard up behind the SUV, while a second cruiser pulled into the driveway behind it. Cops were jumping out of the second car, and within seconds she heard the sound of the front door crashing open and the pounding of boots as cops poured in and fanned out.

  She turned to head for the rear of the house but the pounding of footsteps on the stairs told her she was sprung. She hadn’t even made the last doorway when a voice behind her yelled, “Police. Freeze.”

  Kelsey stopped short, clasped her hands on top of her head and called, “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed.” She turned slowly to find herself looking straight down the barrel of a Remington 870 police shotgun and a young cop in a vest behind it. They came expecting trouble. Chances of her convincing them they’d missed it were zero and she knew it.

  “Down on the floor,” he said and took his cuffs from the back of his belt. “Got one here,” he called and three other cops came up the stairs behind him and began a systematic search of the upstairs rooms.

  Kelsey dropped to her knees and lay facedown on the filthy wood floor with her hands behind her back. “They’re gone,” she said, but she may as well have saved her breath.

  “All clear down here,” someone yelled from downstairs while two more cops came up the stairs.

  “One down in here,” yelled a cop from the room Delmar was in.

  “Another one here,” called the second cop from the bathroom.

  “Somebody’s been busy,” said a third cop, aiming the comment at Kelsey.

  “I didn’t do it,” she said.

  “Yeah, I never get tired of hearing that,” the cop with the Remington said as he snapped the cuffs on her. He hooked her under one arm and hoisted her to her feet. He paused for a second to look over her swollen eye. “At least they got a little of their own back,” he said and shoved her towards the stairway.

  “I didn’t do it,” she said again, and wondered why she bothered.

  “No sign of the weapon,” one of the cops called.

  “Where’s the weapon?” the shotgun cop asked her and gave her another shove.

  “I just told you I didn’t do it. They were like this when I got here. I’m the one that called nine-one-one.”

  “What a saint,” said one of the other cops.

  The first cop took her by the arm, reciting her rights as he guided her downstairs to the car, leaving the others to do another sweep of the house. From out here she could hear them radioing in call-codes and tearing the place apart. Kelsey knew the drill. This was like a rerun of the bust at Jesse Milano’s auto shop almost two years ago. Only this time she really didn’t do it. And this time she had to figure a way out.

  The cop angled in past her, opened the car door and put his hand on her head to push her into the car, but just as she bent to get in, she spotted the black Lincoln out of the rear window. It cruised slowly past with the passenger’s window half down and just as it came parallel with them, a barrel came up over the sill, and she yelled, “Get down.” But two shots rang out and the cop went down.

  The Lincoln took off and she dropped to the ground. But the screech of tires from the end of the street told her they were coming back. She rolled and leapt to her feet in one movement, then ran. She barely made the corner of the house when a shotgun blast took a chunk out of the fence right next to her. She dived, rolled again, and was back on her feet. She tore down the side of the house, mounted the pile of shit and jumped the fence into the adjacent yard. By the time she got to the second fence, a cop was behind her, yelling for her to stop. She dove into the next yard but the cuffs were restricting her. Now she was going over fences like a drunken high jumper, throwing one leg over and rolling over the fence then stumbling to her feet and going for the next one. By the fourth yard, three cops were yelling for her to stop and hopping fences right behind her. A shot rang out and went wide. A second whistled so close to her ear that she heard it pass by. Every yard they were gaining and just as she hit the ground in the fifth, she felt a hand grab her by the back of the shirt. Then she saw the dog barreling towards them. It went straight for the cop while she rolled out of his grip, leapt to her feet and kept running. By now the woman in the corner yard had wandered across to the fence to see what the commotion was. The second she saw Kelsey her eyes flew open. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

  “Hold your fire,” yelled one of the cops as Kelsey jumped the fence into her yard saying, “Sorry, ma’am, can’t stop.” Then she ran for the street.

  “You there! You come inna’ my yard, I’m gonna break your head,” the woman yelled at the cops, but they paid her no attention because it sounded like they already had their hands full trying to get the dog off their buddy. Kelsey didn’t even look back. Just as she got back to the Taurus, she heard a shot and figured the cops had solved the dog problem. She went to the driver’s door and squatted so she could step through the cuffs so at least now her hands were in front of her. She ripped open the door, jumped into the car, touched the wires together and drove off just as the last two cops came over the final fence. By the time she hit the first corner sirens were sounding off in the distance. Her first instinct was to hit the gas but she knew she’d never outrun them. Twenty yards along, she swerved into a driveway with several junkers angled up in the front yard, and pulled the Taurus in behind them. She cut the engine and ducked down just as two police cruisers and a car flashed by, lights blazing, sirens screaming. She stayed there for five full minutes waiting for her heart to quit pounding and her hands to stop trembling. Finally a guy came out of the house, ducked his head into the car, and said, “Hey. They’re gone. Now, would you mind getting outta my yard?”

  She sat up. “Thanks.” His eyes went to the cuffs and he made a face that said, “Good luck with that, lady.” Then he went back inside.

  Kelsey blew out a breath. She couldn’t believe she had gotten away. Now all she had to do was get these cuffs off and find Holly. It was already 10:27 am. And all the time she’d started out with was rapidly running out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  DAY TWO: 10:35 AM—ELIZABETH

  No one would ever have suspected the scene that had played out outside the Special Children’s Center less than twenty-four hours before. While normally the street was quiet, now c
ars lined the roadway and people walked their children up to the front doors, perhaps fearing their own child might suffer the same fate as the McClaines’.

  Even after everything she knew, Elizabeth found it somehow absurd that Audrey Patterson could be lying so ill while the world she had ruled over less than a day before had simply picked up and gone on without her.

  The car pulled to a halt in front of the school and Elizabeth got out on legs so weak, she could barely stand. A small crowd had gathered around the front entrance where a woman she recognized as the head teacher, Laura Miles, stood at the front door, smiling and greeting people as they arrived. Elizabeth walked towards her, noticing the teacher’s smile ice over. In that instant, Elizabeth saw a flash of hostility and knew exactly how this was going to play out.

  So far, there was no sign of Diana du Plessis. Elizabeth immediately felt a mix of relief and distress. On the one hand, she was terrified of the direction the questions had been heading on her last meeting with the woman. On the other hand, using Diana du Plessis as a buffer between herself and Audrey Patterson’s sainted world would serve her better than she’d fare on her own.

  “Mrs. McClaine, I’m so glad you could make it,” Laura Miles said smoothly as Elizabeth approached with her entourage of bodyguards huddled around her.

  “Thank you. It’s wonderful to be here again,” she lied, and pulled on a tight smile. “I don’t suppose Miss du Plessis …” she said hopefully, looking back over her shoulder to avoid the woman’s frosty gaze.

  “Yes, she’s inside,” she replied. “Do come in.”

  Elizabeth followed Laura Miles into the inner sanctum of the Special Children’s Center. The room they now found themselves in was wide and bright. Paintings and murals adorned the walls and low tables were scattered with blocks and toys. To all intents it looked like any preschool might. Several children were already lined up along one table playing with puzzles and toys, but as Elizabeth’s gaze went from one to the next, that old familiar panic began to emerge. Now she could feel her heart pounding, the blood pulsing at her temples, and the muscles in her neck and face tightening. Her smile had begun to ache. She drew a deep breath, trying to ease the knots away but everything inside her told her to run.

  “Elizabeth,” Diana called from the other end of the room where she was admiring a wall painting. “I’m so glad you made it.” And she started towards her.

  “Yes, so am I,” Elizabeth replied uneasily. Only now, she saw the woman had brought along a photographer who was also approaching, camera angled, and preparing to shoot. “I’m sorry if I’m a little late. The traffic’s terrible,” she said and turned away from the lens.

  “Since we’re all here,” said Laura, “let’s begin. First I think it would be nice if you meet some of Holly’s friends.”

  “Yes, wonderful,” said Elizabeth in a tone that, even to her, sounded like an ice shelf breaking free and sliding into the sub-zero waters below. Regardless, she followed her across to the clique of children at the first table.

  Diana, Elizabeth now noted, had fallen in behind them, apparently satisfied to remain a passive observer while the photographer moved around them, catching the moment in a flurry of flashes and clicks. Elizabeth wished she could say something, do something that would draw Diana back into the fray. That way she could step back and let the reporter take the brunt of what she now felt was gearing up to be a veiled attack.

  Laura had dropped to one knee beside a boy in a wheelchair. “This is Darcy,” she said, gently touching the child’s hand. “Darcy is Holly’s closest friend.”

  Elizabeth stepped a little closer and smiled. “Hello, Darcy,” she said self-consciously and clutched her purse all the tighter. Darcy threw his head back, arms and legs stiffening as he jerked uncontrollably, hands grasping awkwardly at the air as the spasms racked his withered limbs, twisting and contorting his features.

  Elizabeth actually flinched. She didn’t want to be there. She wanted to make an excuse and leave. She wanted to be somewhere where people were normal and did the expected, and spoke with words she could understand. She wanted to be where she could bury all this and pretend it didn’t exist because she felt as though she was wading through quicksand and any minute she’d be swallowed up.

  “That’s right, Darcy,” Laura was saying to the child, “this is Holly’s mommy.”

  Elizabeth smiled. Again she dug her nails into the palm of her hand while they watched the child convulse, gripped by spasms as he struggled to form a single word. When he finally succeeded, the word, “Mom … me,” came out and he grinned and waved his arms in excitement.

  “That’s right, Holly’s mommy,” said Laura, touching him tenderly on the cheek and smoothing back his hair. “Don’t worry, we’ll see Holly soon. He and Holly do everything together. He misses her so much,” she told Elizabeth as the boy whooped and rocked his chair in response. Another little girl had drifted across from one of the tables. She moved in close to Laura and tugged on her blouse.

  “Yes, Ellie?” she said and dropped to one knee. “I’m listening. What would you like to know?”

  The child looked to Elizabeth, then whispered into Laura’s ear.

  Laura drew the child into her arms. “Well, Holly’s away for a little while,” she said quietly. “But she’ll be back real soon.”

  The child gazed briefly up at Elizabeth, then went back to her seat, leaving Elizabeth feeling as though she were to blame for Holly’s disappearance. Maybe she was. Maybe if she had been a better parent, she’d still be here with her friends. Maybe if she hadn’t left her in the permanent care of a nanny she now knew was only interested in the money, her daughter would still be safe, because, if she had given her nothing else, she would have at least given a damn. And all at once, everything seemed that little bit less bearable, and her instinct to flee and find a drink clicked into a higher gear.

  They worked their way across the room in chilly politeness, inspecting art and sculptures while the photographer snapped enthusiastically at everything that moved. Behind them, more children were arriving: children in wheelchairs, children twisted and deformed, children hobbling on walking sticks, children with splints and calipers on buckled legs. Children whose bodies twitched and convulsed involuntarily as they tried to do what everybody else took for granted.

  This was the world Elizabeth had done everything in her power to avoid. The pain she had suffered even thinking about it had been so insufferable she had thrown up every barrier she could to hold it at bay. Now, looking back, she was beginning to realize just how successful those barriers had been. Standing here in the room she had only visited on one single occasion since Holly first started at the school, it was frighteningly apparent just how little she really knew her daughter. In the past three years, she had had virtually no contact with her. She had spent almost every moment of her time setting up her charities, attending luncheons and dinners and parties, all held by influential people like the Chestertons—Oh, my God, the Chestertons, she thought at once. They hadn’t even contacted her, and there was no way they hadn’t heard about Holly. For that matter, who of their so-called friends had they heard from? Did any of them care? The very thought drove a knife of resentment through her.

  Elizabeth drew back her sleeve, preparing to announce that she had other engagements, but Laura cut her off, saying, “Oh, and I thought you’d like to see Holly’s work folder.” It was as though this was the coup de grace, the knockout blow the woman had been saving for last. She lifted a large manila folder onto the table, opened it and stood back. Like it was a bomb, waiting to go off. “We try to give the children a range of stimulating projects to work on,” she said with a smile. “I think you’ll be surprised at how gifted Holly is.”

  “Yes, of course I’d love to see them,” Elizabeth said. She had now been at the school a total of seven minutes. She could hardly feign a headache and leave already, regardless of how much she wanted to. Especially since everyone was now watching her with a vene
er of thinly disguised animosity mixed with a measure of expectation. She stepped across to the file. But the instant Elizabeth began to shuffle through the pages, something extraordinary happened, something she never would have expected. As she flicked from painting to painting, she began to notice forms emerging from the brushstrokes. At one point she paused and frowned down at these crude spatters of paint; swirls and dashes of brilliant color; purples and blues mixed with reds and greens all dashed together into shapes and angles. When she leaned in closely to study one of the pages, she suddenly realized what she was looking at. “These are people,” she said in surprise. “Are these people?”

  “This one here,” said Laura as she riffled through the pile and selected another page, “is you. You see? She’s given you yellow hair and a blue dress, and this brown square is your purse. Down here she’s written an ‘M’ for Mommy.”

  “An ‘M’? For …?” Realizing how astounded she must have appeared, she cleared her throat and touched her fingertips to the edge of the painting.

  “If you’re looking for the rest of the alphabet,” Laura said, “we haven’t quite got that far. She can write an ‘M’ for Mommy, and a ‘D’ for Daddy.” And she pointed out a second letter that was scrawled in the corner of yet other painting that had the same yellow-haired figure next to a taller one, a smaller one between them.