by Lisa Harris
“It’s not a courtroom, it’s media. We have to be careful what we share.”
“I’ve lived through this. I know the drill.”
Cote shifted, and the chair beneath him squeaked. “You know how hard it is, this balance between what we share and what we hold close. And now your best friend’s going through it. This can’t be easy for you.”
“Or you.” Detective Cote was Reid’s uncle, Ella’s great-uncle. This kidnapping had hit a little close to home for the Cote family.
“I’m not with the media,” James said.
Cote’s expression didn’t shift. He said nothing.
“I have a few questions.”
“I’ll answer if I can.”
“I worried, back then, that Cassidy had been killed too. But Vince assured me that you guys knew she was alive. I always wondered how you could be so sure.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You don’t know? We told your parents.”
Because of James’s relationship with—and loyalty to—Cassidy, the conversations with his parents about what happened had been awkward… tender. Like open wounds nobody wanted to press too hard, wounds one jab away from bleeding. In the interest of protecting their relationships, of protecting his feelings, he supposed, his parents hadn’t shared much.
When he didn’t respond, Cote said, “She called us the day Hallie’s body turned up, told us a story about having been kidnapped and held on the mountain for two nights against her will.”
Cassidy had told James the truth. About the call, anyway. “Did you follow-up on that?”
“Gee, should we have?” The sarcastic remark sounded off coming from the sixty-something professional.
“Everybody was so sure she was guilty, I just wondered if her claims were dismissed out of hand.”
He leaned across the desk. “We don’t dismiss anything out of hand. We checked the mountain, asked around. Nobody’s ever heard of any rock formations on the mountain a person could climb into. Bart Bradley told us about some big boulders up there, and I had someone check ’em out. They found nothing like the place where Cassidy claimed she’d been kept, and no evidence anybody had been there. Not only that, but it was the dead of winter, and she claimed to have spent that first night out in the open. It was in the thirties that night. Little chilly for a campout.”
“Wasn’t like they went up there for fun.”
“Kid your sister’s age probably wouldn’t have survived, especially considering she’d been sick.”
She’d had the flu, had been confined to the house for a week. Hallie was never one to stay inside for long, much less a week, despite how sick she felt. It was probably the reason she and Cassidy had been out that afternoon. Hallie’d probably begged Cassidy to take her onto the trails.
“Hallie was better by then. And she was tough, tougher than you’d think.”
“Still… little as she was, and your mom said she hadn’t been eating. How would she have survived the elements?”
Cassidy would have taken care of her.
“According to your girlfriend, they were on the trails on Ayasha when they just happened upon a man, who just happened to be a kidnapper. But the parking lot was blocked off. Nobody but Wilson and Eugene Cage had been at the campground, and no strange cars were found anywhere at the base of the mountain.”
He started to ask about the Cages, but Cote lifted a hand, silencing him. “We looked into Wilson and Eugene. Wasn’t them.”
“No chance you’re wrong.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time. Wilson told us he saw Cassidy and Hallie on the trail, but he and Eugene had an alibi for that night.”
“You and Wilson’s family go way back, don’t you?”
“What are you getting at?” Cote asked.
“Getting at the idea that it’s easier to blame the outsider than—”
“A little girl was dead, Sullivan. You think I didn’t care about who did it? You think I was more concerned about protecting an old friend?”
“I think it’s hard to believe ill of somebody you think you know.”
The detective’s steely gaze bore into him. “You’d know that better than anybody.”
Fair point. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so sure Cassidy is guilty.”
“Aside from the fact that Hallie was with her when they disappeared? That your sister’s body was found wrapped in Cassidy’s sweatshirt?”
James swallowed. “Yeah. Besides that.”
Cote sat back, took a breath. “Lotsa reasons. Cassidy claimed they’d been taken to rock formations way up high on the mountain. Even though she swore she wasn’t sure where it was, she claimed she knew it was high because the air was thin.” His smirk told James what he thought of that. “But when your sister’s body was found, the coroner said she’d only been dead a couple of hours, and based on the schedule of the family who lived in the house, the body would have to have been left more than an hour before they found her. So, if the kidnapper killed Hallie, and if Cassidy escaped the kidnapper with your sister’s body, and if they’d been as high on the mountain as she said, how did only an hour pass from when she escaped to when she got all the way to the lake?”
“Did she explain—?”
“Never stayed on the phone long enough to explain squat. But lemme ask you this. Let’s say the kidnapper did kill Hallie, and Cassidy escaped. Why take your sister’s body? If she’s running for her life, wouldn’t she leave her? Wouldn’t she feel like she had to save herself?”
He could imagine Cassidy wanting to return Hallie to their family. But would she have risked her life for it? Or would fear and survival instinct have kicked in?
“Doesn’t add up,” Cote said. “Plus, we got a report of a teenager and a little girl matching their descriptions. Came from the rest stop just south of Concord on I-93 the day before their bodies were found. The woman said she thought the teen called the little kid Hannah. Hannah, Hallie. Pretty close, don’t you think?”
Had Cassidy kidnapped Hallie and run off with her?
No. He didn’t believe it.
Couldn’t believe it. “Hallie’s body was found here. If Cassidy had been nearly to Manchester, why bring her back?”
“Who knows? Your sister died. Maybe an accident, maybe on purpose. Cassidy came back to Coventry, left the body, then called with her crazy story hoping to throw us off her scent.”
“So, do you think…?” James rubbed his temples, tried to put it together. “Do you think Cassidy was trying to kidnap Hallie and then accidentally killed her, or—”
“I always thought that,” Cote said. “Still manslaughter, but I never thought she wanted your sister dead. But now, with these recent kidnappings—”
“You’re sure they’re related? It’s not some copycat?”
“The details are too similar,” Cote said. “Details nobody outside this department knows.”
Cote spoke as if leaks never came from the police department, but that couldn’t be true. These were just people, after all, and people talked.
Still, he asked, “Details like?”
“Like details I’m not sharing.”
“Then tell me the stuff that’s public knowledge. What makes the crimes similar?”
Cote lifted a sausage-shaped finger. “All three victims are girls around the same age.” He ticked off each point with another finger. “All three from good, strong families. All three healthy and well cared for.” The hand fell. “First two found on back porches near the lake. And there are a couple of other details that we’re not disclosing.”
James felt sick to his stomach. But Cassidy claimed to be able to prove she hadn’t taken Addison and Ella. If that was the case, then maybe it wasn’t a copycat. Maybe the person who’d taken the two girls this year had also taken Hallie. Maybe she was telling the truth. So… “It still doesn’t make sense. If she’d wanted to kill Hallie, then she wouldn’t have been halfway to Manchester. She’d have done it here. And if she was a kidnapper
back then, why now kidnap and murder?”
“All questions we’ll ask her when we find her.”
“But what do you think?”
Cote tapped fat fingers on the table. “Maybe Hallie’s death was an accident.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Or maybe she lost her temper and beat your sister, and when she did, she got a taste for violence.”
“No. No.” He closed his eyes against the image. “You didn’t know her.”
“Seems to me you didn’t either. And her mother—”
“You can’t hold her responsible for her mother’s crimes.”
Cote shrugged his rounded shoulders. “Were they her mother’s crimes? Linda Leblanc always claimed she hadn’t hurt her daughter. Everybody thought Cassidy was one of her mother’s victims, that her mom killed her little sister. But maybe Cassidy’s guilty of her own sister’s murder, too. Maybe her mother was trying to protect her.”
James had never considered that possibility.
“Biggest reason we think it’s her, though?” Cote rested his forearms on the table between them and leaned forward. “She ran. Innocent people don’t run.”
“Maybe when they don’t think anybody will believe them, they do.”
“If what she said is true, then by running she’s allowed her kidnapper to snatch two more little girls, one of them my niece.” For the first time, emotion clouded his words. “My brother’s granddaughter is missing, and your ex-girlfriend’s got her. So if you have any idea where she is, you’d better start talking or you’re just as guilty as she is.”
Chapter Nine
Two hours passed while Cassidy pretended to read. Some cars drove by, and many stopped at the office building.
Finally, Cassidy saw a man who looked familiar come from the road behind her. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, so too young to be Wilson. He walked around the far side of the building that housed the restrooms and disappeared from view. A moment later, he stepped out from the other side of the building carrying rolls of toilet paper. He entered the men’s room, emerged seconds later with fewer rolls and, after announcing his presence, went into the women’s room.
This had to be Eugene.
When he exited—free of toilet paper—he paused and gazed across the grounds. She lifted her novel when his gaze came her way, then lowered it a moment later to watch him.
He was about six feet and lanky. A beard and mustache covered much of his face. She recognized him not so much by his looks but by the guarded way he carried himself—hunched, eyes darting about as if waiting for an attack. He’d been picked on enough in school that she supposed he’d earned that defensive posture. He wore a red baseball cap emblazoned with the name of the campground, a light green T-shirt, and dark green shorts that went halfway to his knees. Looked like uniform pants, like those that might be worn by a park ranger or a Boy Scout.
He emptied trash cans in the dumpster at the perimeter of the common area and returned them to the restrooms. Then he walked up one of the narrow dirt roads toward the campsites.
Cassidy snatched her things and followed. If she could just hear his voice… And then she’d have to go into the office building to hear Wilson’s. If she could get up her nerve.
Tents and cars dotted the landscape, flashes of bright colors amid the greens and browns of the forest. She walked among them, picking up snatches of conversations, the low hum of voices that sounded like they were coming from TVs. People must be watching on tablets or phones. Who went camping to watch a screen? Wasn’t the point to get away from that stuff?
Music came from one tent, snoring from another. Little kids chased each other. One boy was jumping for the lowest branch of a pine but couldn’t quite reach it.
Ahead of her, Eugene hurried up the road, despite an incline that had her panting. He didn’t speak to anyone on the walk. When someone called out a hello, he raised a hand in greeting but didn’t say anything. Not very helpful.
She tried to act like she belonged, though the deeper they went, the sparser the tents became. When Eugene passed a small wooden sign nailed to a tree that read No Campers Beyond This Point, she stepped into the forest and wandered toward the lake, though she couldn’t see it from there. When she was far enough away that one would have to be looking for her to see her, she turned to study the small building at the end of the road.
It was smaller than a single-car garage. There was a window beside the door on the front. On the side beneath an attached overhang, a green cart, like a golf cart, was parked.
Eugene went inside.
The forest floor was clear here, and she had no trouble giving the shack a wide berth as she rounded it. When she’d gone to the far side and faced back the way she’d come, she realized that the road had carried them higher than she’d realized. Through the pines, she could see the tops of tents, the restrooms, the volleyball court, and the beach far below.
Her focus shifted back to the shack. There were no windows on the rear side, but a door led to three steps that, were Eugene to come out, would lead him straight to her. But why would he come out the back? There was nothing here but forest.
And nobody for him to talk to. How was she supposed to hear his voice if he never talked to anybody?
Only the occasional shout from the campground reached her. Otherwise, just the sounds of the forest kept her company.
Now what?
She turned and climbed higher on the hillside. If she walked a mere fifty or seventy-five yards toward the highway, she’d intercept the trail. Perhaps this was how Eugene or Wilson had gotten to her and Hallie that winter day. Perhaps he’d been out for a leisurely walk and happened upon them. In fact, if the trails were as close as Cassidy believed, was it possible he’d heard Hallie’s laughter? The girl had always been exuberant, but especially that day. After an illness had kept her homebound for a week, she was feeling better and eager to get outside. And, thanks to the warm weather—mid-forties, a scorcher for January in the mountains—she’d insisted they play outside.
Cassidy stilled and listened but could hear nothing from above, very little from below. The low hum of people and engines, cars and motorboats, though hardly noticeable, would drown out all but the loudest shouts. In the wintertime, when nobody was about… It’s possible one of the Cages had heard Hallie’s laughter or Cassidy’s calls for the girl to slow down, wait up.
She should never have let Hallie out of her sight. If only she’d been smarter, made better choices.
After fighting the regret and self-recrimination for a decade, Cassidy’d learned how to shake it off, and she did so now.
It was possible Wilson or Eugene had heard the laughter, wondered who was up there in the middle of winter, and gone to investigate. He’d likely not had evil plans when he’d set out, only curiosity and boredom. She knew the kidnapper hadn’t planned anything because he hadn’t been prepared. Armed, yes, but it was likely he always carried the gun and the knife. He’d had no water, no food, no blankets.
So, he’d happened upon them, made the snap decision to kidnap them. And then he’d taken them to his mountain hideaway rather than back here. Why?
Because, whichever one did it, he didn’t want the other to know. It made sense.
A voice jarred her from the memories, and she spun toward the shack, fully expecting to see Eugene standing there, watching her.
He wasn’t, but it had to have been his voice. She hurried back to the shack to better hear.
“They were clean enough,” Eugene said. At least she assumed it was Eugene. Surely there weren’t two men in that small space.
A pause, and then the same voice said, “Someone musta… musta messed it up.” Another pause, then, “Yeah, okay.”
Then, nothing.
Did the voice sound familiar? She closed her eyes, tried to pull up memories she’d spent a decade trying to forget.
She wished he’d say something else. When he didn’t after a few minutes, she gave up. This wasn’t the guy. The kidnapper had been scar
ed and jumpy, but not like Eugene. She didn’t think Eugene was the man she was looking for.
There was nothing else to learn here, and she needed to hear Wilson’s voice next.
She rounded the cabin, figuring she could jog back to the first tent in two or three minutes. Faster than the route she’d taken here, via the forest.
She was walking by the overhang and cart when the shack door opened.
She froze, backed into the carport, and prayed Eugene would head down the hill.
But he turned her direction.
She searched for a way to escape between the cart and the shack, but there was no room. She’d have to go over it.
“Hey!”
She spun and found Eugene behind her, eyes wide, mouth slack. He stepped closer, stopped a few feet away. “Yur not s’posed to be here. No campers past the sign.”
“Oh. Was there a sign? I was looking for the bathroom.”
“Bathrooms’re back that way.” He gestured with his head but didn’t take his eyes off her. “Don’t nobody come up here looking for bathrooms.”
Though her heart pounded, she worked to keep her voice level, lighthearted. “To be honest, I was just exploring. Is there a way to get to the trail from here?”
“Trailhead’s back that way too. There’s signs on the trees. You gotta look fer the signs.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry to bother you.”
He took a step closer. “You’re pretty.”
She leaned away. “Could you point me in the right direction?”
She hoped he’d back up and point to the sign on the road, but he only waved with his hand, never taking his gaze from hers. “Down the hill, you’ll see ’em.”
“I guess I’d better go then.”
“I have some Pepsi inside. You want a Pepsi?”
She turned just enough for him to see her backpack. “I have a drink. Thanks, anyway. I probably better get going. My brother will be looking for me.”
Eugene’s eyes narrowed. “You got a brother? Where is he?”
“Back at our campsite.”
“Which one’s yours?”