"Stay there. Right there. You better be there when I come back."
"I will be."
And Ludwig remained rooted to the spot for the sixty seconds it took the young cop to return and say that Captain Berding would see him now. Right now.
* * *
The Captain looked impressive with his neatly organized desk and wall of plaques. The American flag in the corner made Ludwig wonder if he needed to snap off a salute. Being in the Captain's office felt like being in the Dean's office as a young, untenured faculty member, one of those conversations that began, "We have some concerns about the trajectory your career is taking..."
Ludwig didn't miss those talks. This one would be different, he felt certain, because he had the information Captain Berding wanted, which gave him a measure of power he'd never had when facing the dean in those early, hungry years of his career.
"If you have information pertinent to either one of these cases, or any case within my jurisdiction, I'd appreciate it hearing about it Mr. Ludwig—"
"Dr. Ludwig. I teach at the university. It's Dr. Ludwig."
"Okay. Dr. Ludwig. Understandably, time is of the essence here, so if you could get to it."
Ludwig held his index finger in the air. "Right. Have you ever heard of The Pioneer Club?"
Berding looked surprised. He clearly didn't expect the conversation to start off there. "I've heard of them."
"And you know what they did?"
"I've heard some of the stories. I grew up here in New Cambridge. But I'm not sure how this relates."
"Oh, it relates," Ludwig said. "It relates."
"Could you relate it as fast as possible? I have a man missing."
"I'll cut to the chase then. I know where The Pioneer Club used to meet."
Berding looked unimpressed. "And?"
"The location of The Pioneer Club meeting place has been unknown. It's been a closely guarded secret since the founding of this town. I've spent the past decade researching the group and their activities, and I've finally found the spot where they used to meet."
Berding started to speak, but Ludwig kept on going.
"Do you know the Donahues, a family that lives on land west of town out in Union Township?"
"I know of them."
"The land is currently owned by a Roger Donahue. Do you know of him?"
Berding shrugged. "I've seen him around. He's a guy with a slow leak who lives out on the edge of civilization. Every town has one like him."
"His family has owned that land for close to two hundred years. Roger Donahue might have a slow leak. I don't know. I've never met the man. But his family was quite prominent in the history of this town."
"I believe you," Berding said. "I knew his old man better than the son, now that I think about it. He used to do odd jobs around town. He was a kind of handyman type. No real steady work but always had something to do. He was a little squirrelly but harmless."
"Their ancestors were members of The Pioneer Club. It only makes sense, right? I mean if they met on their land."
"Sure," Berding said, showing a little more interest. "But I'm waiting for the dots to connect."
"You know the stories about what they used to do there, right? The ritualized, sanctioned murder. The punishment of women."
Berding nodded. "I've heard stories."
"When I was out there, on the Donahue land, I found a grave, recently dug, and large enough to hold a human body."
Berding cocked his head slightly. "Did you see a body?"
"No."
"What did you see?"
"I saw a rectangular area of freshly turned earth, approximately five feet long and two feet wide. I also saw a number of footprints to indicate that someone had been there recently."
"Did you see any people?"
"No."
"You just saw this hole in the ground."
"A filled-in hole. Yes."
Berding leaned back in his chair, the springs squeaking against his weight. "You understand why I can't do anything with this, don't you?"
"No. What do you mean?"
"Do you know how many people out in the sticks have holes dug on their property? Holes that look like graves? They bury animals, they dig irrigation lines and put in plumbing. Hell, some of them still bury their garbage and the contents of their slop pots. If I arrested everybody who dug a hole on their property, I'd fill the state prison at Lucasville."
Ludwig hadn't expected to encounter such resistance. He thought he was bringing in the Rosetta Stone, the key to unlocking a series of mysteries that had plagued the town for more years than either man knew. Instead he found himself dealing with an obstinate and small-minded public official, one who was currently displaying the same obtuse nature as the worst of Ludwig's students.
"This isn't just any land," Ludwig said. "This is land with a connection to The Pioneer Club. And land that is situated within a mile of the place where Jacqueline Foley is presumed to have disappeared. You have an officer missing as well. Let me guess...he was investigating the Foley case when he vanished. Am I right?"
Berding didn't respond. He pursed his lips together and didn't speak.
"So I am right. That's two disappearances in that area. And a grave. What's it going to take?"
Berding steepled his fingers before his face. Ludwig couldn't see if his expression was changing or not. He leaned to the right, trying to see around the man's hands.
"Well, Captain?"
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Ludwig. If we need anything else, we'll let you know."
Ludwig wasn't sure what was being said. Was the Captain truly thanking him or dismissing him out of hand?
"Are you going to act on my information?"
"I'll write up a report on our discussion, as I have to with all potential witnesses, and the report will be added to our files on the Foley and McMichael matters. As I said, if we need anything else, we'll be in contact. I imagine we can find you at the university."
Ludwig leaned forward. He felt like he was in a strange parallel world, one where all the words he spoke fell on deaf ears, leaving him abandoned and alone.
"Is that it?" he said. "That's all you're going to do?"
"We're doing everything we can. If you don't mind showing yourself out, we have a lot of work to get back to here."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Diana knew she couldn't be patient. She knew that sitting around the apartment waiting for Dan to call or come by would drive her nuts. Too many unpleasant memories. Too many reminders of nights spent waiting for him to call, waiting to find out if it were possible to see him, even for just a few minutes. Adding the anxiety over the missing persons cases to that would be enough to send her crawling out of her skin.
She jumped in her car and drove north, heading for Vienna Woods and a visit with her mother. At least there she had a chance to be appreciated. If her mother was in a somewhat coherent state, Diana might come face to face with someone who was happy to see her.
* * *
Diana followed the signs to the second floor. It was quieter up there than on the first floor. Less moaning and wailing from the patients, fewer shouts and grunts from the employees. Diana chalked it up to the wonders of sedation, and the likelihood that the patients on the second floor were in much worse shape than those below. Their fates were closer to being sealed, or at the very least, they were all closer to accepting the hand being dealt. She imagined the third floor looked and sounded like a morgue.
She stopped at the nurse's station and told them who she was. The nurse at the desk gave Diana what felt like a judgmental once over and asked if she had spoken to her mother's social worker.
"Maria?"
"Maria doesn't work on the second floor. You have to speak with Deborah. I'll call her. Just have a seat."
Diana waited on a hard plastic chair. She looked up and down the hallway, wondering which room belonged to her mother. She'd stayed away just like they'd asked, but she began to wonder if something
had gone wrong and they had failed to inform her. Couldn't be, she decided. It just couldn't be. But then why did she have to check in with yet another social worker if everything remained the same?
After ten minutes, a woman came down the hall. She wore a long, flowing skirt and, unlike Maria, her long hair hung loose past her shoulders. Bracelets jangled on the woman's wrist as she held out her hand and introduced herself as Deborah, the new caseworker for Diana's mother.
"I like to talk to the families of the new patients in my care," Deborah said, taking the seat next to Diana. "When's the last time you saw your mother?"
"It's been close to a month," Diana said, trying to fight off the guilt. "I was told that my presence upset her too much."
Deborah nodded, the model of sympathetic understanding. "Sure, sure. Sometimes we suggest that for Alzheimer's patients. It allows them to acclimate to their new surroundings better."
"Is something wrong with my mom?" Diana said. "Something more than what was already wrong?"
Deborah smiled, but it looked strained. "You're going to notice some changes in your mother during this visit, changes that reflect the progression of her illness. It's not that anything is wrong, per se. It's just a further manifestation of the symptoms she already demonstrated. She may not know who you are at all. She may not respond to any outside stimuli. The disease seems to be progressing much more rapidly in your mother's case than is normally expected."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Just be prepared for these changes and be patient with them."
"Of course," Diana said, forcing a smile of her own. Maria must have briefed Deborah on the difficult daughter, the one who shows up at the hospital and sends the patient spinning out of control. Diana resolved to be the perfect little visitor, the perfect and dutiful daughter. "Can I see her now?"
"Sure. Right this way."
* * *
Deborah left them alone, turning away at the door, her jangling bracelets announcing her departure, leaving Diana alone with her mother who was tucked in her bed and seemingly oblivious. Diana stayed near the door for a moment, as though still deciding whether she wanted to actually enter the room or not.
Her mother did look different, Deborah was right about that. She looked even older than she had just a month ago, as though the intervening weeks had sapped even more life out of her, leaving an increasingly withered and fragile husk behind in the hospital bed. At some point, the hospital staff had cut her mom's hair short. The resulting mess told Diana that the hospital staff didn't really care if her mom looked like a woman or not.
Diana approached the bed and gave her mom's arm a gentle squeeze. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady and regular, but Diana spoke anyway.
"Mom?"
Her mother didn't stir.
"Mom? Can you hear me?"
Nothing. This didn't surprise Diana. If they kept her somewhat medicated and dopey down on the first floor, they probably pumped a drugstore into her up here. Diana squeezed onto the edge of the bed so she could sit next to her mom. There was plenty of room given the size of her mom's withering body. Diana took her mom's hand and held it in her own. It felt soft and thin, like well-worn leather.
"Mom? The police are searching right now, somewhere out in the country. They're searching because of another girl who disappeared, but it's possible, it's possible it could tell them something about Rachel as well. I'm trying not to get my hopes up about that, but I want to let you know that I haven't stopped looking for her. And I'm not going to stop looking for her either. I'm doing it for you because I know you'd want me to find her."
Her mother stirred. She turned her head from side to side, and her eyelids fluttered.
"Mom? Can you hear me?"
She stopped moving her head. Her eyes came open and locked on Diana.
"Mom?"
Her mom sat up, her eyes wild. She pulled her hand free and placed it on Diana's shoulder.
"You have to go there. You have to find her. She's drying up there and blowing away in the wind. You have to go. It has to be you."
"Mom? What do you mean?"
"Go. Go. Go!"
She slumped back against the bed, her eyes closed. Just as quickly as she had sat up and spoken, she was gone again, slipped away.
"Mom?" Diana took her hand again. "Mom? What did you mean when you said that?"
Diana waited, but nothing else came.
Then someone touched Diana on the back. She jumped and spun around, dropping her mom's hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Jesus."
It was Deborah. Jangly, braceleted Deborah. Diana hadn't heard her approach.
"I didn't mean to startle you. It's okay."
Diana tried to regulate her breathing and calm down. It took a moment for her heart to stop accelerating. "What do you want?"
"I just wanted to tell you that sometimes they say things that really don't mean anything. It's just nonsense. It comes from someplace deep inside of them, or it comes from the medication. It doesn't mean anything."
"How do you know it doesn't?"
"I guess I don't for sure." Deborah came over to the bed and placed her hand on her mom's forehead, checking her temperature. "These things they say could mean something to someone if we wanted them to."
Diana stood up from the bed and took a deep breath. Her legs felt like they were filled with jelly, and she wanted to get out of the confining hospital room and back to town. Visiting her mother at a time like that had been a mistake. She went out into the hallway and heard her cell phone ring in her purse. Dan's name and number appeared on the caller ID display. He was at work.
"What happened?" she said.
"We're back."
He sounded defeated, and Diana sensed something had gone wrong.
"What happened?" she said again.
"We found Jason's truck."
The weakness in her legs spread throughout her body. She thought she might fall to the ground.
"Where?"
"Out in the county, on the way to Lambeau."
"Was he with it?"
"No. It was abandoned. No sign of trouble, just the truck on an empty stretch of road. We looked all over out there, all around the woods where the truck was. Nothing yet, but we'll go back tomorrow."
"No. There had to be something there."
"There wasn't."
Diana moved down the hall to an isolated spot far from her mother's room. She stood in front of a tall casement window covered on the outside by heavy, wrought iron bars that allowed only split and refracted sunlight through the glass.
"Did you talk to anybody who saw anything?" Diana said.
Dan paused. "I shouldn't be telling you this."
"What?"
"We got a tip about a house out there. I got the tip actually. The house belongs to a guy named Roger Donahue. He's harmless, practically retarded. We talked to him and searched the house. We didn't find anything."
"What did the place look like?"
"What do you mean? It's a house and a yard and a lot of trees and woods that went on and on. But he lives several miles from where the truck was found, and he didn't know anything."
Diana stopped listening when Dan said "woods that went on and on." Those words tingled her spine. She closed her eyes and leaned against the grimy window for support.
"What did the woods look like?"
"Diana, I don't know where you're going with this. They looked like woods. We went into them and looked around and didn't find anything."
"Was there a clearing? A place in the woods where no trees or grass grew? An open space—"
"I'm sure there was. And there were birds and squirrels and rocks, too. The only strange thing was how neat this guy's house looked. For a half-retarded bachelor he keeps his house pretty damn clean."
"How did he seem?"
"Nervous. As nervous as you would be if a swarm of cops came into your house. We checked him, Diana. No record. Not even a traffic tick
et. I'm not sure he could steal a pack of gum from a convenience store. It's not him. We had bad information, I guess."
"It might not be him. It might be something else. The place. It might be working through him."
"Where are you, Diana?"
"I stopped to see my mom."
Diana heard a whine of static in the phone line and voices in the background on Dan's end. "I'm sorry there isn't better news about McMichael. I'm still holding out hope there's a reasonable explanation. I don't know what else to think."
"Dan?"
"I have to go, Diana. Jason's story is going to hit the news. I'm sorry."
He cut the connection. Diana flipped her phone closed.
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