The shock hit me.
I got up and left the kitchen. I stumbled out to the veranda. I vomited my breakfast over the railing. I leaned there, staring at the ground. I felt like dying.
I felt Marc’s hands on my shoulders. “Morning sickness, or despair?”
I wiped my tears with my sleeve. “At this moment, I’m not sure there’s a difference.”
“Marry me.”
“Wh-what?”
He turned me around and took my face in his hands. “Marry me!”
“How can I?”
“We’re having a baby.”
“That’s very traditional of you, and I’d marry you in an instant, but—”
“But, what?”
“I have no ID.”
“I can solve that.”
“You’re a police officer. You’d be breaking the law!”
“Yes. But it has to be done. Not for us … for Rebecca.”
It took me a few seconds. “She needs a birth certificate!”
“Correct. You were hospitalized twice even though you had no ID. That wasn’t a problem, because all any hospital cares about is getting its bills paid, and I took care of that. This time we’re dealing with the state government. A ‘father unknown’ entry on a birth record isn’t that uncommon. But … ‘mother unknown’? I don’t think so.”
“You’d be risking your career.”
“No choice. You’re going to need a birth certificate and a Social Security number. Better have a driver’s license, too, just in case. There’s a guy I know. He owes me.”
“In that case, get him to marry us.”
“Huh?”
“It’s just a piece of paper … isn’t that what people say? So let’s skip the ceremony and go straight to the piece of paper. Ask him for a marriage certificate. I want to be Claire Alexandra Hastings.”
46
I walked into The Yearling just before five on Thursday afternoon. The first person I saw was a slim young woman in a blue print dress. She was perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, talking to Nonie.
She had her back to the door.
As I approached, a snatch of conversation drifted my way.
“… mentioned some mysterious girlfriend. He said nobody’s ever met her.”
My step faltered.
Nonie spotted me. “Claire!” The young woman turned. She gave me a friendly smile.
I froze where I stood.
I looked at the young woman’s face … at her dress with its distinctive blue pattern … back at her face …
Recognition hit me like a punch in the stomach.
“This lady is trying to track down Marc Hastings,” Nonie said. “He’s a cop in Gainesville … sort of a regular here. He used to come in every week or so. Owns a camp somewhere on one of the lakes.” Nonie stopped. She fixed me with one of her perceptive looks. “But maybe you know all that,” she finished.
I didn’t answer.
“Reminds me of something I was going to tell you,” Nonie continued. “Hastings came in here a day or two after you took sick. Teddy was on the bar. He says the guy was kinda persistent.” Nonie glanced at Amanda and then fixed me in her sights. “He made it sound like police business.”
I gave in. “He was looking for me, but not for that reason.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Amanda had been listening quietly. Now she interposed, holding out her hand. “I’m Mandy Jordan, by the way.”
“Claire … Claire Talbot.” Her cool touch was like a jolt of electricity.
“Marc and I are old friends. I’ve been trying to reach him.”
Since the cat was out of the bag, I said, “I’m staying at his place on Lochloosa.”
“Great! Maybe you can help me? I left messages at his office, but he didn’t call me back. I phoned his apartment in town a few times, but no answer. I want to ask him to my wedding.” My mind was reeling as she continued in a confessional tone. “The thing is … Marc and I used to go out. So I didn’t want to just drop the invitation at his office. I didn’t want him to think I was, you know, leaving it just to slap him in the face. I’m not like that. I wanted to ask him in person. One of the detectives told me he’s been spending a lot of time in Cross Creek. I remembered him telling me he had a camp out here somewhere. I figured this was the main bar in town, so I took a chance someone might know him.”
Nonie interjected. “Actually, we’re the only bar.”
I was starting to feel light-headed. This was cutting too close. I managed to conjure a lame smile, and in the steadiest tone I could muster, I said, “I’m the mysterious girlfriend you were talking about.”
Amanda’s cheeks went pink. She put a hand on my arm. My eyes locked on it.
She was wearing the ring.
The ring with the cushion-cut topaz.
The one the police found in her grave.
“Oh! No, hey, that’s great! I’m not here to stir up trouble! I’m really glad he found someone!” She took her hand away and prattled on. “He was always good to me! We just weren’t … meant to be. I wanted to ask him in person, so he knows the invitation isn’t just, you know”—she finished in a small voice—“me trying to be mean.”
Somehow, I couldn’t picture this sweet girl ever being mean.
By now my emotions were a heaving landscape of despair. I needed to end this conversation. “Mandy, that’s really kind of you. I’ll tell Marc you were looking for him, and I’ll tell him what you said. Can he call you?”
She beamed. “Sure! In fact, would you give him this?” She took out a sealed envelope out of her purse. “My phone number is printed right on the invitation. I’m staying at my mom’s right now.” I was about to take the envelope when she said, “Wait! Let me just make this little change.…” She pulled out a pen and wrote something on the face of the envelope and then handed it to me.
Under the addressee’s preprinted name, M. MARCUS HASTINGS, Amanda had added & Mlle. Claire Talbot.
I looked at it quizzically.
“My mom’s French. She was studying over here when she met my dad. We have lots of relatives in France, so the invitations are in both languages.”
“Are any of your French relatives coming over for the wedding?”
“Yes! Some of them I’ve never even met! It’s going to be so great!”
* * *
I felt sick after Amanda Jordan left us, but I couldn’t show it.
And now I had another problem.
“Want to tell me about it?” Nonie asked.
“About what?”
“Let’s start with … Is ‘Claire Talbot’ your real name?”
“‘Claire’ is,” I conceded. No point in confusing things with extra bits of truth.
“I’m waiting,” Nonie said quietly.
I didn’t want to lie to her, but clearly I couldn’t tell her the truth. So I spun the tale that Marc and I had agreed on in case of emergency: I had been a witness for the prosecution in a serious case. My life had been threatened, and Marc had been one of the detectives guarding me. I’d fallen for him—and he for me—but, of course, he couldn’t let his bosses know, even after the trial ended. So I was living “incognita” at his place on the lake, and he was spending his free days with me there.
In other words, I was a kept woman, and in circumstances that could impair a certain police detective’s chances for promotion.
Nonie didn’t need me to spell it out.
“Don’t worry about the other staff,” she said, patting me on the arm. “I’ll take care of it.” And I knew she would.
That short interview with Nonie was a breeze compared with the one I was having with myself. I worked a full shift, and Nonie was kind enough to drive me home after we closed. But when I walked into the cabin, I couldn’t remember a single thing I had said or done for the last eight hours.
There was only one thing on my mind: Amanda Jordan.
I went straight to bed, but sleep eluded me. I got up a
nd opened a bottle of wine. I was about to drink myself senseless when I remembered …
You’re pregnant.
A stray thought sliced across my mind, telling me that what I was planning now meant that my pregnancy didn’t matter, but I still couldn’t bring myself to drink, so I put the bottle away. The sun was lifting over the horizon before I finally fell asleep.
I woke at noon. As if to remind me of my condition, I immediately got sick. I didn’t know whether it was morning sickness or the result of self-flagellation, but in a perverse way, I embraced my punishment.
After my stomach settled, I dressed and went for a walk.
A long walk.
It was nearly four in the afternoon when I returned to the cabin. I hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, but the thought of food nauseated me. For my baby’s sake, I forced down some soda crackers and a glass of milk.
I showered and went to work.
The next two days were hell. On Saturday morning, I capitulated and phoned Marc. For the first time since I had taken up residence in his life, I called him at the office. The switchboard put me through to the Joint Task Force.
A male voice answered. “Lipinski!”
Just my luck …
His voice wasn’t as raspy as I remembered, but its familiar tone of offhand negligence came through loud and clear. I gripped the receiver tighter, suppressed my disdain, and said, “Detective Hastings, please.”
“Who’s callin’?”
It wasn’t hard to imagine how a timid witness might react to this slug’s red carpet reception. It occurred to me that Lipinski might have been the reason the case was never solved.
“My name is Marjorie Rawlings. I’m with the phone company,” I replied coolly.
There was a pause, and I heard a muffled “Hey, Hastings! Line three! Lady named Rawlings from the phone company. Maybe you should pay your bill!” followed by a coarse guffaw. The line went dead, and then Marc came on.
“Marc Hastings speaking.”
“I was hoping you’d catch on.”
“I did. Just a second…” I heard the creaking of a chair. “Okay,” he said in a low voice. “What’s wrong?”
“When will you be back?”
“Not sure. It looks like tomorrow night.”
“I need you back, today.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes. I think we should talk.”
“We already have.”
“Marc! We can’t ignore this! It’s selfish and it’s wrong!”
He was quiet for a second.
“How much time do we have?”
“It’s tonight.”
A pause. “I’ll be there. I’ll think of something.”
47
Marc called just after three. I was lying on the couch. The ringing telephone roused me from a fitful stupor, awash in crimson dreams of violence.
“I’m leaving now,” he said.
“God! Look at the time!”
“The lieutenant pulled me into a witness interview. I couldn’t get away!”
“Hurry!”
There was another cold front moving through. I brewed a mug of tea, slipped on the jacket Marc had bought me, and waited in the rocking chair on the veranda.
He showed up forty minutes later.
He kissed me. “What’s in the mug?”
“Tea.”
“I think I want something stronger. Right back…”
“Marc!” But the screen door slammed and he was gone.
Somewhere a clock was ticking. I sat there listening to the trill of some unidentifiable songbird, trying desperately not to think.
Not to feel.
Marc reappeared with a shot of whisky. He dropped into the lounge chair next to me. Before I could say a word, he said, “Funny thing … after we talked, I was told we’ll be working a lot of overtime for the next couple of weeks. The feds are saying this guy will hit again very soon. The abductions are getting closer together. The chief canceled everybody’s leave—uniform, plainclothes, even the civilian staff.”
“When are you due back at the office?”
“Tomorrow morning, eight sharp. But I have a feeling I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.”
“Neither of us will.”
“Tell me.”
“If they don’t arrest the killer today, they never will! Four months from now, the FBI will pull out. Next spring, the task force will disband.”
“You told me all this. I thought we’d made a decision. I thought we agreed we have no choice!”
“You sound like you don’t want to know.”
“I don’t! I don’t want to lose you!”
“I wasn’t being fair to you. I should never have asked you to choose.” My voice was shaking.
Marc set aside his drink. He pulled his chair closer. He took my hand. “You were just being fair to yourself! And most of all, to our baby! I get it! I do! I hate it, and I know you hate it, too, but I accept it. We’ll win in the end.”
“We can’t be sure of that! Nothing I saw in the future pointed to that.” I felt tears starting. I rubbed them away. “I’m beginning to think…”
“What?”
“That I’m really not here to preserve the future. That I’m here to change it. I’m here to save a life that needs to be saved.”
“No! Listen! It’s the future. We can’t change it, and we shouldn’t try! There’s a higher purpose for you being here. There must be!”
“I met her.”
“What?”
“On Wednesday. She came to The Yearling.”
He stared at me. “You met the next victim?”
“Yes. And you know her.”
“I know her?” He looked shaken.
“You told me from the beginning that you knew her. You told me when we were drinking that bottle of Margaux in your file room. Sometime later, Lipinski said there’d been talk that you and this girl had dated. Eventually you admitted to me she’d been your girlfriend. You said the relationship ended a year before she disappeared. But there wasn’t a hint about any of that in your files. You must have edited it out.”
“A year?” Marc was dumbfounded. “Are we talking about Mandy Jordan?”
I pulled the wedding invitation out of my jacket. “We’ve been invited to her wedding.”
He blinked at the inscription on the envelope and then tore it open. He opened the card and quickly scanned the flowing script printed inside. His face went pale.
“Unless you and I do something,” I said quietly, “your friend Mandy will die tonight.”
The card dropped from Marc’s hand. He shot out of his chair so quickly that, for a terrified second, I thought he was going to hit me. He lurched toward the railing, but before he reached it, he sank to his knees.
I went to him. I knelt and held him. “I’ve racked my brain,” I whispered, “trying to understand why you tried to keep it from me—why you delayed telling me until the day we broke the case.”
“Maybe,” he croaked, “I didn’t want you to start thinking I was the killer. Her killer.”
“You mean, a copycat?”
“It’s not unheard of … using a serial killer’s modus to cover a targeted murder.”
“But then there was this conversation.”
He looked at me blankly.
“This conversation, Marc! The one we’re having right now! There must have been a reference somewhere in the Amanda Jordan file to your previous relationship with her. But I never saw it mentioned. So did you edit it out because we had this conversation today? Or are we having this conversation today because you edited the files?”
He let out an explosive breath.
I continued. “I’ve just told you I met Amanda, so you—as Old Marc—knew that. You also knew I had revealed to you ahead of time that Amanda would be the next victim, because I’ve just done that. So the question is: Why did she die? Why didn’t you save her?”
“Either I tried, and failed, or—”
“—or you didn’t try at all!”
He was silent. He looked almost shamefaced.
“We need to make a choice, and we need to make it now! I can give you the information you need to save her! Do we save Mandy’s life, and risk annihilating mine, along with Rebecca’s, or do we allow her to be killed and spend our lives in guilt and torment? I can’t make this decision, Marc. Only you can.”
“Me?”
“If we stick to our original agreement and let Amanda Jordan die, you’re the one who will be forced to carry the memory of that decision. I only have a year left. Next March I will be gone, and nine months later I will be born. I will have no conscious knowledge of any of this. Neither will Rebecca—assuming she is ever born. Of the three of us, only you will suffer the burden of guilt every waking moment of your life.”
“But if we save her,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion, “you never read a police file about her, the investigation will be forever altered, and even if you don’t vanish completely from history, you and I might never meet in our altered lives. In that case, why does this feel so right?” He sobbed. “You and me, Claire! Why do we feel so right? Why?”
My heart was breaking, but I knew I had to be strong. I had been thinking about this for three days, and I thought I had an answer. It was a precarious, uncertain answer, but it was a plausible one. “After the killer’s trial collapsed and I was suspended from my job, I was in despair. A killer had gone free and I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t understand why you were calm. You said something strange. You told me I had already fixed it! You quoted a Chinese proverb to me. It was as if you wanted me to remember it. You said, ‘Only the future is certain … the past is always changing.’”
“What did I mean?”
“You must have meant that I could change the past, and the future would survive. Now I’m here, in the past. If you stop Amanda from walking those few blocks to her girlfriend’s house, and I don’t tell you the abductor’s name, there will still be seven missing women. There will still be an open investigation. You will still wait for me and help me solve the case.”
I hadn’t told him about the extra body. I didn’t know if Jane Doe’s death predated or postdated Amanda Jordan’s, and I didn’t see any value in complicating the discussion.
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