by Karen Rose
‘What happened next, honey?’ Gargano asked.
‘Nothing. When she saw me, she hung up fast and went back to the party.’ Her lower lip trembled, her eyes filling with tears as she returned Clay’s phone. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy. If I’d remembered before, the police wouldn’t have been so terrible to you.’
Gargano lifted the child to his lap. ‘It’s all right, MeiMei. None of this is your fault.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘You remembered now and that’s the important thing.’
‘Absolutely,’ Clay said. ‘Laurel, what day was your party?’
She checked the calendar on her phone, scrolling back a year. ‘December 20.’
‘Great. And Jessica, what—’ His phone buzzed. It was Paige again. There must be news. Carter should have been at the Timonium house already. Please. Please let it be good news. ‘I need to take this,’ he said to Gargano, then answered. ‘Paige?’
‘Don’t you dare decline my calls again,’ she stormed. She was crying. Oh no.
Dread settled on his shoulders. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Joseph’s here. Oh, God, Clay.’ She was sobbing so hard her words slurred.
‘Slow down. I can’t understand you.’ But he did understand. He just couldn’t accept. I was too late.
He heard Grayson’s voice, faintly. ‘Give me the phone, baby.’ A long pause. ‘It’s Grayson. Joseph found a crime scene. No body, but lots of blood and signs that a body had been dragged to the garage. There was a message to Daphne on the wall, written in blood.’ His voice broke and he cleared his throat. ‘“Now you know how it feels.”’
The air left Clay’s lungs. ‘We were too late,’ he said numbly.
‘Joseph’s in with Daphne now. Where are you?’
‘Philadelphia. With Trooper Gargano.’ Clay exhaled, trying to think. ‘I found the link between Kim and the weapons taken from Gargano. Check her cell records for the night of December 20.’ He looked at Jessica. ‘What time did you see her, honey?’
‘After midnight. Maybe one or two?’
‘Look at her calls made between midnight and three. There’s a camera in Trooper Gargano’s duct work. Maybe it can be traced to this Doug guy you’re looking for.’
‘Okay. I’ll check those records now. Thanks.’
His throat was so tight he couldn’t breathe. ‘Is Daphne . . . ? Forget it. Of course she’s not all right. Tell her . . . I don’t know what to tell her.’
‘This isn’t your fault, Clay,’ Grayson said soberly. ‘Novak’s up there somewhere. Where can I have him meet you, so he can check out the camera?’
‘I’m at a coffee shop.’ Clay gave him the address. ‘I’ll wait here for him. Then I’ll get home as fast as I can.’ He hung up and closed his eyes, fighting the tears that burned his throat. Another little tap on his arm had him looking at Jessica again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her little face pinched with sorrow.
‘Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.’
Gargano sighed wearily. ‘Should I go home and wait for the creepy Fed?’
‘That’s probably best.’
Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 7.55 P.M.
She hadn’t cried. Not a single tear. Joseph sat on the floor of the washroom, Daphne curled up on his lap. She clutched his shirt in a white-knuckled grip, the strength of her hands the only indication she wasn’t asleep.
He stroked her back, saying nothing. What could he say? They’d been too late. All he could do was watch helplessly as she knelt in front of the toilet, rubbing her back as her body convulsed. Then he’d washed her face and pulled her into his arms.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head and exhaled, bone weary. A noise had him looking up. Paige and Grayson stood in the doorway. Paige’s eyes were swollen and red. She’d cried, a lot. She knelt and put her arms around Daphne.
‘He could still be alive,’ Paige whispered fiercely.
But even though Joseph had said that himself, he didn’t believe it was true. If Ford had been alive when he was dragged from that basement, he hadn’t lasted long. Not with all the blood they’d found in that basement room.
So much blood. He’d been on autopilot, helping Brodie with the scene. Not even realizing that he himself had grown pale as they’d examined each piece of clothing.
When he’d stood, he’d actually stumbled, nearly falling into the pool of the boy’s blood. He’d quickly recovered, blaming his lightheadedness on not having eaten all day, but Brodie wasn’t fooled. She’d sent him out of the house to get some air.
Joseph clenched his jaw, thinking about the moment he’d exited the Timonium house. The reporters had nearly come over the crime scene tape again, their instinct – and his own pallor – telling them something had happened. They started shouting questions. Then one of them took a gamble and shouted the right one.
Does SA Montgomery know her son is dead?
It had taken Joseph a few seconds to realize the reporter was baiting him, but a few seconds was all the vipers had needed. They rushed to get in front of their cameras so they could be the first to break the ‘development’.
And short of killing each one of them, there wasn’t a damn thing Joseph could do to stop them. But he could make sure Daphne didn’t hear it on the news.
Commandeering a squad car, he’d driven back to the city like a bat out of hell, his siren screaming, his only thought that he couldn’t let her find out that way. She deserved better than that.
He’d called Grayson on his way, warning him to keep Daphne off the computer, away from the TV, the phone, and anyone outside their team who might tell her before he got to her. But now she knew and Joseph didn’t have a clue of what to do next.
‘My mother,’ Daphne said quietly. ‘Does my mother know?’
‘Grayson and I were going to tell her for you,’ Paige said.
‘Thank you, but no.’ Daphne released Joseph’s shirt and pushed away from his chest, turning to face her friend. ‘Mama needs to hear it from me. But if you could go with me, I’d appreciate it. I’ll meet you outside. Give Joseph and me a minute.’
When they were alone, Daphne rose, then extended her hand, urging him to his feet. ‘We have things to do. I have to tell my mother. You still have to find that baby.’
‘I found her,’ he said. ‘She was a little dehydrated, but otherwise fine. She’s with social services now.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’ She walked out of the washroom and pointed to a white board, filled with notes. ‘We made a list of everything we knew about Doug.’
He read Coppola’s notes. ‘This is good stuff. It’ll help.’
‘Good.’ She dropped her chin to her chest. ‘Thank you, Joseph. For everything you’ve done for me today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
‘I wish everything had turned out differently,’ he said. ‘If it helps at all, I do know how you feel. A little anyway. When it’s your child . . . I know it’s different.’
‘Who was she? The person you lost?’
‘My wife.’
Daphne lifted her head slowly, stunned. ‘You were married?’
‘For a few days. A long time ago.’
Her eyes flickered. ‘You were on your honeymoon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you catch who did it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are they still alive?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he said coldly.
Her lips trembled and she sternly firmed them. ‘Good. Now I have to . . . I have to go.’ But she didn’t move. She just stood where she was, lost. ‘Joseph.’
He put his arms around her again. ‘I’m here.’
She slid her arms around his waist, the second hand on the wall clock ticking away as she held on tight, her cheek pressed against his chest. They were standing that way when there was a light rap on the door and it opened a crack.
‘Agent Carter, it’s Fiona Brodie. I need to talk to you both.’
�
�Now?’ Joseph asked.
‘Yes. Now.’ Brodie opened the door. ‘This will make a difference.’
Joseph felt Daphne swallow. ‘Okay.’ She released him, then grabbed her bag from underneath one of the chairs. ‘I need a minute.’ She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. Seconds later, water was running.
Brodie took the chair next to the one Daphne had been sitting in. And said nothing.
‘What the hell’s this about?’ he asked.
The look she gave him was one of reproach. ‘When you called me from the squad car, I told you I wasn’t ready for her to be told. You said you’d wait to tell her until I called you, but you didn’t. Now I’m here to talk to Daphne.’
‘When I got here, there were fifteen reporters camped around the front door.’
‘That didn’t give you the right to—’
‘Fiona.’ He rarely used her first name and she quieted. ‘I had to throw two reporters out of the elevator. They’d signed in with the desk downstairs, claiming they were going to a different floor, intending to come here all the time. One told the other that their producer wanted her face when she learned the news. That they’d top the ratings. I couldn’t wait for your go-ahead.’
She sighed. ‘I get it. You didn’t want her to find out the wrong way. But—’
The water shut off and Daphne emerged, holding her hiking boots by the laces. She’d changed her heavy sweater for one of lighter weight and now wore sensible loafers. No need to be dressed for an outdoor search now. She’d applied lipstick. Her version of body armor, he suspected.
She sank into her chair, smelling faintly of toothpaste and peaches, the latter from her hand lotion. He knew this because he’d smelled peaches on his own hand after holding hers in the observation room earlier that afternoon.
She squared her shoulders. ‘All right, Dr Brodie. I’m listening.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 8.00 P.M.
Mitch took a step back, frowning at his handiwork in the glow of his flashlight. He’d done better work in Odum’s basement, but it was harder to line up the letters out here in the dark. He wondered how the message would appear in the light of day, if the human blood would dry a different color than animal blood.
It wasn’t the message he’d really wanted to paint. That would come after Ford got himself fucking found.
Did you miss me?
So far, Ford was still missing. What was wrong with that boy? He should have arrived in the nearest town by now. But there had been no reports on any of the police radio channels within a fifty mile radius of Wilson Beckett’s cabin.
He’d known there was a chance he’d have to go back and help the kid, but he’d really thought that Ford could handle a measly twenty-mile trek. He turned off his flashlight and stored his materials in the van.
He hoped the roads were clear through the mountains. He needed to be home by mid-morning. Thank you so much, Cole. Mitch had woken from his nap to a message from Cole’s guidance counselor who wanted to discuss his brother’s behavior issues with his ‘guardian’, Betty Douglas.
Mitch hoped the counsellor continued to buy his story that Betty was house ridden, the cold weather a risk to her health. Otherwise he’d have to hire another old woman to play Betty. He’d had to do so in Florida because he was on parole and didn’t want the cops knowing he’d left Maryland without permission.
He’d had to do it again when they’d first returned to Baltimore because Betty had died. Mitch had wanted to stay under the radar then, so he’d buried her quietly in the back garden, notifying no one. He’d read Betty’s will. It was enough to know the house belonged to him. He didn’t need – or want – his name listed as the new owner of the house. And, of course, he didn’t mind the Social Security checks that continued to be deposited in her bank account month after month. It wasn’t a lot of money but it kept the cupboards full. Because Cole ate like a horse. Mitch scowled. When he wasn’t getting into trouble at school.
If possible, he wanted to be back here at Daphne’s farm by dawn. Just to see the reaction of whoever found his barn art. He wished it could be Daphne herself, but the Feds had her locked down. They wouldn’t let her come all the way out here.
But that was okay. All this – the barn, the basement – it was all warm-up. Just the windup before the pitch. The tease before the huge rollercoaster dip. Is Ford alive? Is he dead? Is he alive? Soon enough she’d find out her son wasn’t dead after all, but then Ford would say the magic words and Daphne’s world would turn upside down.
Did you miss me?
Those four little words were the key to unlocking Daphne Montgomery’s personal nightmare. And to think . . . Had I not gone to prison, I would have never known about them.
Mitch had his stepfather to thank for the whole prison experience, but supposed he also owed some thanks to his old cell mate, Crazy Earl. Earl was convinced that the warden had hidden cameras in the ductwork so that he could spy on the inmates.
Mitch had tried for weeks to convince Earl that the warden didn’t need to hide cameras in the vents – there were cameras in plain view on nearly every freaking corner of the cell block. But Crazy Earl was not to be dissuaded because he was crazy.
Later, when the good people of the state prison board had enrolled Mitch in HVAC training, he remembered Crazy Earl and wondered if it could be done. At first his thoughts were purely prurient. After months of forced celibacy he wanted to catch a little T&A action. But then he realized that he was thinking way too narrowly. Having the ability to spy in people’s homes could be commercially lucrative.
And it had been.
Mitch tried it for the first time in the little house he’d rented in Miami. During the months he lived there, he experimented with camera brands – some worked better than others – and placement in the ceiling ducts. Too close and the camera would be visible. Too far away and the vent cover got in the way of the picture. He practiced installation over and over until he could place a camera in under five seconds flat.
When he came back to Maryland he decided he was ready to try it for real.
His first target? His stepfather, of course. It was incredibly poetic since the bastard had sent him to prison in the first place. Also, who was his stepfather gonna go to if he found the camera – the cops?
Placing the camera was ridiculously simple. On the night he’d gotten Mutt drunk and obtained the code for his brother’s password file, he had also stolen his house keys and made copies. Discovering the security alarm code wasn’t much more difficult. Mutt kept the alarm access code, along with his ATM sequence and all of his other passwords, in the same iPhone app.
All Mitch had to do after that was wait until Mutt and his daddy went away for the weekend to some stupid trade show, giving him time to install the camera. Waiting for his stepfather to open his damn safe was the hard part. He’d expected the old guy to open the safe every day. Instead, he’d had to wait three weeks.
But it had been so worth it. Mitch had expected to find deeds and maybe a few bonds and some cash. And he did. But far better was the manila envelope labeled DE.
The initials jumped out at him – he’d just found his mother’s diary a few weeks before. Just learned the identity of the woman who’d broken his mother’s heart. DE.
Daphne Elkhart. Mitch had been tempted to look inside right there as he stood by the safe. But he’d controlled himself, waiting until he got home. What he’d found was a gold mine, a treasure trove of every detail of Daphne’s life.
It was damn creepy. His stepfather’s obsession was evident in the detail. Detail after detail. Mitch now knew everything there was to know about Daphne Montgomery – her birthday, social security number, underwear size . . . The record stopped about the time of her divorce, but that was okay. The most important piece – the childhood trauma that left her terrified of underground places and four little words – was all there.
With some old-fashioned ingenuity, a bit of con-artistry and th
e power of Google, Mitch used what he’d read in the envelope to locate Wilson Beckett and his cabin in the West Virginia woods. And all that lay beneath.
And because Mitch had done his research, gaining Beckett’s trust was a snap. Hi, I’m Robert Jones. I think you knew my grandfather – you served in the same regiment in ’Nam. That Beckett had served in the military wasn’t a big leap – most men his age had, in some capacity. All Mitch had to do was locate a list of men who’d served with him and pick one with a very common last name, who’d already died.
Then he laid it on thick. My granddad used to talk about how you two dreamed about going home and doing nothing but fishing. He always said he wanted to find you and catch those fish. I lost him last year. Would you mind if I went fishing with you, for old times’ sake? One day of fishing had led to more. A few months of fishing and a case of Jack Daniel’s later and Beckett was primed for the hook.
You need money? I know this kid whose daddy is a rich judge. I’ll nab him and you hide him. That’s all you have to do.
Mitch had always known Beckett was bad. He’d read it in his stepfather’s obsession file. So he wasn’t surprised by how easily Beckett had fallen, hook, line and sinker. Mitch just reeled him in. In Beckett’s mind, Ford’s escape was a terrible thing – ransom lost and the danger of capture.
Mitch had made sure Ford never saw his face, but Ford had seen Beckett’s. Now Ford would hopefully get himself found soon. His mama would be so happy! Then Ford would tell her what he’d heard.
Did you miss me?
Daphne would know her secret was out. Ford would lead them back to where he’d been kept. Then the show would begin. Mitch had prepared the venue very carefully.
That he’d miss her reaction to the basement and barn art wasn’t such a big deal because when he got Daphne exactly where he wanted her, he’d have a front row seat.