The Longest Silence

by Debra Webb

  He knows what he’s doing, Jo.

  Deep breath. Get it over with. Her Celica sat next to the curb on the street. She could leave if she wanted to. No one could stop her from doing whatever the hell she wanted. If he tried, well then there would be a battle for damned sure.

  She marched up the small parking lot, stalled a few yards away from the steps where he sat. She would just tell him how it was going to be and that would be that. He looked at her and she looked at him and the uncertainty and worry she saw there shifted something inside her. No. No. No. She would not let this get personal.

  Dredging up her wavering resolve, she announced, “I’m through talking. I’ve told you everything you need to know. I need some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He stood and descended the three steps, tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Give me five minutes. I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”

  She’d seen him on the phone while she sucked down those two cigarettes. Had no idea who he’d been talking to. Didn’t give a shit. And still, she said, “Five minutes and then I’m gone.”

  Maybe she owed him that. After all she’d used him to a degree. Planned to continue doing so as long as things didn’t get too complicated. Hear him out and take it from there. Fine. Okay. She followed him around the pool and into the cottage where they’d had sex last night.

  A means to an end? Desperation? Stupidity?

  Who knew? What she did know was that she needed a change of clothes. His scent was all over these. But to change clothes she’d have to get her bag from the trunk, and then he’d know she didn’t have a room. She’d slept in her car the first night after she arrived. Motels, no matter how low rent, typically wanted ID. It was another of those trust things. If no one knew where she was no one could find her. That’s the way she liked it. She’d spent the last half of her life living that way. She imagined she’d spend whatever was left doing the same.

  He closed the door behind her and gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

  “I’ll stand. I’m not staying long.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “If—” he sat down at the table “—Martin and Conway were in this together, as you believe, then you may be in danger.”

  “Now that’s a good one.” She shook her head. “I’m not staying here—in this room—with you. I have my own place. I like my privacy.”

  “The chief called me while you were taking a smoke break. They’ve confirmed that Conway’s killer was female.”

  Jo snorted. “Really. It took them all this time to figure that out? I took one look at his position on the bed and the silk scarves used to tie him to the bed and figured that out.” If it had been a man, Conway would have been lying ass up so that his dominant partner could enter him from behind.

  “They found a blond hair.”

  Jo stilled. Now she got it. “So you think it was me? Didn’t we have this conversation already?” She shook her head. “So yeah, I drove over to Macon, fucked the guy, stabbed him a couple of times, took a shower, gave his hard drives a bath, and then drove to Mickey D’s for your breakfast. I’m that cold and calculating. Couldn’t you tell when we were screwing last night?”

  “The chief wants you to submit a hair sample for comparison.”

  The first hint of fear slithered through some errant crack in her defenses. “Not no, but hell no.” She folded her arms across her chest. “No way.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you go in there with me. This is my fault. He wouldn’t say where they found the hair. Could’ve been on the carpet. When the cops first arrived, to protect you, I told them that you were my girlfriend and you stayed in the car. I doubt they’re going to believe me when I tell them I lied.”

  Shit. “Tell him to get a warrant and he can have his hair.”

  “The bottom line,” he offered, “is you’re here. You’re involved somehow and maybe someone is trying to set you up. Hailey Martin comes to mind. Think about it—you and Ellen were the first two abductions like Tiffany’s and Vickie’s. Maybe you were part of it all along or maybe you’re reenacting what happened to you. These are the scenarios the task force will consider.”

  “First,” she argued, “Martin-Houser—who knows what her real name is?—couldn’t have known I was here before today. She didn’t have time to set me up. Second, I can prove when I left Texas.”

  “Having proof when you left home helps,” he said. “As for the trace evidence found at the Conway scene, Martin did touch your hair.”

  Jo’s throat tightened as the memory flashed through her brain. “She was just being a bitch.”

  But she could have taken a hair. No way. She couldn’t have put it all together that quickly. Not possible. That kind of premeditation took time. Besides, Conway was already dead when she and LeDoux visited Martin.

  Jo’s money was on the scenario that Martin killed Conway—tying up loose ends.

  “Maybe the chief needs to ask Ms. Martin for a hair sample. Did you tell him that?” Jo’s heart started to pound as she waited for his response.

  “I did. I provided her address and her connection to Conway. He’ll have someone at her door first thing in the morning.”

  So maybe LeDoux did have her back. “Thanks.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, exhaled a weary breath. “My niece is missing. As best we can estimate she’s been missing six days now. I need to find her. Soon. I need to find her alive. To do that I need all the help I can get. My gut tells me the person who took her is somehow a part of or involved with what happened to you eighteen years ago. For that reason, I need you safe. I need you close.”

  He looked her in the eyes then. “I need your help.”

  The faces of all those other women who were dead because she had kept silent all these years floated in front of her eyes. How could she keep doing that? She couldn’t. Jo nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay, but you keep that chief off my ass.”

  “I can do that for a little while anyway.”

  “I need to get my bag from my car.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She hesitated. “You worried I’ve got another body in the trunk?”

  He smiled. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen.”

  Actually, she did. She doubted many people had spent as much time researching missing persons as she had. She had perused story after story and image after image. Whether it was for money or pure sadistic pleasure, it was never pretty.

  He followed her to the street. She opened the trunk and grabbed her canvas overnighter. “See.” She waved her hand. “No bodies. Just a spare tire and tire iron.”

  He took the bag from her. “Good. I was really hoping I hadn’t slept with a killer.”

  His words, spoken offhandedly, echoed through her. She decided not to correct him on that one. Knowing that truth wouldn’t help him find his niece.

  When they were back inside the cottage, she set her hands on her hips and gave him the ground rules. “I’m not sleeping with you again. I’ll take the couch.”

  “I’ll take the couch.” He tossed her bag onto the bed.

  “Deal.” She wasn’t above taking the man’s bed. How often did she get to sleep on such a luxurious bed complete with down comforter?

  Never.

  “Tomorrow we’ll lay out a strategy.”

  “You have a plan?” She reached into her bag for the nightshirt she’d packed.

  “No. But I will by morning.”

  “Is your sister doing okay?” She’d come outside and talked to him once while Jo was pacing the sidewalk.

  “She’s terrified. Tomorrow she and the other girl’s mother are making a public plea at the task force press conference.”

  Jo’s mother had done that. Her brother, too. So had all the other parents from all the other victims she’d tracked down
. In this situation it wouldn’t help. Probably never did. Really. “If your niece was taken by the same people who took me, she’ll be back.”

  “How can you be sure? You said there’s always one who dies. The other girl, you said.”

  “Yeah, well, you never heard about the other girls for a reason. They were never reported missing. They were nobody. Homeless or...just invisible.”

  Jo had concluded that it was planned that way. The one who died was always the one no one would miss, no one looked for. Did they take steps to ensure the other girl was always the ultimate victim?

  “Why did you stay silent all this time?”

  Jo blinked, shaking off the thoughts. She’d wondered when that question would be tossed at her. The edge in his voice told her he was thinking that if she and the others had come clean long ago they wouldn’t be here now. His niece and the other freshman wouldn’t be missing.

  Maybe he was right. But things looked different from this side, especially eighteen years ago.

  “We were scared. Brainwashed. We did as we were told.”

  “But something changed your mind.”

  “Ellen, the other girl who was with me, killed herself less than a month ago. She left two little kids and a younger sister behind. It’s enough already. We shouldn’t have waited so long...”

  “What about the body of the other girl?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. “Good night.”

  She closed the door and stared at her reflection in the mirror. If she was lucky he hadn’t heard the lie in her voice. She closed her eyes to block the images that flashed one in front of the other in her mind.

  Of course the body wasn’t found—they buried it where no one would ever look.

  20

  Day Two

  Eighteen years ago...

  I’m not alone anymore.

  Two other girls were here when I woke up. Actually one of them woke me up. She thought I was dead.

  One girl’s name is Ellen. She’s a freshman at Georgia College, too. I don’t know her though. She hasn’t stopped crying. She thinks she was raped the same way I was. Like me, she can’t remember anything.

  The other girl won’t talk to us. She refuses to tell us her name or where she comes from or anything. She keeps to herself in one corner.

  It’s so dark. I wish I could see.

  The one named Ellen crawls over to sit by me. “Why are we here?”

  I wish I knew. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  She whimpers. She’s really scared. I don’t mention it but I am scared shitless myself.

  Every minute that passes amps up the anxiety twisting inside me. Okay, so we can sit here and wait to see what happens next or we can do something.

  “Tell me what you remember,” I say to Ellen.

  “I went to a friend’s birthday party. There were six of us. We’d been to that bar a bunch of times. They serve food, too. Sometimes we’d go and eat there instead of in the cafeteria.”

  I wonder if it’s the same club I went to. “I was taken from Grayson’s over in Macon.”

  “The Watering Hole outside Milledgeville,” Ellen says. “I don’t understand how this happened. It seemed like a nice place.”

  The other girl who wouldn’t tell us her name laughs. “You’re so stupid. Don’t you know that if they want you, they get you no matter where you are?”

  Anger stirs in me. “What does that even mean?”

  Ellen scoots closer to me.

  “It means we’re fucked,” the nameless girl announces. “When they’re done with us, they’ll kill us and no one will ever find the bodies.”

  Ellen starts to sob again.

  21

  Georgia College Student Center

  Friday, April 13, 7:15 a.m.

  “You do realize this is stalking,” Joanna pointed out.

  “Which is why I need you to talk to them.” Tony shrugged. “You’re a reporter. That’s what reporters do, right?”

  He’d located—stalked, if you wanted to define his methods that way—Vickie Parton’s roommate, Sadie Hall, and her closest friend, Marla Franks. The two were seated in one of the many study niches in the Student Center, huddled over their notebooks, discarded food wrappers and empty coffee cups scattered over the table.

  Joanna folded her arms over her chest. “What would you have me say to them?”

  She’d basically avoided participating in any conversation with him since she rolled out of bed. As if she still didn’t want to speak directly to him or didn’t trust him to do it right, she’d even leaned over the console and shouted her order out the window at the drive-through where he’d stopped for breakfast. Beyond that she hadn’t said a word. He’d kept his questions to himself but only for now. At some point he would know whatever it was she was hiding. This morning’s priority was Tiffany. He needed to make some sort of progress on her case. At this point, unless the chief was holding out on him, they still had not one fucking thing. Completely unacceptable.

  Annoyed at her lack of cooperation, he offered, “You can start with, was Vickie Parton seeing anyone before she disappeared? According to Phelps, she wasn’t. Had she been ill? Was she on good terms with her family? Was there anything that made those close to her feel she might want to disappear?”

  “I’m pretty sure you can rule out that last theory, Agent LeDoux.”

  Her sarcasm wasn’t helping his patience this morning. “We both know this but we need to know if they know it. We need their opinions and theories. Did they know Tiffany Durand? Did Vickie and Tiffany have anything in common? Play the part of reporter. Most witnesses get excited by the prospect of having their fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “Got it.” She stood. “Then you’ll owe me one.”

  “I thought this was a mutually advantageous relationship?”

  She didn’t answer, just walked over to the group of freshmen, including Parton’s roommate. If she helped find his niece alive he’d give her anything he possessed the power to give—which wasn’t a hell of a lot at this point. His ex-wife had taken most of his negotiable assets.

  Joanna wore dark pants and a lightweight sweater. The blue shade looked good with her olive skin and blond hair. Something had changed in their relationship—if you could even technically call it a relationship. More like an understanding. An understanding he wasn’t entirely convinced he understood. Whatever it was, things had shifted after Conway was found.

  He thought of the chief’s call about the single blond hair found at the scene. Finding only a single hair always made Tony suspicious. If two people had rowdy sex the likelihood of shedding only one hair was not exactly overwhelming. It felt more like a piece of planted evidence.

  Speaking of blond hair, today he and his pseudo partner would do all within their power to track down Hailey Martin wherever she was hiding. His primary concern was that whoever killed Conway would find Martin before they did. He needed Hailey Martin—Madelyn Houser. If she and Conway had abducted Tiffany and Vickie and stashed them away for some unknown purpose, the stakes went way, way up with Conway’s murder. If Martin ended up dead, they might not be able to find the girls before it was too late.

  His cell vibrated and he checked the screen. Angie.

  “Hey.” He kept an eye on Joanna as he listened to his sister.

  “They’ve moved the press conference up to nine. I need you there, Tony.”

  His sister’s voice sounded shaky. Understandable. She was terrified. Her only child was missing and now the powers that be wanted her to go on stage and perform for all the world to see. Plead with some unknown piece of shit for her daughter’s life.

  “You don’t need me there. My presence will only distract the focus. We need every reporter in the room as well as every viewer watching focused on you and
Mrs. Parton.”

  She drew in an unsteady breath. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Angie, you’re the strongest woman I know.” His errant gaze flicked back to the woman chatting with the two college girls. Joanna Guthrie was another strong woman. But she was also keeping secrets. “You can do this. You’ll be strong for Tiffany.”

  “In a few hours it’ll be a week—” Ang’s voice cracked “—since anyone saw her. Don’t tell me you’re not worried she isn’t coming back.”

  “I’m not worried,” Tony lied. “She’s alive and we’re going to find her and bring her home.”

  Another deep shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I know you won’t let me down. I’m just terrified I’ll do something wrong and find out later I could have made a difference if I’d done things differently.”

  Normal reaction. “You’re doing exactly what you should be doing. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts. You brought Tif into this world. You and Steve raised an amazing young woman. You’ll do this part right, too.”

  “I know,” she conceded. “You’re right. You stay focused on the investigation. I’ll take care of this press conference. Steve will be standing right beside me.”

  “Good. Love you.”

  “Love you. Wait. What about Joanna? You didn’t tell me if you confirmed her story.”

  “I did. And if Tiffany was taken by the same people who took Joanna all those years ago that’s another point on our side. She and the other girl survived. So did all the others in the cases she’s followed all these years. We have every reason to be hopeful.”

  “I’m holding you to that, Tony.”

  “I’ve got this, Ang.”

  His sister let it go there. He tucked the phone into his jacket pocket and glanced back to the table where Joanna and the girls were talking.

  They were gone.

  He shot to his feet and surveyed the dozens of faces crowded into niches and around tables. How the hell had he allowed his attention to wander?

  Can’t be on your A game, pal, if you drink yourself into oblivion every night.