"Did he remember Pauline?"
"Yeah, he remembered her. She was a good-looking kid. Sounded like the old guy had a boner for her."
Will could not possibly care less right now about some skuzzy old cop bird dogging a teenager. "What happened?"
"He picked her up a couple of times for shoplifting, drinking too much and gettin' loud about it. He never ran her in—just took her back home, told her to straighten up. She was underage, but when she hit seventeen, it was harder to sweep it under the rug. Some store owner got a bee up his ass and pressed charges for the shoplifting. The old cop visits the family to help them out, sees something ain't right. He tucks his dick back in his pants, realizes it's time for him to do his job. The girl's got problems at school, problems at home. She tells the cop that she's being abused."
"Was social services called in?"
"Yeah, but little Pauline disappeared before they could talk to her."
"Did the cop remember the names? The parents? Anything?"
Leo shook his head. "Nothing. Just Pauline Seward." He snapped his fingers. "He did say there was a brother kind of touched in the head, if you know what I mean. Just a strange little fucker."
"Strange how?"
"Weird. You know how it is. You get a vibe."
Will had to ask again, "But the cop doesn't remember his name?"
"All the records are sealed because she was a juvenile. Throw in family court, and that's another obstacle," Leo said. "You're gonna need a warrant in Michigan to get them open. This was twenty years ago. There was some kind of fire in records ten years back, the old guy says. Might not even be a file to look up."
"Exactly twenty years?" Faith asked.
Leo gave her a sideways look. "Twenty years come Easter."
Will wanted to get this straight. "Pauline McGhee, or Seward, went missing twenty years from this Sunday, Easter Sunday?"
"No," Leo said. "Easter was in March twenty years ago."
Faith asked, "Did you look it up?"
He shrugged. "It's always the Sunday following the first full moon that occurs after the spring equinox."
Will took a minute to realize he was speaking English. It was like a cat barking. "Are you sure?"
"Do you really think I'm that stupid?" he asked. "Shit, don't answer that. The old guy was sure of it. Pauline bunked on March twenty-sixth. Easter Sunday."
Will tried to do the math, but Faith beat him to it. "Two weeks ago. That could fit around the time Sara said Anna was probably abducted." Her phone rang again. "Jesus," she hissed, checking the caller ID. She flipped open the phone. "What do you want?"
Faith's expression changed from extreme annoyance to shock, then disbelief. "Oh, my God." Her hand went to her chest.
Will could only think of Jeremy, Faith's son.
"What's the address?" Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Beeston Place."
Will said, "That's where Angie—"
"We'll be right there." Faith closed her phone. "That was Sara. Anna woke up. She's talking."
"What did she say about Beeston Place?"
"That's where she lives—they live. Anna has a six-month-old baby, Will. The last time she saw him was at her penthouse at Twenty-One Beeston Place."
WILL HAD JUMPED behind the wheel, slamming back the seat, taking off before Faith had even shut her door. He'd raked the gears, pushing the Mini into every turn, bouncing across metal plates covering road construction. On Piedmont, he'd bumped across the median, using the oncoming lane to swerve around traffic at the light. Faith had sat quietly beside him, holding on to the handle over the door, but he could see her teeth gritted with each bump and turn.
Faith said, "Tell me again what she said."
Will didn't want to think about Angie right now, didn't want to consider that she might know there was a kid involved, a baby whose mother had been stolen, a child who had been left alone in a penthouse apartment that had been turned into a crack den.
"Drugs," he told Faith. "That's all she said—they were using it as a drug pad."
She was silent as he downshifted, making a wide turn onto Peachtree Street. Traffic was light for this time of day, which meant that there was a line of cars backed up a quarter of a mile. Will used the oncoming lane again, finally jumping onto the narrow shoulder to avoid a dump truck. Faith's hands slammed palm-down on the dashboard as he banked into a turn, sliding to a stop in front of Beeston Place Apartments.
The car rocked as Will got out. He ran to the entrance. He could hear the sirens of distant cruisers, an ambulance. The doorman was behind a tall counter reading a newspaper. He was plump, his uniform too small for his large gut.
Will pulled out his ID and flashed it in the man's face. "I need to get into the penthouse."
The doorman gave one of the surliest smiles in Will's recent memory. "You do, do you?" He spoke with an accent, Russian or Ukranian.
Faith joined them, out of breath. She squinted at his nametag. "Mr. Simkov, this is important. We think a child might be in jeopardy."
He gave a helpless shrug. "No one gets in unless they're on the list, and since you're not on the—"
Will felt something inside of him break. Before he knew what was happening, his hand shot out, grabbing Simkov by the back of his neck and slamming his head into the marble counter top.
"Will!" Faith gasped, her voice going up in surprise.
"Give me the key," Will demanded, pressing harder against the man's skull.
"Pocket," Simkov managed, his mouth pressed so hard against the counter that his teeth scraped the surface.
Will jerked him closer, checked his front pockets and found a ring of keys. He tossed them to Faith, then walked into the open elevator car, fists clenched at his sides.
Faith pressed the button for the penthouse. "Christ," she whispered. "You've proven your point, all right? You can be a tough guy. Now back off it."
"He watches the door." Will was so furious he could barely form the words. "He knows everything going on in this building. He's got the keys to every apartment, including Anna's."
She seemed to get that he wasn't putting on a show. "All right. You're right. Let's just take things down a notch, okay? We don't know what we're going to find up there."
Will could feel the tendons in his arms vibrating. The elevator doors opened onto the penthouse floor. He stalked into the hall and waited for Faith to find the correctly labeled key to open the door. She found it, and he put his hand over hers, taking over.
Will didn't go gently. He took out his gun and slammed the door open.
"Ugh," Faith gagged, holding her hand to her nose.
Will smelled it, too—that sickly sweet mixture of burning plastic and cotton candy.
"Crack," she said, waving her hand in front of her face.
"Look." He pointed to the foyer just inside the door. Curled pieces of confetti had dried in a yellow liquid on the floor. Taser dots.
There was a long hallway in front of him, two doors on one side, both closed. Ahead, he could see the living room. Couches were overturned, their stuffing torn out. Trash was everywhere. A large man lay facedown in the hall, his arms splayed, head turned to the wall. His shirtsleeve was rolled up. A tourniquet was tied around his bicep. The needle from the syringe was still jutting out of his arm.
Will pointed his Glock in front of him as he went down the hall. Faith took out her own weapon, but he signaled for her to wait. Will could already smell the body decaying, but he checked for a pulse just in case. There was a gun by the man's foot, a Smith and Wesson revolver with a custom gold grip that made it look like the kind of thing you used to find in the toy section of a dime store. Will kicked the gun away, even though the man was never going to reach for it.
Will motioned in Faith, then went back to the first closed door in the hallway. He waited until she was ready, then threw open the door. It was a closet, all the coats piled onto the floor in a heap. Will kicked the pile with his foot, checking under the coats before going
to the next closed door. He waited for Faith again, then kicked open the door.
They both gagged at the stench. The toilet was overflowing. Feces was smeared on the dark onyx walls. A dark brown liquid had puddled in the sink. Will felt his skin crawl. The smell of the room reminded him of the cave where Anna and Jackie had been kept.
He pulled the door closed and indicated that Faith should follow him down the hall toward the main room. They had to step over broken glass, needles, condoms. A white T-shirt was wadded into a ball, blood smeared on the outside. A sneaker was upended beside it, the laces still tied.
The kitchen was off the living room. Will checked behind the island, making sure no one was there, while Faith picked her way around upended furniture and more broken glass.
She said, "Clear."
"Me too." Will opened the cabinet under the sink, looking for the trashcan. The bag was white, just like the ones they had found inside the women. The can was empty, the only clean thing in the whole apartment.
"Coke," Faith guessed, indicating a couple of white bricks on the coffee table. Pipes were scattered around. Needles, rolled-up bills, razor blades. "What a mess. I can't believe people were living in this."
Will was never surprised by the depths to which a junkie would stoop, or by the destruction that followed them. He had seen nice suburban houses turned into dilapidated meth dens over the course of a few days. "Where'd everybody go?"
She shrugged. "A dead body wouldn't scare them enough to leave this much coke behind." She glanced back at the dead man. "Maybe he's supposed to be security."
They searched the rest of the place together. Three bedrooms, one of them a nursery decorated in shades of blue, and two more bathrooms. All of the toilets and sinks were backed up. The sheets were balled up on the beds, the mattresses were overturned. Clothes were ripped out of the closets. All the televisions were gone. There was a keyboard and mouse on the desk in one of the spare rooms, but no computer. Obviously, whoever had taken over the place had stripped it bare.
Will holstered his gun as he stood at the end of the hallway. Two paramedics and a uniformed patrolman were waiting at the front door. He motioned them in.
"Dead as a doornail," one of the paramedics pronounced, doing only a cursory check for vitals on the junkie by the coat closet.
The cop said, "My partner's talking to the doorman." He used a measured tone, directing his words toward Will. "Looks like he fell. Hit his eye."
Faith shoved her gun into its holster. "Those floors are pretty slippery downstairs."
The cop nodded his complicity. "Looked slippery."
Will returned to the nursery. He riffled through the baby clothes on tiny hangers in the closet. He went back to the crib and lifted the mattress.
"Be careful," Faith warned. "There could be needles."
"He doesn't take the kids," he said, more to himself than Faith. "He takes the women, but he leaves the kids."
"Pauline wasn't abducted from her house."
"Pauline is different." He reminded her, "Olivia was taken in her backyard. Anna was taken at her front door. You saw the Taser dots. I bet Jackie Zabel was taken at her mother's house."
"Maybe a friend has Anna's baby."
Will stopped searching, surprised by the desperation in Faith's tone. "Anna doesn't have friends. None of these women have friends. That's why he takes them."
"It's been at least a week, Will." Faith's voice shook. "Look around you. This place is a mess."
"You want to turn the apartment over to crime scene?" he asked, leaving the rest of the question unspoken: You want someone else to find the body?
Faith tried another tact. "Sara said that Anna told her that her last name is Lindsey. She's a corporate lawyer. We can call her office and see—"
Gently, Will lifted the plastic liner of the diaper pail beside the changing table. The diapers were old, certainly not the source of the more pungent smells in the apartment.
"Will—"
He went to the attached bathroom and checked the trash there. "I want to talk to the doorman."
"Why don't you let—"
Will left the room before she had finished. He walked into the living room again, checking under the couches, pulling the stuffing out of some of the chairs to see if anything—anyone—was hidden inside.
The cop was testing the coke, pleased with what he found. "This is a righteous bust. I need to call this in."
"Give me a minute," Will told him.
One of the paramedics asked, "You want us to stick around?"
Faith said "No" just as Will said "Yes."
He made himself clear. "Don't go anywhere."
Faith asked the man, "Do you know an EMT named Rick Sigler?"
"Rick? Yeah," the guy said, like he was surprised she'd asked.
Will blocked out their conversation. He went back to the front powder room, breathing through his mouth so the shit and piss wouldn't make him throw up. He closed the door then went back to the front entrance, the confetti dots. He stooped down to study at them. He was pretty sure they were in dried urine.
Will stood, going out into the hall and looking back in at the apartment. Anna's penthouse took up the entire top floor of the building. There were no other units, no neighbors. No one who could hear her scream or see her attacker.
The killer would've stood outside her door where Will stood now. He glanced down the hall, thinking the man might've come up the stairs—or maybe down. There was a fire exit. He could've been on the roof. Or maybe the worthless doorman would've let him in through the front entrance, even pressed the button for him on the elevator. There was a peephole in Anna's penthouse door. She would've checked it first. All of these women were cautious. Who would she let in? A delivery person. Maintenance. Maybe the doorman.
Faith was coming toward him. Her face was unreadable, but he knew her well enough to know what she was thinking: It's time to go.
Will looked down the hall again. There was another door halfway down on the wall opposite the apartment.
Faith said, "Will—" but he was already heading for the closed door. He opened it. There was a small metal door inside for the trash chute. Boxes were piled in a stack, recyclables. There was a basket for glass, one for cans. A baby rested in the bin for plastics. His eyes were closed to a slit, his lips slightly parted. His skin was white, waxy.
Faith came up behind Will. She grabbed his arm. Will could not move. The world had stopped spinning. He held on to the doorknob so his knees would not give out on him. A noise came out of Faith's mouth that sounded like a low keening.
The baby turned his head toward the sound, his eyes slowly opening.
"Oh, my God," Faith breathed. She pushed Will out of the way, dropping to her knees as she reached for the child. "Get help! Will, get help!"
Will felt the world speed back up again. "Out here!" he called to the paramedics. "Bring your kit!"
Faith held the baby close as she checked for cuts and bruises. "Little lamb," she whispered. "You're okay. I've got you now. You're okay."
Will watched her with the child, the way she smoothed back his hair and pressed her lips to his forehead. The baby's eyes were barely open, his lips white. Will wanted to say something, but his words kept getting caught in his throat. He felt hot and cold at the same time, like he might start sobbing right there in front of the world.
"I've got you, sweetheart," Faith murmured, her voice choked with anguish. Tears streamed down her face. Will had never seen her being a mother, at least not with an infant. It broke his heart to see this gentle side of Faith, the part of her that cared so deeply about another human being that her hands shook as she held the child close to her chest.
She whispered, "He's not crying. Why is he not crying?"
Will finally managed to speak. "He knows no one will come." He leaned down, cupping his hand around the boy's head as it rested on Faith's shoulder, trying not to think about the hours the child had spent alone up here, crying himself out,
waiting for someone to come.
The paramedic gasped in surprise. He called to his partner as he took the baby from Faith. The diaper was full. The boy's belly was distended; his head lolled to the side.
"He's dehydrated." The medic checked his pupils for a reaction, lifting his chapped lips to check his gums. "Malnourished."
Will asked, "Is he going to be okay?"
The man shook his head. "I don't know. He's bad off."
"How long—" Faith's voice caught. "How long has he been in here?"
"I don't know," the man repeated. "A day. Maybe two."
"Two days?" Will asked, sure he was wrong. "The mom's been gone at least a week, maybe more."
"More than a week and he'd be dead." Gently, the medic turned the child over. "He's got sores from lying in one place for too long." He cursed under his breath. "I don't know how long it takes for this to happen, but someone's been giving him water, at least. You can't survive without it."
Faith said, "Maybe the prostitute . . ."
She didn't finish, but Will knew what she was saying. Lola had probably been keeping an eye on Anna's baby after Anna had been abducted. Then she'd gotten locked up and the kid was left alone. "If Lola was taking care of him," Will said, "she would need to get in and out of the building."
The elevator doors slid open. Will saw a second cop standing with Simkov, the doorman. There was a darkening bruise underneath his eye and his eyebrow was split where it had been slammed against the hard marble counter.
"That one." The doorman pointed triumphantly at Will. "He's the one who jumped me."
Will's fists tightened. His jaw was so clenched he thought his teeth might break. "Did you know this baby was up here?"
The doorman's sneer was back. "What do I know about a baby? Maybe the night guy was—" He stopped, looking into the open door of the penthouse. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he mumbled, then said something in his foreign tongue. "What did they do up here?"
"Who?" Will asked. "Who was up here?"
"Is that man dead?" Simkov asked, still staring into the trashed penthouse. "Holy Christ, look at this place. The smell!" He tried to go into the apartment, but the cop jerked him back.
[Georgia 01] Genesis (aka Undone) Page 30