by Lis Wiehl
“You really believed that?” Nicole asked. “You were the child. He was the responsible adult.”
Allison realized that she had asked God’s forgiveness years ago, but she had never truly forgiven herself. She felt a flash of pity for the girl she had once been. Pity and tenderness. She sighed. “I was lonely and looking for attention. And he told me he loved me, and I believed him. He said it was true love.”
Even Cassidy—who had long ago told both women about losing her virginity when she was fourteen—looked skeptical. “Maybe when you’re a teenager you can tell yourself it’s true love. But an adult—he knows it’s not that simple.”
“I’ll bet you anything,” Nicole said, “that you were one in a long line of girls. You weren’t the first. And you weren’t the last.”
Listening to her friends was like opening the door to a room that had been closed off for years, and filling it with sunlight and fresh air. Looking back, Allison saw how lonely and vulnerable she had been. And how expertly Mr. Engels had manipulated her. Had Senator Fairview done the same thing to Katie?
Allison vowed again to get justice for Katie Converse. No matter what it took.
MARK O. HATFIELD UNITED STATES COURTHOUSE
December 24
Allison Pierce,” Allison said in a distracted tone. The office was beginning to empty out as people left early to celebrate Christmas Eve.
But Katie had been missing for eleven days, and Allison felt she couldn’t ease up. Line by line, she was still paging through the dozens and dozens of pages from Senator Fairview’s trap and trace. They had gotten information for the phones in his Portland home, his DC apartment, and his office on Capitol Hill, as well as for his personal cell. Three months’ worth, beginning with the day Katie started as a Senate page and ending now. The resulting stack of paper was nearly four inches thick. Just trying to read the tiny lines of type was giving Allison a headache.
Only silence had answered her greeting, so she repeated, “This is Allison Pierce,” in a sharper tone.
“Ally?” The voice was that of a child, but it wasn’t really a kid. Just her kid sister.
“Lindsay,” she said warily. How long had it been since she had heard from her sister? Two months? Three? “What’s wrong?” There was always something wrong.
“I screwed up.” Through the phone line she could hear Lindsay gulping back tears.
“What happened?” Pushing down her impatience, she resisted adding this time.
When their dad had died and their mother had gone to pieces, Allison had shouldered the burden of being the adult, even if she was only sixteen. Lindsay had gone a little crazy. It was Marshall who had gently pointed out that, in a way, Allison and her mother had welcomed Lindsay’s problems. By focusing on Lindsay, they could temporarily forget that their father and husband was dead.
“I’m in Tennessee, I think,” Lindsay said. “Or maybe Alabama.”
“What are you doing there?” Allison asked. Exhaustion crashed over her like a wave. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Lindsay. Not on top of everything else.
“I met someone new.”
On the surface that was good news. Allison hated Chris, Lindsay’s most recent boyfriend.
“So how did you end up in Alabama? Or wherever you are?”
“This guy’s a long-haul trucker. But it didn’t work out. And now, now I don’t have anything. All my stuff is still in his truck. And I think I sprained my ankle jumping out of it.”
Allison rubbed her temple. “So where are you exactly? Are you some-place safe?”
“I’m at a gas station. Look, could you put some money in my checking account? I just want to come home. Home for Christmas. Wouldn’t that be great, Ally? Like old times.”
Allison was long past falling for an idea like that. Give Lindsay some money, and it would more than likely go up her nose or down her throat. At least those were the only places Allison hoped it would go. Please, God, not in her arm. Lindsay chased after a high so hard that if she used IV drugs it wouldn’t be long before she started sharing needles to save time and ended up with hepatitis C or HIV.
“Look, Linds. Get to the nearest airport, figure out what city you’re in, give me a call, and I’ll arrange a ticket for you.”
“Yeah, sure,” her sister said sullenly. “I knew you wouldn’t help me. I call you on Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve, and you turn me away.”
“I will help you, Lindsay, but I won’t give you cash. We both know why.”
“How am I supposed to even get to the airport? I don’t have the money for a cab. I don’t even have the money for a bus.”
Allison sighed. Tomorrow was Christmas, after all. And if Lindsay really did show up, it would make a better present for their mother than the Este Lauder perfume and the book about the Civil War Allison had already bought her.
“I’ll put fifty dollars in your account, but that’s it. And then you call me as soon as you’re at the airport, okay? And I’ll buy you a ticket.”
“Oh, thank you, Ally! Thank you! I will, I will. Merry Christmas! I’ll call you soon, and I’ll see you tomorrow!” She hung up before Allison could even say good-bye.
How long would it be before she heard from Lindsay again?
Was it even possible that her sister was, say, not in Alabama or Tennessee, but six blocks away?
With a sigh, Allison turned to the next page of the trap and trace. Everyone, it seemed, had called or been called by Senator Fairview. Other senators, congressmen, a well-known conservative actor, along with dozens and dozens of names she didn’t recognize who were probably lobbyists and constituents. But there was one number that was popping up with more and more frequency on his cell phone. Calls to and from the number came in four, five, six times a day, and sometimes lasted twenty or thirty minutes. But the name wasn’t one she recognized. K. Page. And then it hit Allison so hard that she actually jerked her head back. How could she have been so blind! No wonder Katie’s trap and trace records had only shown phone calls to and from her parents. Katie had gotten a second phone and registered it under the name K. Page. K for Katie, and Page as a little inside joke.
Allison’s finger stabbed at the printout. She couldn’t wait to hear how Senator Fairview would try to explain this away.
SOUTHWEST PORTLAND
December 24
Maybe you should scoot your seat back,” Marshall said as they drove to church for the midnight Christmas Eve service. Allison loved the routine of welcoming the Christ Child in the middle of the night. When she was a kid, they would come home from the midnight service, drink hot cocoa, and go to sleep—although Allison and Lindsay often only pretended to, too eager for Christmas morning.
“Why?” Allison stopped typing in her pass code to access the voice mail system at work. Even though she had left the office three hours earlier, her mind still churned. There was no new word on the Converse case. And Lindsay hadn’t called back. It seemed that both Allison’s fifty dollars and Lindsay had vanished. She just hoped that Lindsay hadn’t pulled the same stunt with their mom.
Marshall pointed at the dash. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so close to the air bag.”
“I think that’s the whole point of the air bag.”
“An air bag is supposed to stop you from breaking your neck. It wasn’t designed to protect a baby. I was reading online; the Department of Transportation says pregnant women should sit as far back as possible from the air bag and keep their arms away from the dash area.”
“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Allison patted Marshall’s knee. “Remember, women have been having babies for thousands of years. You’ve seen those diaries pioneer women kept. Made dozen loaves of bread, plowed back forty, gave birth to son, butchered hog. They didn’t worry about folic acid and air bags, and everything turned out fine.”
But even as she was speaking, Allison reached for the lever on the side of the seat and scooted it back as far as it would go. She finished entering her cod
e and put the phone to her ear.
“You have two new voice mails,” the woman’s pleasant voice announced. The first was a request to change a meeting to a different time. The second was a man’s voice, husky, not one she recognized.
“Hey, slut. Listen to me. I know where your fancy house is in the West Hills. I’m going to give you what you’ve got coming.”
Allison gasped. Marshall looked over at her, concerned. With every ounce of will, she forced herself to listen to the man’s threats.
“I’m going to tie you down and rape you, and then I’m going to slit your throat.” And then he said the same words that had ended the note. “And I’m going to like it.”
There was a click.
“End of final message,” the woman’s voice announced cheerfully.
Allison flipped her phone closed. “This is not what I needed right now,” she said, her voice cracking.
Marshall hurriedly pulled into the far end of the church parking lot and turned off the car. He turned to her. “What is it? Did Lindsay call back? Is something wrong?”
“Oh, just a, a message. From someone who’s mad at me.Ý
“Allison.” Marshall put his hand on her chin and made her look him directly in the eye. “What is it?”
She hesitated, then said, “I’ve gotten a couple of threats recently. You know the kind of people I put away. It comes with the territory.”
“But there’s a difference now, Allison. You have to think of the baby.”
“These people just like to hear themselves talk,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as Marshall. “And I’m taking precautions. There are extra patrols coming by the house. And Rod put a trap and trace on my phone, so I’ll be able to find out where it came from.”
Marshall sighed. “Maybe with the baby coming you should think about going into a different area of law. One that’s less dangerous.”
“I’m a third-generation prosecutor, Marshall. It’s in my blood.” She thought of all her classmates who had gone into white shoe firms. For them, everything was about getting something bigger—the bigger house, the bigger car, the bigger salary. “I think God put me here to make the world less dangerous. I wouldn’t be nearly as much use someplace else.”
When Marshall still looked doubtful, she added, “Besides, I’m actually safer at work. Anybody who wanted to get to me at my office would have to get past a metal detector, a security gate, and a bunch of law enforcement personnel.”
Instead of answering, Marshall pulled her into an awkward hug over the parking brake. Feeling his strong arms around her, Allison finally let herself begin to tremble while he ran a soothing hand over her hair.
After several moments of silence, he said, “I know how important your work is to you. But I want you to promise me that you will take care of yourself. Of our baby. Just once, think of putting yourself first.”
“I promise.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “The service will start soon. We should go in.”
Outside the church, pens had been set up on each side of the main door. A local farmer always brought in newborn animals for the Christmas Eve service. This year it was a lamb and two calves, one so young it could barely stand on shaky legs.
As she looked at them, Allison rubbed her belly. Next year she would be holding a baby in her arms. Two years from now, they would have a toddler like the ones gazing raptly through the bars at the baby animals.
Once they were seated in a pew, Marshall put his arm around her shoulders. Allison closed her eyes and leaned into his warmth. She didn’t hear much of the sermon. Instead, she was making a short list of suspects who might be threatening her.
She had prosecuted dozens of people. Why would one of them snap now? Did that mean it was someone she had recently prosecuted—or one of their friends or relatives? Or a guy who had recently gotten out of prison? Or was it merely some random crazy who had seen her name in the paper? If only she had been able to see the face of the man who had seemed to follow her to Katie’s vigil. Did this guy really know where she lived—or just the general area?
She only really tuned in when they sang the hymns. “What Child Is This?” made tears spring to her eyes. “O Come, All Ye Faithful” filled her with strength and hope. And “Joy to the World” finally took her out of herself, at least for a moment.
When she shook Pastor Schmitz’s hand at the door after the service, he didn’t release his grasp. Instead, he leaned closer, and Allison could tell that he saw her, really saw her.
“Are you okay?”
She started to say, “Sure,” but her throat closed up. She couldn’t speak. Finally, she shook her head.
Marshall said, “There’s been a lot going on.”
“Would you like to talk?” Pastor Schmitz asked.
They looked at each other and then nodded.
“Why don’t you go down to my office, and I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
Allison and Marshall were silent as they walked back through the lobby, past the smiling people exchanging hugs and small wrapped gifts.
“What’s the matter?” Pastor Schmitz asked them five minutes later, as he sat in the brown chair next to the red cloth couch they were sitting on.
“Allison’s pregnant,” Marshall said.
“That’s marvelous news,” Pastor Schmitz said, but he didn’t smile. “What else?”
“I’m getting death threats at work,” Allison said. “And I’m trying to find out what’s happened to this missing girl.”
“Katie Converse,” Pastor Schmitz said. It wasn’t a question. Thanks to the nonstop news coverage, everyone knew Katie’s name. “Are the death threats related to Katie?”
“I don’t think so. But she is my number one priority right now. So you can see that there’s a lot going on for us.”
“God gives us times like these so that we can turn to His strength,” Pastor Schmitz said. “Why don’t we talk to Him about it?”
Allison closed her eyes. She felt Pastor Schmitz take one of her hands, and then Marshall take the other. The three of them formed a circle.
“Lord, thank you for this gift, this marvelous gift of a child,” the pastor began. He prayed for protection for Allison and the baby, and for Katie, and strength for those searching for her, and peace and comfort for her family. When he was finished, he said, “In Jesus’ name . . . ,” and the three of them murmured, “Amen.”
Allison’s fears quieted. But only for a moment.
HEDGES RESIDENCE
December 25
He came, Mama! He came! Santa Claus came!”
Makayla was bouncing on the edge of the bed. Nic opened one eye. Everything felt both right and wrong. Wrong because this wasn’t her bed, wasn’t her house. Right because a long time ago, both things had been hers.
And wrong because it was far too early to get up.
Since Nic had had Makayla, she had spent every Christmas with her parents. For one thing, it just didn’t seem like Christmas when you only had two people to celebrate it, and Nic felt that all children deserved a real Christmas. Christmas wasn’t Christmas unless you were surrounded by family.
And then there was the matter of food. Lately, Nic’s meals had run more to take-out barbecue and cold cereal, but Mama could be counted on to make all the foods that made the holiday special: ham, creamed corn, collard greens, stewed tomatoes, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, and pecan pie. This afternoon, the table would be so full there would hardly be room for their plates.
Makayla poked her. “He came, Mama!” she repeated stubbornly.
There was no way Nic was going to be able to stay asleep, no matter how much her body longed for it.
“Get under the covers with me for a second. I’m cold.”
She wasn’t, but it was the only way she could still get Makayla to cuddle. She no longer let Nic hold her hand, even when they were crossing the street.
Nic wrapped her arms around her daughter, her own skin several shades darker than Makayla�
�s coffee with milk. As she held her daughter close, she wondered if the Converses would ever hold Katie again. Nic thought of their shadowed eyes. No matter how hard they pressed the hunt, even Katie’s parents already knew it was hopeless. The girl had to be dead. The only thing left was to discover where, how, and why. And to get the creep who had done it.
Makayla squirmed. “You’re squeezing too hard!”
Reluctantly, Nic released her. “So did Santa bring you a lot of presents?”
Makayla hadn’t believed in Santa Claus since she was six. Still, it was fun for both of them to pretend.
“Lots! And there’s one that has to be a bike! I touched it, and I could feel the handlebars and the seat and the pedals.” She got to her feet again and tugged her mother’s arm. “You have to come see.”
“Okay, maybe we can go downstairs and open up one present. A small one. But we have to be really quiet—Grandma and Grandpa are still sleeping.”
Later in the morning, Nicole’s three brothers would bring their families over, and they would all take turns unwrapping presents.
“No, they’re not. At least Grandma isn’t. She’s in the kitchen making cinnamon rolls.”
Cinnamon rolls. That was all Nic needed. With a groan colored by crumbling resistance, she climbed out of bed.
Her daughter danced from one foot to the other, braids bouncing. She already came up to Nic’s nose. Makayla was tall for a nine-year-old. People often thought she was older, because of her height. And she had the most unusual green eyes. Even strangers commented on them and sometimes asked where she had gotten them.
No matter how much she tried to pretend Makayla was all hers, there were times when the truth slapped Nic in the face. The green eyes, the height, the pale skin—it all came from Makayla’s daddy.
But Nicole had sworn to herself that Makayla would never, ever know that.
Or him.
RIVERSIDE CONDOMINIUMS
December 25