The Woman Most Wanted

by Pamela Tracy

  “Lucas.”

  “When will he be here?”

  Leann stepped farther into the hallway, still speaking softly. “Lucas’s on his way. Oscar’s dealing with a fight between a couple of neighbors. Did you call social services about Abigail? Far as I’m aware, since Diane Ramsey’s death, there’s no relative nearby, unless you know something I don’t.”

  “I did, but I’ll check with them. Right now there’s no tie between Heather and Rachel except for looks.”

  “That’s a mighty powerful tie,” Leann said.

  Tom didn’t want to respond. If the two weren’t related, good. If they were, his biggest problem would be personal and not professional. He liked Heather, genuinely liked her.

  Leann raised an eyebrow—she was getting awfully good at that—and went back into the room. He headed for the waiting room, luckily empty, and started making calls. By the time he finished the final conversation ten minutes later, he was feeling more in control.

  Leann met him in the hallway. “What about Abigail?”

  “Social services will have someone here in the morning.”

  “And what about tonight?”

  “Abigail can sleep in the cell with her mother.”

  Leann nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time a kid had stayed with a parent overnight in the Sarasota Falls jail, but it had been a long time.

  “It’s what we’d do for anyone in this situation. Safest place.” Tom wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Leann or himself.

  “Bianca’s registered with social services,” Leann reminded him.

  “Heather’s staying there. Until we know if there’s a connection between Heather and Rachel, it’s not prudent to put them together.”

  “There’s no connection,” Rachel said, coming up to them, making Tom wish he’d closed the door and also wonder just how much she’d heard. “Until tonight, I’d never even known her name.”

  “I stay with Mommy,” Abigail insisted, joining her mother. Then, she asked, “What’s a cell?”

  Tom closed his eyes, exhaustion threatening to make its presence known. There was no perfect outcome for tonight’s scenario.

  “Rachel,” Tom asked, “can I call one of your mother’s sisters?”

  “No. They hated me.” She glanced at Abigail and her expression softened. “They didn’t get along with my mother. If you remember.” She looked Tom square in the face. “You tried to place me with them years ago. They didn’t want me. I’m not putting my daughter someplace she’s not wanted.”

  “What’s a cell?” Abigail asked again.

  “Let me call Bianca,” Leann suggested. “We can put Heather up in the Sarasota Grand Hotel. Now that Founder’s Day is over, they have rooms.”

  “No, and Rachel, it’s been more than five minutes. It’s time to go.”

  Rachel took Abigail’s hand. “Can we ask the nurse for an update?”

  Leann’s cousin, Tom found out, was one of the night nurses and would be more than willing to give an update. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Rachel. “The doctor will be here in the morning, and he can tell you a lot more about Richard then.”

  Though not uttered, the words if he makes it were clearly implied.

  “The head wound is our biggest concern,” the nurse continued. “He had a CAT scan last night and unfortunately the swelling means the doctors cannot perform surgery yet.”

  “That’s bad,” Rachel said.

  “Usually.” The nurse smiled a little. “The good news is we see brain activity. So, the doctor’s hoping the swelling not only didn’t press near the brain stem but also stopped. Richard is scheduled for another CAT scan in the morning.”

  Rachel blinked, hard, and then thanked the nurse. She walked toward the door, her shoulders stiff and determined. Abigail was at her side. “We’ll be back in the morning, right, Mommy?”

  Rachel looked back at Tom.

  “I’ll make it happen,” he promised.

  It was almost midnight when they got to the police station, but judging by the cars in the parking lot, his officers were all here. This time, he really had Rachel Ramsey.

  Tom walked through the entrance, Rachel in front of him, almost the same scenario as last week when he’d walked through the doors with Heather. He couldn’t help but compare the two. Heather with her freshness, her quest for answers and her outlook on life. Rachel was a pale copy of the girl she’d been. Quiet didn’t become her.

  Shoot. This is what he’d waited for. The chance to bring Rachel Ramsey to her knees, hold her accountable for Max’s death, bring about justice. The little girl that clung to her mother’s hand made Tom feel sick at heart. So many lives affected by one stupid decision.

  “Chief, you want me to take her into the interrogation room?” Lucas asked. He should be off duty, but he was here. A week ago, Tom would have been certain that Lucas was staying because of Max, but now Tom wasn’t so sure. Maybe his lieutenant was staying for Tom.

  “No...yes, please do that. And read her her rights. I need to make a phone call.”

  “Ma’am,” Lucas said to Rachel, “Officer Bailey will take...”

  “Abigail,” Rachel answered.

  “...Abigail to the break room. We’ve toys and some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream!” Abigail’s eyes lit up. “I love ice cream.”

  Every kid said the exact same thing. The only difference in today’s scenario was that most of the criminals Tom escorted into the jail protested their arrest, proclaimed their innocence. Rachel wasn’t doing that. She was eerily silent.

  Lucas turned Abigail over to Leann while Tom went into his office and closed the door. The glass didn’t get him privacy. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d have done if he could have secluded himself. Put his head down, scream, cry. Instead, he turned on his computer and brought up the file on Rachel—no new entries except for a note about Heather’s arrest. Even though he knew the details by heart, Tom skimmed them again. The time line hadn’t changed: a convenience store was robbed, the cops were called, Max happened to be nearby. Jeremy Salinas apparently lost control of his vehicle and witnesses said that Max was close behind. Max got out of his cruiser. Rachel fell out of the passenger-side door, writhing on the ground, acting hurt. Max, Tom knew, only saw that a young person was in trouble, hurt, and he’d hurried to Rachel’s side. Jeremy shot him point-blank. Then, both Jeremy and Rachel ran off, stealing another car, and another, until they’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

  Five years. It was a long time to hide.

  Tom’s hand went to his phone, and he punched three numbers before he realized that he shouldn’t call Heather this late and until they knew more, he could not involve her. He hung up, still holding his phone and feeling a sense of emptiness.

  A knock took Tom away from the memories, the truths, of that day.

  “You ready?” Oscar queried. “I can do it if you don’t want to.”

  No doubt Lucas could, Leann could, any cop Tom had worked with could.

  “I’m ready.” On the way to the interrogation room, Tom stopped to check in on Leann and Abigail. They sat at one of the round tables. Leann was coloring in a book and telling the kid about all the different shades of red. Abigail had a half-eaten ice-cream cone in hand and was nodding off to sleep. It was going to be a long night and Tom didn’t know when he’d get the same opportunity—nodding off to sleep, not the ice cream.

  When he got to the interrogation room, Rachel sat ramrod-straight, her hands on the table, her fingers twisting in nervousness. Her body had the classic get-me-out-of-here posture. Her eyes, however, told another story, one of defeat and hurt. Tom looked away for a moment. Then he sat down in a chair across from her, switched on the tape recorder and said, “You were made aware of your legal rights and chose to waive them?”


  Rachel nodded.

  “Please answer out loud.” Tom’s voice remained steady.

  “I was. I do.”

  “If you want a lawyer, we can call for one now.”

  “I will want a lawyer, but not right this minute.” Her voice was strong, determined. Tom felt a tiny bit of respect. She was going to do the right thing.

  He turned to Lucas. “Did you offer Ms. Ramsey some water?”

  “I did,” Lucas replied. “She said she wasn’t thirsty.”

  “Okay,” Tom said. “Rachel, just a minute ago, I checked on your daughter. Cute kid. Abigail’s happy with her ice cream and is almost asleep. How old is she?”

  “Just turned five.” Rachel’s words were a little above a whisper.

  “Kindergarten next year,” Lucas said. “Lots of fun.”

  Rachel nodded. It made Tom think about all the fun Rachel would miss because she’d be serving a jail sentence instead of joining the parent–teacher organization.

  “You realize,” Tom said, “that your guilt is not in question. We know that you were with Salinas that day and that you pretended to be hurt. We not only have it on tape thanks to a surveillance camera but we have an eyewitness.”

  Rachel stopped fidgeting. Laid her hands flat on the table, rigid. She leaned forward, looking at Tom. “I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Officer Stockard. So, so sorry.”

  For a moment, Tom thought she might reach across the table and take him by the hands. It required all his willpower not to move those hands, but to keep them steady on the table. Just another day, just another interrogation.

  Her apology, though, got to him, not just the words but how much he wanted to forgive her. He cleared his throat and asked the details that had to start every interrogation: state your full legal name, date of birth. Ascertain the date and time of the altercation before finally asking the questions that might have important, terrible answers.

  “Did you and Jeremy Salinas plan the robbery of the convenience store on Fifth and Main or was it spur-of-the-moment?”

  “I didn’t plan anything. I just went along.”

  “Were you aware of a plan by Jeremy Salinas to rob the convenience store on Fifth and Main or was it spur-of-the-moment?”

  “I don’t think he planned it, no, not for that day at least. But I’m pretty sure the possibility of robbing it was something he’d considered.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because once it started to happen, he seemed to have every step planned.”

  “You mean he had the weapon?”

  “He always carried a weapon. We went into the convenience store often. He’d remarked a time or two that the afternoon clerk was a little lax.”

  “Go ahead and tell us the events leading up to the robbery.”

  Rachel tensed. “It was a Thursday. I’d not been to school all week. I woke up that morning about eleven. My mother was in bed, sound asleep. She usually woke up around three or four.”

  That didn’t surprise Tom. Diane partied late into the night usually.

  “Jeremy came by about noon.”

  “Why weren’t you going to school?” Lucas asked.

  Tom had almost forgotten Lucas was leaning against the wall to his left.

  “I...I wasn’t feeling good.”

  “Go on,” Tom urged.

  “There was no food in the house. Not even bread. Usually we had bread. I knew I needed to eat. Jeremy said we’d go get some Twinkies or something at Little’s.”

  “You never made it there,” Tom said. “I traced your whereabouts that day. You’re not on their camera.”

  “That’s right. We didn’t make it there. I got sick. Jeremy had to pull over. Pissed him off.”

  “So,” Lucas said, almost sounding relieved, “you really were sick, and that’s why you missed school.”

  A bit of the old Rachel returned. She shot Lucas a look that suggested “be real” before continuing. “I threw up. He managed to pull over, so it wasn’t in the car or anything. That would have caused a problem.”

  Unbidden, Tom wondered if something so simple as Jeremy Salinas driving off and leaving his girlfriend behind because she’d thrown up on his car would have changed how Max’s life ended.

  “I didn’t want him mad at me.” Rachel couldn’t seem to keep her fingers still. “I told him I needed bread or crackers or something.”

  “Crackers?” Lucas sounded incredulous.

  Tom got the idea there was something Lucas had figured out that he hadn’t. Not as quickly, at least.

  “I’d taken a home pregnancy test on Monday morning. I already knew what it would say. I was probably two months along. He was going to know sooner or later.”

  “Abigail?” Lucas asked.

  Rachel nodded. “I wish I hadn’t told him. He didn’t take it well. He got in the car and drove off. Leaving me on the side of the road. But he immediately came back. I jumped in before he could change his mind. He drove to that convenience store and we went in. I was only thinking crackers.”

  Ten years. Tom Riley had been a cop ten years. And he’d never sat at an interrogation table unable to ask the questions. At the moment, all he could do was stare at her.

  “I remember,” Rachel said, “that when we first walked in it was odd Jeremy headed for the checkout counter, instead of where crackers would be. I even started to pass him. Then I saw the gun.”

  “Where was it?” Lucas asked.

  “Pointing at the cashier, who immediately opened his register and started handing Jeremy money.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was in shock.” She looked at Tom. “I’d done some stupid things. Heck, I’d shoplifted from that store, right in front of that clerk, too. I’m sure he’d seen me. But a gun? Never.”

  Tom could only stare back at her, feeling a little shocked himself.

  “Everything happened so fast. I was still reeling from telling him I was pregnant. I watched him rob that store and didn’t do or say anything. Almost every day, I wonder why I just didn’t hit the floor, cower, let him go off without me.”

  Lucas gently nudged Rachel forward. “What happened next?”

  “I actually grabbed a candy bar on our way out. Jeremy was running. I was behind him. We jumped into the car. I remember how hot I felt, and I stumbled. Then I was buckling in. Yes, putting on my seat belt, as if it was just another day, and he floored it. Wasn’t but two minutes and there was that cop car behind me.” Again, she looked at Tom. “I was relieved. I thought good, now this madness will stop.”

  The interrogation room’s door opened, and Oscar came inside. He set down a glass of water in front of Rachel. “Just in case.” She took the glass, drained it in three long gulps and then put it down.

  Oscar didn’t leave. Tom couldn’t muster the energy to ask him to. It didn’t matter. Rachel started again.

  “Jeremy was in his Camaro. He’d souped it up, had a V-8. We could have left Officer Stockard in the dust.” Silence, heavy with interrupted dreams, hung in the room.

  “The witnesses said it looked like Jeremy lost control of the car.”

  “He did. He did lose control. We were at the last light before city limits. He wanted me to count the money, and I was crying. He asked me...he asked me if I thought there was enough money for an abortion.”

  The story behind the crime. Never had Tom expected to feel sorry for Rachel. No, her actions had resulted in Max’s death.

  “Then what?” Lucas asked.

  “I couldn’t count. I was crying so hard the tears were choking me, running into my mouth and down my throat. Jeremy cussed at me, demanded I count the money, and I told him I wouldn’t have an abortion. His right hand flung out, hard, got me in the stomach. I was surprised mor
e than hurt. Then he said I’d get an abortion. He’d see to it, and I got angry. He thought he could hit me! I hit him back, and he lost control of the car. We crashed into that pole and the cop was right behind us. Jeremy aimed the gun at me and told me to get out. I couldn’t move fast enough. I opened the door, fell out. That’s when Jeremy shot Max Stockard. Just a few feet from where I lay. And all I could think about was the baby.

  “About Abigail.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE ALARM SOUNDED at six. Heather sat up and grabbed her cell phone. She wanted to call Tom right away, find out what had happened after he’d dropped her off.

  Last night, she’d tried to sneak into the bed-and-breakfast unnoticed, but Bianca had been awake, sitting on the sofa in the living room, waiting. Not sure what she should share with the proprietor, she’d hurried in and mumbled something about being tired and needing to get up early for work.

  It was true. A full day of appointments had been scheduled at the dental office.

  Her sleep hadn’t been sound. All night, she’d tossed and turned, gray dreams of hallways and that dark, dark living room. At about three in the morning, she’d slid out of bed and grabbed a photo album. She found the pages she wanted.

  As an only child, she hadn’t lacked in the photo-opportunity department. Her parents had taken pictures of her eating, sleeping, playing, sleeping, eating. She’d always found it a bit embarrassing.

  Now she stared at the photos from right before she’d started kindergarten. Preschool hadn’t been necessary. As her mother did home childcare, Heather’d had a dozen friends and her mother had schooltime built into the day.

  It only took a few minutes before Heather found the one she wanted. She’d been in someone’s living room, just a little girl with long blondish white hair, wearing a white T-shirt and pink stretch pants. Her mother was hunkered down next to her, a smile on her face.

  She thought about the little girl she’d seen last night, the one who’d ridden in the SUV and chattered about Scooby-Doo and ABCmouse. That little girl had been in pink stretch pants. Abigail also had white, white hair. And there was the red birthmark right above the left lip.