by Wanda Dyson
“I suppose he does. I think he has four offices.”
“Within what? Two hundred miles of here?”
“I guess. What are you doing, Detective?”
“Just asking. Curious. That’s all.”
“And. . .what is it you always say—pigs fly with pink wings?”
JJ smiled and shrugged. “Do I say that a lot?”
“Well, you tend to change the color from time to time, but yeah, you say that a lot.”
“Where’s your father, Zoe?” He stared at her.
She returned the stare, ice for ice. “He took my mother out of town to protect her.”
“Where?”
“Why do you want to know?”
His eyes narrowed a little. “How did you know where Emily was?”
“I just knew.”
“Uh-huh, you just knew. No one clued you in?”
“No.”
“Maybe gave you a quick call and told you where to find her?”
With cool deliberation, she stood to her feet. “Why don’t you just come out and ask me straight, JJ? You want to know if I know the killer?”
The look in his eyes all but took her breath away. She saw more than questions without answers. She saw pain curling there, whipping him forward. The glare intensified. “Do you?”
“No.” Regardless of why JJ was acting like this, she’d had enough. “And now I think you’d better go.”
“Does this bother you?”
“Yes, it does. You play nice, make me think you trust me, respect me for who and what I am, and then come in here and accuse me of collaborating with a child killer?” She pointed at the door. “Get out—now!”
JJ swung the front door open and then looked back over his shoulder at her. “By any chance, do you know where your father was when Amy disappeared?”
Zoe felt the words slam into her, stealing her breath even as her mind fought what she knew he was implying. She reached out and picked up the nearest thing she could find—a book—and threw it at him. He ducked and slammed the door closed.
chapter 21
Monday, April 24
Collapsing to the floor, she folded like an accordion, emitting a sound closer to mourning than music. The pain, buried for so many years, rose like a specter from a cemetery of memories. It mocked her for thinking she had vanquished it.
“By any chance, do you know where your father was when Amy disappeared?”
JJ’s words echoed across mists of time and distance. She was, once again, a child in pain, listening to the police explain that a killer had taken two other little girls, both from single-parent homes. “We figure he’s looking for unprotected targets.”
Understanding had come to her, quick and crystal clear. She’d flung herself at her father then, fists flailing, tears streaming. “Where were you when that bad man took Amy? Where were you, Daddy? You should have been here!”
The police officer had gently pulled her back, holding her clenched fists. Her mother had held her close, offering reassurance that it wasn’t her daddy’s fault. But she knew better. She looked into her father’s eyes and saw the guilt lodged there. She saw it in the way his shoulders hunched forward in defeat. He was guilty. He had failed as a father. And now Amy was dead.
From that day forward, she’d shunned her father, refusing his attention, putting up a wall of silence, and denying him access to her heart. She was determined to punish him. As an adult, she could reason that it had been a tragic incident. That her father wasn’t truly at fault. But her heart still hadn’t let go of the judgment lodged there as a child.
But this was a new feeling. Did the police actually believe that her father was capable of. . .
It was unthinkable. Despicable. JJ was grasping at straws, looking for something, anything, that would discredit her. He’d blamed the Matthews for their own child’s disappearance, and now it seemed he was blaming her father for the other missing children.
Zoe Shefford knows where the children are; therefore, she must be getting the information from the killer. Her own sister was taken; therefore, Zoe’s father must be the one who killed her.
Zoe wondered if JJ could actually be capable of that kind of reasoning.
Zoe sat up, brushing away tears with the heel of her hand. Poor Mrs. Matthews. Her child had been kidnapped, and before she even had time to deal with her grief, Josiah Johnson began pointing his finger at her.
And now he was aiming his missiles of guilt at her father.
Or was he? Zoe grabbed the doorknob and pulled herself up to her feet. Something just hadn’t felt right—his accusations didn’t ring true. It was as if he was trying to convince himself.
Of what? That she wasn’t a psychic? That she wasn’t worth his attention? Or was it his affection he was worried about?
#
Paula Horne hesitated before climbing out of her car and locking it behind her. It had been nearly a week since she’d heard from Matt.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched up the steps and through the police station door. Barely acknowledging a greeting from Sergeant Colmes at the front desk, she jogged up the metal stairs to the second floor. She wove through the desks in the bullpen like a copperhead on the hunt.
She spotted Matt before he saw her. He was bending over a dispatcher’s desk, laughing at something the woman was saying. Keep laughing, Matt Casto.
He caught a glimpse of her and straightened, his lips going tight with disapproval. Tough.
“I need to talk to you. Now.” Without waiting to see if he followed, she went into one of the empty offices and turned on the lights. She heard the door close behind her and whirled around.
“Care to tell me what’s on your mind?” Matt leaned against the closed door, his arms folded across his chest, belligerence oozing from every pore.
“I haven’t heard from you for awhile. Thought I’d find out why before I said what I came here to say.”
“Didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Really? And what would give you that idea?”
Matt shrugged evasively. “I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
“Actually, I haven’t, but that’s not the point. You’re not going to tell me what’s on your mind, so I’ll tell you what’s on mine. I’ve had enough, Matt. I love you. I’ve always loved you, but I can’t play second fiddle to your flirting anymore. I’ve had enough. It’s over. I’m out of here.”
She started to move past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Off to your new boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a new boyfriend. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to be validated by every man I meet. I’ve never gone out on you, Matt. Never.”
“I saw you. On Tuesday. You and some GQ in loafers.”
It took a minute before Paula could figure out what Matt was talking about, but finally the fog cleared. She almost laughed. “That was a coworker. It was the first and only time I’d ever had lunch with him, and he asked me as we were leaving the building. Had you bothered to walk over and join us, rather than sulking from wherever you were spying, you would have known that and we could have had lunch together.”
She pushed him aside and stormed out of the office, feeling the hot sting of tears behind her lids. She wasn’t about to let him see her cry. That could come later. She’d go home, curl up on her bed, and cry her eyes out, but not yet. Not here. Not now.
#
Janice Alberry looked stunned as she walked in and found Zoe waiting for her. Zoe stood up, smoothing her skirt. “I probably should have called first, but I thought you might like an exclusive interview.”
“Uh. . .yeah. . .I’d love to talk to you.” She took a deep breath. “Come on back. We can talk in one of the conference rooms.”
Zoe followed Janice out of the reception area, weaving down one hall after another before entering a small conference room. She hoped she didn’t have to storm out in a huff, because she was positive she’d never find her way out of the building.
“Please
, have a seat. I just need to get a notepad and my tape recorder.” Janice stopped at the door. “I can tape-record this, can’t I?”
“Sure,” Zoe waved a hand airily.
While the reporter was gone, Zoe started to have second thoughts. Standing up to a killer’s threats was one thing. Deliberately taunting him was a much more serious matter. She had no choice. He had to be stopped. The thought that he had been so close to her mother was enough to send chills down her spine.
The door opened. In a rush of breathy apologies for taking so long, Janice set up the recorder and started the interview.
“I’m so glad you came in. I thought about calling you. But I’m no star in the news business. I figured you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”
“That’s precisely why I chose you.”
“Oh. Well. That’s great. My anonymity finally works to my advantage.” With a nervous laugh, she picked up her pencil. “Okay, let me ask you a few questions.”
Zoe reached out her hand and covered Janice’s. “Let me tell you what I want you to say.”
“But,” Janice’s eyes went wide, “I’m not supposed to do that. I mean, I’m supposed to direct this. . .”
Zoe’s smile was polite but firm. “I’m going to give you the article. I guarantee it will be picked up by papers all over the country.”
Janice didn’t look convinced, but she slowly nodded. “Well, okay.”
“Good. The killer has taken and murdered dozens of little girls over the past twenty years. . .”
“Dozens?!” Janice squealed with shock.
“Yes. Now write. He’s a coward who picks on children because they can’t fight back. He’s afraid of the police and afraid of adults. He preys on helpless things like children, puppies, and kittens. He doesn’t have the nerve to face—”
“You’re taunting him.” Janice stopped jotting notes, her face reflecting the horror of the sudden realization. “You’re trying to make him come after you.”
“Honey, he’s already after me. I just want him to come after me now.”
#
JJ looked at the list of suspects and frowned. At the top of the list was Keyes Shefford, age fifty-seven, owner of Keyes Realty. Whereabouts currently unknown. Not so much as a parking ticket to pin on him. Keyes Shefford was a squeaky-clean, upstanding citizen.
He drew a line through Keyes’s name. This was no time to let personal feelings get in the way of an investigation. He’d tried to hurt Zoe. He’d wanted to put some distance between them. He’d accomplished that in spades. She’d never speak to him again, of that he was sure.
Then they had Frank Harrow. Age forty-eight. Married with two children. Landscaper with unlimited access to Keyes’s properties. One arrest for being drunk and disorderly when he was nineteen, a couple of parking tickets, and that was it. He had opportunity. He could fit the profile. And he lived only two blocks from an elementary school.
Zoe. Pushing thoughts of her aside, he kept going down the list.
Robert Maysonet. Keyes Shefford’s right-hand man. Age fifty-two, single, never married, a loner. Has access to properties. Lives a mile from an elementary school. Wayne’s interview notes indicated that Maysonet was arrogant and disdainful of the police. A profiler would flag that.
Was one of these men the killer, or were they chasing shadows? If he really had to narrow in on someone, he’d go with Maysonet or Harrow.
In the meantime, Alice Denton, aka Nancy Darrington, was on the run again. By the time the police had closed in, she was gone. Ted Matthews’s body was still missing, and Tripp said they were having trouble tying his disappearance to Karen Matthews.
It made JJ long for the days when he worked Homicide. He’d have pressed charges and locked her up before she had time to lawyer-up. Too late now. And it wasn’t his case. His worry was the child, not the husband. He had increasingly less hope that the child would be found alive.
#
If Zoe was surprised to find Rene sitting on the park bench in her front yard when she got home, she didn’t show it. “Come on in.”
Rene waited until Zoe offered her a seat before she said, “I had to try again.”
“I figured you would.” Zoe sank down in a chair and stretched out her legs. “I’m sorry, Rene. I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t. Not yet. Let’s just say that I need my gift one more time before I give it up.”
“If you don’t give it up now when you know the truth, what makes you think you’ll be able to give it up later?”
Zoe flipped back her hair, more to buy time than because it was annoying her. She didn’t want to be having this conversation. “I can’t explain what’s going on, Rene. I wish I could.”
“You don’t have to.” Rene leaned forward. “You’re convinced that you need to be a psychic a little while longer, probably to do one last act of good, and then you’ll be able to set it aside forever. It doesn’t work that way.”
The woman’s words hit too close for comfort, and Zoe oddly felt like squirming. Instead, she stared at Rene and concentrated on keeping her hands steady. “I won’t deny what you’re saying is truth, but you don’t have all the facts. You don’t understand what’s at risk here.”
“I don’t have to, Zoe. I understand the battle that’s going on for your soul, and that’s all that’s important to me. Everything else is illusion, meant to deceive you and draw you away from the truth.”
“And what truth is that, Rene? That God finds me detestable?”
“Not you, child. Not at all.”
Zoe sighed and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to go through with this. Her plan was starting to look foolhardy and downright stupid and incredibly dangerous. “I know, Rene. It’s the psychic bit, not me. He loves me. He died for me. I understand all that. You explained it all very well. I just. . .”
“What are you going to do, child? Take him on alone? Draw him out and defeat him? Do you honestly think you can?”
Zoe’s eyes flew open and she sat up straight. “I have to try, Rene. Do you understand? He went into my mother’s shop and taunted her. He was letting me know that no one I care about is safe from him.”
Rene shook her head. There was obvious compassion in her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s despicable.”
“The killer is targeting me. He wants me. I can get to him. I’m the only one who can.”
“No,” Rene replied. “You’re the last one who should even try.” She stood and gathered her purse and keys. “I can see that I can’t talk you out of anything right now. I’ll let you think about some of what I’ve said. In the meantime, Karen’s brother is in town. We had a nice long talk this morning. He and Karen are coming over tonight for prayer and fellowship. I’d like you to come. I’d like you to see what we’re talking about.”
“I’ll think about it,” Zoe replied, slowly standing to her feet. “I can’t promise any more than that.”
“It’s enough.”
As Zoe escorted Rene to the front door, another thought occurred to her. “Rene? Does God—I don’t know how to explain this—but does He like, chase you down? Leave messages for you everywhere? Things like that?”
Rene laughed and squeezed Zoe’s hand. “Oh, my, yes. And He won’t stop until you start paying attention.”
#
Frank Harrow was close to tears as his eyes shifted from Matt to Wayne and back again. “I wouldn’t hurt a child. You can’t think I would. I just mow lawns and trim shrubs.”
“And you had a whole bag of candy in the front seat of your truck.”
“I have it there for the children. I give them treats, you know, when I go to a house that has children. I love children. I wouldn’t hurt them.” His eyes begged for someone to believe him. His hunched shoulders marked his fear. This was not a man who thought he was smarter than the police.
Matt tapped his pencil on the table, his instincts screaming to apologize to the man for hauling him in for questioning. A few more minutes of this and he m
ight give in to those instincts. “What can you tell us about Keyes Shefford?”
The landscaper looked confused at the change in questioning and tilted his head. “Mr. Shefford? He’s a nice man. Sad man. Has had some rough times in his life. Loves his wife and daughter. Would do anything for them.”
“Anything? Maybe kill for them?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Maybe to protect them or something. He’s not a violent man. Can’t rightly say he’s even got much of a temper. He’s good to people. Once, a single woman with three kids rented one of his properties. Now usually when someone rents a house, I don’t take care of it unless they hire me on their own. But this time he told me to keep on caring for the place ’cause he knew she couldn’t afford to hire me on. That’s the kind of man he is.”
This was going nowhere. Matt wanted to spit with frustration. “What about Robert Maysonet?”
Frank almost curled his lip in distaste, and it was comical enough to make Matt smile.
“Mr. Maysonet, huh? Don’t know that I have anything good to say about the man.”
“Why not?”
Frank leaned back in his chair, warming to the discussion. “He’s one of them stuck-up types. Thinks he’s too good for common folk, you know. Looks down his nose at just about everybody, including Mr. Shefford sometimes. Saw him nearly smack a little boy once for accidentally hitting him with a ball when he was showing a house to some couple. Got real nasty with the kid ’cause it left a streak of dirt on those fancy clothes he wears.”
“So he doesn’t like kids?”
Frank shook his head. “Calls ’em rug rats or animals.” He wrinkled his nose. “And what was it he said once? Oh, yes, he said kids are ‘worthless vile creatures that prove abortion is a good thing.’ ”
Matt felt his blood run cold. “Oh, did he now?”
chapter 22
Monday, April 24