Chelsea brought a hand to her forehead. “I need to . . . I have to think about it. Maybe you’re . . . Because remember, I saw that room, then it disappeared, and I saw that young man’s face afterward. Like it was two separate entities.” She bit her lip. “You think the vision’s about two completely different crimes?”
“It must be.” Dave frowned. “Think about it. We have two murder cases going on. God sent you one vision — about both of them.”
“Oh, I can’t believe — ! This is why I told you I can’t assume anything.” Chelsea’s tone pulsed. “I should only have relied on what I saw for sure.”
“It’s not your fault.” I leaned toward her. “If anything, I led us all to assume. And the more that happened, the more our assumption seemed to fit.”
“But what now?” Jenna raised a hand and let it drop. “Milt’s going on the air this morning with the wrong information. He has to know both drawings tie to the skeleton at the runway. They have nothing to do with Neese.”
“Call him,” Stephen declared. “Right now. He should know about what just happened, anyway.”
“But don’t you see?” I slumped against the couch. “The whole point of giving him that drawing was in hopes that identifying the man would lead police to that horrible room. Now it doesn’t even apply. Meanwhile Amy Flyte’s still missing, plus maybe some other man. And we know the spider room exists, but we’ve got no leads for finding it.”
Dave squeezed my shoulder. “We’ve got the oval window.”
“Yeah, we got that.” Stephen picked up his cell phone, beeped through its menu. “It has to be right. If she knew about the exact kind of spiders — ” he jerked his head toward Chelsea — “then she’s gotta be right about the window. I’m calling the reporter.”
“Wait!” I started to rise. “I should do it.”
Dave caught my arm. “It’s okay, Annie; let him.”
If Milt was asleep when his phone rang, he apparently woke in a hurry. Stephen introduced himself and launched into his story. Then held the phone out to me. “He wants to talk to you.”
I ended up pressing the speaker phone button so we all could hear. Questions and worries batted back and forth, but Milt remained adamant. He wasn’t canceling his story. In fact, he had even more of one now, with information on two murders instead of one. “We’ll film as a breaking news story, with updates during the day. Your drawing will get lots of national exposure, which could help solve John Doe’s ID. Meanwhile I’ll be investigating the recent murder. Neese’s threats have grown more serious, and we still have at least one missing person. We need to find her.”
I clicked off the line, feeling battered and sleep deprived. Questions and worries sludged through my brain. Two new realizations hit. One, Blanche had been right about my drawing after all. It had nothing to do with his case. Therefore, two: In giving the composite to Milt, I’d ended up meddling in Chetterling’s murder investigation, not Blanche’s. Now John Doe’s face would be released on national news — before Chetterling had even seen it.
I sat on the couch, Dave’s arm around me. Jenna and Stephen batted questions and conjectures back and forth. Chelsea stared at the floor, deep in thought. Then, as if hearing the same inner voice, our eyes pulled to each other. I took a deep breath. “We need to pray.”
Chelsea nodded. Rose to go to her bedroom and returned with a Bible in hand. Neither Jenna nor Stephen protested. “I’m going to pray some psalms for us.” Chelsea opened her Bible. “Psalm 56 is a good place to start.”
I lay back against Dave’s shoulder, closed my eyes.
“ ‘When I am afraid,’ ” Chelsea read, “ ‘I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me? All day long they — ’ ” She paused. “I’ll substitute he. ‘All day long he twists my words . . . he conspires, he lurks, he watches my steps, eager to take my life. On no account let him escape; in your anger, O God — ’ ” her voice rose — “ ‘bring him down . . . For you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.’ ”
Psalm 91 followed, and other passages Chelsea had marked. I was too tired to read, but every fiber of my being prayed silently with her.
The sun rose.
The officers and deputies called off their forest search for Neese, declaring the area clear. Extra surveillance was placed on our house. Orwin remained out there, somewhere, “eager to take my life.”
Please, God, let this end today.
Chapter 43
Six thirty a.m.
Earlier Dave had awakened Erin and the two returned home. Erin needed to get ready for school. Jenna clattered about the kitchen, making coffee and breakfast. As if I wanted to eat. Chelsea was taking a shower and Stephen was getting dressed.
A vise slid around my chest. So much at stake, so many variables, none of which I could control. As if fear of Neese and concern for his captives wasn’t enough, I paced the great room, worrying about Milt’s report. No doubt he’d sensationalize to the max. Not that he needed to. Chelsea’s visions, a room full of spiders, missing people, threats on my life, and two different murder investigations — the convoluted tale had all the makings of the country’s next macabre fascination. In no time we could have the media masses camped out on my doorstep.
God, why did You want Milt Waking here?
I dialed the reporter’s cell phone, heart thumping. “You were supposed to call. When’s your story running?”
“Around seven fifteen.” He sounded distracted. “Prime time while people are getting ready for work.”
Seven fifteen. Only forty minutes away. “Milt, you’d better keep your promises.”
“I’ll keep them. Look, gotta go.” He clicked off.
I stared daggers at the phone, then threw it on the couch. A new worry lasered through my head, and I snatched the receiver up again, punched in Chetterling’s home number. No way he was going to hear everything on the news. It had to come from me.
He answered on the first ring. “Annie! I just heard what happened last night. You okay over there?”
“We’re fine, Ralph, but you need to know . . . I have to tell you something important.”
Explanations poured in a torrent, my feet slapping against the hardwood floor as I paced. “I’d never have released the drawing, Ralph, if I knew it was about your case. Blanche wasn’t listening to us, and I was so worried about the two missing people . . .”
“Okay.” Chetterling sighed. “We’ll talk about your decision making later. Right now we’ve got other things to worry about. At least John Doe will get more exposure — and more quickly — than I expected. Meanwhile you need to keep yourself safe. The manhunt for Neese is huge now, Annie. I just got off a conference call that included the sheriff and the chief of police. With Neese’s picture on national news, we’ll find him.”
Gratitude welled in my chest. Chetterling could have come at me with both barrels, and he’d have been entitled. “Thank you so much, Ralph, for not strangling me.”
At seven a.m. we turned on FOX News. Chelsea had called her husband to tell him what was happening. Jenna had made eggs and bacon, and we took our plates into the TV room, gathering nervously on the leather couch and chairs. I called Stephen up from his bedroom, mindful of his need to know. Fortunately, Kelly had not yet appeared.
The “breaking news” story catapulted onto the screen at seven twenty, the anchor setting the stage for “two bizarre murders in Redding, California.”
Milt stood at the end of the Grove Landing runway, churned ground behind him and yellow crime-scene tape shuddering in a breeze. The moment seemed so surreal. While we watched on national television, he filmed not half a mile away.
“This story is indeed strange and is growing more so by the hour.” Milt gestured toward the construction site. “This is a private runway at Grove Landing, a sky park outside Redding. Here on Saturday a skeleton was discovered by the crew who�
��d been hired to lengthen the airstrip. Two days previously, in a seemingly unrelated incident, thirty-two-year-old Orwin Neese allegedly chased Mike Winger, twenty-two, into a convenience store and fatally shot him, also wounding a clerk.” The scene switched to the exterior of the 7-Eleven. “What is the connection between these crimes? Much is yet unknown, but they begin with two women who’ve gained notoriety through other highly watched cases — Annie Kingston, a local forensic artist, and Chelsea Adams, a woman whose ‘visions from God’ were proved true through the so-called Trent Park and Salad King murder trials in the California Bay Area a few years ago.”
Oh boy, here goes.
With a balance of professional detachment and personal dismay, Milt laid out details. He began with reminders of the famous cases I’d worked on and that I was considered a “local hero.” Jenna nodded with satisfaction. The way she leaned toward the screen in rapt attention — there was more to her body language than concern about the story. Was she really attracted to that jerk?
Milt turned to current information: Mike Winger’s death and my composite of suspect Orwin Neese. Chelsea’s vision of the spider room and an unknown man’s face, which I had also drawn — the same face that my forensic work had now proven to belong to the discovered skeleton. Missing Amy Flyte, and perhaps a second person — another young man. Neese’s alleged threats on my life, including a jar of spiders with a serious bite — a lesser-known species that Chelsea Adams had seen in her vision. And most important, long close-ups of two drawings. Anyone knowing the whereabouts of Orwin Neese should call the Redding Police Department at the number on the screen. Anyone recognizing John Doe should contact the Shasta County Sheriff’s Department, number also displayed.
“Meanwhile Annie Kingston remains in an undisclosed location, protected by authorities. Redding Police and the Shasta County Sheriff’s Department are working together on the manhunt for Orwin Neese . . .”
When the report ended, I sighed my relief. No promises broken, and my whereabouts kept private. Thank You, God.
Grimly the news anchor promised to keep watchers advised of new developments in the story.
Jenna muted the TV. “Whew. He did great!”
Chelsea’s eyes closed. “I can breathe now. Thank You, Lord.”
Stephen stared at the television, jaw working. “You did the right thing, Mom, talking to him. I’ll bet he knows more than the policemen. I mean, what have they done? This guy shows up and things start to happen.”
I made no comment. Likely, Stephen’s opinion lay as much in his lingering contempt of police as in his trust of Milt Waking. In my son’s drug days — which weren’t that long ago — the police had been his enemies.
Kelly appeared in the doorway, fully dressed. “What are you all watching? Stephen, aren’t you going to school?”
School. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Dave had already said he’d take Erin, assuming that Kelly and Stephen wouldn’t be going. “No, he’s not,” I announced, “and you’re not going either.”
“Why?”
Chelsea rose and began to stack our breakfast plates.
“Because you should stay here with me. Because . . .” I looked to my sister for help.
“Annie — ”
“But I want to go.” Kelly’s voice turned almost panicky. “What am I going to do here all day, sit around and wait for some crazy man to show up?”
“No, Kelly, no.” I hurried to her side. “He’s not coming back; we’re too protected here. We’ve got four officers out there now instead of one, on all sides of the house.”
“But there’s nothing for me to do here.” Tears filled my daughter’s eyes. “Am I supposed to stay home every day until he’s caught? I just want to get on with my life.”
I searched for a reply. My fear cried, Don’t let her out of your sight. But I could understand how she wanted the normalcy of school and friends. If I were her age, I’d want the same thing.
Dishes in hand, Chelsea headed for the sink.
Jenna caught my eye and gave a small nod. Let her go, she mouthed.
Stephen saw our wordless exchange. “I’m staying right here.” He jabbed a finger at the floor.
“I know you planned to, Stephen.” Jenna layered gratitude into her tone. “But we’ve got police outside and we’re not going anywhere. Why don’t you go to school, where you can be with Kelly? She and Erin will be safe driving there and back with you.”
He shrugged, unconvinced. “But I don’t even see her much during the day. We’re in totally different classes.”
“At least you’re there. And she’ll feel better, being with her friends.”
The phone rang. I checked the ID. Oh great. “I need to answer this,” I told the kids. “It’s Detective Blanche. But I’m not through talking to you yet.” I pushed the talk button. “Hi, Tim.”
Blanche made no preamble. “Just wanted to update you while I had a minute. I’ll be busy, and you probably won’t hear from me again for a while.” His terse words held the cutting edge of smugness. Apparently, he’d heard about the news story — vindication that he’d been right to doubt that the drawing Chelsea and I brought him had anything to do with his case.
“Thank you,” I clipped, struck even more by what he didn’t say. No “How are you?” No personal concern for me and my family. A rogue voice in my brain whispered that this horrific day had actually afforded the self-aggrandizing Blanche two favors — Neese’s latest trick and Milt Waking’s national newscast. Imagine the greater coverage for Blanche when he captured his quarry.
Annie, knock it off. You should apologize to him, admit he was right.
Blanche informed me that a massive manhunt was underway, calls were coming into the station, leads being followed. No earthshaking revelations there. “And after hearing what happened last night, Ryan Burns called to say he’ll cover all expenses for your protection, no matter the cost. He didn’t really want me to tell you, but I thought you should know.”
“Oh, wow, that’s incredible of him.”
Kelly waved a furious hand, signaling me to hurry. I nodded to her — I know.
“Yeah, it is. He did ask me to give you a message. Says to tell you please don’t put your life on the line this time.”
I managed a smile. “He can count on that.”
“All right, that’s it.” Blanche suddenly sounded pressed.
Kelly glared at me impatiently. “Wait, Tim,” I blurted. “Before you go — my daughter wants to go to school. Do you think that’s okay?”
He pulled in a breath. “I think so. She’s safe there. Lots of people around. Just tell her to stay alert, and you should make sure the principal is fully apprised of the situation. But who knows if Neese is even aware of your kids? He’s never mentioned them. It’s you he’s after.”
Thanks a lot, Blanche. I hung up the phone, not sure whether to feel better or not.
Ten minutes later Stephen and Kelly left for school. Since he didn’t work Mondays, Stephen could bring her and Erin home. “I’ll leave my cell phone on vibrate,” he said, sounding none too happy about going. “Call if you need me.”
I promised I would.
In my office I phoned the school and talked to the principal. He assured me he would check on Kelly throughout the day. Then I headed for the kitchen, feeling the slow tick of time. This day would seem an eternity.
Chelsea and Jenna sat at the table, nursing cups of coffee. Sometime soon Chelsea should hear from the tire shop as to when her car would be ready. Then she’d be gone, away from this madness. If I were her, I’d be itching to leave. But she seemed more concerned about me than herself.
I felt too antsy to sit with her and Jenna. I headed back to my office, intent on spending some much-needed time with God. Outside, policemen watched the property, and people across the country now looked with suspicion on anyone resembling Orwin Neese. Others, I hoped, were calling in leads about John Doe.
Nothing left for me to do but pray.
Chapter 44
He snapped off the car radio. This was it — kickoff, with the stands filled. Time to do or die.
The face he’d seen on TV still throbbed in his brain. That face, come back from the dead. Chelsea Adams had seen it — before the skeleton was even discovered. She was getting closer. Anytime now, she would know all.
No way he was facing a multiple murder rap. No. Way.
His fingers beat a tune against the steering wheel. Narrow-eyed, he stared at the building in the distance. This plan had its flaws. One straight line from A to B would have been easier. Less killing.
Oh well, nothing was perfect.
He picked up the cell phone. Sat up straight and cleared his throat. Dialed the number. It was answered on the second ring.
“Foothill High School, principal’s office.” A young voice.
“This is Detective Tim Blanche with the Redding Police Department.” His words came out clipped, tight. “I need to talk to one of your students immediately — Kelly Kingston. I’ll wait while you bring her to the phone.”
“Oh, wow. Okay. But I’m just filling in here. I’ll have to find out how to check her schedule — ”
“This is an emergency! I don’t care if you’re just filling in; I need you to hurry.”
“Okay, I’ll get her.”
Sounds followed — the click of the receiver laid down, the creak of a chair. He waited, seconds creeping.
Come on, come on . . .
Chapter 45
Kelly snatched up the phone in the principal’s office, her breath hitching. From her classroom she’d run down a flight of stairs and the entire length of the hall, panic choking her throat. What was wrong? Why would a policeman call?
God, please let Mom be all right.
“H – Hello?”
“Kelly, this is Detective Tim Blanche.” The voice sounded official. “I’ve been leading the hunt for Orwin Neese. I talked to your mother just this morning. We have a situation, and I need you to do exactly what I say, you hear?”
Web of Lies Page 18