by Stacy Green
Kelly had no qualms about my killing pedophiles. Her issue was always my well-being. “I think that ship has sailed, Kel.”
“It hasn’t. But it will if you keep thinking that way.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said as I took our exit. “But most days it feels like I’ve royally screwed up and I’ve got no choice but to keep walking the path to my own personal hell.”
“There’s always a choice,” she said. “One day you’ll see it.”
I swallowed, telling myself to focus on the slippery exit ramp. When we finally made it safely to the stop sign, I turned to face her. “You’re my family too. Never forget that.”
Snow rained down like hail by the time we arrived at the motel. My fingers numbed as I fumbled with Kelly’s bags and the additional items I’d grabbed at my apartment while a disapproving Mousecop looked on. My face burned from the cold and wet, and I wanted to run for the hotel. But Kelly stood rooted like an ancient tree, looking trapped in her heavy parka. With the hood pulled over her head and the dark, fur-like lining against her pale face, she could have passed for a child.
“I won’t let anyone cross your boundaries.” I offered her my hand, uncertain if she would take it.
Her gaze swept over the motel and the parking lot, down the small-town street with its flickering lights and vacant shops, and then finally to my outstretched hand. “I trust you.”
She took my hand, and I was again struck with a feeling I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t really pride, although that was certainly in the mix. Love? Yes. I cared for Kelly more than anyone else in my life. But there was more, a realization that I’d been such an impact on her life. And no one had gotten hurt in the process.
I guided her into the motel and through the small lobby. Its few tables and chairs were empty, and the television droned with a rerun of a generic sitcom. A lone woman with a pile of blond hair fiddled with the coffee pot, waiting as it doled out its contents. She glanced at us, and I realized she wasn’t a hotel worker but another guest. Before she had the opportunity to make small talk, I hustled Kelly down the hall to my room.
Once inside, she dropped my hand and sat on the end of the bed, breathing hard. I wanted to take off her coat, smooth back her hair, make sure she wasn’t having a panic attack. But she needed space. I put the bags on the other bed and then filled a newly placed plastic cup from the tap in the bathroom.
“Here,” I said. “This might help.”
She took it gladly, sucking down the water. It was nothing more than a distraction from her fear, but I hoped it gave her some kind of relief.
“I’m going to get a cot brought in,” I said, shaking off my coat. “And I’ll sleep on that. You can have the bed.”
Kelly finally pulled her hood down. Her hair had been flattened by the weight of the material. She held up her sleeping bag. “No way. I’ll sleep on the cot.”
“We can flip for it, how’s that?”
“I suppose that’s fair.” Unzipping her coat, she glanced around the room. “So, this is a hotel room, huh? I haven’t been in one since I was a kid. They don’t seem to have changed much.”
“This is a motel,” I clarified, thinking about all the things I took for granted. “And no, it’s pretty standard. You’ve got to pay big money for home comforts. All I care about is a place to sleep and hot water.”
Someone knocked on the door. Kelly’s breath hitched. She grimaced and then inhaled deeply. “I can do this. Go ahead and answer.”
I realized I hadn’t thought much about how I’d bring Kelly into the situation. I certainly didn’t want to introduce her as my computer genius. As if that’s all she was.
Still trying to figure out my story, I opened the door and was unsurprised to see Todd. “Were you listening for me?”
He looked more tired than yesterday, bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. He’d forgotten to shave, and his mustache threatened to creep back. “Something like that. Can I come in?”
I glanced behind me. “I have company.”
“Who?” His voice hitched a notch.
“It’s not really any of your business, but she’s a friend who’s come back to offer whatever help she can.” I lowered my voice, determined to protect Kelly but unwilling to betray her confidence. “She has space issues, so keep your distance.”
Empathy settled into Todd’s face, as I knew it would. “Sure, no problem. Can we talk?” Some of the edge in his tone evaporated.
I stepped aside, and he walked slowly into the room, keeping his hands at his sides, visible and relaxed. He’d dealt with enough traumatized victims he no doubt knew how to handle the situation, but I didn’t think it would have made any difference. Todd’s compassion guided him just as well.
Kelly had retreated to the corner with the small table and two chairs, her knees drawn to her chest, her black leggings showing exactly how tiny her legs were. She looked so small and wary I wanted to tell Todd to leave.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Detective Todd Beckett. I’m helping search for Chris.” He stood calmly by the dresser, allowing her to get used to his presence.
I slipped past Todd and quickly took the other chair, hoping to ease Kelly’s nerves. “This is my good friend, Kelly.”
She gave me a tiny smile and then nodded at Todd. “I know who you are. Thanks for helping Lucy out.”
Her steady voice surprised me, and some of the tension in my shoulders eased. “Have a seat, Detective.”
Todd sat on the far corner of the bed, respecting Kelly’s space. “Snow’s coming down hard. I was starting to worry about you.”
“It got nasty the last ten miles,” I said. “I don’t suppose the search party is still out?”
He shook his head. “They covered all the woods by this morning and have canvassed a lot of the county. Lennox is trying to track down the old man, but so far no one knows his name.”
“I find it hard to believe he was Mary’s accomplice,” I said. “Age is bad enough. His physical ailment is another. He’s useless to her.”
“He’s all we’ve got right now.”
Silence descended. Todd’s tapping foot made the room sizzle with his irritation.
“Go ahead and say what you need to.”
He gritted his teeth. “You went to Chris’s apartment after you were explicitly asked not to start your own investigation.”
His anger struck me in a way I didn’t expect. I squirmed, feeling guilty about omitting the full truth. “I promise, I wasn’t investigating his disappearance. I needed to check on something else. It didn’t have anything to do with his going after his mother.”
Todd still glared, and I realized he probably thought I’d gone to hide evidence of one of the crimes he believed I’d committed. “It’s not what you’re thinking, either. It’s personal with no bearing on anything else.”
“I can’t keep sticking up for you when you keep shitting on me.”
The words sounded funny coming from him, but I caught my laughter. “You’re right. I didn’t think of it like that. It won’t happen again.”
He looked unconvinced. The sort of awkward tension I hadn’t felt since high school settled in the room. Thankfully, Kelly spoke up.
“What about the records search?” She asked. “Did the FBI’s people turn up anything? Any sign of cold cases with similarities?”
“Not yet,” Todd said. “A lot of the state records from the seventies aren’t computerized. So they’ve been calling police department after department, sending them to check their storage records.” He leaned back on his hands and yawned. “Lennox did find records of John working for the Maryland State Highway Association in the seventies. Some of his paychecks went to an address in Baltimore, but since he worked all along the I-95 corridor and was on the road a lot, most of the time he was paid by the foreman running the crew. And there’s zero chance of finding a check cashed thirty years ago.”
“What about Mary?” I asked. “Have they turned up anything that p
oints to her real name?”
Todd yawned. “The FBI analyst’s are looking at public records in Maryland trying to find Mary during John’s tenure with the highway association, but there are too many names to go through, and not a single one is Weston.”
“It’s too much paper to work with.” Kelly grimaced, shuddering the way she did when she had to read a paperback instead of her electronic device. She loathed the feel of paper on her skin. “That’s pointless. He’s never going to find her family, if she has any.”
“I don’t think she does,” I said. “She’s too selfish and transient. If she’s got family, it’s probable she hasn’t heard from them in years.”
“We’re hoping to find some place she might seek refuge. Some place she’d take Chris. After all,” he looked at me, “didn’t you say she wanted to show him the truth about his past? That’s looking more and more likely after finding out about the custody issue.”
I rubbed my hands over my face. “I can’t believe they kept that from Chris. All the lies were like a perfect storm, just waiting for Mary to swoop in and mess with his head.”
I’d been debating on how much to reveal to Todd. And Lennox, for that matter. But if we were going to find Chris, they needed all the pertinent information. Which did not include my stay at Camp Hopeful and Chris’s stalking. “When I was at Chris’s apartment, I found evidence he’d been to see his dad at some point. His aunt wasn’t aware of this, and I’m assuming the ADA isn’t either.”
Todd sat back up. “What sort of evidence?”
“Weston’s personal effects.”
“That doesn’t mean they spoke,” Todd said. “If an inmate knows he’s in for life without parole, he can request those things go to a family member. It’s a paperwork issue.”
“But Chris has at least been to the prison. He’d have to pick those things up in person, sign for them.” I said. “Something he kept from us all, for whatever reason.” Todd didn’t need to know the other things he’d kept from me. They served no purpose in the case at hand. “I have a hard time believing he didn’t at least try to talk to his father.”
“I’ll tell Lennox. He can call the prison and have the warden double-check the visitor’s log,” Todd said. “They’ll at least have a record of when those items were discharged to Chris, so we’ll get a timeline. But if he’s not on the list…”
“He might have used a fake ID,” I said. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Todd shot me a look that said he wasn’t surprised. “Really? Why?”
“He didn’t want his aunt and uncle to know. His uncle’s the assistant district attorney-someone might have called him when Chris came around. And getting a fake ID isn’t that hard.”
“It would have to be a really damned good fake,” Todd said. “The offender is the only person who can add names to his visitor’s list, and only every so often. You can’t visit unless your name is on there, and the prison runs a background check.” He stretched his legs, wincing as his knee popped. “If the person is approved, then they’re sent a notification they have to sign and return. They can deny contact from the prisoner.”
“Meaning Chris would have had to have made contact to visit, and then John would have had to approve him?” I asked.
“Yes,” Todd said. “And that doesn’t happen overnight.”
So Chris had planned to see his father and had probably been doing so for a while. He kept it all to himself. At this point, I was more curious than hurt. He told me everything else. Why not about visiting John Weston?
“I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room.” Todd glanced at me the same way a child does when he’s afraid to ask for another Popsicle but just can’t help himself. “The fact is, the guy’s got issues. I can’t blame him. It’s obvious the discovery of Mary posing as Martha Beckett and having another kid messed with him. Then he finds out the people he’s always trusted lied too, and Mary’s in his head. How much is she influencing him now?”
“He’s injured,” I said.
“We have no idea how badly,” Todd said. “There wasn’t enough blood on the snow to make me think he risked bleeding out and no significant trail. Even if the wind covered it, I still think there’s a strong possibility his injury was minor and Chris treated it himself. He’s certainly capable.”
“And then what?” I said. “He goes with her willingly? I just can’t believe that, and you don’t like him. You’re not exactly impartial.”
“No, but I’m a good cop, and I can separate personal opinion. He might not have been willing at first–she’s got a gun, after all. But you know him, Lucy. You know his head better than anyone else. How easy do you think it would be for Mary to completely twist it around, with all the other things he’s found out?”
Not hard at all.
I couldn’t bring myself to say the words out loud.
18
My eyes peeled open sometime after dawn but before the sun made its full ascent. Weak gray light filtered in around the stiff, brown curtains like smoke from a campfire. I’d won the cot, and I’d placed it near the window to ensure the light woke me up. Truthfully, I was surprised I’d slept at all. My mind was a tangled mess of storm debris, and my subconscious the survivor picking through the wreckage trying to figure out what the hell to do next.
I still didn’t have the answer, but I figured the best thing to do was to work with what I did know. Chris had been taken by his crazy mother, and he had a serious injury. His head was a thousand shades of messed up right now. Chris lied to me, but he’d also been a good friend. Walking away wasn’t an option, and the only way I’d get answers was to find him. So that’s what I’d do.
Safely wrapped in her sleeping bag, Kelly slept in an impossibly tiny balled up position. I didn’t want to wake her. She’d handled last night so well, but she needed time to rest and get ready for the next round today. Using what little light my phone provided, I shuffled to the bathroom to get dressed and brush my teeth, and then I slipped out of the room in search of coffee.
At this early hour, the breakfast area was blissfully empty and the television turned off. The motel’s continental breakfast consisted of a sparse choice of cereal and bagels. I chose a plain bagel and a black coffee and took too many containers of cream cheese. I sat down at one of the small tables and tried not to let my mind wander to dark places.
It raced anyway. Was Chris still alive? What horrible things was his mother subjecting him to? If we did manage to save him, who would he be when he returned? Not the same. No matter what the outcome, his life as he knew it was shattered.
I wanted to be mad at him for the lies and the creeping–and I was, on some level–but the emotion sitting heavily on my chest was pure pity. I wasn’t sure Chris ever stood a chance. I’d retreated so far into my head I didn’t even hear anyone else come for coffee, and I nearly choked on my bagel when the voice piped up behind me.
“Are you Lucy Kendall?”
I cranked my head to see a slim woman with long legs, well-fitted jeans, and blond hair pulled into a bun that somehow managed to look stylish instead of messy. Her skin was the kind of flawless usually reserved for Photoshopped magazine covers. She looked down at me with striking eyes. Not for their color, but for the gleam inside them, as if she were a shark and had just happened upon a helpless sea lion pup. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Beth Ried.” She offered her hand but let it drop when I didn’t take it. “I’m a reporter for Fox 29 in Philadelphia.”
My coffee suddenly tasted bitter. I realized she was the woman in the lobby when Kelly and I arrived last night. “Good for you.”
Any hope that my rudeness would run her off quickly dissipated. I should have known better. Her kind fed off another person’s dismay. She lingered at the empty seat across from me, clutching a Styrofoam cup of coffee and obviously waiting for an invitation to sit. “I’ve been following your work for a while now.”
A familiar fear trickled down my neck before I bru
shed it off. “My work? I’m a private investigator. We tend to stay pretty…private.”
She smiled at the poor joke, revealing teeth so perfectly aligned and white they appeared false. “I meant your contribution to finding Kailey Richardson. And more recently what happened with the sex trafficking ring. You know Senator Coleman’s fighting hard not to lose his constituents and backing for his task force. Seems his benefactors can’t figure out how someone like Jake worked right beside him for so long and the Senator didn’t have a clue.”
“I can’t say as I blame them.”
“Getting the full story about what happened to you in that garage has been tough,” she said. “We’ve only been told you defended yourself, and Jake killed his girlfriend. The press has been left to assume he died from injuries inflicted in the struggle with you.”
“Assume all you want.” I still couldn’t believe how well the police had protected me, although I assumed that had more to do with the Senator wanting to keep everything about Jake’s demise as quiet as possible.
She clearly wasn’t deterred, this time resting her right hand on the chair, her bright red fingernails shining. “And now your friend Chris Hale is missing. John and Mary Weston’s son.”
“How do you know he’s my friend?” Stupid question. We’d both been associated with the Richardson case, and police talk, especially in small towns. I cursed myself for the mistake but maintained eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by her. Let her have a glimpse of the person she believed she could coerce.
Something about my harsh glare must have hit home because she took a step back and then sucked down a hasty gulp of coffee, wincing as it burned her throat. I smiled.
“Is it true he’s gone with his mother?”
“Is that what they’re saying?” I felt the ridiculous urge to laugh. “That and he and Mary just skipped off into the sunset together?”
“Not exactly. But it’s pretty clear the woman’s capable of terrible things.”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t take a genius–or even a good reporter–to figure that out.”