According to news reports, Hannah Doyle, the killers’ most recent prey, was unavailable for comment. She was being held by Seattle police as a “person of interest” in several investigations unrelated to the murders.
Ben desperately wanted to talk with her, but the police weren’t allowing Hannah any incoming calls.
When he was released from the hospital at three-thirty Saturday afternoon, Ben took a taxi to Emerald City Video. He’d had one of the nurses buy him some new clothes at the Gap: black pants, a crisp white shirt, and a fall jacket. But with his arm in a cast and three small bandages on his face, Ben still looked pretty beat-up as he hobbled into the video store.
The place was a mob scene.
“We had a TV news crew in here a couple of hours ago,” Scott told him. “Plus we have all these morbid nutcases coming in. They’re not even renting. They’re just poking around, being major pains in the ass. I’m not supposed to be working today. I just got out of the hospital. You too, I guess, huh?”
Threading through the crowd, Ben and Scott ducked into the employee break room. “I’m only putting in a couple of hours to help Tish out, because I’m such a saint—or such a sap,” Scott explained, shutting the door behind him. “You look like you need to sit down more than I do,” he said, pulling out the chair. “Take a load off.”
“Thanks,” Ben said, sitting down. His painkillers were wearing off.
“So have you heard anything about Hannah?” Scott asked anxiously.
“No, I was hoping you could tell me something. I tried phoning Guy’s baby-sitter, Joyce, but I wasn’t getting an answer.”
“She came by earlier,” Scott said. “I guess Hannah’s in-laws flew in this morning. They’re staying at the Four Seasons. They were smart enough to have Joyce bring Guy over there. Joyce said they sent a limo for them. Then the limo drove her back. Anyway, Guy’s with his grandparents now. Joyce said he started crying when she left.”
“Oh, God,” Ben whispered. “The poor kid.”
“Hannah’s in-laws sent someone over here, too,” Scott said, folding his arms and leaning against the door. “I think he was a detective working for their attorneys. I don’t know. He talked with Tish mostly. He was asking about Hannah’s tax records, and any forms she might have signed.”
“What for?” Ben murmured.
“I think Hannah’s in-laws are going after her with both barrels. This guy mentioned something about Hannah committing fraud against the government—in addition to kidnapping, theft, and forgery charges.” Scott shook his head, and his eyes teared up. “Looks like they’re really sticking it to our girl.”
Ben frowned. “I don’t get it,” he said. “You’d think they’d want to sweep it all under the rug, and pay her to keep quiet. Don’t they know why she took Guy and left? Do they have any clue that their son was an abusive asshole?”
“Apparently not,” Scott replied, shrugging.
Ben glanced up at the tiny TV-VCR on the shelf above the desk. “Hey, Scott?”
“Yeah?”
He nodded at the little television. “Do you think I could borrow that for the afternoon?”
The small TV had a carrying handle on the top, and didn’t weigh much at all. Still, Ben took a taxi from the video store to 1313 East Republican Street, only a few blocks away.
Richard Kidd’s bungalow was now a burnt-out shell, cordoned off with yellow police tape. The front yard was littered with rubble and debris. A patrol car was parked in front, and a couple of curiosity-seekers stood on the sidewalk, trying to get a better look at the place.
Ben had the cab drop him off, then wait up the block. He headed for the apartment building across the street from the blast site. He walked under the canopy, past the recycling bins, then down the basement stairwell. He found his duffel bag, still buried under a pile of leaves at the bottom of those cement steps.
The cop who had found him wandering around there yesterday had said Ben appeared disoriented. But Ben had known what he was doing.
Taking the duffel bag, he hobbled back to the waiting cab. Ben thanked the driver for waiting. He put his bag on the seat, beside the portable TV.
“Can you take me to the Four Seasons Hotel, please?” he asked.
Answering the door to Suite 619 was a well-groomed, thirty-year-old man in a three-piece suit. He could have been a lawyer, a bodyguard, or someone who worked for a funeral parlor. He didn’t introduce himself to Ben. He just looked him up and down, and asked, “Are you Ben Podowski?”
Standing at the threshold with a portable TV-VCR tucked under his one good arm and holding onto his duffel bag, Ben nodded.
“Mrs. Woodley will give you five minutes, that’s all,” the man said stiffly.
Ben followed him into the living room, where Mrs. Woodley sat on a sofa. The elegantly appointed room offered a sweeping view of Puget Sound. She had the television on mute, and in front of her was a fancy tea set and a plate of fruit and cookies that she’d been picking at.
With her frosty gaze, stiff mink-colored hair, and the pink suit, Mrs. Woodley looked like a First Lady—minus the people skills. She sipped her tea, and nodded at Ben.
Though he had a cast on one arm and was struggling with the little TV and his bag, Mrs. Woodley didn’t ask her lackey in the three-piece suit to lend him a hand.
“I was hoping to talk Mr. Woodley,” Ben said, setting down his bag.
“Mr. Woodley is terribly busy,” she said. “And so am I. Now, what is it you wanted to see me about?”
“How’s Guy doing?” Ben asked. “Is he okay?”
“Little Ken is napping right now,” Mrs. Woodley replied. “And he can’t be disturbed.”
Ben glanced down around the baseboards for an outlet. “Well, tell him that Ben said ‘hi.’ We got to be good friends in the last few days.” He propped the TV on a desk by the window, then plugged it in.
“You have about three and a half more minutes,” the man in the business suit announced. His arms folded, he stood behind the couch where the woman sat.
Ben glanced at Mrs. Woodley, then rolled his eyes toward the man. “Does he have to be here?”
“Yes,” she said. “And he’s quite right. I have other appointments.”
“Then I’ll get to the point,” Ben said, standing between Mrs. Woodley and the TV. “I was hoping to persuade you and Mr. Woodley to drop any charges you were planning to file against your daughter-in-law.”
Mrs. Woodley sipped her tea and said nothing.
“In fact, I thought you might want to help her out,” Ben continued. “Maybe even get some of your high-powered attorneys to clear her of any other charges like fraud or forgery or whatever. And with all your money, I thought you’d want to help her out financially, too.”
Hannah’s mother-in-law glanced over her shoulder at the man.
“I think you’ve taken up enough of Mrs. Woodley’s time,” he said with a stony gaze at Ben.
“If she’s put on trial, it’s going to come out why she took the baby and left,” Ben said. “You’re aware that your son beat her, aren’t you?”
Putting down her cup of tea, she squirmed a little on the sofa.
“Even if you drop the kidnapping charges, and she went on trial for fraud or something else, she’ll still have to explain why she did what she did. It’ll still come out that your late son was an abuser—in every sense of the word.”
Ben unzipped the duffel bag, and within a moment, the man was right behind him. “It’s just a video,” Ben explained, showing him the cassette.
“Hannah doesn’t know I’m here, Mrs. Woodley. In fact, she doesn’t even know this video exists.” He switched on to the little TV-VCR. “No one knows this exists except the three of us. The man who made it is dead. He was one of the young men who killed your son.”
Her brow wrinkled, Mrs. Woodley frowned at him.
“I really don’t want to show this to you,” Ben said. “But I’ll show it to the world if you insist on prosecuting Han
nah. Anyone who sees it would have a good idea of what Hannah had to put up with. It explains why she took her baby and left.”
Ben inserted the video and pressed “Play.”
The image on the screen was dark and grainy. The footage had been filmed at night, through the window of a yacht. There were a man and a woman seated in the galley below deck. They were snorting lines of cocaine.
“It’ll get pretty awful in a few minutes,” Ben warned.
Hannah’s mother-in-law leaned forward and numbly gazed at the image on the little TV.
“Do you recognize your son, Mrs. Woodley?” Ben asked.
At the memorial service for Kenneth Woodley II, Guy stood between his mother and grandmother. Each one held onto his hand, and occasionally Guy swung their arms back and forth.
The service was held in a park overlooking Lake Michigan. It was a gloomy day, and everyone was bundled up in coats and jackets. Hannah noticed several of Mrs. Woodley’s country-club friends in their fur coats.
A minister read some prayers, and one of Mr. Woodley’s golf buddies reminisced about his godson, Kenneth Junior.
Guy was understandably confused. He’d been told his father had died in a car accident a long time ago. And now everyone was saying he’d been killed in a boat explosion just two weeks before.
“I thought he was dead,” Hannah ended up telling her son. “But I was wrong. Your father was alive, and he was in Seattle looking for us when he died.”
The explanation seemed the best temporary answer to all his questions. She couldn’t very well tell him that his father wasn’t a good man, when everyone at this memorial service was extolling Kenneth’s virtues. She would tell him the truth in a few years when he was old enough to understand.
If Guy was a bit baffled, so was she. The Woodleys gave no reason for suddenly wanting to help her in Seattle. They posted bond for her, and their attorneys worked overtime, smoothing things over and making deals so Hannah wouldn’t face any criminal charges.
The Woodleys made some deals, too. They wanted to see their grandson at least twice a year, and they wanted Hannah to attend the memorial service for Kenneth. “I realize you had your reasons for taking Little Ken and running away,” Mrs. Woodley had told her. “But I don’t think it’s necessary you share those reasons with anyone else. I see no point in treading on anyone’s grave, do you?”
Hannah had agreed to cooperate. In a strange way, she felt it was important that Guy remember this memorial service for his father.
She had told her in-laws that she and Guy would be leaving after the service. That morning, they’d presented her with a car. It was Hannah’s third automobile from the Woodleys. This one was a Saturn that Kenneth had never used. They’d already had the papers transferred to her name.
The memorial service was mercifully brief. A brunch at the country club followed. Hannah used Guy being tired as an excuse to leave early.
A valet brought her new, secondhand car around to the front entrance while the two Mrs. Woodleys and Guy waited. Hannah loaded Guy into the backseat. He was already asleep by the time she got behind the wheel and buckled her seat belt.
“Do you have any idea where you’ll be going?” Mrs. Woodley asked, leaning toward the car window.
Hannah shrugged. “Maybe Chicago. I’d like to look up some old friends. Then we’ll probably end up back in Seattle.”
“What about your friend, the Polish gentleman?”
Hannah squinted at her for a moment. “You mean Ben Podowski?”
Mrs. Woodley nodded. “Will you be visiting him?”
Hannah turned away. She felt herself tearing up a bit, and she didn’t want to cry in front of her mother-in-law.
She’d never gotten a chance to see Ben. He’d left Seattle soon after her release. What with the police, the Woodleys, all the lawyers, and reporters, there had been no time to say good-bye.
Since then, they’d had a couple of brief, awkward phone conversations. Hannah couldn’t get over the feeling that his wife was always within earshot. She figured she’d have to settle for e-mailing him on occasion, as his friend Rae had.
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing Mr. Podowski,” Hannah told her mother-in-law.
“Well, if you talk to him,” Mrs. Woodley said, “be sure to tell him how we’ve treated you. Make sure he knows we’ve held up our end of the bargain.”
Hannah squinted at her. “What bargain? What are you talking about?”
Mrs. Woodley stared back at her through the window. “He didn’t tell you about meeting with me at the hotel in Seattle?”
“Ben visited you?” Hannah murmured.
Mrs. Woodley shot a look at Guy sleeping in the back. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You mean, you don’t know anything about that horrible video?”
Hannah sighed. “Mrs. Woodley—Mom,” she said. “I’ve seen a lot of horrible videos in the last few weeks. Which video are you talking about?”
His directions made finding the place easy.
The house was a modest two-story tan brick with green shutters and a chimney. Mr. and Mrs. Podowski lived on a quiet street in the quaint town of Croton, an hour away from New York City on the Metro North line.
Ben came to the door with his wife, Jennifer, right behind him.
Guy was thrilled to see Ben again. As he ran up and hugged him, Hannah kept having to remind Guy to be careful of Ben’s cast.
“What happened to your face?” Guy asked him.
“I was trying to be like Indiana Jones,” Ben explained. “I jumped through a window and a house blew up. Good thing you didn’t see me a couple of weeks ago. I look a lot better now.”
He smiled at Hannah, and she felt a little flutter in her heart. Even with his face slightly bruised, Ben’s smile still did something to her.
It was awkward with his wife there. Ben introduced them. Jennifer was pretty, with auburn hair and pale green eyes. She wore khakis and a white tailored shirt. She smelled nice, too.
By comparison, Hannah thought she looked like a slob in her jeans and pullover. She’d been driving most of the morning. She felt a bit better after freshening up in their bathroom.
Jennifer served lunch: homemade split-pea soup and a spread of deli meats, cheeses, and bread. Sitting around the table, they chatted politely over their lunch. Hannah did most of the talking, sticking to the neutral topic of her and Guy’s travel plans. She hoped to be back in Seattle in time for Thanksgiving. She and Guy had put a lot of miles on that secondhand Saturn. “And Guy, what’s your favorite new expression?” she asked.
He put down his glass of milk and looked at her inquisitively.
“Are…we…” Hannah prompted him.
“ARE WE THERE YET?” Guy cried out, delighted to get a laugh.
After lunch, Guy napped in the guest room. Jennifer started washing the dishes.
Ben said something about a family of deer that often came up to the house from the forest beyond their backyard. “I want to show Hannah around outside, honey,” he said. “Maybe Bambi will pay us a visit.”
Outside, it was cold and they could see their breath. Ben apologized for all the leaves on the lawn. The cast put a crimp in his yard work.
Huddled in her jacket, Hannah knew this was probably their only chance to talk by themselves. She figured Ben knew it too, as did his wife.
“So—how are things with you and Jennifer?” she asked, picking up a leaf from the ground. “She seems really nice, Ben.”
He glanced at the forest and nodded. “Things are good, Hannah. I think we’ll be okay. We’re even talking about having a baby.”
“Oh, well, that’s great,” she said. “It really is.”
He smiled at her, and she wanted so much to hold him.
But Ben merely patted her arm. “I’m really glad you and Guy came here. Means a lot to me.”
“Ben, I—I know about your visit to my mother-in-law back in Seattle. She told me about the tape with Kenneth beating up that girl.”
/> “I hope I did all right,” he said.
“All right?” She let out a sad laugh. “If you hadn’t done that I—I don’t know what would have happened to Guy and me. I’d probably still be in jail right now. You gave me my freedom again. I don’t have to hide anymore. Guy and I can go anyplace we want. I’m no longer scared. And I owe that to you, Ben. Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Oh, it was nothing.”
“It was everything,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget what you did for me—and Guy.”
His eyes teared up. “Well, I’ll never forget you, Hannah.”
She hugged him. Hannah knew his wife was probably watching from the kitchen window, but she hugged him anyway, holding him once last time.
An hour later, as they said good-bye in front of the house, it was Guy’s turn to hug Ben. He threw his arms around Jennifer, too, and kissed her cheek. Hannah thanked them both, then helped Guy into the car.
Before climbing behind the wheel, she glanced back over the roof of the car and waved at Ben and his wife.
Jennifer was huddled behind him in the doorway, shivering and rubbing her arms from the cold. Ben waved back at Hannah. He smiled wistfully at her.
She felt her heart flutter again. Hannah had tears in her eyes as she ducked inside the car. “Seat belt fastened, honey?” she asked Guy, while buckling herself up.
“Yeah,” he said. “Where are we going now, Mom?”
She wiped her eyes dry, then started up the engine. “We can go wherever we want, honey,” she said, with a triumphant smile. “Anywhere we want.”
“Let’s go home, Mom,” Guy said.
Hannah nodded. “I think that’s a swell idea.”
Filmography
The following is a guide to a few of the movies mentioned in this book. These films helped inspire this novel, and I pay homage to the following movies and their creators. If you want to see what my characters were talking about, check out these titles at your local video store. And be nice to the clerk.
Watch Them Die Page 36