Traces of the Girl

by E. R. FALLON

  Joyce kicked Emily’s knee. “Get up.”

  Joyce let Albert escort Emily back to the pickup truck with Albert pointing the gun at Emily’s side while she followed behind them. She still hadn’t broken Emily. What would it take to break a woman as strong as that? She might never get the chance to break Emily before they killed her. Oh, well. That had just been a bonus anyway, breaking Emily. Joyce knew it might never happen.

  Inside the truck, Albert gave Emily, squished in between Joyce and him, some of the water Joyce had bought at the rest stop.

  “You shouldn’t have given her that,” Joyce muttered to her brother. “Now she’s going to want to stop and use the bathroom.”

  They would also need an incentive if the hypnosis wore off before they found and took a plane. And water and food could have been used as a tangible incentive if they had deprived Emily enough.

  Albert ignored Joyce and started the car.

  Almost there. We’re almost there, Joyce repeated in her mind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carlow had lived through the night, and in the morning his condition went from critical to stable condition. At the station Nolan called Carlow’s father to check in on him and then relayed the updates to Harry and Maple. The man who shot him, an out-of-towner, had been charged with attempted murder.

  Around noon the station’s main phone rang. Normally, Carlow would have answered it, but since he was in the hospital, Nolan took care of that.

  Harry heard Nolan say from the desk, “Hello?” A pause. Then, a glance toward Harry and he said, “Hold on a second.”

  Nolan motioned for Harry to come over to the desk. Harry gave him a confused look and Nolan covered the receiver with his hand.

  “It’s Joyce Fisher,” he whispered. “She says she wants to speak to you.”

  “Because of the article,” Harry said. “Tell her I’m coming.” She got up from her desk and stopped at Maple’s desk on the way to Nolan. “Start recording us after I’m on the line, and see if we can trace the call.”

  “Sure thing.” Maple got up and followed her to Nolan.

  Harry went to the desk. Nolan got up and handed her the phone and Harry sat down where Nolan had been seated. She put the receiver against her ear. Harry braced herself to hear the voice of the woman who’d murdered her brother’s wife and ripped apart his young family. She’d never seen this woman in person or heard her voice but she already knew she hated her with all her heart.

  Nolan and Maple hovered near the desk. Harry gestured to Maple to start recording.

  “Detective Cannon speaking.”

  “Is this really the Harriet Cannon?” Joyce’s voice was warmer and more youthful-sounding than she expected. Harry would have expected her voice to sound deep and cold.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “I bet all the other cops call you ‘Dirty Harry’,” Joyce said with an odd, lighthearted laugh.

  She sounded pretty cheerful for a murderer and Harry began to wonder if there wasn’t something clinically wrong with her.

  Harry ignored her joke. “Is Emily Will with you and Albert?” she asked.

  “You’re a clever thing, wanting to know if my brother and the Will woman are with me. She’s here, and she’s alive since that’s what you’re really asking.” Joyce’s tone became terse.

  Harry breathed out in relief about Emily. “What about Albert?” she said after a pause.

  “He’s here too.”

  Harry looked over at Maple and he gave her a thumbs up. The recording was going well. Harry mouthed, “Do we have a location?”

  “Not yet,” Maple said quietly.

  But Joyce heard him on the other end of the phone. “What was that? It sounded like a man. Is someone there with you, Detective Harriet?”

  “I’m at the police station. There are lots of people here.”

  “I know you’re trying to trace this call, and if you’re successful and you do find us, then Albert and I will have no choice but to blow ourselves and Emily up, maybe you too, so I’ll save you the trouble and hang up now so none of that has to happen.”

  Harry motioned to Maple to see if they were able to trace the call yet. Maple shook his head. “We need more time,” he whispered.

  Harry nodded.

  “Please, Joyce. Don’t hang up,” she said into the phone. She would make Joyce feel like she had control of the conversation, something she knew that a psychopath like Joyce craved, and that Joyce would continue speaking with her because she liked the feeling so much.

  “You know, I really didn’t like that newspaper article. Did you talk to that reporter?” Joyce said.

  “No. I never did. Someone from our department leaked the info to the press. I’m sorry about that.” Harry continued to allow Joyce to believe she had the advantage in the situation. “None of that was supposed to be published.”

  “Makes sense. I hope you fired the asshole who leaked it.”

  Harry wasn’t sure how much she should tell Joyce but she wanted her to keep talking. “He was fired.”

  Nolan gave her a look and she shrugged.

  “Good,” Joyce said on the phone. “I’d like to strangle him. I bet all those men you must work with hated the fact that you got all the attention in the article. I am sorry about your sister-in-law’s – well, you know what happened to her. If only she hadn’t—”

  Joyce didn’t finish her sentence.

  As much as it wounded Harry, she ignored Joyce’s digression. “Joyce, you told me that Emily Will is with you and that she’s alive. But I need to confirm with her myself that she’s okay.”

  “No way,” Joyce said.

  “Please, Joyce?” Harry did her best imitation of begging.

  “No.”

  “Joyce?”

  “Oh, all right. But just for a second. Just a second. Okay?”

  “Yes, Joyce. Whatever you say, we’ll do.”

  Harry heard commotion in the background that sounded like a car door closing – the stolen truck? – and the sounds of someone approaching. She heard someone – a man, Albert – whispering, and Joyce saying, “Here.” Then she could hear a woman breathing on the other end. Emily Will.

  “Emily?” Harry said.

  “Yeah.” Emily’s voice sounded exactly like Harry had expected her to sound, strong and calm despite the circumstances. Her throat did sound parched, though.

  “Emily, are you okay?” Harry asked.

  “I’m fine. A little thirsty.”

  “I know how strong you, a decorated veteran, are. You’re not downplaying your condition, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Are they withholding water from you?”

  “Who are you?” She didn’t answer Harry’s question about water.

  “I’m a detective. Detective Cannon, but you can call me Harry. I’m working on getting you home.”

  “Harry? I like that. It’s short for Harriet, right?”

  “Yeah. Where are you? Where are you calling from?”

  “A payphone somewhere.”

  “We’re going to find you so hang in there.”

  “I’m not coming home.”

  Harry’s grip on the phone tightened and she suddenly felt worried. “What do you mean, Emily?”

  “Call me ‘Em’.”

  “Right. Like Peter does.”

  “You talked to Peter?”

  Harry remembered what Peter said about not being able to face Emily again and she didn’t want to upset Em by telling her the truth so she said, “Yeah. We talked to him briefly.”

  “How is he?” Emily’s voice sounded brighter. “Did he ask about me?”

  “It was only briefly so we didn’t have much time.”

  “Oh.” Emily seemed to get the hint then.

  Harry heard a man – Albert – shouting in the background, saying something about, “Hang up on those police!”

  “I said I’m okay. I’m sort of okay,” Emily said. “Peter always used to kid with me how I ton
ed down things that went wrong. But I … I’m a fighter, detective. But I’m not invincible. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  She began to blabber and became less coherent. Harry wondered if she had dehydration.

  Then Emily said something like, “I’m sorry about the salesman,” but Harry couldn’t hear her well enough.

  What salesman?

  “What salesman?” Harry asked. She started to doubt Emily’s coherency.

  “Huh? What?”

  “You said something about a salesman.”

  “He’s no one. Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  Harry wanted to tell Emily she thought Joyce had hypnotized her but she didn’t want to risk angering Joyce.

  “Emily, do you know where you are? When you look around you, what do you see?”

  Emily wouldn’t say and Harry assumed the Fishers had a gun pointed at her. Harry strained to hear any background noises that might have indicated where they were.

  “I’d just lost Sally,” Emily said softly.

  Harry heard that. “What do you mean?” Then she remembered. The dog, Sally. But Emily began to explain before she could reply.

  “My dog, Sally, she had cancer.”

  “I recently lost a dog too,” Harry said. She told Emily a little about River.

  Maple gave her a sympathetic look.

  “I knew a woman in the Army,” Emily said. “She was killed in Iraq. She worked with a team that used dogs to find bombs. When she died in combat her dog stayed by her side until the Army found her body. The dog died a few days later of a broken heart … ”

  The story moved Harry. Then she thought of the bomb. The bomb that Albert and Joyce might have had. Harry had to ask Emily about the bomb. Would she even know about it? Were they even right that it existed?

  Then Emily was asking her about some baseball cap. She wanted to know if anyone had found it at the truck stop. But Harry didn’t know what she was talking about. She didn’t want to tell Emily that and upset her.

  “Hello?” Emily said.

  “I’m still here,” Harry replied.

  “Good, I—”

  Emily had been cut off mid-sentence at the other end of the phone and Joyce came on the line again.

  “Goodbye, Harry.” She hung up.

  “No, wait—” Harry looked at Maple. “Did you find them?”

  He shook his head and pulled the recording device off his ears. “Very close, but not long enough. Another second would have done it.”

  Harry slapped her hand against her leg. “Damn it!” She looked at Nolan. “I’m glad you fired Richards. Joyce Fisher is so angry about the article that I think Richards has put Emily Will’s life in jeopardy.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Joyce and Albert thought I’d drifted off to sleep but I couldn’t sleep because the afternoon sun coming through the windows hurt my eyes.

  I heard Joyce whisper to Albert excitedly, “We’re really almost there”, and knew that if I had even the smallest wish to escape I had little time to figure out how to get out of there. Once they got me on a plane with that bomb I would have little choice but to fly them to Cuba. I felt they would kill me once they were there because if they kept me alive I might draw attention to them abroad. The police, and I assumed the FBI, were looking for three people, not two. They’d have a better chance at evading the law if I wasn’t with them.

  Albert had begun to drive faster. I assumed that was because they were getting close to their destination and he was eager to get there. He raced past something sticking out from behind tall bushes, and I didn’t see what it was at first then I realized it was a cop car conducting what looked like a speed trap on the small country road.

  Suddenly a cop car was chasing the black pickup with its sirens blaring. Once again, I had conflicting feelings when I saw the police car: I wanted the cop to catch Joyce and Albert but I didn’t want them to catch me, which made me feel like a coward.

  Joyce turned around to look through the back window and then gestured at the cop car in the rearview mirror.

  Albert looked in the mirror. “Holy fuck.” He smacked the steering wheel so hard his seat shook.

  “You’re going to have to outrun him,” she said. “I wish I was driving. I’m a better driver than you.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Albert shouted. “What do I do?” He looked to Joyce for answers.

  “Don’t even think about pulling over. If there’s one thing I can guarantee you it’s that if this son of a bitch behind us doesn’t already know who we are and that we’re in a stolen truck, he’s going to find out any moment now when he radios his headquarters to check our license plate. We have one advantage.”

  “What?”

  “We’re in a pickup truck that can go off-road. I’m betting his cop car can’t. Get off this road now. Your seatbelt’s off? Buckle your fucking seatbelt.” Joyce reached across me and buckled Albert’s seatbelt.

  “Now?” Albert asked.

  “I said now!” Joyce screamed.

  As the cop car started to reach the truck, Albert swerved sharply to the right and veered off the road onto a farm field with what looked like an old potato crop. The truck kicked up the dusty earth and Joyce coughed at the dirt and closed the window at her side. I peered behind us through the rear window and the cop car struggled to catch up to us.

  The sun became even more intense in the open fields without the shade on the tree-lined road. Albert used his hand to shield his eyes as he drove. Albert raced out of the field down a grassy hill onto a stone road. After a while, I no longer heard the police sirens. Was I relieved? A little. Because then I wouldn’t have to face what Joyce and Albert said I’d done. Then Albert made a sharp left turn onto a different, smaller road.

  Joyce checked behind us and cheered in delight. “We outran the jerk. Woo-hoo!” She smiled and gave Albert a high five but frowned at me when she noticed me watching their interaction.

  She didn’t know what I was thinking. What I was thinking was, “But the cop spotted us and now someone knows where we are.” That made it less likely that Joyce and Albert and their plan would succeed. Then again, not too long ago I had thought my baseball cap Albert had left behind at the truck stop would serve as a clue, but no one seemed to have found it.

  Chapter Twenty

  John Wright was back from vacation and Harry had called him and asked him to come into the station to answer a few questions about his ex-wife Joyce Fisher. Joyce’s ex-husband hadn’t had communication with her in what seemed like a long time to Harry, and with his alibi, Harry doubted he was involved with the brother-and-sister criminal pair, but she needed to meet him in person to confirm he hadn’t somehow been involved from afar. She felt he had told Maple the truth about giving his car to Joyce and her not registering it but she needed to be sure.

  Harry and Agent Maple shook his hand.

  “How are you today, Mr. Wright?” Maple asked. “Can we get you anything to drink before we start?”

  Wright was a tall, wiry man with a well-groomed black beard, who wore a tattered hat and smelled of cigarette smoke. He took off his hat to hold it in his hand and asked Harry for a soda to drink despite Maple having asked him the question. Harry rolled her eyes. She was surprised he didn’t tell her to go back into the kitchen and make him a sandwich. She smiled as Maple went and got a soda from the fridge then he gave it to Harry who then gave it to Wright. She saw Wright’s fingernails were stained yellow from nicotine.

  Maple started to direct Wright into the interrogation room but Harry gestured for them to come into the conference room. Wright went in first.

  “He’s not a suspect,” she whispered to Maple, who followed Wright into the less intimidating room.

  Harry closed the door. Maple indicated that Wright should sit down, and he took a seat at one of the chairs around the large oval table.

  “I’ve got to say I wasn’t surprised when you called me,” Wright said. “I was on vacation b
ut I did read the newspaper and I couldn’t believe it when I saw Joyce with her brother. She always was a firecracker, that Joyce.”

  “Do you know her brother well?” Harry sat down across from Wright.

  “I don’t know him. She must’ve reconnected with him after we got divorced. I knew she had a brother, but she hadn’t seen him in years back when we were together. She did talk about him sometimes but very little. Joyce didn’t like to talk about her childhood.”

  That didn’t surprise Harry.

  Maple sat a few chairs down from Harry and Wright and opened his notepad on the tabletop. Harry liked to crowd a person of interest but Maple’s FBI training must have instructed to give them room.

  “Did she partake in criminal activities when you two were together?” Maple took out a pen.

  Wright laughed through his nose and soda came out of his nostrils. He wiped his nose with his coat sleeve. “Excuse me,” he murmured. Then he shook his head. “Nope. Like I said, Joyce was feisty so I can’t say I’m one hundred percent surprised, but I still am surprised. Most guys don’t expect their ex-wives to rob and murder two people.”

  “If I may ask, why did you get divorced?” Harry said.

  “You can ask. We wanted kids but we couldn’t have them. Or more accurately, Joyce couldn’t have them. She’s sterile.”

  What a catch you are, she thought with sarcasm. His comments pained Harry, and despite the horrible thing Joyce had done to her family, she couldn’t help feel a little sorry for Joyce being married to man like that. Her sympathy felt strange because she hated Joyce. “So you left her? What about adoption?”

  “Adoption’s not the same thing. My wife and I – my new wife – we have two kids. They’re my blood. It’s different when they’re you’re blood. Adoption is not the same thing.”

  Harry’s face burned with resentment. “What a lovely view,” she said with sarcasm. Maple eyed her from across the table and she shrugged. Jerks like Wright irked her and she wasn’t going to hide that.

  Maple looked over his notes. “You said you weren’t one hundred percent surprised Joyce did what she did. Why is that?” he asked Wright.