“I’m sure you’re in a rush, but could I make you both a cup of coffee?” she asked, not able to take her eyes off the images in her hands.
“We can certainly make some time,” Ruby assured her as though it was some kind of compromise on her part. “But don’t go to the trouble of making coffee. We’ve had plenty this morning.”
“Please call me Alison,” she said, waving them into the house. The tiny cottage was all walls and tiny rooms, one leading right into the next. The décor was cluttered and mismatched but each little knickknack and cheap piece of art looked as though it had a story behind it. Little sayings of encouragement adorned driftwood, and wine bottles were stuffed with twinkling lights. Nothing seemed sad or desperate the way Patrick had imagined the parents of a missing child would live: as though they’d be in some state of limbo or purgatory that kept them from cleaning or decorating anything until their child was returned.
“Hank honey, you are not going to believe this,” Alison sang in a high voice as she skipped into the kitchen.
An equally well-dressed man with wisps of slicked gray hair across his otherwise bald head sat on a stool at the low kitchen counter. The morning paper was creased methodically and stacked in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose. “Good morning,” he said, cheerful but surprised by the company. “I didn’t know we were having guests.” He stood politely, with some grunting about a sore back, and extended a stiff arm to greet them both.
“Look what they brought,” she said, fanning the pictures out across the counter. “Look at our Pacey, how happy she was.” Her artfully painted fingernails tapped at each picture.
“Look at those,” Hanks said, leaning in close and smiling. “That’s Skyborough Beach, right?”
“Yes,” Ruby said, her hands politely folded together. “I live on Bolton Bluff. I’m Ruby, and this is Patrick. We found this roll of film and used information in the background to figure out where the photographs were taken. Then people we talked to identified this girl as your daughter.”
“That’s our Pacey,” Alison beamed, shaking her head in a manner Patrick tried to discern but couldn’t. “She’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she?”
“Very,” Ruby agreed. “She resembles you quite a bit, Alison.”
“We weren’t able to find an address for her so we thought we’d bring the photographs to you instead,” Patrick said, the pace toward the truth far too slow for his pulsing adrenaline.
“Pacey moves around a lot,” Hank explained, looking nervously at his wife. “She’s an artist, a free spirit.” The words should have been enough to convince them both that they’d misread the facts. But the look of pain in Hank and Alison’s eyes was enough to keep Patrick in doubt.
“Do you have a way for us to reach her?” Ruby asked, pressing on. “This girl here in the photograph, her name is Amy, had very fond memories of Pacey. She wanted to reconnect. I’d love to pass her information along.”
A tear rolled down Alison’s cheek, but she quickly swept it away and swallowed back her emotions. “We don’t have a way to reach Pacey. It’s very complicated. You don’t want to hear it all.” Both her hands waved them off as she rolled her eyes at her own dramatic reaction as though she couldn’t believe how silly she was being.
“I’m sorry,” Ruby said, oozing empathy as she reached out and touched Alison’s hand gently. “We have encountered so many unique and special stories over the years, reuniting people with lost photographs. The story, the context, it does matter, but only if you want to share.”
“Pacey is a troubled girl,” Hank picked up where Alison seemed unable. Clearing his throat roughly he folded his arms across his chest and forced out the words. “Looking back I’d say she might have been bipolar, but that kind of diagnosis for someone her age wasn’t as common back then. We did a lot of things wrong,” Hank admitted, looking sick about it. “Sometimes we held on too tight, demanded too much of her.” His finger ran across his daughter’s smiling face in the image on the counter. “When she was little, she thought I hung the moon and the stars.”
“She still does,” Alison corrected firmly. It sounded like this conversation was like a well-worn path in the woods for them. Something they’d traveled again and again even though it wouldn’t really lead anywhere new. “You’re too hard on yourself. It’s me who never let up on her. If I knew then what I know now about mental illness, I’d have gotten her the right kind of help. In retrospect there were signs going back to when she was ten years old.”
“Pacey suffers from mental illness?” Patrick asked, treading lightly, being careful not to speak in the past tense.
“She does,” Hank confirmed. “She’s getting treatment though, and she’s happy. Even if we can’t be a part of her life, we’re pleased to know she’s found stability. Pacey is a true success story when it comes to managing her troubles.”
“And maybe someday . . .” Alison said, falling against her husband’s side as he raised an arm to hold her. “We get her letters maybe two or three times a year. We’re hopeful that someday she’ll invite us back into her life.”
“Have you asked?” Ruby questioned, still as unsatisfied as Patrick with the puzzle pieces fitting together properly.
“There’s never an address to reach her,” Hank explained matter-of-factly. “The letters come but we don’t have a way to write her back. That’s how she wants it. It’s been that way so long now, we’re just happy to hear from her when we do. Anything is better than nothing.”
“How long?” Patrick asked, knowing his line of questioning was unpolished and rushed. The moment he heard some kind of definitive conformation that Pacey was alive and well he would back off completely.
“Since right after these photographs were taken,” Alison explained, her chin crinkling with sadness. “She was on Skyborough Beach working, and toward the end of the summer we got the first letter from her. Heartbroken doesn’t begin to explain it. But these pictures remind me of her smile. My mother used to tell me that photographs were a reminder that just for a heartbeat everything was perfect. She was so happy there. Just for a heartbeat.”
“You haven’t seen your daughter in all those years?” Ruby asked, her face flushing. “Didn’t you report her missing or try to find her?”
“If you’d have read the letter you’d understand.” Hank drew in a deep breath and cleared his throat again. His tone shifted to slightly defensive but moved back just as quickly. “She begged us not to. She said she was running away because it was that or she’d kill herself. You can’t imagine what it’s like to know you’re the people to make your child want to end her life. All you want is for them to succeed, to find their way. When they tell you that seeing you makes them want to die it’s hard to process. Back then we thought someday, once she’d had time to grow up a little bit, she’d see how much we loved her. We considered hiring a private detective. But it was delicate. One wrong move, and we could lose her forever. We were the problem.”
“We weren’t,” Alison corrected rather harshly. “She’s told us that over the years. It was the mental illness, not us. We’re just a trigger, and she’s happier in her life when she has this space. Do either of you have children?”
Patrick and Ruby both shook their heads.
Alison nodded as though she’d already known the answer judging by their line of questioning. “You will do anything to keep your child safe. Even if that means letting them go. Even if it rips up every piece of you.”
“But it’s just the letters?” Patrick clarified, his face crumpled with confusion. “No photographs or phone calls?”
“No calls to us,” Hank said somberly but lighting up a bit as he continued. “Alison’s brother Dan always had a special relationship with Pacey. He’s been a lifeline for her, and we’ve been lucky he’s shared information with us. He and I never really got along, but I do appreciate that he can be there for her.”
Alison moved to the fridge and took down a photograph from beneath a seashell magnet. Sh
e slid the picture to them. It was a man with the same pointed nose that Alison and Pacey had. His hair was long and his eyes a bit wild as he held up the large fish he’d caught. “He struggled himself with problems when he was younger. But being a fisherman means he has the chance to cross paths with Pacey up and down the East Coast. It’s been hard to respect her choices, but I know it’s the best way to keep her safe and well. Hank and I have decided that the sacrifice is worth it.”
“That’s very nice,” Patrick said, forcing the compliment through the feeling of dread growing in his gut. “Your sacrifice for your daughter is astounding. I wish we had some more time to stay and talk, but Ruby and I have a few other stops to make today.” He was heading from the room and ignoring Ruby’s suddenly hardened posture.
“Of course,” Alison said, clapping her hands together and ushering them toward the door. “These photographs are a gift, and you cannot begin to imagine their worth. Hank and I are so grateful you came by. Please let me know if you find any others.”
“I . . . uh,” Ruby stuttered out, but Patrick was halfway out the door before she could form some kind of objection to leaving.
“It was our pleasure,” Patrick assured Hank and Alison, who were standing in each other’s arms in the doorway. He pictured them there, standing vigil, waiting for their daughter to grow and change enough to want to see them again. How many hours had they beaten themselves up for their failures? How many tears had soaked their pillows? Pacey’s room had probably remained unchanged over the years as they tried to keep her scent alive in the closet, her personality captured in the posters on her wall.
“We were not remotely done in there,” Ruby hissed as they got back into the car. “Why were you racing out? Obviously there is more to the story than they told us.”
“I agree,” Patrick said, putting the car in gear.
“Then why the hell did we leave?” Ruby asked, a bite of anger in her voice.
“There is more to the story, but they don’t know it. Sticking around, asking more questions wouldn’t have gotten us anything else. There’s enough to go on now.”
“You don’t know that. If we’d have asked more about the uncle we could have figured out where he is. They might have realized he was lying.”
“Exactly,” Patrick said flatly. “I didn’t have any intention of crushing the fragile world they’ve been living in just because we have a hunch. They don’t deserve to find out that way.”
“But it’s got to be him,” Ruby said, running a hand over her cheek in disbelief. “It’s got to be Alison’s brother that killed Pacey. He’s been stringing them along all these years.”
“That would have to mean he’s been orchestrating a false relationship between them and their dead daughter all these years.” Patrick felt a wave of sheer rage flow over him. Two seemingly caring people had been strung along and tricked by someone claiming to love them. Or maybe it was merciful. He couldn’t decide.
“Twisted,” Ruby said gloomily. “Can you imagine convincing two people they are so toxic that their daughter can’t be around them? If we’re right, the truth will crush them.”
“If we’re right, we just found a serial killer.”
Chapter 20
“You went that far?” Piper asked, tentatively looking them both over. “You actually got on the ferry?”
“Yeah,” Ruby replied with flushed cheeks. “I couldn’t have done it without Patrick. I was kind of a mess. But the way home was a little better.”
“Was it worth it?” Bobby asked, sitting on the creaking wicker chair that faced toward the trees in Ruby’s backyard.
Patrick’s shaky voice seemed strong again now that he’d had time to process. “Pacey Steele’s parents think she’s alive and living in various places up and down the East Coast. They receive letters from her a few times a year but haven’t spoken with her in person or on the phone since just after these photographs were taken on Skyborough Beach. No other sign of life has been provided, but they believe she’s alive because of the correspondence.”
“What?” Piper asked, a harsh edge to her voice. “They’ve been satisfied with just some letters over the years? I find that hard to believe. If my child was out there I’d move heaven and earth to track her down. Something doesn’t add up. Is there a chance the parents were involved, and they’re covering it up?”
Ruby had spent much of the return trip considering the Steele’s perspective. “Pacey had some struggles with mental illness and a complicated relationship with her parents. The letters have them convinced they are some kind of poison and getting too close to their daughter again would end her life. It was bizarre, but I’d say genuine.”
Bobby nodded some agreement. “The likelihood, statistically, that two parents would be involved in her murder and a cover-up would be unlikely. Then to think they were serial murders as well who committed the other crimes would be a stretch.” Bobby began tapping frantically on his laptop as he searched for more information. “The request I put in for information about Pacey Steele’s whereabouts today came back with nothing. She has no credit cards, no residence, nothing on the books at all. She could be living under an assumed name.”
“Her uncle,” Ruby started, locking eyes with Patrick who gave a subtle nod. “We think he could be the killer.”
“This is a lot of assumption based on the information you have,” Piper said nervously, folding her arms across her chest. “Who is the uncle?”
“His first name is Dan,” Patrick interjected. “He’s Alison’s brother so you’ll need her maiden name.”
“Corban,” Bobby said, still typing at a frantic pace. “Daniel Corban is her brother. He’s got a record, lots of petty stuff. He’s been in jail before.”
Ruby’s words were rushed as she tried to convince them. “Alison says he still has a relationship with Pacey. He’s a fisherman who travels up and down the coast. I think he’s the one writing the letters, pretending to be his niece, so they believe she’s still alive. He killed her, and he’s kept this lie alive all these years to keep his sister from finding out the truth.”
“Yes,” Bobby said, digging in to the information on his screen. “That would line up with the profile for who killed the first victim in the photographs. Maggie suggested the killer knew the victim and cared for her differently than the other victims pictured.”
“Wait,” Piper said, waving her hands to quiet them. She paced around the small deck and mumbled a bit to herself before letting them in on her thoughts. “We don’t have full conformation that the girl is Pacey Steele. All we know is they are wearing the same ring. That doesn’t seem like enough to make some of these leaps.”
“Let’s take this through beginning to end,” Patrick said, grabbing information off the table. “We know from the age of the film that the photographs from the murder scene were taken between 1990 and 1995. We also know from her age and her parents’ statements that Pacey was last seen alive on Skyborough Beach in 1992. The photographs of her wearing the same ring as this victim were found in the same box as the murder scene film.”
“All circumstantial, really,” Piper countered. “What do we know about the ring?”
“It’s unique,” Ruby said. “I searched some mainstream sites for something like it and didn’t find a match. I’m sure the FBI has a better database they could use.”
“They have tools you’ve never heard of,” Bobby said, handing Patrick a stack of papers. “They’d make short work of that list of photography shops that Dan Corban could have bought his supplies from.”
“What do we do now?” Ruby asked, feeling a rush of nervous energy bolt through her chest. “There seems like too many coincidences involved here for Dan Corban to not be at least considered as a suspect.”
“I agree,” Bobby nodded. “I’ll call this all in and see if they think it’s enough to move on Corban. Last known address for him is Cape Elizabeth, Maine.”
“That’s not far,” Patrick remarked, looking like h
e could easily be talked into getting in the car and driving there immediately.
“I think we need more,” Piper argued, still moving around uneasily. “One more piece. If he has a purchase history at any photography shops. Or we can link him specifically to a time and place where one of these other missing person abductions happened. If you call this in to Tyson as is he’s going to call it light. He might act on it, give it some resources, but you’re not handing over a slam dunk.”
“We can’t,” Bobby said, gesturing at the information in front of them. “We have a lot of pieces to the puzzle but no way yet to know where they all go.”
“Why not go there?” Ruby whispered as she tried to rally her courage. “Just check him out for yourselves.”
Bobby looked unconvinced. “We have no warrant and no concrete information for probable cause. It’s outside any jurisdiction I have. We’d probably come up empty-handed. Even worse, we could spook him, and he could trash any evidence there is. We need another way or we give it more time.”
“Oh my gosh,” Piper said, slapping a hand to her forehead. “The Steeles are going to call Corban. Alison will call her brother and tell him about you stopping by.”
“Damn,” Bobby said, looking angry at himself that he’d missed that. “You’re right. If he gets that phone call it might be enough to send him running. We know he has access to his fishing boat. We could lose him for good.”
“So we go to Cape Elizabeth,” Patrick asserted, slamming a fist into his open palm. “If he’s going to bolt, we head him off, and in the meantime we look for one more link to get him nailed on this. Piper and Ruby stay here, and Bobby and I will get eyes on Corban.”
“Ha,” Bobby laughed, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I’ve spent every day since I met Piper trying to keep her away from the excitement. You’re fighting a losing battle, kid.”
“I love how well you know me,” Piper cooed affectionately at Bobby. “And how we can both pretend this ruined our vacation, but in reality if we were sitting around reading books and listening to the radio, we’d be out of our minds by now.”
Just For A Heartbeat (Piper Anderson Legacy Mystery Book 2) Page 11