The Third Victim (Quincy / Rainie)

by Lisa Gardner

  No, Bakersville definitely offered good food, including buttermilk pancakes made from scratch. Abe loved pancakes made from scratch. This morning, however, he’d cheerfully gone with what he considered to be the healthy, high-protein choice. The case was progressing well, albeit in a different direction than he’d originally assumed, and he didn’t want to slow himself down by carbo-loading.

  He finished his omelette, tipped the cute waitress generously, and drove the short distance to city hall.

  The attic sounded quiet as he climbed the narrow wooden staircase. That surprised him. It was nearly eight A.M., late by the last few days’ standards, and he’d assumed that at least Rainie would already be in the task-force center. Seemed she was always the first to arrive and the last to depart. He definitely couldn’t fault her work ethic. Now, if only she’d stop tormenting #2 pencils. He’d bought three boxes before he learned to keep them in the glove compartment of his car.

  He opened the attic door, swept the small space with a quick glance. Apparently he was the first one in.

  He set about brewing coffee and picked up a banded pile of mail delivered by the mailroom clerk first thing this morning. One overnighted envelope for Rainie, postmarked CA. Probably Richard Mann’s personnel records from the L.A. school. One pink phone-message slip. According to a hard-to-read scrawl, Agent Quincy had to leave on pressing family business and would be gone for a few days. Most likely his daughter, Abe thought with genuine sympathy. Bad break, that. The agent didn’t talk about it, but the word was all over town. Quincy’s daughter had been KO’d by a drunk driver. Abe had already heard the story four separate times while eating in the diner.

  The rest of the mail appeared to be junk. He threw it on the corner of Rainie’s desk. She could deal with it later.

  Since he seemed to have a moment to himself, he pulled out his cell phone and called home. His wife was in a state. The puppy was having trouble attending to his business this morning. She wanted to take him to the vet.

  “For God’s sake, feed him some bran cereal and be done with it.”

  She cheered up at that idea. Then, of course, she insisted on putting the puppy on the phone.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Abe said.

  The puppy barked enthusiastically.

  “You got no bladder control,” Abe told him.

  More vigorous barking.

  “You’re peeing all over my rugs.”

  Very cheerful barking.

  “Yeah. Fine. I love you too. Now gimme back my wife.”

  His wife came back on. Heaven help him, he was blushing.

  “How’s it coming?” she asked.

  “It’s coming.”

  “Going to be home soon?” He knew she tried her best, but she sounded wistful.

  His voice softened. He said, “I love you, honey. And I miss you too.”

  Sanders hung up the phone. He was sorry Dave Duncan had slipped through their fingers last night, but now that they knew who they were looking for, it was only a matter of time. The guy was on the run, after all. Probably panicked and scared and thinking he had no place left to hide.

  Damn right. Sanders had personally issued the statewide APB late last night. If Duncan was in the area, some local eager beaver would get him in his sights.

  Sanders got to work on his report. He didn’t look up again until noon. Then he was startled by the time and the fact that Rainie still hadn’t shown.

  Something niggled at him. Something he didn’t like.

  Abe Sanders tried her house. Then he tried the radio in her patrol car. And then he started to panic, because he didn’t get answers anywhere.

  For all intents and purposes, Officer Lorraine Conner had disappeared from the face of the earth. And even if Abe didn’t care for Rainie’s methods, he knew that just wasn’t like her.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Saturday, May 19, 12:16 P.M.

  BECKY SAT ON her skinny bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and holding Big Bear against her tummy. Her parents were talking unhappily in the family room. They were trying to keep their voices down, the way they did when they were mad at each other but didn’t want anyone to know. Becky thought that her mommy had been crying. And her daddy was in one of his Very Bad Moods. He’d boarded up the hall closet when Becky got up this morning. He’d told her that little girls were supposed to sleep in beds, so by God she had better get used to hers.

  Becky didn’t think her mommy agreed with that. Becky didn’t care. She had a closet in this room too. She’d picked the hall closet only because it was closer to where her daddy slept. And as much as Becky liked Big Bear, she didn’t know if he’d be any good in a fight. He was only made out of stuffing, after all, with a button for a nose.

  Her mommy and daddy were arguing about Danny.

  “He needs help, Shep! Serious help that he’s not going to get from a youth detention facility.”

  “I know that! But we have to be patient, Sandy. You heard what the lawyer said. If Danny talks to the wrong person, it could wind up in court. Then what kind of help would he get? We have to wait until the forensic exams are done. We’ll know more then.”

  “In six months to a year? For God’s sake, he’s already under suicide watch—”

  “They’re taking good care of him.”

  “There’s no one for him to talk to. You had to hear him this morning. He was begging to die. Goddammit, this is our son!”

  Becky slid off her bed with Big Bear. Careful not to make any noise, she crept closer to the family room and pressed herself against the hallway wall.

  “There is nothing more we can do,” her daddy was saying roughly. “We gotta just . . . trust him to get through this.”

  “No.”

  “Sandy—”

  “There is another option.”

  “Like hell there is!”

  “He did it, Shep! Oh for God’s sake, don’t cover your ears like a child. This is Danny, and he called me at six in the morning to tell me that he’d pulled the trigger and he can’t get it out of his head. He’s only thirteen years old. I don’t know how it all came to this. I wish I did. But somehow . . . He went in that school, Shep. And he did what he did, and now it’s tearing him up inside. And we can sit here in denial or we can climb into the trenches with him. I think . . . I think that’s all we have left.”

  “Trenches? There are no trenches. There is prison. And he goes in alone and he dies there alone. Christ, haven’t you been following the other cases? There aren’t any second chances for mass murderers. Not even for a thirteen-year-old. Danny goes away for more multiple life sentences than years he’s got left to live. End of story.”

  “Avery Johnson said that if Danny was willing to plead guilty, the county would probably be willing to work out a deal. It would spare everyone the anguish of trial.”

  “My son is not a murderer.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I’m warning you, Sandy.”

  “Danny shot two little girls! Danny killed Sally Walker and Alice Bensen. Those parents have to walk by empty bedrooms for the rest of their lives. Because of our son. What about that, Shep? What about that?”

  “Goddamn you, Sandy—”

  Shep’s voice broke off savagely. Becky peeked into the room and saw that her daddy’s face was swollen and ugly red. He had his hand drawn back, like he was going to hit something. Except it was her mommy who stood in front of him. She had her chin up and was staring at him like Danny did when he was daring someone to do something bad.

  Becky was frightened. She wanted to yell stop, but just like in the school, she was too scared to make words come out of her mouth. She didn’t recognize these people, with their flushed faces and mean hands. She wished they would go away so her real parents could come home. She missed when they all used to eat dinner together, even Danny, who would sneak his peas onto her plate.

  “If you beat your wife, will that make you feel better, Shep?” Sandy said quietly. “Or maybe, right at this moment, ar
e you getting some idea of where we went wrong?”

  Shep shuddered. His hand slowly came down.

  “I’m trying,” Sandy continued softly. “I’m trying harder than I’ve ever tried in my life to make this family whole. But I can’t do it anymore. We failed, Shep. Somewhere we went wrong, and Danny went wrong, and poor Becky—God knows what’s even going on with her anymore. But the way I see it, we have two choices. We can pretend it never happened and not act too surprised when we get the call someday that our son is dead, or we can give up on what we wish had happened and start dealing with what did.

  “Danny was involved in the killings. Danny has problems dealing with his rage. Danny is a deeply troubled boy. But he’s a good boy, too, if that makes any sense, and the guilt is tearing him up inside. If we don’t let him talk, and talk soon, I don’t think he’s going to make it. He’ll either finally find tableware he knows how to use or, worse, he’ll shut out his emotions. He will become cold and remorseless.

  “He’s only thirteen, Shep. I want him to have a chance to become the man we dreamed about, not a newspaper headline. I don’t know about you, but for me that makes our choice pretty clear.”

  And Becky’s father said tiredly, “What choice, Sandy? Danny’s not ours anymore. He belongs to the legal system, and I know that beast. The minute he says he’s guilty, he’ll be locked away for life. And even if he gets counseling and becomes our good boy again, what the hell is our good boy going to do locked away with violent felons for the rest of his life? Why don’t we just buy him a T-shirt that says RAPE ME NOW and let him wear it at the fucking trial?”

  “Shep!”

  “Sandy, what do you think is going to happen? Why do you think I’m so scared!”

  Her mommy fell silent. Becky thought she looked like she was going to cry. Becky was crying. She had tears all over her cheeks.

  “There must be other options,” her mommy said at last, but she no longer sounded so certain. “We need to talk to Avery Johnson, raise the possibility. See what can be worked out. . . .”

  “He can’t go to prison, Sandy. I won’t let that happen. I won’t.”

  Sandy rubbed her arms. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she murmured. “I feel . . . like the worst is still to come.”

  “I’ll think of something, Sandy. He’s my son. Give me time, and I’ll come up with something.”

  Becky’s mommy finally nodded. Becky clutched Big Bear hard and slid away from the doorway. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest now. She had the heavy feeling, where she could barely breathe.

  She wanted to run into the family room. She wanted to throw her arms around her daddy’s legs and beg him to leave Danny alone. But just like at the school, she was too frightened. Her mouth wouldn’t work.

  She went back to her bedroom. She started throwing blankets and clothes in her closet for cover. Big Bear would need a place to hide. And Mrs. Beetle and Polly the Pony and her new kitten.

  Becky had a lot of work to do.

  Bad things were gonna happen if people pushed Danny. Very bad things. The monster was still out there, and if Danny wasn’t smart, if Becky wasn’t smart, he’d kill them all.

  He had promised.

  RAINIE STARTED HER PREPARATIONS the minute she got off the phone with Quincy. First she mowed her lawn. Then she took care of the edging. The high grass would make the tracks too easy to see for what needed to happen next.

  She put on a mask. She grabbed a shovel. She ignored the ringing phone and went to work, not letting herself think about what had to be done. Afterward she raked the grass back up to cover the marks. Then she took a long hot shower and steamed the rich, moist earth from her hands.

  Another hour, toiling with the shotgun, just in case.

  A little after two, as she returned from the trunk of her patrol car with her substitute 9-millimeter and backup .22, her phone started ringing again. She didn’t answer but then heard Luke’s voice on the machine.

  She picked up the receiver as he was still calling her name.

  “I’m here.”

  “Jesus, Rainie. Where the hell have you been? Sanders is going nuts trying to find you.”

  “I mowed my lawn. How are things in Portland?”

  “Muddled.” Luke sounded confused. She could hear the sounds of traffic, so he must be using his cell phone. “You took the morning to do yard work?”

  “The grass didn’t seem to realize murder was a good excuse not to grow. Why are things muddled in Portland?”

  “Daniel Avalon has disappeared. We were supposed to meet at his office this morning, but his secretary’s been stalling me with one feeble excuse after another. I finally tried his wife. Looks like Mr. Avalon didn’t come home last night. And, get this, I drove by his hunting cabin on the way to Portland. It’s definitely been recently used.”

  “You think he’s Dave Duncan.”

  “Well, with the right disguise . . . Hell, anything’s possible.” Luke sighed. “I put out an APB with his ‘normal’ description, plus a description of his car and the cabin. It’s the best I can do for now.”

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up shortly,” Rainie said neutrally. Her eyes had already gone to her back deck.

  “Rainie . . . I made Angelina show me the gun cabinet. One of the shotguns is missing. I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

  “Fire with fire,” Rainie murmured.

  “I’m coming back to Bakersville, okay? There’s nothing for me to do here anymore and I’d feel better if I were back in town.”

  “Whatever you think is best, Luke.”

  “Good.” He hesitated. She could hear the unspoken questions still in his voice. She and Luke went way back. He would come if she asked him to. He would die for her if it came to that; he was that kind of man.

  But she was who she was, too, and she couldn’t ask anyone to pay for her sins.

  He said, “Rainie . . .”

  And she said, “I’m a big girl, Luke. I know what I’m doing.”

  She recradled the phone. The hour was growing late and she didn’t have much time to waste. She went with a simple white cotton shirt, covered by a light jacket, perfect for concealing her handgun. She paired the top with long jeans that flared at the ankle. Perfect for disguising her backup .22.

  She took her ID. She would need it to get into the Cabot County Youth Detention Facility. After that, however, she considered herself on her own. Not Officer Lorraine Conner but simply Rainie, doing what she should’ve done days ago.

  She prepared one last surprise in her family room, just in case. Then she glanced at her watch. Danny was due to be moved at five P.M. Shep had decided he wanted Danny to be examined at the nearby psychiatric hospital. That didn’t give her much time.

  Rainie hit the road in her own beat-up Nissan. An hour later she sat across from Danny O’Grady, whose thin, gaunt face was a close match for her own.

  “Danny,” she said quietly, “I think it’s time we talked.”

  She didn’t leave until he’d told her everything.

  QUINCY WALKED TIREDLY down the hospital corridor toward the room he’d hoped never to see again. He’d had to pass through Chicago on his way to Dulles, and his damn flight from Portland had landed forty-five minutes late, forcing him to run for his gate. He’d been terrified of missing his connecting flight, terrified of being stranded at O’Hare. Terrified of having to call Bethie and tell her he was missing another momentous occasion in his daughter’s life. This one, though, would definitely be the last. Ha ha ha.

  His thoughts were raw. He felt both exhausted and wired, the way he did when he approached a fresh crime scene, and that unsettled him even more.

  A few nurses saw him walking and nodded in greeting. He recognized their faces but didn’t remember their names.

  Finally he was at the door. That damn smell again. And the overwhelming sense of white. He had been raised to believe that death wore black. He felt needlessly betrayed.

  He put on his game
face, for he knew no other way to enter the room, then briskly opened the door.

  Bethie was curled up in a chair next to the bed, sound asleep. Her dark hair had lightened in the last few years but curved gracefully around her shoulders. With her taupe slacks and fine silk sweater, she looked much too nice to be spending her days in a hospital room. Quincy felt instantly guilty, his most common emotion when it came to his ex-wife.

  He cleared his throat. She woke up slowly, blinking her blue eyes and looking startled to see him.

  “Pierce? Done saving the world already? I figured it would take you at least another week.”

  Quincy ignored her sarcasm and gazed upon his elder daughter. Amanda’s face was still covered in white gauze. Tubes and needles bristled across her prostrate form and nearly obscured a body that had once been defined by slender grace. The violence of keeping her alive shocked him once more. It slowed his steps.

  “I came as fast as I could,” he told Bethie as he picked up Mandy’s hand. He squeezed gently. There was no response. He studied her small pale fingers against his palm. He marveled at her fingernails, dutifully growing long and pink while the rest of her withered away. It seemed like only yesterday those were baby fingers, gripping his thumb tight.

  “I don’t understand,” Bethie said from behind him. “I thought you’d had enough.”

  “I wasn’t going to miss this, Bethie. I’d always planned on being here, once you were ready.”

  “When I’m ready for what?”

  Quincy turned around. He was still holding Mandy’s hand, but now he was registering the genuine confusion on his ex-wife’s face. His stomach plummeted. Someplace deep inside him had just gone cold.

  “Someone from the hospital staff called. You’re ready to turn off life support—”