The Burying Place

by Brian Freeman

  The van was in the lake.

  It floated away from the ramp into the open water like an off-balance toy. Its driver's door was open. As she watched, the vehicle sank lower, water spilling inside. The frame wobbled and dove awkwardly on to its side with a splash. Its tires broke through the surface. The van made a slow circle, spinning lazily from the shore before the heavy engine drove it downward front first. With hissing and ripples, the entire vehicle settled to the muddy bottom.

  Kasey withdrew her gun from its holster. She squinted through the windows and did a careful scan of the area around her car before she opened her door and slid out, staying behind it. Her eyes moved from tree to tree, watching for movement. She listened. Dried leaves clapped as the wind blew. Snow sprinkled from the evergreens and made a cold landing on her face. A chorus of crows erupted nearby, and she jumped.

  Where was he?

  Behind her, something hard and loud rustled in the brush. Kasey spun, lifting her gun. She saw a driveway, overgrown with shooting vines. The silhouette of a large house hugged the beach. She followed the noise and took slow, soundless steps down the driveway. Every few seconds, she glanced nervously behind her. She was scared and blind. The driveway lasted for forty yards, and then she broke into the open grass around the house. Snow covered the steps leading to the door, and there were no footsteps in the blanket of white.

  From the other side of the road, back where she had parked her patrol car, Kasey heard another noise. An engine fired. Through the web of trees, she saw headlights and heard tires grinding on the dirt. She ran back along the driveway, but she spilled head first over a tree root breaching like a whale out of the earth. Her gun dropped from her hand and skidded into the brush, and she wasted almost a minute feeling for it with her bare hands. When she finally found it, she ran again, following the driveway to the trail where her car was parked. She stopped and listened, but the sound of the engine was distant. She heard the squeal of its tires as it swung on to the main highway and headed north. Escaping.

  Kasey swore. She went to her patrol car to call for back-up. As she leaned inside, she saw a rectangle of glossy white paper on the seat. She picked it up and turned it over. 'Oh, my God,' Kasey murmured.

  She stared at her own face. It was a photograph that Bruce had taken of her and Jack a year ago. She felt the breath leave her chest as if it had been sucked away.

  There it was again. The same message he had written on her mirror. Two words scrawled in red marker across the front of the photograph in block letters. BAD GIRL.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Valerie Glenn turned off Highway 2 into the empty church parking lot at midnight. She parked her white Mercedes and got out and shoved her hands into the pockets of her suede jacket. Ahead of her, the one-story church was surrounded by tall pines whose branches spread outward like a priest's outstretched arms. She crossed the lawn, her boots stamping down the thin layer of snow. At the front of the church, she sat on the concrete steps, and the cold stone felt icy through her jeans.

  I know what happened to your daughter.

  The woman on the phone had told her to come alone and keep the call a secret from the police and her husband. Despite everything Serena had told her, Valerie had done exactly as the woman wanted. She was here, miles outside the city, on her own. Waiting.

  Deer tracks criss-crossed the snow. Overhead, the moon was a faint glow through the shroud of dark clouds. Twenty minutes passed as she sat on the steps, and she felt the bitter cold numbing her face. No one arrived. She began to think the call had been a hoax and that no one would show up to tell her about Callie. She told herself that she would wait ten more minutes and then go home, but the truth was, she wasn't going to leave. She would stay all night if there was even the slightest chance that it would bring her daughter home.

  On the highway, from the southeast, she saw the twin beams of headlights. A black Hummer came around the curve. The heavy vehicle slowed sharply and turned into the church parking lot across from Valerie's Mercedes. She felt her heart rate accelerating and, out of nowhere, anger bubbled up and made her fists clench. She didn't know who was in the Hummer, but whoever it was, she wanted to kill them. If they had taken her daughter, she wanted them to pay.

  The door opened. A woman climbed down. She wore a winter coat with a fur hood pulled up over her head, cloaking most of her face. She was thin, with legs like drainpipes. Valerie watched her come closer. She stopped in the snow ten feet away and slipped her hood back from her face. Her skin was white, and she had dark, almost purple make-up.

  Valerie erupted. 'Where's my baby?'

  She launched herself off the steps and threw her body across the short distance between them. Her sudden assault took the woman by surprise, and she didn't have time to move before Valerie collided hard with her chest, tumbling both of them to the ground. The woman landed on her back in the snow, and Valerie climbed on top of her, pummeling her torso with her fists and shouting in her face.

  'Tell me! Tell me where she is!'

  The woman shoved hard with one hand against Valerie's shoulder and dislodged her, but Valerie climbed back and struck her repeatedly until her tears and the cold got the better of her, and she ran out of strength. The woman grabbed Valerie's fists and held them and then pushed her away again as she rolled out from under her. Both women breathed heavily. Valerie lay on her back like a snow angel, watching the sway of the pine branches above her.

  'Who the hell are you?' Valerie asked. 'What have you done with Callie?'

  The woman staggered to her feet and braced herself against the railing beside the church steps. 'I don't have her.'

  'Who are you?' Valerie repeated.

  'I'm Regan Conrad.'

  It took Valerie a moment to remember the name. She scrambled to her feet and drew back to throw herself on the woman again, but Regan held up her hands to stop her.

  'Wait! Hear me out.'

  'What is this about? What are you trying to do to me?'

  'I didn't think you'd come if I told you it was me.'

  'You're right.'

  Regan shrugged. 'I know you hate my guts. That's OK. I spent a lot of time fucking your husband. I could tell you I'm sorry, but I wouldn't mean it, and you wouldn't believe me. So I won't waste your time.'

  'What do you want?' Valerie asked.

  'To talk.'

  'About what?'

  'Your husband,' Regan said.

  'I have nothing to say to you.'

  'Then listen to me.' Regan sat down on the steps. She touched her chest gingerly and twisted her neck. 'You pack a punch for a rich bitch. I figured you for the girly type who wouldn't get her hands dirty.'

  'You figured wrong.'

  'You didn't call the cops like I said. That was smart.'

  'I can call them right now if you'd like.'

  Regan didn't look concerned. 'Go for it. I'll just tell them what I was going to tell you. I told you not to call the police because I figured you'd want to hear this for yourself. Then you can decide what to do. You're the only one who knows whether you can live with it.'

  'What are you talking about?' Valerie asked. 'You told me you knew what happened to Callie.'

  'We both know, don't we?'

  'No, I don't. Tell me.'

  Regan shook her head. 'You're closing your eyes because you don't want to see it. But everyone else knows. That reporter, Blair Rowe, she knows, but she has to dance around it to keep the lawyers happy. The cops know it, but they can't prove it. And you know it, too. You feel it in your gut. Right?'

  'No. You're wrong.'

  'Maybe you can't say it out loud. I get it. I'll say it for you. I'm a nurse, and I work with mothers, so believe me, I know how awful this is for you. But Callie is gone. Marcus made her go away. Maybe it was an accident and he had to cover it up, but I don't think so, and you don't think so. We both know what kind of man he is. He's cold to the bone.'

  Valerie turned her back on Regan. 'I'
m leaving.'

  Regan let her get halfway back to her Mercedes before she called after her. 'Run away if you want, but don't you want to know why?'

  Valerie stopped. She knew she should get in her car and go. She knew she was being manipulated, but she couldn't resist. She had to know what else Regan was going to say. The evil bitch had put her sharp red fingernail squarely on all of Valerie's doubts and fears. She had echoed the voice in Valerie's head that had been whispering like a drumbeat ever since Callie disappeared. The same whisper, over and over.

  Marcus.

  She turned around. 'Why?'

  Regan got off the steps and marched closer. Valerie stared at her, this woman who was barely younger than she was. A woman with no curves and ragged hair and a face marred by purple make-up and ugly piercings. Valerie tried to imagine what it was her husband could have seen in a woman like this, what could have possessed him to bring her into their bed.

  It was as if Regan could read her mind.

  'It doesn’t matter whether you're beautiful,' Regan said. 'That's not what it's about, and you know it.'

  'What I know is that you were in my hospital room while I was in labor. What I know is that you slept with my husband while my baby was being born.'

  'Doesn't that tell you something?' Regan asked.

  'It tells me who you are.'

  'It should tell you who Marcus is, too. He never cared about Callie. He never wanted her.'

  'You're wrong.'

  'You think that whore in Vegas is the only girl he confessed to? He told me the same thing. How he wished you would lose the baby. I low he wished she'd never been born. That's the man you're married to, Valerie.'

  Valerie yanked her glove off her hand and slapped Regan across the face. The blow raised a spidery welt on the nurse's pale face the color of a strawberry. Regan stumbled backward, but otherwise, she didn't react.

  'Don't kill the messenger,' Regan said calmly.

  'If you think you're messing with my head, you're wrong.'

  But she wasn't wrong. They both knew it. Valerie's face betrayed her. She felt as if a flood were washing away the foundations of her world, and Regan could see her grasping for a lifeline.

  'I don't have to tell you why, do I?' Regan asked.

  'You're crazy.'

  'Come on, Valerie. Isn't it obvious? Don't you know?'

  'I don't know a thing,' Valerie snapped. 'I'm not listening to any more of this. Marcus loves Callie.'

  Regan laughed. Her teeth were as white as her skin. 'My God, you really don't know. That's hilarious.'

  'Go to hell!'

  Valerie stormed away, but Regan took two hurried steps and stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. 'Wait.'

  Regan unzipped her parka and extracted a sealed envelope from an inside pocket. Valerie recognized the logo for St Mary's Hospital on the paper. Regan extended the envelope in her outstretched hand, and when Valerie didn't take it, Regan moved closer and nudged the top of the envelope into the waist of Valerie's jeans.

  'I can't believe you didn't know,' she whispered in her ear.

  She sidled past Valerie, who stood frozen, listening to the sound of the woman's footsteps. Behind her, Valerie heard the door of the Hummer open and close. She still didn't move. She stood there like an ice sculpture while Regan drove away, leaving her alone in front of the church.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-four

  In the gray light of dawn, Maggie watched Guppo and his team pore over the black van they had dragged from the shallow water of Island Lake. She rubbed her eyes; it had been a long, sleepless night. Behind her, Kasey Kennedy lay across the snug rear seat of the Avalanche. With her eyes closed, the young cop's face was angelic, but once again, she had demonstrated equal parts foolishness and balls.

  There was no way around it. Maggie liked Kasey. The young cop's pig-headed intensity reminded her of her own early years on the force. She had the kind of determination that meant you would never quit until you got where you wanted to go. It could also get you killed.

  Near the lake, Guppo gestured to her. Maggie slid out of the truck without disturbing Kasey and joined the overweight detective near the boat ramp. The small clearing was crowded with police vehicles and crime scene investigators. Everywhere Maggie went this morning, a dozen heads followed her.

  Guppo's stare was focused two inches north of her eyes.

  'Quit it,' Maggie told him.

  'I can't help it,' he said. 'It's just so… so…'

  'Red.'

  'Exactly. Red.'

  'I told you I was thinking about it.'

  'Yeah, but I never thought you'd actually do it,' Guppo replied, laughing. 'And especially so… so…'

  'Red.'

  'Yeah. It's red.'

  'Are you done?' Maggie asked.

  'For now.'

  'What's the report?'

  'It's his van,' Guppo told her, but she noticed that he was talking to her hair, not her face. 'Despite the water damage, there's blood all over the interior. It's not a pretty sight.'

  'Shit,' Maggie said. 'Match it to the missing women, and make sure we don't have any other samples in there. We don't know how long he's been doing this.'

  Guppo nodded. 'The Minnesota plates don't match the van. They come from a Volvo sedan. We called the owner. He's a personal injury attorney in St Paul, and he says the car is parked in the garage of his summer home south of Duluth. He only drives the Volvo when he's up here, and he hasn't been in the city since early September. He had no clue the plates were gone.'

  'Let's run his house for prints.'

  'We're getting the warrant now.'

  'What about the van itself?'

  'According to the VIN, it was stolen in Colorado Springs six months ago,' Guppo told her.

  Maggie arched an eyebrow. 'Colorado? That's interesting.'

  'We'll contact the authorities down there today and see what we can find out.'

  'See if they have any unsolved murders in the area that match our MO,' Maggie told him. 'And get them our DNA report to run through the state database there.'

  'I'm on it.'

  'What about the car he stole last night to get away?'

  'It's a Cadillac. The owner left it unlocked. People are too damned trusting around here.'

  'Any hits?' Maggie asked.

  'No, nobody's seen it yet.'

  Maggie nodded. 'We're getting closer to this asshole.'

  'It feels that way.'

  'Any prints inside the van?'

  'We're still checking,' Guppo said. 'It doesn’t help that the thing went for a swim.'

  'You heard that the nine one one call was a fake, right?' Maggie asked. 'He deliberately lured us away.'

  'Yeah. You know what that means?'

  'It means he was going after the kid. This guy's got a hard-on for Kasey.'

  'That could help us,' Guppo said. 'Do you have people watching her house?'

  Maggie nodded. 'Yeah, she doesn’t like it, but I've got a black-and- white on the other side of the highway.'

  'Well, maybe we don't want to scare him away,' Guppo suggested. 'Maybe we ought to be using her as bait.'

  Maggie shook her head fiercely. 'No way.'

  'I'm just saying—'

  'I told you, no. We're not risking that girl's life. She's a cop, a wife, and a mother. I want to scare this guy a hundred miles away from her.'

  'Whatever you say,' Guppo told her, but his round face frowned.

  'I'm going back to City Hall,' Maggie added. 'I'll take Kasey with me. I want to get a photo of the van out to the media. That may jog some memories.'

  'We've still got a few hours left out here,' Guppo said.

  'OK, check in when you're back. I have to see Stride this morning out on the Point. I also want to see if we can find anything more on this Nick Garaldo.'

  'Is that the young guy who went missing over the weekend?'

  'That's him. He still hasn't turned up. It's been two days. I'm going to
stop by his apartment and see what I can find.'

  Guppo gestured at her bangs. 'You're seeing Stride, huh? You tell him about the hair?'

  Maggie shrugged. 'You really think he'll notice?'

  Stride drove into Duluth on the northern route that took him through Hermantown and across Miller Hill. As he headed down the sharp slope into the streets of downtown, he could see the harbor and the giant swath of Lake Superior filling the valley. White waves surged against the beach. A gray layer of clouds made the brick city buildings look old, as if time had frozen here in some extreme winter decades ago.

  He took the overpass over Interstate 35 and continued through Canal Park to the lift bridge that led to the ribbon of land known as the Point. He followed the road toward his cottage and found that he was having trouble breathing. His chest felt heavy. As he reached his driveway at 33rd Street, he slowed to a stop and inhaled deeply with his mouth open, until his lungs relaxed. He lowered the window and could hear the thunder of lake waves on the beach on the other side of the sand dune. He was home.

  He pulled into his driveway, but rather than go inside, he hiked over the dune to the lake, where it was wild and blustery. A seagull hung motionless over the beach, lofted by the gusty currents. The sand was littered with driftwood rubbed smooth by the water. The wispy rye grass quaked, and the pines swayed with casual elegance. He continued down the slope to the long stretch of sandy beach. The surging waves rose out of the lake in long, silent shadows and then fell back in a fury of thunder, surf, and mud. In the calm between waves, he heard the hiss of bubbles breaking and saw thousands of exposed silver flecks skittering down the beach like frightened stars, as if they were running for cover.

  Stride couldn't put it off any longer. He climbed back across the dune and up the rear steps of the cottage and let himself inside. Everything was as he had left it, except for the dust on the surfaces and the musty smell of air that had been shut up for weeks. The house had a funereal quiet. The only noise was his footsteps on the uneven floorboards. He went like a visitor from room to room, reacquainting himself with his possessions. When he went into the master bathroom, he detected a trace of the floral soap that Serena used and a lingering hint of her perfume. She had been here, but she was gone now. Just like himself. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, but no one stared back at him.