“My memory’s fine, just fine.” Curry sounded cranky and sank into a chair by the window. “I’ve got some new ideas about the drug, is that what you want to talk about.... What was your name again?” He looked directly at Sheppard, his rheumy eyes narrowing, squinting.
“Wayne.”
“Right. Wayne.” Curry fumbled for something in his shirt pocket and brought out a pair of glasses, which he put on. The lenses were dirty and he cleaned them vigorously with the tail of his shirt. “As in John Wayne. Good name. Any relation there?”
“Uh, no, sir. Not that I’m aware of.”
“John Wayne owned a silver mine in Colorado that he gave to his friend Ed. Ed and I once went to the Lost City in Colombia. Flew in by chopper. I was looking for pharmaceuticals in the vegetation. I think Ed was looking for adventure.” He paused and fitted the glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “Or Ed was looking for John Wayne.” He slapped his thigh and exploded with laughter. “So there was John Wayne that I knew through Ed; then there was a guy named Wayne Sheppard. I knew him because of my son Dean.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” David said, and hurried out, leaving them alone.
“Wayne.” Curry nodded. “I like that name. Names are revealing. My sons have one syllable names. Ray. Keith. Dean. But my wife, daughter, and I have two syllable names. Lori. William. Allie. Well, her real name’s got three syllables. Al-li-son. She goes by a two-syllable name, though. Much cleaner. Yes, sir. Much cleaner.”
Shit. “It’s Allie I wanted to ask you about. I understand she’s on vacation. Do you have any idea where she went?”
“Vacation? No, no, she works all the time. She was here awhile ago. Yes, sir. We went fishing. Well, I went fishing, she was in the house, doing whatever she does in the house.”
“What house is that?”
“Where we live. On Tybee.”
“She lives on Tybee Island?”
He narrowed his eyes now. “You look familiar to me. Do I know you? Have we met? What was your name again?”
The door to his room opened again and a slender, prissy-looking woman hurried in, her mouth pursed with disapproval. “Excuse me,” she said to Sheppard. “May I speak to you in the hall?”
“Hi,” Dr. Curry said, waving at her.
“Hi, Bill.” A quick smile for the resident. “We’ll be right back.”
She and Sheppard stepped into the hail and she quickly shut the door and propped her hands on her hips. “Look here, Agent Sheppard. You can’t just barge in here and harass the resi—”
“I didn’t barge in and I’m not harassing. I need answers and I need them now. Allison Hart is our primary suspect in a quadruple murder and kidnapping.”
Mrs. Norcross looked as if she’d been punched in the stomach—her eyes bulged, her mouth dropped open. “That’s . . . that’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. Dr. Hart is an emergency-room physician at Savannah Hospi—”
“I don’t need a character witness,” Sheppard interrupted. “I need information. Her home address, where she went on vacation, who she went with, the last time you saw her, how you’re supposed to contact her if anything happens to her father while she’s gone. . . .”
“I—I can’t just give you confidential information.”
“You don’t get it,” he snapped. “A woman’s life is on the line, if she dies, it’s on your conscience. Now, what’s it going to be, Mrs. Norcross? Are you going to cause me to lose valuable time by forcing me to go through official channels?”
“I. . . well. . . okay. But I believe you’re grossly mistaken about this, Agent Sheppard. I’ve known Allie for ten years. She’s treated me in the ER, treated residents of our facility. She’s—”
“Like I said before, I don’t want a character reference. What’s her address on Tybee?”
“One ninety-two Campbell Street.” She spat the words, as if to do so would be to exonerate herself. “She’s lived there for fifteen years. It used to be the Curry family’s summer home. In the event of any crisis with her father, I call her cell number and leave a message. I know she took some time off, but I don’t know where she went. She didn’t say. But she was here yesterday, visiting her dad and—”
“Yesterday?” The old man was right. The old man had remembered. “You saw her?”
“Yes. She’d taken a day out of her vacation to visit him. She took him out for the afternoon, made him a special meal and fed him. She’s very attentive to her father, very responsible, which is more than I can say for her brother.”
Then she was close enough to drive here and back in a day, he thought, and old man Curry wasn’t as far out to lunch as he initially thought. “Does the doctor fish?”
“Yes. Whenever Allie takes him back to the house, he fishes from the dock.”
“Tell me about Keith.”
She made a disgusted sound. “An irresponsible playboy who makes it here about once a year. He lives most of the time in Panama.”
“Do you have a current phone number for him?”
“Only the number on Bill’s list.”
“Does he have an address in the States?”
“If he does, I’m not aware of it.”
“What do you know about Dean?” he asked.
“That his death was a terrible blow to Allie. When the prison originally notified her, they called it suicide. She hired an attorney to investigate. They subsequently concluded he had been hung and, uh, skinned alive by several other inmates, but to my knowledge no one was ever caught.”
“How often did she see him?”
“At least twice a month.”
“Did she ever speak to you about when he escaped from the place he was originally sent to?”
“No. She’s a very private woman, Agent Sheppard. I mean, I’ve known her a long time, but never well.”
“When we go back into Bill’s room, I’d like you to ask him what he and Allie did yesterday when they left.”
“He probably won’t remember.”
“Ask anyway. And refer to me as Wayne, not Agent Sheppard.”
“Why?”
“Because thirteen years ago I was the agent who arrested his son, Dean. I don’t want to trigger that memory and upset him.”
“Sometimes faces stay with these patients.” She opened the door to the room and she and Sheppard went back inside. “Bill,” she said. “How was your class?”
“Fine, fine,” Bill Curry replied, looking up from a magazine in his lap that was upside down.
“So what’d you and Allie do when she picked you up yesterday?”
“Who’s he?” Curry pointed at Sheppard.
“Oh, that’s Wayne. A new caretaker.” She repeated her question.
“Fished. I fished.”
“That’s it?” Mrs. Norcross prodded.
“I cried.” Then he pressed his fists to his eyes and began to sob.
Mrs. Norcross put her arms around him and patted him on the back as though he were a small child. “It’s all right, Bill.”
After a while, his sobs subsided and she motioned toward the door. “I’ll have David come right up and challenge you to a game of chess, how’s that?”
“Great, that’s great.”
When they were in the hallway again, Sheppard jotted his cell number on the back of a business card. “Please call me immediately if you hear from Dr. Hart. I can’t emphasize enough, Mrs. Norcross, how dangerous it would be if you mentioned that I have been here. It could spell the difference between life and death for Dr. Hart’s hostage.”
She paled. “Yes, I understand. If I hear from her, I’ll call you immediately. But tell me something, Mr. Sheppard. Does that arrest thirteen years ago have anything to do with what’s happening now?”
“It has everything to do with it.”
“And who is her hostage?”
“My fiancée.”
“Dear God,” she whispered.
Sheppard had just stepped outside the building when his cell pho
ne rang for the umpteenth time. The caller was listed as unknown. ‘Wayne Sheppard.”
“Agent Sheppard, my name is Lia. I’m traveling with Keith Curry.”
Lia? “Lia West?”
She hesitated. “Only a few times when I visited Dean.” She paused. “Keith and I are in customs, at the Atlanta airport. He just got off the phone with Mira Morales. I have a cell number where you can reach her.”
The bottom fell out of Sheppard’s stomach and he backed up to the wall, trying to assimilate what this woman had just said. “Slow down, Lia. Now, who are you exactly?”
“Lia Phoenix. Lia Davis. Lia Phoenix Davis Curry. Take your pick. I’m Dean Curry’s alibi, Mr. Sheppard, for the night of the accident. But that’s for another day. I’m going to hand the phone to Keith. He’ll explain.”
A chill breeze blew across the porch and Sheppard zipped up his jacket and hurried out to his car, the cell phone still snug against his ear. The man who came on the line spoke quickly, succinctly. He related his conversation with Mira and explained why she had Nick Whitford’s phone. He gave Sheppard the address for his place on the Coosa River, a description of his sister’s SUV the trailer she was pulling, and the cell number where Sheppard could reach Mira. Talking to him made Sheppard feel as if he’d plugged himself into some very powerful computer to download badly needed information in one fell swoop.
“I’m putting you on hold, Mr. Curry. I’m going to arrange to have a chopper pick up you and Ms. . . “ Curry had said Lia had married Dean. Sheppard couldn’t even begin to speculate what she was doing with Dean’s brother. At this moment. Exactly when he needed them. “You and Lia. I’m going to have the two of you flown here to Savannah. I need your expertise on your sister. Leave your phone on. If we get cut off, I’ll call you right back.”
“Agent Sheppard, Allie left me a phone message to call her. You want me to wait on that?”
“Definitely.”
Sheppard put him on hold and called King. Three minutes later, he got back to Curry. “Someone’s on the way to your river house and a chopper will pick you up in fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you at the FBI building in downtown Savannah. One of our people is calling customs and immigration right now. You’ll be escorted to another airfield. If there’s a problem, call Kyle King.” He reeled off the number.
“Listen, go to Tybee. To her house. She’s very organized. Check her computer. Check her closets. You may find written plans or photos. Or ajournal. And keep in mind that when things don’t go according to plan, she gets rattled. Right now, she’s probably extremely edgy and unpredictable.”
“Do you have any idea about the place Mira mentioned that was important in your childhood?” Sheppard asked.
“Tybee’s the first thing that comes to mind. Allie’s house is the old family homestead. But trust me, she wouldn’t take Mira there. That’s her sanctuary. I’ve got to give this some thought.”
“I appreciate it. We’ll be in touch.”
Sheppard was in the car now, the engine running. His cell phone battery was low, so he plugged in the car charger, connected it to his phone, and attached headphones so that he would have his hands free. He punched out Nick Whitford’s number. Please answer, please... Two rings. Three. Four. His anxiety ratcheted upward. Then, on the fifth ring, she answered in a voice so soft, so tremulous, that Sheppard was terrified that if he spoke, the connection would break.
“Shep.”
“Mira.”
His own voice cracked. He shut his eyes, trying to see her in his mind, to visualize her face, to connect with her in some way. For precious moments neither of them spoke. He heard her breathing, choking back a sob, gulping in air.
“Look, we’ll find you,” he said quietly, quickly. “Right now, I need anything you can tell me about your location, where she may be taking you.”
“I’m in a trailer—”
“Keith told me that. And I know about the family stuff. I need information about her, Mira.”
“Before I forget. She cut her hair, dyed it reddish.” Mira gave him a physical description, then said, “I can’t pick up information on her when I touch what she’s touched. It has to be direct contact. She makes sure I don’t have many opportunities to touch her. There’s someplace in Florida, I think northern Florida, that’s connected to strong family memories for her. Early memories. Before Ray. That’s where she’s taking me. It’s not the location she had in mind. I think the original spot was Cassadaga. But so many things went wrong in her original plan that she had to shuffle the details around. This place is near water or connected to water in some way. There could be a water reference in the name of the town.”
He took notes on everything she said. “What else? How long have you been in the trailer?”
“I don’t know. When I took Nick’s cell phone out of the glove compartment, the time readout said it was two-thirty. Or three-thirty. I’m not sure. It was hard to read. Then. . . then she knocked me out. I don’t know if she drove the whole time I was unconscious.”
“Keith told me you have a Swiss Army knife. You need to be prepared to use it.” He said this with a full understanding of how completely Mira abhorred violence.
“I had a chance to shoot her and I—I couldn’t do it. That won’t happen again. I—!I can’t kill her, Shep, but I can slow her down.”
“We’re going to try to triangulate your cell location. It may be tough to do if you’re in a rural area and on the move. But I need to know what service his cell phone has.”
“Okay. Ho—”
And he lost the signal.
“Fuck.”
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and felt a sweeping, crippling hopelessness sweep through him. It’s just what Hart wants you to feel, hopelessness, despair. If you give in to it, she wins.
Sheppard pushed the feelings down deep inside himself and sealed it up in a steel box. He called the number again, but got a recorded message that the subscriber had traveled out of the calling area. He started the car and headed out of Savannah toward Tybee and kept speed dialing the number. Each time he got the same message.
He lowered all the windows in the car and let the cool air sweep through. By the time he hit the island expressway, he still hadn’t been able to get through and she hadn’t called him. He called King and asked him to run cell numbers for both Whitford and Allie Hart through the major cell phone providers in Georgia. Once they knew who their cell service providers were, triangulation would be a matter of comparing signal strengths and time lags for the signals at each of at least three cell stations. If Hart was on an interstate, in a populated area, and either of their phones was a newer variety, and if the phones were on, then it would be possible to triangulate their position with a degree of accuracy. But if Hart was in a rural area, where cell towers typically were spaced farther apart—or if she was still in the mountains—then triangulation was going to be far more difficult.
Too damn many ifs.
And that terrified him.
Chapter 23
1
A thick, pervasive gloom clamped down over Mira. Sheppard’s voice had connected her to the outside world and now his voice had been cut off and she was isolated again. But really, what good was a voice? A voice couldn’t help her, not even Sheppard’s voice. A voice made her feel less alone, but it couldn’t get her out of the trailer. Even if Sheppard could triangulate her position, the bottom line was that at this moment, right now, she couldn’t depend on him or anyone else. She had to help herself.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tested the parameters of her movement. It wasn’t much, not even enough to get as close as she needed to one of the windows so she could get some sense of where they were. A rural area or an interstate? Mountains or flatlands? Georgia or Florida or somewhere else altogether? But she could stretch her left arm out enough to plug the cell phone charger into the wall. Once it was in, she connected it to the phone and stared at the little window, waiting for the
confirmation that the phone was charging. But nothing happened.
She reached up and turned the switch on the bedside lamp. The bulb didn’t come on.
No power in here.
She jerked the charger out of the wall, wrapped it up, put it back into the pocket of Nick’s jacket. How much juice was left in the phone? She clicked through the settings and checked the battery meter. She had maybe a third of the phone’s full capacity. If she left the phone on, the remaining power would leak away and the phone would be dead by nightfall. A judgment call. Until she knew whether she was in a populated area where cell towers were more numerous or in a rural area where they weren’t, she decided to keep the phone off to preserve power.
She studied the handcuff. It was connected to a metal loop on the bed frame. It wasn’t clear to her what purpose the loop served, but she sure as hell couldn’t cut through it with any of the blades on the Swiss Army knife. The cuffs were made of a single piece of metal rather than several pieces held together by screws. Although the cuff was fight, it didn’t cut off her circulation. Maybe...
A long shot, but what other choice did she have?
Mira pushed back onto the bed until her spine rested against the wall that served as a headboard. She extended her legs straight out in front of her. She shut her eyes and began to breathe as Nadine had taught her when Mira was a child, alternating nostril breathing. When she did this, she could still hear the rattle in her lungs. Thanks to the pneumonia, her breathing wasn’t as deep as it usually was. But the motion of the trailer lulled her quickly into a more relaxed state.
It took her much longer than usual to achieve an altered state, and even when she did, she wasn’t disassociated enough from her body. But it was the best she could do. She focused her attention on her right wrist and began to shut down sensation to it. The brain controls the body, but the will controls the brain: Nadine’s mantra.
The first time Nadine had told her this, Mira was seven or eight and had found a frog on the porch of Nadine’s home on Tango Key that was dragging its injured foot as it tried to move. Mira, upset that the frog was hurt and that she was powerless to help it, had taken on the injury, her own foot swelling, her toes turning inward, the bones and tendons straining against the skin that covered it. Nadine had found her on the porch, crying, and had said the words to her then.
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