Jenna made a disgusted sound in her throat. “He’d have some gall, calling here now.”
“Agreed, but just in case.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll answer the phone.” I waved a hand at him. “I don’t care about this. I want to know what’s going on with Bland.”
Chetterling nodded. I had to admit the man was patient. “His car’s been traced to an Enterprise agency right here in Redding. It was rented to a man by the name of Joseph Strong from Nevada. The agency made a photocopy of his driver’s license because it was from out of state. Delft had them fax over the copy to the Sheriff’s Office. The picture matches your drawing.”
“That’s great!” Jenna lashed a fist in the air.
I leaned back, feeling weak. Joseph Strong from Nevada. So that was the man Bland had become. They could catch him now. Surely they would.
Chetterling puffed out his cheeks. “Now it gets convoluted, I’m afraid. Joseph Strong isn’t an established ID. No such address in Nevada. Bland must have used it as a backup. And the rental car was returned sometime very early this morning. Sitting right there in the agency parking lot, keys inside. With, by the way, your cell phone on the floor.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. He’d slipped away again. And we still didn’t know the main identity he was using. “Let me guess. I can’t even have my phone back. You took it to the lab for fingerprints.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Of course. Just one more thing Bland had taken from me. “Go on.” My voice sounded flat.
“We do have another lead. Now, Annie, this one’s not going to be easy to hear at first. Yesterday afternoon, when we had that first deputy watching your house, a car drove up the street slowly, like the driver was looking for something. Our deputy was immediately alert, watching in his rearview mirror. Then the car—a blue Ford Taurus—came up even with our deputy, and the man behind the wheel asked for directions to Redding. The guy had an English accent. Our deputy relaxed, thinking it was just someone who’d gotten lost.” Chetterling gave a small wince. “We now think it was Bland.”
“Here?” Jenna’s face reddened. “On this street? And he talked to your deputy?” She slapped a palm against her cheek. “That’s . . . I can’t believe that. He could have been stopped!”
“I know, I know.” The detective rubbed his forehead. “Believe me, the deputy’s been jumped on. But not half as badly as he’s jumping on himself. Still, it may be a little late, but he’s coming through for us. As I said, he noticed that the car was a blue Ford Taurus. And he noticed that the plates were from Kansas—”
“Kansas!” Jenna rose to pace the office, fuming. “What Englishman lives in Kansas?”
I gave her a worn look. “Jenna. Forget it; it’s done. Sit down, you’re making me crazy.”
She glared at Chetterling, then flopped back in her chair, arms folded.
“Okay.” I ticked the items off in my head. “So we have the make and color of the car. And the state—”
“Right. Plus our deputy remembered that the plate started with a D followed by a 5.We’ve got people running all this now. A Taurus is a popular car, but with all those defining factors, we shouldn’t come up with too many. We’ll run all the possibilities down, match them to driver’s licenses. Then, with your drawing, Annie, we’ll get him. I don’t want to make promises, but this is a really good lead. It shouldn’t take too long.”
“I’ll believe it when I hear it.” Jenna remained defiant.
I could hardly blame her. If I had any more energy, I’d feel the same. As it was, I didn’t feel much of anything except exhausted. “Ralph, please call me the minute you pick him up. I don’t care what time of day or night it is. I just want to know he’s off the streets.”
“I will,Annie. I want him off the streets as much as you do.”
Silence for a moment. Jenna stewed. I watched the detective open his notebook, pull the tape recorder toward him. “You ready to start?” His eyes avoided Jenna’s.
“Yeah. Ready.”
Chetterling punched a button on the recorder. He stated the date, time, place, subject, and people present, then indicated for me to start.
I began at the beginning, when Bland first appeared in the house. Wracking my brain, I sought to relate every detail about Bland’s version of the Tarell/Dessinger murders.
“You won’t appreciate the significance of all this yet until you read the case files.” I indicated one of the boxes near my desk. “Even Delft may not, until he gets a fresh read. Because everything Bland told me fit perfectly with the crime, except for who did it. For example, Edwin Tarell told detectives that he stood at the fireplace and Bland sat on an armchair across from him. The direction of the shots indicated that they’d come from that chair. But Bland says he stood at the fireplace and Edwin sat in the chair.”
“You believe that?” Jenna blurted.
I scowled. “After all he’s done to us? Not on your life.”
In truth, I couldn’t remember when I’d trusted someone less.
“He’s had twenty years to perfect his story.” Chetterling looked up from his notes.
“Exactly. And he’s done it to a fine science, if the tests work out. He’s pretty smart that way. But he’s also too arrogant for his own good. He sneaks here to try to change my mind about his guilt. Figures he’ll convince me in record time to believe him and bring his evidence to you. Then, when I don’t believe him—okay, maybe it had something to do with how he’d threatened me, stalked my daughter, and broken into my house—he puts Plan B into effect and takes me hostage to force you to test his evidence. And, get this, he informs me that when he’s cleared of the murders, I’ll feel sorry enough for him to plead for the kidnapping charges to be dropped so he can run home scot-free!”
I squeezed my eyes shut against fresh, angry tears. Jenna pressed her fingers around my arm, murmuring soothing words. But the tremble of her flesh against mine spoke more loudly. My sister’s rage matched my own, maybe even surpassed it. If she came up against Bland, forget jail; she’d shoot the man and be done with it.
Chetterling filled the awkward silence. “Criminals pull that kind of stuff all the time. Most of them are just plain stupid. But the smarter ones, the ones who’ve planned everything to a T, just get too full of themselves. And the more they get away with, the more invincible they think they are.”
The detective waited until I was ready to continue. I’d jumped ahead in my story and had to back up, gathering scattered details. By the time I finished, over an hour had passed. My thoughts would barely process, coagulating in emotional clumps. My throat ran dry, and my mouth felt disconnected from my brain. Twice we’d been interrupted by phone calls from reporters—one each from the AP wire service and NBC news. Jenna had answered the calls with a curt, “No comment.” I could hardly believe all this was happening. More than anything I wanted to crawl into bed and hide—for about a year.
Chetterling turned off the tape recorder and closed his notebook. “You need to get some more sleep.”
So did he. “No, no, I . . . have to talk to . . . Stephen. And I promised to see Dave.”
Jenna put both hands under my elbows and hauled me out of my chair. “You’re not talking to anybody right now. You’re going to bed.”
It was a conspiracy. I tried to voice an argument, but all logic fuzzed over. Didn’t they know there were things I had to do? Had to fix my son. Today. Had to talk to Dave . . .
“Annie.” Chetterling towered over me. “Delft took Bland’s evidence to the lab this morning. We’re checking it out right now. You understand we have to do this. When we pick Bland up, we can’t afford to have his attorney accusing us of not following every lead.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We’ll find the holes in his story. All this babble of his won’t go anywhere.”
“I know.”
He gave me one of his rare smiles. “Time to let your sister put you to bed.”
I don’t remem
ber mounting the stairs. I do remember protesting when Jenna insisted on giving me a sleeping pill.
“Jenna, it’s already early afternoon. You give me that, I’ll sleep till midnight.”
“So.”
“So I don’t want to be awake all night—alone—while you snore away.”
We compromised. She cut the pill in half. I downed it and slid into bed, clothes still on. Jenna closed the window blinds and unplugged my phone. “There. No one’s going to bother you now.”
Within minutes, I fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 36
Two-fifteen.
He paced the tiny motel room. His limbs jittered from caffeine and sugar and lack of sleep. The detested contacts had been taken off, his black-framed glasses put back on. Still, his eyes hurt.
But no matter. These things, he would overcome.
He considered his situation once more.
She’d taken the goggles.
They would dust them for prints. They’d dust her cell phone too. This would only lead them back to Bill Bland. He’d never been printed in his new identity.
Had she been found? She would draw him from memory. They would use this.
Could she lead them to the rental car?
Not likely she knew enough information.
He sat down on the side of the bed. Sudden, vicious anger tried to burst him apart. He clenched his teeth and fought it.
Nathan Bailing in Over the Top. Pushed to the edge, fighting to win.
Timing was no longer under his control. This was unacceptable.
He snatched up a pillow and hurled it against the wall.
No. Overcome . . . Overcome.
He would hide until the evidence tests resulted in his favor. Watch law-enforcement attention turn to Edwin.
This must happen before her drawing was circulated.
Edwin’s lawyer would argue viciously against the evidence. Claim it unreliable.
This could be overcome. Edwin wouldn’t win.
He lifted his mouth in a slow smirk. Edwin on the defense instead of him. What a day that would be.
He must call Beth. Tell her he’d been detained at his cousin’s funeral. She wouldn’t ask details. She knew better.
Scott and Eddie. His heart twitched. He missed them. They were good boys. His boys. They would behave while he was gone. They would be safe.
His home must not be found.
He turned on the TV, searched for cable news. CNN: a political talk show. Fox News: Wall Street information. He clicked through every channel.
Nothing about him. No drawing.
He left the television on, volume low. Resumed pacing.
He glanced at his backpack. The gun lay inside. His last resort.
He would fight.
He would not be taken.
Chapter 37
When I woke, my digital clock read six-forty. I’d slept over five hours. For a few minutes I could do no more than gather my wits, blinking bleary eyes at the high wooden beams of my ceiling. Then I thought of all that could have happened while I slept—and pulled myself from bed. Five minutes later I stood in the kitchen. Jenna had made dinner. Stephen moved food around his plate, barely raising his eyes to mine. Kelly jumped up from her chair to hug me for all she was worth.
“Mom, you were on television! We all saw it.”
My hand stilled against the back of her head. I threw an anxious look to Jenna. “Tell me it wasn’t too bad.”
“National news, Mom.” Stephen sniffed. “They told about how you were doing a fugitive update of the guy, and how he kidnapped you, but that you were home now. They put up his picture, asking people to look for him. And they showed a picture of you.”
I stared at my son.“Did the phone ring a lot this afternoon?”
“Yeah, like about a hundred times.”
“It’s okay,Annie.” Jenna scowled at Stephen. “I’ve handled it. Some of the calls were people worried about you—like from Emily and Edwin Tarell. Edwin was really upset, blaming himself. He wants Bland caught now more than ever. And Vic phoned. The kids talked to him. Anyway, don’t focus on that. Just think, they’ll find Bland now for sure.” She strode to the cabinet for another plate. “Now this television topic is officially closed. Sit down and eat something.”
Like an obedient child, I did as I was told. For the next few minutes we ate in silence.
“Jenna, did you hear from Chetterling?” I tried to keep my voice light for the kids’ sake. They had clearly been rattled enough by the evening newscapade.
“No. But he promised to call tonight, no matter what.”
The four of us spoke little as we finished. Too much to say, I guess, and nowhere to start. Ravenous, I polished off one and a half pieces of chicken. Stephen managed to down half of his portion, then pushed back his plate. “I gotta go to my room and study.”
Right. Well, the “studying” could wait. Despite everything, we needed to talk. Although where I would find the emotional energy, I didn’t know. Determined, I led Stephen downstairs and told him to park it on the couch. As I lowered myself into a chair, a picture of Bland forcing me out the sliding door flashed through my head. Nerves prickling, I pushed it away.
“Stephen, we have to talk about what you’ve been doing. And where you’re headed.”
He slumped on his spine, legs spread, one rocking back and forth. No doubt only the previous night’s events tamed the defiance on his face.
“You know you’re going to have a court date. Detective Chetterling says you’ll most likely be put on probation. Know what that means? The slightest little infraction, and things get a lot worse. They can place you on house arrest or give you work detail. They may even send you to juvenile hall for a few weekends.” I pushed my heels into the carpet. Juvenile hall. Just speaking the name sent a flutter through my stomach.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Is that all you have to say? ‘Yeah, I know?’ How about ‘Wow, Mom, I was really stupid, and I won’t do it again?’”
He shrugged. “I won’t.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I just told you.”
“You’ve told me lots of things before, Stephen. You haven’t stuck by any of them.”
“This time it’s different.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Go ahead, Stephen, say you’re sorry again. Admit your stupidity caused us all a lot of fear and pain.
He flexed his jaw and considered the coffee table. I watched him, my laced fingers tightening.
“Well, let me tell you this. I’m going to give you a little help. First, I’m taking away your computer—”
“No!”
“Oh, yes.”
“But I have homework to do on it.”
“Fine. When you have homework, you can sit at my computer in my office. And I’ll be around to watch, making sure you’re not chatting with your friends.”
I couldn’t help coating the last word with a derisive tone. Stephen clutched his elbows and glared at me.
“Second, I’m taking out the phone down here. You want to make a call, you can come upstairs.”
“Mom, you can’t—”
“Yes, I can.” I leaned forward. “I can do anything it takes to keep you from ruining your life, you understand? I can and I will. What I won’t do is sit back and pretend not to look while you throw yourself down some drug drain with a bunch of no-good friends.”
He scoffed at me. “You’re not going to be here anyway, Mom. You’re gonna get yourself killed. Then I’ll be able to do whatever I please.”
The words scorched like a firebrand. I pressed back against the chair, breathless, my mother’s heart still sizzling. Stephen glowered out the sliding door, eyes narrowed.
He doesn’t mean it. He’s just scared.
“Is that really what you want, Stephen? To be rid of me?” I couldn’t keep the tremble from my voice.
He flipped me a disgusted look.<
br />
And something within me snapped.
“Fine.” I shoved from my chair, seething. “Guess what—it’s not going to happen. You’re stuck with me. Because I love you. But I don’t like what you’re doing to yourself or this family. You were a total idiot going out last night, Stephen! When you knew you’d be in danger simply walking the streets. Didn’t you even care?”
“I didn’t think about it. And I said I was sorry!”
“Then how about acting like it?”
His face contorted.“I care, I care, all right? I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for sneaking out, and I’m sorry for being your son, and I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to everybody!”
He rocketed from the couch and stalked toward his bedroom.
“Stephen, don’t you walk away from—”
He whirled around. “There’s nothing to say! Take my computer, take the phone. I’ll be a good boy and not do anything ever again, okay? Now leave me alone!”
Three strides and he crossed his threshold, slamming the door. Within seconds rap music throbbed through the walls.
I leaned against the armchair, tears scratching my eyes. Stephen’s guilt was plain enough, but why did it have to wrap itself in such nastiness? Why couldn’t he just hug me and say he was going to change, and then do it?
God must be punishing me. After all, I’d desperately promised last night to let Him lead my life if He would save me from Bland. And I hadn’t kept that promise.
So what? Even if I made good on it, even if I became a card-carrying Christian, that was no guarantee things would improve. Would Bland be caught before he hurt somebody else? Would Stephen turn perfect? Would I never be in danger again, and would Sheryl magically poof away, leaving Vic free to come back and love me like he used to—
What was I thinking? I hated Vic.
I dropped my head in my hands. I couldn’t handle this. I couldn’t raise Stephen, couldn’t find the day-to-day energy or wisdom to deal with him. What if he did end up in jail? What if I had to watch my son led away in handcuffs, visit him behind bars? The mere thought turned my muscles to water. I couldn’t manage it.
Stain of Guilt Page 20