The Truth About Jane Doe

by Linda Warren

  “No.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun.

  MATTHEW DROVE into the Watsons’ yard at breakneck speed, the tires tearing up grass as he slammed on the brakes. Pete and Harry were hurriedly saddling horses. He rushed over to them.

  “What happened?”

  Without pausing as he tightened the girth of his saddle, Pete said, “She was in the house. When I went to check on her, she was gone. We looked everywhere. Midnight’s gone, too. There’s only one place she’d go on horseback.”

  “Seven Trees.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why? Why would she go there?”

  “Deputy said he heard her talking on the phone.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Matthew said, heading for his car. They were wasting valuable time.

  “It’s faster through the woods on horseback.” Matthew glanced back as Pete swung into the saddle. “You’re welcome to ride with me.”

  Matthew didn’t need a second invitation. He ran back, put his foot in the stirrup and swung up behind Pete.

  “Meet us at the Townsends’,” Matthew shouted to Beal. “It’s the big mansion down the road on the right.”

  With that Pete kicked the horse into a gallop; Harry was right behind. Matthew prayed they wouldn’t be too late. They covered ground faster than he’d have believed possible on horseback, and fences were no obstacle. They galloped into the Townsends’ yard, and Matthew jumped off the horse before it came to a complete stop. He raced up the steps and burst through the front door without knocking.

  Rob and Francine were coming down the stairs, arm in arm. Matthew reached up and caught Rob by the collar, jerking him down and slamming him hard against the wall. “Where’s C.J.?” he demanded.

  “What the hell?” Rob spluttered.

  “Where’s C.J.?” Matthew asked again, his hold tightening.

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “She came over here. Now where is she?”

  Harry whipped out his knife. Francine screamed and sagged onto the stairs. Pointing the knife at Rob’s throat, Harry said, “Maybe he needs a little persuasion.”

  “You people are insane!” Rob cried.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Matthew told him. “You can tell me where she is or I’m gonna let Harry cut it out of you.”

  Rob’s face turned red. “I’ve told you I don’t know! She’s not here. For God’s sake, man, why would I lie?”

  The point of the knife touched Rob’s throat. He swallowed. “Dad’s in his study. Maybe he knows something.”

  Matthew pulled Rob by the collar down the hall and through the door into John’s office. He was only vaguely aware of Beal and the sheriff coming up behind him, for his gaze was riveted on the gun in Martha Cober’s hands. The gun pointed at John Townsend.

  “Get out of here!” Martha shouted. The gun shook.

  “Give me that,” John coaxed, walking stiffly toward her with his hand outstretched. “Let’s talk.”

  Martha eyes grew wild and a pitiful sob escaped her lips. “No, you hurt me. How can you hurt me like this? I did everything for you. That Doe girl was just in the way, like Stephanie and Victoria.”

  “What have you done to C.J.?” Matthew asked fiercely.

  Martha didn’t answer, her rabid eyes focused on John.

  “I love you,” she wailed.

  “I know. Just give me the gun and we’ll talk.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m going to hurt you like you hurt me. You always ignored Clare because of Rob and Joyce. Now watch your son die.” Without pausing she swung the gun to Rob and fired. The bullet sent him flying backward onto the floor.

  So many things happened at once. Francine screamed. Beal and the sheriff drew their guns. Martha turned her gun back on John, but before she could pull the trigger a second time, the sheriff fired, slamming her against the wall.

  Martha lay on the floor, blood oozing from her chest. John Townsend lumbered over to his son, tears rolling down his face.

  With Beal’s help Rob got to his feet. “It’s only a shoulder wound,” he said shakily, and sank into a chair. If Rob had ever doubted his father’s love, he didn’t anymore. He saw love in John’s eyes for the first time in his life.

  Francine ran to her husband and carefully placed her arms around him. Rob rested in the haven of her embrace, knowing he needed her, knowing that somehow he had to salvage the Cober-Townsend family.

  Matthew rushed over to Martha. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but she was still alive.

  “Where’s C.J.?”

  “You’ll never find her,” she gasped.

  “Please, don’t do this,” he begged. “Tell me.”

  “Never.” Her bloodless lips curved into a sinister parody of a smile. “Never…find her.” Martha’s head fell sideways.

  Matthew grabbed her, shook her. “Tell me, dammit, tell me.”

  Beal laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’s dead.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WHERE’S C.J.?

  Through Matthew’s tortured mind, he heard the voices in the room, but they meant nothing to him.

  John ordered Henry to get Rob to the hospital and asked the maid to cover Martha with a sheet. The sheriff was making arrangements for someone to pick up Martha’s body.

  As people started to leave the room, Matthew stood and faced John. Pete, Harry, Beal and the sheriff stood by the door, but Matthew was only aware of John Townsend.

  “Were you in on this with her? Did you hire Dale Weeks?” The words were spoken with force and without an ounce of mercy. Matthew was out for blood.

  “Weeks?” John raised a startled eyebrow. “I haven’t seen him in years, not since Victoria fired him for rustling cattle.”

  “If you know anything about this, you’d better tell me, and you’d better tell me now. Otherwise, when I get through with you, you won’t know enough people to keep you out of prison.”

  John trudged heavily back to his desk. “I admit I hired someone to break into Ryder’s lab, but everything else was Martha’s doing. I knew she was slipping, but I hadn’t realized she’d lost complete touch with reality.”

  John fingered the will. His first reaction was to shove it beneath some papers and destroy it later. After all, the Doe girl was probably dead and Victoria’s secret would be safe forever. He stared across the room at Pete Watson and wondered why Victoria had never loved him the way she’d loved Pete. In a moment of bleak honesty he admitted that his selfish womanizing behavior had destroyed any chance of that happening.

  The will. Victoria’s last wishes. The Doe girl was Victoria’s child. Victoria’s child. The words kept running through his head. Against every instinct he picked up the will and handed it to Matthew. “This might answer some of your questions,” he said hoarsely. It occurred to him that this was probably the most selfless thing he would ever do. He glanced at Martha’s lifeless body and felt that somehow it would make up for the pain he had caused.

  “Where did you get this?” Matthew asked suspiciously.

  “Martha brought it in a little while ago. I promise you, Sloan, I didn’t know what she was doing.”

  Matthew quickly read through the document. “My God,” he murmured, hardly able to believe what he was reading.

  He glanced at Pete and wondered if he knew. Judging by the blank look on Pete’s face, Matthew figured he didn’t. This was going to be a shock, but unsure of what else to do, he passed him the will. “You need to read this.”

  As Pete read, his body began to shake. “No, no, no,” he moaned, sinking into a chair. Harry stood beside him.

  Pete looked up, eyes dazed. “This can’t be true. She would have told me.”

  “I don’t want to believe it, either,” John said, “but it’s true.”

  Through all of this Matthew’s mind was buzzing, going in circles. He wondered if C.J. knew the truth. God, C.J. They were missing the point. They had to find her.

/>   “Where is C.J.?” he demanded of John.

  “I honestly don’t know, but given Martha’s state of mind and how much she hated her, I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  “No!” Matthew shouted. “I won’t believe that. I’m going over this house inch by inch until I find her.”

  “You’re welcome to search the house, the grounds, but be prepared for the worst.”

  “We’ll start looking,” the sheriff said. “Me and my boys will cover the grounds. Matthew, you and the rest comb the house. We’re wasting time.”

  Matthew headed for the door. Pete sat in a state of shock, head lowered, hands dangling limply. Matthew paused for a moment, then said, “Pete, I need your help. C.J. needs us.”

  Slowly Pete stood up, and they began a diligent search of the house. Matthew could see that Pete’s mind was years and years away, and he wondered if C.J. would ever see her father again. The pain was ripping him apart.

  Beal came running down the hall. “The sheriff found her horse in the barn. She was here.”

  “Thank God,” Matthew breathed. “That’s the clue we’re looking for.”

  “Harry,” Beal said, “the sheriff wants you to do some tracking. Martha’s horse has been ridden lately. The sheriff feels Martha might have taken C.J. somewhere in the hills and shot her. Let’s go.”

  They all ran for the door. Matthew came to a standstill, looking down the hall. He felt an intuition, something in his gut he couldn’t explain.

  “Come on,” Beal called from the doorway.

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  Beal ran back to him. “What is it? Don’t you want to find her?”

  Matthew spared him a chilling glance and Beal immediately held up his hands. “Okay, bad question.”

  “There’s someplace in this house we haven’t searched, something we haven’t found. I don’t know where or what, but I can’t leave. I’m going to check some more.”

  As Matthew walked down the hall, Beal shook his head and turned toward the door.

  Matthew found Pete behind him. The man was drawn and haggard. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in the past ten minutes. “Aren’t you going out to search?”

  “I trust your instincts. If you feel there’s something here, then I’m gonna help you.”

  “Okay.”

  Thirty minutes later Matthew and Pete met back in John’s study. They’d found nothing in the house, no trace that C.J. had ever been there.

  “Help us,” Matthew appealed to John. “Tell us Martha’s favorite places, where she liked to go.”

  John sat in his chair, staring at Martha’s sheet-covered body. He looked like a man who’d finally had to pay the piper, and the price was more than he could bear.

  He glanced at Matthew. “She has a studio in the basement. Did you check there?”

  “No,” Matthew answered. “How do we find it?”

  “Follow the hall to the right until you come to a door. The stairs will lead you to the basement.”

  He raced down the steps with Pete following. He paused at an open door and then walked in. It was obviously a studio, littered with paintings and painting supplies.

  One painting stood out among the rest and he walked over to it, staring at the dark-haired beauty. He caught his breath, knowing without being told that this was Victoria’s mother. She looked just like C.J.

  “My precious baby,” Pete moaned, staring at the painting.

  Matthew put an arm around his shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

  “Yes,” Pete agreed. “Yes.”

  “My guess is that Martha brought C.J. down here to tell her about her mother. C.J. probably didn’t believe her and Martha showed her this painting. But what happened next?”

  Neither spoke for a moment.

  “We have to check every inch of this room,” Matthew said, determined not to let his fears drag him down. They moved canvases and easels in their search. Matthew jerked open the closet door and went inside. Rummaging through the contents, he found nothing.

  C.J. FELT WEAK, but she kept repeating the words to herself. Victoria and Pete are my parents. She should have guessed. The truth had been there, staring her in the face. She’d always felt so close to Pete. Even when she was little, he was the one she ran to when she was hurt. She could talk to him, tell him her feelings. There was a bond there, a bond neither of them had suspected.

  And Victoria was always so nice to her, going out of her way to talk to her. Little memories surfaced in her mind—the way Victoria used to look at her, the way she’d touch her hair, her clothes, her face. The truth was there in Victoria’s eyes, in her manner. Why hadn’t she recognized it?

  Her body stiffened. Was that a noise? She listened closely. She heard nothing.

  MATTHEW THREW PAINTINGS, blank canvases and easels out into the hall. He kept searching, looking, until…

  Behind some canvases stacked against one wall he found a wooden ladder. He knelt down, frowning at it. What use was a ladder in this room? He ran a finger along a rung and it came away with a coating of red dust. Where did it come from?

  Matthew turned to Pete. “Look at this ladder. What’s it doing here?”

  Pete squatted down. “It’s very old. You can tell by the wood, and it’s homemade. See how the rungs are notched in?”

  “Yes, but what’s it for?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Let’s think about this,” Matthew said. “There’s nowhere to go below because this is the basement, so it has to go up, to a secret room maybe. Let’s check out the ceiling.”

  The ceiling was made of ash paneling. Matthew found a hammer and pulled up a chair to stand on. He began to work at the panels until they came loose enough for him to look inside.

  “Damn. There’s nothing up here but rafters and wiring.” As he drew his hand back, he noticed the dust on his hand. It was light brown, not reddish like that on the ladder.

  He jumped down. “Look at this.” He showed Pete his hands. “It’s different from the dirt on the ladder. Where does that red dust come from?”

  Pete shook his head.

  “Martha said we’d never find her,” Matthew said. “She was so sure, glad even.” He wiped his hands down his jeans. “What did she know that no one else does?”

  Pete shook his head again.

  “Go upstairs and ask John about secret rooms and about this ladder. Also ask the servants. I’m gonna check and see what’s behind these walls.”

  Pete quickly left and Matthew began to tear at the walls. Ten minutes later he stood frustrated. There was nothing but studs and wiring.

  “Find anything?” Pete asked when he returned.

  “No,” Matthew said. “What did you learn?”

  “John didn’t know anything about a ladder. He said there once was a secret room in the master bedroom, but it was turned into a dressing room years ago. The servants didn’t know anything. Said Martha never let anyone down here.”

  “Dammit, Pete, what are we missing?” He raked both hands through his hair in an impatient gesture and took a deep breath. “Let’s look at this another way. If the ladder doesn’t go up, then it has to go down.”

  “Down where?”

  “I don’t know, but this ladder was used for something in here.” He picked up the hammer; kneeling, he began to pound on the hardwood floor, looking for hollow places.

  “Get me a knife,” he told Pete.

  Pete handed him the knife from the desk. Matthew stuck it in the small cracks of the old hardwood floor and exerted pressure. He did this all over the room. Nothing happened. The floor was solid.

  Matthew leaned back on his heels, feeling utterly defeated.

  Beal appeared in the doorway and glanced around at the hanging ceiling panels and torn walls. “My God, Matthew, what are you doing?”

  Matthew didn’t hear him. His thoughts were turned inward. “Where are you, C.J.?” he called. “Help me. Please help me find you.”

  Beal and Pete exchange
d worried glances, then Beal pulled something out of his pocket. A brightly colored scarf. “Is this C.J.’s?” he asked Pete.

  Pete nodded, stroking the scarf. “Where was it?”

  “Not far from the house, by a creek. The sheriff is centering the search around that area.” He turned to Matthew. “We need your help.”

  Matthew glanced at him dazedly.

  Beal showed him the scarf. “It belongs to C.J. Give it up, Matthew. There’s nothing here. She’s somewhere in the hills. The sheriff feels sure of it.”

  Matthew got slowly to his feet, wondering if he was losing his mind.

  “Come on,” Beal encouraged. “We’re wasting precious time.”

  Matthew followed him to the door. Maybe Beal was right.

  There was nothing here.

  C.J. WAS FLOATING in and out of consciousness. She heard something again and fought to remain conscious. Was someone upstairs? Was Matthew searching for her? She could feel him so strongly. Was he calling to her? Or was she just hearing things?

  She had to let him know where she was. She felt around on the cold dirt until she located the boot she’d taken off earlier. Then with every ounce of strength she had in her, she threw it toward the ceiling and screamed, “Matthew!” As the scream left her mouth, her head fell forward and the darkness engulfed her completely.

  MATTHEW STOPPED in the doorway. “Did you hear that?” he asked, turning back into the room.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Beal said. “Did you, Pete?”

  “No…”

  “I heard something, I tell you.”

  Beal laid his hand on Matthew’s arm. “I know you’re worried, but please think rationally. There’s—”

  “Don’t patronize me.” Matthew shook off Beal’s hand.

  “Matthew,” Beal pleaded, but Matthew wasn’t listening. He was kneeling by the ladder, studying it again, trying to figure out logically what it was doing here. Then he saw it.

  He whirled around and shouted, “Look at this!”

  Both Beal and Pete crossed to his side.

  Matthew pointed to red spots on the top three rungs. “This is blood. I didn’t see it before because it looks so much like the dust, but it’s blood.” His finger touched one of the spots. “It’s not completely dry.”