by Merit Clark
“To you?”
“To some of the other women. But I overheard. I told them this,” Len repeated.
“I have all the files. If you’re lying I’ll find out.”
“I told them.” A third time. “But they didn’t believe me.”
“And you’re sure you never saw her with Evan?” Jack asked.
Len looked down and shook his head.
“The car you passed when you drove up to the house, did you recognize it? Can you tell me anything about it—the make, the model, the color?”
Len’s head snapped up. “I didn’t tell you that. I said I saw a car when I was driving away.”
“We’re about to arrest Evan. He can’t hurt you. He doesn’t even have to know.”
“He already knows.” Len leaned forward, groaned, and raked his hands through his greasy blond hair.
Jack held himself perfectly still. In the silence that stretched out, he felt as much as heard the jail: harsh metal on metal, loudspeakers, the vibration of human despair. There were moments when Jack knew he was right and all he had to do was wait. Too bad he had no patience.
Len didn’t disappoint. “That’s why I did what Evan asked. I was afraid he was going to kill me. He said, ‘Don’t leave town,’ so I didn’t. He said, ‘Get away from my mother,’ so I did, sneaking out on her in the middle of the night. I didn’t understand everything until you talked to me. Then it all fell together.”
“Evan told you to lie.”
“I’m afraid. And I didn’t want Jessie to be mad at me and—” Len broke off and gave a bitter laugh. “I liked living in that house. She took me on trips, bought me clothes, took me out for fancy dinners. I was going to lose everything.”
Jack looked down at Len’s hands on the metal table and could see that Len had picked his cuticles until they bled. A good sign. A physical manifestation of the secret that had gnawed at Len on the inside for fifteen years. A secret Len was finally ready to share.
“It was a sedan. It was raining really hard so the other driver was using his wipers. I got a glimpse of his face. A good glimpse.” Len glanced at Jack to gauge his reaction, then looked off to his left, remembering. “It was a Mercedes and I remember thinking how strange that was. You didn’t see that many Mercedes out there in the country, and I remember thinking the most irrelevant thing: I wondered how that car did on the dirt roads.”
Chapter 64
Morning. No. Not morning. Corie tried to move but couldn’t. She groaned and fell back but the groan was muffled. Something was covering her mouth. She reached to pull it out, couldn’t move her arms, and completely panicked. Where the hell was she? She tried to jerk herself to a seated position and couldn’t do that either. Her head was spinning and there was a metallic taste in her mouth. Her head scraped the ground. It was dark. Ground?
A wave of nausea hit her and she fought it. If I vomit I’ll die. Certain knowledge. Her heart pounded. She was restrained somewhere, somehow, and it was very dark. What was the last thing she remembered? Was she at Jack’s? Was she home? Had she been in a car accident? It was so dark.
No. Jessie. She’d passed out at Jessie’s. Fractured memories returned along with panic that hit full force. She gagged and furiously cleared her throat. Can’t be sick. Can’t.
Bread. Fire. Wine. Oh no. There must have been something in the wine. Corie forced herself to breath evenly through her nose. She moved her tongue around inside her mouth, which felt lined with cotton. Not a gag. Something on the outside, like duct tape. Evan is getting creative.
Her mind wasn’t functioning. Corie whimpered, the sound tortured and muffled. Where was she? Why was it so dark? Why were they doing this to her? The nausea was utterly terrifying.
Breathe. Have to breathe. Even breaths. Count them. Corie thought about yoga, about the breathing exercises they taught you in class. Those yogis could withstand anything—hot coals, freezing cold, underwater. They could raise and lower their body temperature at will. If they could do it, so could she.
Wherever she was it smelled bad. Was it her? Had she messed herself? No, it was a musty smell. She moved a little, experimentally. Her hands were pinned behind her and her legs were bound together.
Corie flexed her feet and her wrists. Nothing hurt. Her eyes became adjusted to the dark and she saw some outlines. The space around her felt large. Not a grave then. That would be her worst nightmare, buried alive in a coffin when you’re not dead with a straw to breathe through.
A toilet flushed and she heard water run through a pipe above her head. She was in a crawl space. Whose? A fresh wave of panic and sickness hit her.
There were rats in a crawl space. Oh God. She wriggled furiously but that made the nausea worse, so she stopped. Think. Breathe. Yoga breaths—four counts in, hold, four counts out. Miraculously a few of those calmed her. Maybe those Buddhists were onto something after all. Buddhists . . . Jessie laughing. ‘I wonder what you’ll come back as. Maybe a cow or a dog or a rodent. Yes, that’s it. A rat.’ Jessie’s laughter. The last thing Corie heard.
Where was Jack? At work, of course, running down all the leads she’d dropped in his lap. She shouldn’t have lied to him.
Well shit. She was on her own. She had to figure out what was she tied up with and what she was attached to. She had to get her mouth free. Where was her phone? Corie wriggled her fingers, as if that was going to provide answers. Obviously Jessie hadn’t been thoughtful enough to bury her with her phone propped up nearby so it was handy. And how exactly would she dial it anyway? With mental telepathy?
She willed Jack to find her.
Where was her dog? She thought of Murphy’s soft fur, the solid warmth of his body under her hand. Who would take care of Murphy if she died? Jack, please. Another futile whimper. I can’t cry. Can’t. Plenty of time to cry about this later if I keep my wits about me now.
Alone in the house Jessie paced the length of the kitchen, her feet in low-heeled, suede boots silent on the tile floor. She picked up a sponge from the sink and the harsh smell of bleach insulted her nose. Even though she’d already cleaned up, she wiped the low table in front of the fireplace a third time.
Evan slid open the atrium door. “Why does it smell like bleach in here?”
“I was cleaning up from lunch.”
“What’s with all the cleaning? First Corie, now you.” He realized Jessie wouldn’t know what he was talking about.
But she cocked her head and smiled at him. “Speaking of Corie, I have a surprise for you.”
“It better be something good. Do you have any idea how goddamned hard it was to get here?”
Jessie scowled. “I think you owe me. And besides, it’s something you really want.”
Chapter 65
Like a bad dream on repeat, Jack found his house empty. Only this time when he let himself in the back door, a frantic Murphy made a mad dash for the backyard. Wherever Corie had gone she hadn’t taken her dog. And she took that dog everywhere.
Now neither Corie nor Aranda were answering their phones.
Jack hated calling Roger D’Ambrose who instantly sounded panicked.
“I’ve been calling her, too.” Roger sounded like he was going to cry. “She never came in to the office today. I figured she was working from home on account of the snow, but she’s not there either. I drove by a little while ago.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?” Jack asked.
“No. Not currently.”
“Do you know the last place she was planning to go yesterday?”
Roger told him.
“Okay, listen to me. I’m calling dispatch right now. Do not go up there on your own. I know you want to, but don’t. Wait for the police. I’ll make sure it’s a priority.” As he spoke, his call waiting beeped and Jack stared at the display on his phone in disbelief: Evan Markham was calling him.
Chapter 66
The hatch door opened abruptly and the sudden light blinded Corie. Jessie was back. I haven’t gotten free and now she�
�s going to finish me off. Corie had worked off a corner of the tape after what felt like hours of trying, but it wasn’t enough.
The figure jumped down into the crawl space and, as Corie’s eyes adjusted, she saw that it wasn’t Jessie. It was worse. It was Evan.
Corie tried to scream but couldn’t, the sounds that came out instead were high pitched and frightening.
“Corie.” He hurried to her side and he looked concerned. “What did she do to you?”
Her heart hammered in her chest and the sudden panic caused a fresh wave of sickness. She fought to breathe. Oh God, I can’t be sick. God. Please.
“This might hurt,” Evan said, his voice kind.
That would have been funny in another context. Corie watched with wide eyes as her husband found the edge of the tape and, in one quick motion, ripped it off her face. That stung and Corie started coughing. She felt hot acid in her throat and realized how close she’d been to vomiting and choking to death. Her voice was a croak. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No. Of course not.” Evan seemed shocked at the suggestion. He started to work on the knots at her feet. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Evan?” Jessie’s tremulous voice carried into the crawl space.
Corie’s breath caught.
“Don’t say anything.” Evan stopped working on the knots.
“Evan? What are you doing? You don’t have time for anything fancy.” Jessie’s form filled the small opening, blocking the sunlight behind her. She was still wearing the fuzzy blue sweater.
Evan’s eyes held Corie’s for a moment and then he turned toward his mother. “It was you.”
“You’re welcome,” Jessie said.
“Why would you do that to me?”
“Do what?” Corie’s voice was low and hoarse.
“You were careless,” Jessie said. “He found out. I did it to protect you, to protect our family. I couldn’t have our good name dragged through the mud by some nobody.”
“Does she mean Brice?” Corie whispered.
Evan focused on his mother. “You sent me the scrapbook.”
Jessie’s voice was indulgent. “Of course, darling. I sent you everything I found. Except the computer. Sorry about that. I dropped it because I was trying to hurry. It was dark and I was scared. Corie, you haven’t found it, have you?”
Wildly, Corie shook her head from side to side. The movement made her nauseous again.
“Of course you haven’t. Silly of me to ask.” Jessie smiled, her teeth white in the dim light. “If you’d found it that cop would know everything by now.”
“You mean to tell me it’s been at our house the entire time? Show me.” In a crouch, Evan started to move toward his mother.
“What about her?” Jessie motioned with her hand. She was holding something and Corie squinted to see what it was.
“Mother.” Evan spoke in a warning tone. He scooted toward her but not fast enough.
A shot rang out and Corie screamed. It must have missed her because she didn’t feel anything.
Evan yelled too. “No!”
“You always were weak.” Jessie’s voice dripped scorn. “I’ll have to finish this myself. Like always.”
A second shot rang out, and a third, and then everything went black.
“No!” Evan desperately scuttled in a crouch toward his mother. The thought that she might hit him never crossed his mind. He could see the gun in her hands, her arms held straight out in front of her. For a woman that abhorred violence she’d certainly learned how to shoot properly.
She managed to squeeze off three shots before he reached her. He yanked her right arm as she got off a fourth and the bullet went wide of its target.
“Son of a bitch,” Evan said.
His hand closed around her wrist but she didn’t let go of the gun. Her arm swung wildly as they struggled and the gun went off a fifth time; he heard a metallic sound, the bullet sparking off a cast-iron pipe.
Finally, not caring if he hurt her, Evan got a better angle and pulled as hard as he could on her forearm, twisting at the same time. Jessie gasped in pain and the gun flew out of her hands.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Evan glanced back at Corie lying lifeless on the ground.
“How could you hurt me like that?” Jessie’s voice was high with pain and stunned anger.
Evan shoved her backward so that she landed with a thump on her backside outside the hatch opening. Then he jumped out and struggled to get control of her.
“Let go of me!” Their breath fogged as they fought. Jessie screamed and tried to scratch him, going for his bruised eye.
Evan’s fingers dug into her plump upper arms. Jessie writhed. The fabric of her sweater was slippery and he was surprised at her strength. He steered her roughly toward his car parked in front of the house. She dug her heels in and he wound up dragging her, leaving tracks in the snow. What would the cops make of that? he wondered. But he had no time to worry about it now.
“Get in.” His voice was a snarl. In his mind he had the image of Corie on the floor, still half bound with rope.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” Jessie braced herself in the car doorway facing him, with one hand gripping the edge of the roof and the other holding the door open. She straightened her arms and tensed her body.
Evan punched her in the stomach and Jessie crumpled. He folded her into the car and slammed the door.
“Son of a bitch,” he said again, shaking his hand which stung from the blows. He hit the lock button on his key fob to keep her from escaping in the few seconds it took for him to walk around to the driver’s side. Once he climbed in, he took off so fast the rear end of the car fishtailed and Evan struggled to get the car back under control.
“Where are you taking me?” Jessie’s voice rang with outrage. “How dare you?”
Using controls on the steering wheel Evan made a call. Jessie grabbed at his arm but he fended her off. The call went through via the car’s Bluetooth and Jack’s voice growled out of the speakers. “Corie’s in Jessie’s crawl space. Get her. Hurry.” Evan disconnected before Jack could say anything or hear Jessie screaming.
“Why would you do that? Why would you help her? She’s a slut and a liar.”
“Shut up.”
“You have horrible taste in women. I couldn’t believe it when you brought her home. The girl who killed your sister! And then that other one. She was so stupid. She thought loaning me her gun would make me love her. We’d be best friends. Ha! I’m glad you killed her. Although I am sick of having to clean up your messes.”
Evan stuck his right arm out and grabbed Jessie by the throat. “I swear to God, if you do not shut up I will throw you out of this car. I will kill you and I will revel in it.” He shoved her away so hard that her head banged against the window glass.
Jessie gave a startled gasp. As if waking up from a bad dream, she looked at him and frowned. Her body went limp. “Evan,” she said, her voice childish and timid. “What’s wrong?”
“Your performances don’t work on me.” Out of the corner of his eye Evan saw her hand sliding slowly toward the gearshift lever. He grabbed her wrist and bent her hand back so hard she screamed.
“I don’t understand why you’re treating me this way.” Jessie held her left wrist with her right hand and started to cry.
Chapter 67
The drive up Downing was agonizing. Cars barely crawled on the slick road and the backup from the light at Alameda was three blocks long. Jack used his dashboard light and cars tried to move out of his way, but there was often nowhere for them to go with the piles of snow and slush and parked vehicles marooned at the curb.
Once he finally turned onto First Avenue, he sped up. First Avenue, through one of the richest parts of town, was six lanes wide and he was driving his personal car, his black Audi; as long as no one got in his way he could fly, even on the snow.
Jack hoped the other emergency vehicles were having a better t
ime of it, but his heart sank when he skidded his car to a stop in front of Jessie’s and realized he was the first one on the scene.
Fuck.
The car door closed with a solid thunk. Jack opened his trunk and, without taking his eyes off of the house, shrugged into his bulletproof vest, put his coat back on over it, checked his weapon, his flashlight, and called for backup again. Traffic was a mess, everything slowed down due to the snow. No one’s fault.
His eyes scanned the house but he saw no sign of movement. It was so quiet he could hear his feet squeak on the fresh snow. There was parking around back on the alley and Jack made his way there, creeping around the exterior of the house, his gun drawn. Corie’s car was parked in an outdoor space but the garage door was solid so he couldn’t see if there were any other cars inside. No sign of the silver Mercedes.
“Corie?” Jack called her name, over and over. No answer. He stopped numerous times and listened but didn’t hear anyone. He made his way into the secluded backyard and saw a small hatch door open, leading to the low, dark expanse under the house. “Corie?” Still no response. He called her phone but didn’t hear it ringing.
His breath was ragged, as if he’d run a fast mile. ‘Crawl space,’ Evan said. Jack was well aware that it could be a trap. The open door taunted him. His training told him to wait for backup and his instincts told him to hurry. What if Evan was waiting for him, armed and dangerous? What if it wasn’t a lie and Corie was in danger, or dying? It wasn’t much of a decision.
Jack frowned at the overlapping shoe impressions and messy track marks in the snow leading away from the hatch. Like someone had been dragged. Had Jessie been taken against her will? Corie? Aranda?
“Police!” Jack yelled and inched closer, easing himself into the hatch opening. “Corie?” Still nothing. Then the arc of his flashlight illuminated a body.
Corie, lying motionless on the dirt floor in sizable pool of blood. Caution forgotten, Jack jumped inside and ran to her. “Corie. Oh God. No.” She was filthy and unconscious but she was moaning. She was alive.