“Seemed like there was always a different man living there,” one of them told him, shaking her head. “I couldn’t help worrying about the little girl, but she always seemed cheerful. To think that after losing her mother, this happened to her.”
Nobody knew the last boyfriend’s name. He’d only been around a couple of weeks, but did stay on in the apartment until the end of the month, the super said. “Place was paid up. It was only a week. I asked if he wanted to rent it but he didn’t. Got someone else in there right away.”
When asked about the boyfriend, one of Rachel’s women friends crinkled her forehead. “Yeah, she said stuff about him, but I don’t really remember what. I know he didn’t work or anything. She said if he didn’t get a job she’d have to kick him out, that she wasn’t going to support him.”
Finally, in the late afternoon Mike drove to Edmonds. He had a wary eye out as he approached Beth’s house, but the press had apparently decamped. He wondered how long they’d stayed, like hounds baying under a treed coon. The image made him wince.
There was no light on in one neighbor’s house and nobody came to the door, either. At the other place, he finally got lucky, if you could call it that. The young couple who lived there had been away for two weeks on a second honeymoon in San Francisco. They hadn’t lived here that long and didn’t remember seeing a girl at that house at all.
“Actually,” the woman said apologetically, “I don’t have any idea who lives there. We have a yard service, so we’re not outside much. You know.”
He knew. He thanked them and walked to his Tahoe, parked at the curb in front of Beth’s. He had no idea if she knew he was there or not; she had her house sealed up air tight. The bloodsuckers had left for now, but she had to have been under siege for a while.
A part of him wanted to go knock on her door, but he didn’t have any real excuse and could imagine the reception he’d get.
No, ma’am, I don’t have a warrant.
He gave a grunt that was half laugh, although his sense of humor seemed to be in cold storage. Speaking of which, he was cold and damp and hungry. Sick of fast food, he tried to think of what might be available at home, but suspected there wasn’t anything very promising, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been grocery shopping.
Mike unlocked the car door with his remote and was walking toward the driver’s side when his cell rang.
His lieutenant said, “The kid’s grandparents are going to make a televised plea for her return. Turn on the local news.”
Mike swore and hustled to Beth’s door, where he leaned on the bell. She opened it far enough for him to see a chain and one eye studying him suspiciously.
“What are you doing here?”
“Beth, the local news is coming on. I was informed that your parents are being interviewed. Can I come in and watch?”
The door closed. He waited in suspense, but then the chain rattled and the door swung open. He locked it behind him and turned to see her pointing the remote at the television.
A canned sitcom came on rather than local news, and Mike glanced at his watch. “I’m early. News won’t be on for ten—no, twelve—more minutes.”
She muted the set. “You’re here only to watch the interview with me?”
“I was questioning a couple more of your neighbors,” he admitted, suspecting that wouldn’t thrill her.
Her expression wasn’t friendly, but she didn’t radiate hostility like she had this morning. After a moment, she grudgingly asked if he’d like coffee.
“I would love coffee,” he said fervently. He took the liberty of trailing her to the kitchen and watching her take down a mug for him and pour. “You had dinner?” he heard himself ask.
She gave him a scathing look. Mike guessed that suggesting he put together soup and sandwiches again was a no-go. He should count his blessings; she’d let him in the door without that warrant.
They returned to the living room in silence and both stared at the muted action on the screen. Mike felt as if he were trying to step softly, knowing something as tiny as the crunch of a twig could bring a hail of bullets. Truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure why she had let him in the door. He inhaled his coffee before taking a swallow. She used the good stuff.
“Is it true what they say? That police stations always have the world’s worst coffee?”
Startled, he turned his head and saw she wasn’t looking at him. Still, however stiffly, she was talking. “Yeah.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s pretty bad.”
After a minute, she said, “Where is Sicily?”
Oh, hell. “I don’t know.”
Words burst from her. “Somebody, somewhere, had to see her! Nobody could sling her over a shoulder and carry her up to the car park without someone noticing.”
“We’ll renew our appeals to the public, Beth. But I think it’s unlikely she was snatched on the beach. She might have gone up to the parking lot on her own. Maybe for an innocent reason. One of the kids she was hanging around with suggested she walk them up.” Seeing her objection forming, he said, “Yeah, you’d think the parents would have noticed, but what if some other people were leaving around the same time so there was a crowd going up the trail?”
“Then why haven’t they called?”
“Could be they don’t pay any attention to the news. Or they were visitors from out of the area. We get a lot of Canadians, you know. Or they thought all the kids were from the same family.”
Head bent now, she nodded.
“Would Sicily have gone up to the restroom alone?”
Beth squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Yes. If she saw I’d fallen asleep, I don’t think she’d have thought twice about heading up there alone. She wouldn’t have wanted to wake me up, and it wasn’t that far.”
He hesitated only briefly. “And then there’s the possibility she was lured.”
She sucked in a breath. “She’s too old to go with someone because they offered her candy or…” She obviously couldn’t think of another possibility.
“But what if it was someone she knew? A former boyfriend of her mother’s? A friend? A teacher from school?” He was relentless and she stared back at him in horror. “A man who said he was her father.”
“No.” She finally balked at that. “She wouldn’t have gone with him without waking me.”
He felt exultant. She was talking to him. Really talking. To keep her going as much as out of any need to know, he asked, “Would she recognize him from pictures?”
“I don’t think so,” Beth said, but sounded uncertain. “Sicily didn’t remember her mom ever having pictures, although surely she did at some point. Rachel called Chad ‘that scum.’ Maybe she got mad and burned them. Sicily told me she’d looked online because she wanted to know what he looked like. She thought since he was a rock star there might be one, but even though she found a few reviews of the band the only photo wasn’t great and she couldn’t tell who was who.”
Keeping an eye on the TV, Mike saw that turn-of-the-hour commercials had come on.
“I looked up the old one from the DMV,” he told Beth, “but his license expired five years ago.”
“So he left the state.”
Mike shook his head. “Not right away. Four years ago he was cited in Pierce County for a moving violation and not having a license. He didn’t appear in court, didn’t pay the fines. Unfortunately, there’s a pretty good-size substrata out there who don’t bother with driver’s licenses or insurance.”
“And the address on his last license?”
“Rental records show he was evicted not long after your sister left him.”
Her eyes searched his. “You think it might be him, don’t you?”
He didn’t want to say, No, I think some sicko grabbed your niece. I think there’s a good chance she’s bee
n raped and maybe killed. Probably killed. Or will be.
“The vast majority of child abductions are familial.”
“But why, when he’s never even tried to see her?”
“Do we know that for a fact? What if your sister was angry because he hadn’t paid child support and refused to allow him visitation? Would she have told you or your parents?”
Beth sagged. “No.”
“Or Sicily?”
“She didn’t spare Sicily most of the ugliness in her life, but I suppose in that instance… Maybe.”
“We’ll find him.” His attention sharpened. “Turn the sound on. Here we go.”
They’d missed a few words of lead-in, from the looks of it the usual banter. Already the camera was closing in on the woman anchor’s face, which was solemn. “Police are saying only that they are pursuing all leads in the disappearance of ten-year-old Sicily Marks.” She summed up the events of Saturday, seguing into a mention of the morning search of the “Edmonds home of Sicily’s aunt, Elizabeth Greenway, with whom she lived.” Video ran showing law enforcement vehicles in front of her house, people with Police emblazoned on their backs going in and out. Mike slid a glance sideways to see Beth watching, body rigid.
Back to the studio, thank God. The anchor said, “Today, King Five reporter Emily Lyons spoke to Sicily’s grandparents.” The scene shifted to the Greenways’ living room. This time, Rowena and Laurence sat side by side, holding hands. He was leaning protectively toward his wife.
The pretty blonde reporter said, “The police are being closemouthed about the direction their investigation has taken. Sources say the search of the park has been suspended. Have they told you whether they now believe Sicily was abducted? Have they yet identified a person of interest?”
Rowena pressed her fingers to her mouth as if to stifle a sob. Her husband let go of her hand to put an arm around her and momentarily lay his cheek against her hair. Then he straightened to glare at the camera.
“The police have not seen fit to share their suspicions with us. Like everyone else, we learned from the ten o’clock news last night that the search for our beloved granddaughter had been called off. We weren’t given the courtesy of a phone call. We had no idea our daughter Beth had become a suspect. Frankly, I’m outraged that we’ve been kept in the dark. I have to question the competency of this investigation.”
Mike couldn’t suppress a growl. Beside him, Beth stood stiff, staring at the TV.
“Have they interviewed you at all?”
“Yes, a Detective Ryan spoke with us once, on Saturday evening. We answered his questions as best we could about Sicily’s personality, her likes and dislikes, her recent history. The interview was quite short. That is, to date, the only contact we’ve had with the police supposedly searching for our granddaughter.”
“It’s our understanding that her mother died quite recently.”
“Yes.” Again, his gaze went directly to the camera lens. His expression was grim, and yet suggested great suffering that was nobly suppressed. “The death of our daughter Rachel only a month ago was a terrible tragedy. You may know that she fell overboard—or was thrown overboard—from a Washington State ferry. Her body washed ashore two days later. Her death was very difficult for our entire family, and Sicily most of all, of course. An only child, she went temporarily to live with our older daughter, Elizabeth. As you know, she was with Elizabeth when she disappeared.” The pause was brief, but long enough to allow his implication to sink in, even for dim-witted viewers. “We simply can’t imagine what Rachel’s death could have to do with Sicily’s more recent disappearance.”
The reporter gazed with practiced sympathy at the grief-stricken grandparents. “Mrs. Greenway, this must be a very difficult time for you.”
Rowena’s face contorted, but with an obvious effort she regained her poise. “We’re heartsick.” She lifted her chin and, like her husband, looked straight into the camera. “We’re pleading for anyone who saw anything at all to call into the hotline. This is her picture.” With shaking hand, she lifted that fourth-grade school photo, beautifully framed though it sure as hell hadn’t been on display in the Greenways’ living room when Mike visited. The camera closed in on it. Her voice tremulous, tears apparently close, she said, “Please, please, if you have Sicily, we’re begging you. Bring her home to us.”
Below the close-up of Sicily’s face ran the phone number that had already been widely publicized.
Back in the studio, the anchor exclaimed, “How terrifying! Every parent’s worst nightmare.”
“Every grandparent’s,” agreed the man.
The remote control thudded to the rug at Beth’s feet. With an inarticulate scream, she snatched something from the coffee table and threw it at the television. A glass vase, Mike realized, as it smashed into the wall, barely missing the set. Still screaming, she had another object in her hand within seconds, a bronze rabbit. This missile connected with its target and the flat-screen TV seemed to explode, bouncing backward and then crashing forward onto the floor. She already had something else in her hand and flung it. Mike grabbed it out of midair, dropped it and turned to capture the wild woman in his arms.
She fought viciously, an inhuman keening sound tearing from her throat. Shocked, he held on, containing her. He didn’t try to talk to her, only to keep her from hurting herself or him. It had to be a full minute before her desperate writhing slowed and the scream became a series of dry, hiccupping sobs.
What in the hell had just happened? He loosened his arms enough to see her face, expecting tears, but instead he found her eyes squeezed shut. She trembled.
“Beth,” he said. “Beth, what’s going on here? Look at me. Talk to me.”
Still shivering, she tried to curl in on herself. Had she gone into shock? In a panic, he wondered if he should get the paramedics out here. Unless she was faking this. But he didn’t believe that. He’d seen a burst of rage so primal it had raised the hair on his arms.
Operating on instinct, he lifted her and laid her on the sofa. A fluffy red throw blanket was neatly folded on the back of a rocking chair. He grabbed it and spread it over Beth, tucking it around her for maximum warmth.
Sitting beside her, he said, “Beth. Honey, talk to me. If I get your coffee, will you take a drink? Damn it, talk to me! Help me out here.”
He was reaching for his phone when she gave a longer shudder and then a sigh.
“That’s it,” he murmured. Through the soft comfort of the throw, he kneaded her shoulders and arms. “Come back. Tell me what’s happening.”
She blinked. Once, then several times. Another quake that was almost a sob.
“Come on, honey. That’s it. You scared me. Don’t do this.”
Beth’s head turned slightly and her eyes fastened on his. Her look was dazed, bewildered, anguished. With no conscious volition on his part, his hand lifted to stroke her hair back from her face and cup her cheek. He kept talking, probably all nonsense, but maybe the sound of his voice gave her something to hang on to. His heart thudded in his chest as if he’d run ten city blocks to take down a suspect. No, this was worse than that.
“See if you can sit up.” He gently eased her up, then grabbed his mug. The coffee he hadn’t finished had cooled, but was still warm enough to do her some good.
He sat close to her again, cradled her hands in his larger ones and lifted the cup to her mouth. She sipped, then took a longer swallow. Her skin was fine-textured, her lashes thick and dark. He inhaled her scent, so subtle it took him a minute to decide it might be honeysuckle. His mother had let a honeysuckle vine get away from her and become a monster, devouring twenty-five feet of fence in her backyard. The scent when it was in bloom could be as elusive as Beth’s, but at night it was sweeter than anything he’d ever smelled.
Her hands were steadier. He withdrew his but watched as s
he drank more of the coffee. At last she sighed, bit her lip and looked at him. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said roughly.
Her voice shook as she looked at the carcass of her television lying on the floor. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“You came close yesterday at the park.”
Those lashes swept down again, veiling her eyes. “I guess I did.” She took a ragged breath. “It’s not like me. I never…” She stopped, pressed her lips together.
“You don’t like to show any emotion, do you?”
Her eyes flashed briefly to his face. “No.”
He sat there thinking about the televised interview and the moment when she’d shattered. Maybe when she saw her niece’s face…but he didn’t think so. Beth had handed him the same photo with little discernible emotion. It might only be the accumulation of too much terror that had sent her over the edge. But his instincts said no again.
“They were acting for all they were worth,” he mused, watching her closely.
Only by the smallest jerk did Beth Greenway betray any reaction. But after a moment she said, “Yes.”
“Why? Why bother?”
She frowned. “How did you know they were faking it?”
“I met them,” Mike said flatly. “They didn’t give a damn. I’m trying to talk to them about their missing granddaughter, and your father was keeping his eye on the ten o’clock news over my shoulder. Your mother said the right things, but as if we were talking about a stranger.”
“Sicily is a stranger to them.”
“You defending them?”
“No.” She straightened. “No.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are they bothering now?”
“Appearances are important to them. My father is not only a successful businessman, he’s a powerful political figure in this state. He doesn’t want to run for office himself.” Her bitterness could have etched glass. “God forbid he have to try to win the approval of ‘the dim-wits that make up the masses.’ I’m quoting him. He’s…a kingmaker, I suppose you could say. I’ve heard him say the state house is his. Some of the congressmen owe him. Our current governor consults my father before he blows his nose. For once, Dad has to think like a politician. If he comes across badly now, some people will distance themselves from him.”
Making Her Way Home Page 11