Gone

by Karen Fenech

  Round and round they went, getting nowhere.

  Clare had left the car engine off when she parked. The windows were down. It was early enough in the day that the air outside was still cool and the car was comfortable without air conditioning. That wouldn’t last long, Clare thought, as the sun rose a little higher and she dug in her purse for her sunglasses.

  Jake would be up soon. He’d look for her. In short order, he would put it together that she’d left. She hadn’t wanted to risk another altercation like last night. When she’d told him it was only the search for Beth that had brought them together, he’d said nothing. His silent acknowledgment had hurt. She’d felt as if something inside her had dried up. There was nothing more to be said now. They’d been over that same terrain so many times, they’d ground it to dust beneath the weight of their tread.

  Clare’s lips trembled and she closed her eyes tight against a sudden rush of tears. She was so in love with him. Hadn’t stopped loving him.

  Her cell phone rang. Jake said he’d call with the time of the interview with Dannon. She hesitated briefly, the thought of talking with him daunting at the moment. Of course, she would take his call because of the investigation, but her heart thumped as she checked caller ID.

  It wasn’t Jake trying to reach her. Her caller was Earl Lowney. She frowned. She’d answered the questions from his insurance adjuster. What could Lowney want now?

  Clare pressed her fingertips to her damp eyes, then drew a deep breath and answered the call. “Yes, Mr. Lowney.”

  “Morning, Agent Marshall. I hope I didn’t wake you or Jake and the little one?”

  “No. I’m not at Jake’s house at the moment. What can I do for you?” Her tone revealed her impatience.

  “I was wondering if you’re going to be staying on at Jake’s or if you’re looking for your own place again.”

  Clare bent forward a little at the question. “I am looking for another place.”

  “I was worried that you might be.”

  Worried my ass, Clare thought. No doubt Lowney was on the scent of a nice payoff.

  “I take it you have something for me?” she asked.

  “That’s why I’m calling. I do. Owners retired, packed up and moved to Florida recently. They don’t have any family. I’ll be going out to the place every few weeks. Check things out, you know. Part of the service. Being a good neighbor and all. I have the place listed for sale, but in the meantime they’re interested in renting. I have to tell you it’s a sweet place. I need to open the store in a little while. If you got the time, I could show it to you right now?”

  He was giving her the hard sell and Clare could hear his excitement at the prospect. He didn’t need to convince her. She was just as eager as he was. She could no longer stay with Jake. She’d resigned herself to Columbia as her only option out of Jake’s house, and was glad at the alternative.

  “I can meet you now,” she said. “Where?”

  Clare obtained directions from Lowney. She drove away from the burned house. The route Lowney had instructed her to take went on and on. Clare left residences and farms behind. She was out of Farley, now in Blane County. The sun was now noticeably higher. She hadn’t seen anything but trees for some time and glanced at the directions she’d hastily scrawled in the notebook she carried in her purse. She hadn’t made any wrong turns. On the heels of that thought, she spotted the road that would take her to the house, and turned there.

  The road was actually a long dirt driveway. She hadn’t wanted to be staying this far out of town. Columbia, then? No. Given the choice, she was better off at Lowney’s rented property. Even with the distance she’d driven, she would still be closer to Farley staying here.

  When the house came into view, Clare stared, pleasantly surprised. The property was well maintained. Flowering plants flourished in a rock garden on the front lawn. Windows gleamed in the sunlight.

  She parked in front of the residence to wait for Lowney. She lowered the windows then turned off the ignition. Even with the windows lowered, it was too hot to wait inside the car and she stepped out of the vehicle. She retrieved her crutch from the back seat then leaned back against the driver’s side door to wait for the man.

  Another vehicle lumbered over the ruts in the road that led to the house and a sedan appeared and pulled up beside her car. Earl Lowney was behind the wheel.

  “You made good time, Clare,” Lowney said as he stepped up beside her.

  “Yes, well, we’re both pressed for time this morning. Can we get on with this?”

  “I’m thinking the very same.”

  But Lowney remained in place.

  He covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes sparkled with excitement and color suffused his cheeks. He looked positively giddy, like a child with a new toy or a secret.

  Clare narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Lowney?”

  “Shame on you, Clare, thinking that pretty boy buffoon Rich Dannon could have taken Sara. I saw her after she left my store. Getting into Rich’s car on Bridge Road. When he left his cabin later that night, I went in and took her. Rich could never do what I’ve done.”

  His lip curled in derision, and in a blink his excitement and giddy expression were gone, the childish mirth replaced by rage. His eyes darkened and went flat, like a shark’s. Just that quick his mood turned.

  Lowney was the unsub? Clare was taking in his words when he reached for her. She struck out with her crutch, catching Lowney hard in the mid-section. With a howl of pain, he went down on his knees. She followed that up with a solid jab to the groin with the tip of the crutch and Lowney rolled in the dirt.

  She was now in a fight for her life. She turned away from him, got the car door open and dove onto the car seat, scrambling for her purse. Her gun was in her purse. Lowney was on her before she could reach it. Panting and groaning, he yanked her out of the car by her hair, flung her to the ground, and stomped on her injured ankle.

  Clare cried out. Tears sprang to her eyes and her vision blurred with the pain. As it cleared, Lowney swung her crutch like a baseball bat.

  Pain exploded in her head. Blood trickled into her eyes. Her stomach heaved and her eyelids fluttered. She feared she was going to pass out and fought a tidal wave of nausea. She struck out with her uninjured foot, putting all she had into delivering another strike to Lowney’s groin. He gasped for breath and fell back from her.

  He wouldn’t be down for long. She had to get her weapon. She had to get up. Clare’s vision went gray. She needed to take him down, but she couldn’t make her limbs move again. She couldn’t stand and fight. As she thought that, Lowney advanced again. And again he had her crutch in his hand. She watched his arm descend to deliver another blow, and then all went black.

  * * * * *

  Jake entered his office. Messages were stacked on his desk. He ignored them and called Clare’s cell phone again. He’d been trying that number since he awoke, alone, in his bed two hours ago, then found her gone from his house. Last night she said she would be taking a room in Columbia. His mouth tightened. She’d wasted no time moving out.

  He listened as her phone went to voice mail again. It wasn’t like Clare to remain out of touch and put her personal feelings before an ongoing investigation. It annoyed him that she was doing just that.

  He waited out her message then said, “Clare, it’s now nine-fifteen. We’re meeting Dannon and his lawyer at noon. Call me.” His message was curt.

  Jake disconnected. Clare knew where the meeting would be held. Dannon was in a holding cell in the sheriff’s office. A bail hearing was set for four o’clock that afternoon.

  No doubt when they spoke to Dannon at noon, they would be treated to more protestations of his innocence. Every criminal Jake had put away had been innocent, according to them. Still, something wasn’t right about this case. The thought needled him again and again. After four years of searching for Sara, everything had come together in a rush. Had it all been too neat?

  He drummed his knuckles on t
he desktop, then went to find Jonathan. The administrative assistant was finishing a call and replaced the phone in its cradle when Jake reached him.

  “Jonathan, see what you can do about tracing the label on the outfit Sara McCowan was buried in,” Jake said. “We need to find out where that outfit was bought.”

  Jonathan scratched a note onto a pad of paper by the phone. “By the pictures, it looks like some specialty fetish place. I’ll get right on it. Jake we’re getting more calls from reporters wanting to know about the arrest in the Sara McCowan case.”

  Jake gave Jonathan the same response he’d given him before. “Tell them the investigation is ongoing. We have no comment at this time.” Jake glanced at his watch. “I’ll be at the sheriff’s office if you need me.”

  * * * * *

  When Clare regained consciousness, Lowney was hoisting her out of the trunk of his car. He set her on her feet. He hadn’t tied her hands or feet. Clearly, he didn’t think she posed any threat. She would have loved to prove him wrong, but she couldn’t find balance. Didn’t know what side was up, and the pain in her head was extreme, undermining her ability to think.

  She didn’t have the use of her crutch and as soon as Lowney removed his hands from her, she crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He’d stomped on her ankle earlier and while the cast had cushioned some of the blow, it hadn’t protected her fully. From the level of pain, she feared he’d caused another break. Bile tickled the back of her throat and she fought off the urge to vomit.

  “Come on, Miss FBI agent,” Lowney said, his eyes twinkling. “You got to have more in you than this.”

  Clare didn’t respond. On her hands and knees, her head bowed, she inhaled the fresh air, and tried to orient herself. She was on Edgar Road, she realized, as she heard the train whistle blow. At the boarded-up entrance to the mine.

  He hauled her up by the upper arm, then released her. She wobbled on her feet, but managed to stay on them. She needed to get away from him, but even if she could manage it, at the moment her own escape was farthest from her mind. It was Earl Lowney who’d abducted and killed Sara McCowan. Clare had to play this out with him. She needed to find out if Lowney had Beth.

  Without her crutch, she dragged her lame ankle. She fought off the urge to lie down and forced herself to keep moving.

  He pulled her across the dry and pitted ground. Scraggly weeds and grass sprouted in patches, some large, some small. Old gnarled trees grew in others. She couldn’t imagine where he was taking her. Everywhere she looked was only more wild growth.

  They hadn’t been walking long when he came to an abrupt stop and released her. Unprepared, Clare stumbled, fell against a tree, then went down. Breathing hard, she kept herself still, trying to stop the world from spinning.

  Lowney paid her no attention. He crouched over a grassy area and grabbed hold of something. From her vantage point, Clare only saw grass. She was no more than three feet from Lowney and yet she wasn’t seeing what he was seeing.

  Lowney bent and pushed something, then walked back to Clare. He latched onto her arm and dragged her to her feet, then back to where he’d been standing. A four-foot square made of wood lay on the ground. It was hidden by the thick grass and sturdy weeds and if she hadn’t been standing above it, and knew where to look, she would have never seen it.

  The square was a cover, a lid, she realized, and when Lowney pushed it aside, it bared a hole.

  “The old mine shaft,” Clare whispered.

  Lowney nodded and smiled. “It’s been my secret place for years.”

  For years. Clare swallowed hard at the implication.

  Lowney’s grip bit into her elbow, squeezing hard. Clare suppressed a cry, not wanting to give Lowney the satisfaction of acknowledging that he was hurting her.

  He pushed her toward the hole. “Go on down now.”

  A wooden ladder leaned against the dirt wall of the shaft.

  “How am I supposed to climb with the use of only one leg?” Clare said.

  “You won’t like the way I get you down there.” He sneered.

  Lowney shoved her to the ground. Clare heaved herself up onto her elbows. When she looked up, her vision distorted, she saw two Lowneys. Now that she knew his hiding place, she needed to take him down and get help, but the strength went out of her arms and she crumpled to the ground.

  Lowney hoisted her roughly over his shoulder and stepped into the shaft onto the top rung of the ladder. Grunting a bit, he shifted her weight on his back then began the descent to a bottom that was at least twenty feet down.

  Clare had never suffered from claustrophobia, but as the narrow dirt walls extended above her head, it was as if she were being buried alive, and she had to fight to keep a feeling of being smothered from overcoming her.

  As she was on Lowney’s shoulder, she saw that the narrow shaft they were descending opened and widened at the bottom. The sunlight lessened the farther down they went, and she couldn’t make out all of the shapes in the dimness. By the time Lowney stepped off the ladder, Clare was squinting in an effort to make out her surroundings.

  Lowney removed a flashlight from his pocket. The small beam of light cut through the darkness as he walked on, taking them deeper into the mine shaft.

  When he reached his destination, he plopped her onto the hard earth. The ground was cool and felt slightly damp beneath her cheek. Stones jutted into her stomach. Clare couldn’t lift her head, and brushed her cheek across the dirt and pebbles to turn and bring Lowney and the surroundings into her line of vision.

  He went to a small wooden table, where a lantern stood. Lowney lit it, then held the lantern aloft. A DVD recorder was on a tripod. A digital camera sat on a small footstool. Both were directed at a section of the mine shaft where someone huddled against the stone, someone who drew into a tighter ball when the light struck them. It was a woman by the shape of her. Her wrists and ankles were shackled to a post dug into the ground.

  Clare’s heart pounded. Could this woman be Beth? Clare forced her head up, as much as she was able, a mere inch or two, striving for a better look. The woman’s face was hidden both by her posture and by a curtain of tangled and matted brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She was garbed in a variation of the outfit Sara McCowan had been buried in. A leather halter top bared more than it covered. A triangle of the same material held in place by strings tied at the hips formed a panty of sorts. Open-toed black stilettos covered her feet. And, like Sara in the photos taken during her captivity, welts, bruises, and burns mixed with dirt and blood marked the woman everywhere that Clare could see.

  Lowney bared his teeth in a chilling smile. He closed the short distance between himself and the woman, and grabbed a fistful of her hair. The woman whimpered.

  “Bet you can’t wait to find out just who I’ve got down here with you, can you Clare?” Lowney paused, drawing out the moment, then he jerked the woman’s head back so her face was now visible. The woman’s eyes were squeezed shut. Makeup on the lids, cheeks and lips had caked and smeared but despite the cosmetics, there was no mistaking her resemblance. Clare’s breath caught.

  “The moment you’ve been waiting for, Clare,” Lowney said. “Say hello to Beth.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Jake called the Bureau office. When Jonathan answered, Jake asked, “Has Clare been there?”

  “No, Jake.”

  “Did she call?”

  “No. Is everything all right?”

  Jake was in the small lobby of the Sheriff’s Office. One of Petty’s deputies turned up the radio and Jake moved away from the sound. “She didn’t show up for the meeting with Dannon.”