by Baby Grand
Chapter 49
Bailino put his three items on the supermarket checkout belt: a box of Cheerios, a gallon of chocolate milk, and a bouquet of roses.
"That'll be six dollars and ninety-seven cents, ma'am," the trainee in pinstripes said to the customer in front of him.
"This isn't mine," the old woman said, waving a box of tampons in the air.
The cashier sighed. "I need a void!" she yelled.
Bailino looked over at the self-checkouts, but there was a line five people long, so he decided to stay where he was. He unclipped his phone from his belt and quickly waded through a series of emails and texts from George, who needed his authorization on a few things. He sent a quick text, placed the phone back in its holder, reached into his pocket, and took out Jamie's phone again, clicking to the photo of the little girl and her mother. He looked closely at the girl in the navy-blue jumper. Jamie hadn't changed much from the time she was a child—she had the same innocent eyes and cherubic face. She looked very much like her mother.
The food on the checkout belt sputtered forward, and Bailino took a step with it.
"Do you have a store card?" the cashier asked him.
Bailino shook his head.
"No worries. I can swipe one for you." She placed a small plastic card over the scanner. "This way, you can get the store specials." She smiled.
"Thank you," he said. As the young lady rang up his items, Bailino pressed the menu button on Jamie's phone, and several applications popped up: Maps, Browser, Camera, Facebook, Twitter, Evernote, Sudoku. He grazed his finger along the Evernote app, which opened into a series of folders titled "Things to Remember," "2012 Goals," and "Story Ideas." Bailino was impressed by the receptiveness of this particular smartphone model—sometimes he'd literally had to jab his into compliance—and made a mental note to upgrade. He closed Evernote and touched on the Facebook icon and was brought to Jamie's profile page, where the words "Help Albany Charlotte," posted with the timestamp yesterday, 10:21 a.m., leapt off the screen. By the time Bailino read the comment "Where r u??" left by Edward, he was already in his car.
Chapter 50
Nurberg parked the police car in the driveway of the log cabin, behind a black limousine. The rain streaked the foggy driver's-side window, and he couldn't see the address on the mailbox. He rolled the window down as rain spilled into the car.
"This is it," he said to Edward, who was sitting next to him.
Tracing Jamie Carter's Facebook IP address was the first deviation Nurberg had ever taken from police procedure. Having Edward Carter in the car was the second, but that certainly wasn't his idea. Edward sensed that Nurberg was going rogue in taking this little road trip, especially since he had to duck past Grohl on his way out of the station. The son of a bitch threatened to go to his "superiors" if he didn't let him tag along; Nurberg's hands were tied.
"Well, let's go," Edward said, putting his hand on the door lever.
"Wait, I think you should stay in the car."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, Mr. Carter..."
"Please call me Edward."
"Edward, this isn't..."
"I'm not staying." Edward opened the passenger door, and the wet air rushed inside the car.
"Wait," Nurberg said. "We can both get into a lot of trouble."
"For what? Ringing a doorbell?" Edward closed the car door, leaving it slightly ajar to keep the rain from coming in.
"At least, I don't know... Let's have some kind of plan. If she's here, fine. But what if she's not? Why are we here?" Nurberg thought quickly. "Okay, you came to the police station, and there was something wrong with your car, and I'm driving you to your relatives' house, but you wrote down the wrong address, and..."
Edward was out the door and walking toward the house.
"Fuck," Nurberg muttered as he followed him toward the cabin.
By the time the two men reached the front door, they were soaked. Nurberg pushed the doorbell and undid the safety on his weapon, but left it in its holster. Edward shot him a look.
"Just in case," Nurberg said.
A bolt of lightning lit up the woods, the bellowing thunder seeming like it would crack the sky. "Jesus," Nurberg said, looking around at the trees. "This is probably the worst place to be in a lightning storm."
"Yeah, or in that river we just passed," Edward said.
Nurberg pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and rang the bell again as Edward knocked on the door.
"Hello?" Edward called. "Is anyone here? Jamie?"
Nurberg opened the screen door and peered through the small window in the front door. "It doesn't look like anyone's home."
"But there's a car in the driveway," Edward said. "Let's go around to the back."
Nurberg hesitated. "Wait..."
"Detective, please, we've come this far," Edward said.
With his wet hair plastered to his head like a helmet, Edward Carter looked pitiful, like a little boy who'd lost his best friend. "All right," Nurberg sighed.
The two men, shielding their eyes from the driving rain, reached the back of the cabin and stood before the open glass doors.
"Hello?" Nurberg said, stepping inside; his clothing dripped onto the small throw rug by the door.
"Where is everybody?" Edward asked.
"I don't know." Nurberg eyed the clumps of papers scattered on the floor, the lit-up screen of the laptop and the bowl of chips on the kitchen counter. "Somebody was just here," he said.
A series of loud pops came from the trees behind the cabin. Instinctively, Nurberg pulled out his weapon.
"What are you doing?" Edward said.
"That didn't sound like thunder."
Another one was heard, and then another.
Nurberg picked his phone out of his pocket. "Damn, the cell service is out. Edward, go in the car. Call this in. And stay in the car."
"Where are you going?"
"Back there." Nurberg hunched down and, with gun drawn, ran out the back door as Edward stumbled across the main floor of the cabin. He pulled open the front door and nearly slammed into the body of Don Bailino.
"Who are you?" Bailino asked, stepping into the cabin, his handgun pointed in the center of Edward's face.
Edward put his hands in the air. "Please, this is a mistake," he said. "I'm in the wrong house."
"Who are you, I asked." Bailino steadied the revolver.
"I'm..." Shots fired from behind the log cabin, and Edward backed against the wall.
Bailino's eyes narrowed on the face of the intruder—the crystal blue eyes, the freckles on the nose, the pale skin. He arched his eyebrows. "Edward?" he asked.
Edward's eyes opened wide.
"Is your name Edward?" Bailino asked.
"Yes. But how do you know my name?"
"Edward Carter," Bailino said to himself, a smile appearing across his lips. "Come with me."
Chapter 51
The intense rain flooded the grass and driveway, making it difficult to follow any footprint trail. Bailino, holding his pistol close to his side, headed toward the woods behind the cabin. He stood behind a tree and just watched, waiting for something to move. About twenty yards ahead, a husky body limped along the ground. He ran toward it.
"Where is she?" Bailino said. Tony was lying in a puddle of mud, his arm around a fallen tree trunk, the other clutching his chest.
"Where is she, I asked." Bailino opened Tony's shirt; blood poured from a small hole behind his fingers.
"The girl... took the kid... into the river." Tony coughed.
"How long ago?"
"About fifteen or twenty minutes."
"How did she get out of the house?"
"Don, I can't catch my breath."
"How did she get out of the fucking house?"
"Lightning knocked the power out." Tony's voice came in quick, shallow mouthfuls. "Locks must've opened."
"Who did this?" Bailino asked, gesturing toward Tony's chest wound.
"I d
on't know... I... got him... in the leg..." Tony pointed toward the house.
"One guy?"
Tony nodded.
"Where's Joey?" Bailino asked.
Tony pointed toward the river, and then his arm fell to the ground. His breathing was coming in short puffs now, the raindrops making his eyelids flutter until they stopped and water pooled around them.
Bailino continued walking toward the river. About ten yards down, a body lay motionless in a small ravine. Diluted blood streaked down Benny's face, the driving rain cleaning a gunshot wound above his right eye. The river ahead roared, dotted by raindrops, but Bailino saw no one else.
He stood very still, listening, and then walked in measured steps back to the cabin, his trained eyes exploring every inch of the terrain. The glass doors were still open. Off to the side, he glimpsed a man limping over the pebbled driveway toward the front of the house.
Bailino grabbed Nurberg's shoulder and flipped him onto his back. Nurberg went down hard onto the gravel as Bailino kicked the gun out of his hands.
"You a cop?" Bailino pointed his gun.
Nurberg nodded. He was clutching his inside upper thigh, which was bleeding heavily.
"Albany police?"
Nurberg nodded again.
"How did you find this place?"
Nurberg hesitated. Bailino cocked the hammer of his pistol and held it in the center of his forehead.
"I got a lead." Nurberg's voice was hoarse. He looked toward the driveway, where his car was now blocked by a white Ford Flex. There was no sign of Edward.
"Look at me, please," Bailino said. "So you got a lead?"
"Yeah, and when I got here, I heard gunshots, and... I thought somebody was in trouble, and... I called it into the station right away."
"I see," Bailino said. "So the police are on their way?"
Nurberg nodded. He kept his eyes steady on Bailino, whose hulk was sheltering him from the rain with the exception of a stream of water that was dripping off the handle of the gun, right near his mouth.
Bailino looked at his wristwatch. "They're taking their sweet time to get here, no?"
Nurberg glanced toward the empty country road, which, on a good day, probably saw one or two cars pass by. He looked back at Bailino, the gold cross around his neck glistening.
Bailino stared at the young officer lying on the ground trying to be brave and to remain calm in the face of his lie. "Son, I'm afraid you picked the wrong day to be a hero," Bailino said and shot Nurberg in the head.
Chapter 52
Charlotte was shivering.
The extended time in the frigid river had brought the little girl's body temperature down, and, with the rain-dampened air, there was no escaping the chill. Jamie tried lifting Charlotte's sopping wet T-shirt, thinking the skin-to-skin contact would help the little girl retain heat, but that only seemed to make her tremble more, so she just held her little wrinkled body close.
The roar of the river had quieted as the rain stopped, and Jamie, from behind the cover of a large rock, peeked out, her hand slipping on the moss. She couldn't fathom how far the rapids had dropped her from the cabin. Miles, maybe? It had taken her longer than she expected to cross the water, having underestimated the difficulty of swimming with a screaming child. It had been an arduous trip trying to make sure the little girl was able to get enough air into her lungs—Jamie had to lift Charlotte in and out of the water in order to attain any kind of speed stroke. As they made their way across, the only way Jamie could lift her own body up enough to fill her own lungs with air was by dunking Charlotte at the same time, and the sound of the little girl's choking sobs, while distressing, told Jamie that Charlotte was at least breathing. They alternated like that for some time, and it became harder to lift the little girl as Jamie's muscles became fatigued. At some point, she just let the current take them until she regained some strength and managed to bob her way to the other side.
Jamie searched the small waves for the subtlest splash, but all was still—the eerie calm after a vicious rainstorm. There was no sign of Joey, who dove into the river behind them just after Tony opened fire with his revolver. For what felt like hours, but Jamie was sure was only a matter of minutes, the splash of Joey's strokes followed hers, stroke for stroke, one after the other. He had gotten so close to them at one point that their fingertips grazed, but Joey wasn't a confident swimmer, and when he made a move to grab her, she was able to kick off him and use his body as a launching pad to propel her and Charlotte farther ahead. It was only as Jamie sat there on the cold, muddy riverbank that she realized that it was because Joey jumped into the river that the gunfire had stopped. By diving in after them, Joey probably had saved them.
It was getting dark. Jamie thought it better to travel by night, but the reality of nightfall in a place without streetlights and street traffic hit her, and she realized that she wouldn't be able to see a thing. She picked up Charlotte and started to walk; the cuts along the soles of her feet stung as they scraped against the underbrush. It would be slow going without proper shoes, and the mosquitoes were having a field day with her bare arms and feet. Plus, there wasn't much time—she could no longer make out the tree trunks and branches that had sheltered her for the past few hours, and everything was turning black as clouds continued to cover the sky, leaving no signs of a helpful moon. Jamie walked faster, holding one hand in front of her to keep from bumping into things, and felt the flutter of bugs brushing past her palm. The sounds of cracking branches were everywhere, as if she were being followed, but she convinced herself otherwise and kept going. The trill chant of crickets and the screaming of mating frogs, who called to one another from all parts of the woods, created an unsettling soundtrack to the dark, blank screen before her.
Just take it one step at a time, she told herself.
Soon Jamie stumbled upon a clearing and solid ground. It was a road. She picked a direction and just start walking, carefully navigating her steps to make sure she stayed on the pavement. She walked for about ten minutes, when headlights appeared from behind, and she ran off the road to hide, terrified that it would be them. It dawned on her that by doing so she was letting potential help get away, but she couldn't take the chance. Bailino would kill them both this time if he found them, she was sure of it. Or at least kill her. The car came and went without seeing her, and Jamie returned to the road and kept walking.
Charlotte was unresponsive and limp, her arms dangling down, her head remaining in the crook of Jamie's neck. Jamie worried that she was dehydrated.
"Charlotte," Jamie whispered, her small voice breaking the silence. "Charlotte, honey, are you okay?"
The little girl said nothing, although Jamie thought she may have felt her head move. She needed to get her to a doctor. Up ahead, a car was coming. The headlights were picked up by small reflectors positioned along the sides of the road, and Jamie realized she was at an intersection. She crouched down just off the pavement, and as the car came closer, its blinker, signaling a right-hand turn, acted as a slow strobe light illuminating the area. She watched the small red taillights go on their way and stood in the center of the intersection box, trying to remember what she had just seen: To the left, there appeared to be nothing but barren fields; to the right, in the direction the car was heading, the road cut through the brush back toward the river, probably over a bridge—Jamie had floated underneath two on her way downriver. There was no way she was going that way. She decided to keep walking straight ahead.
The curved outline of a parked automobile came into focus, and as she walked toward it, she noticed several vehicles parked on the side of the road, illuminated by a light source coming from a one-story building. She walked up to the first car and pulled on the door handle. Locked. She tried the next. Also locked. The building itself looked a little run-down, but Jamie saw a lantern hanging from the ceiling inside, appearing as a beacon in this darkened, empty place, and, with Charlotte wrapped in her arms, she ran toward it.
Chapter 53<
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It will be a miracle if the garage doesn't get audited, Reynaldo thought as he placed another receipt on top of a pile on the counter. He reached his hand into the manila folder labeled "tax stuff," his sophisticated system of keeping track of the year's tax-deductible expenditures, and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out and saw that it was a Sunglass Hut receipt from the previous summer. There was a note scribbled in red ink in the margins:
Rey, I REALLY need these to see when the sun is out, or else I cannot work. —Pedro.
He threw the receipt into the garbage.
Doing the taxes each year reminded Reynaldo of his papa, who, although an honest man, was deathly afraid of the IRS—just signing his name on the tax forms would yield a forehead full of sweat. When Reynaldo was about eight or nine years old, his father had walked into his bedroom one day and asked him if he'd be interested in assisting him with his yearly tax prep.
"Why, Papa?" Reynaldo had asked.
"Because you're good in school," he'd said.
Being good in school was the ultimate compliment that his father, who dropped out in the sixth grade, could bestow, and Reynaldo basked in the opportunity to make his father proud. And he'd been doing the taxes ever since.
Reynaldo looked at his watch. He had gotten to the garage later than he'd hoped because Pedro had decided to take Nada to McDonald's before dropping her off at home to get ready for her date with Ricardo. Reynaldo didn't understand either one of his brothers. Neither one seemed to have developed any kind of respect for each other, or for women, or for the business that financed them and enabled them to carouse around town for years. And as much as he complained about them, he worried too. When he got back from his vacation, he was going to sit down with both of them and discuss some changes that he wanted to make, including the implementation of a new work schedule that would better equalize the business responsibilities between them. They'll love that, Reynaldo thought with a smile as the front door to the office swung open.