by Harlan Coben
"Probably Rachel Mills," Tickner said. He looked up in the morning sky. "So what does it mean?"
"Maybe the victim worked for Rachel. She silenced him."
"In front of Seidman?"
Regan shrugged. "The BMW Mini struck a chord though. I remembered that Seidman's partner had one. Zia Leroux."
"That would be who helped him get out of the hospital."
"We have an APB on the car."
"I'm sure they switched vehicles."
"Yeah, probably." Then Regan stopped. "Uh-oh."
"What?"
He pointed at Tickner's face. "You're not wearing your sunglasses."
Tickner smiled. "Bad omen?"
"The way this case is going? Maybe it's a good one."
"I came to tell you I'm off the case. Not just me. The bureau. If you can prove the girl is still alive--"
"--which we both know she ain't--"
"--or that she was transported across state lines, I can probably get back in. But this case is no longer a priority."
"Back to terrorism, Lloyd?"
Tickner nodded. He looked back up in the sky. It felt weird without the sunglasses.
"What did your boss want, anyway?"
"To tell me what I just told you."
"Uh-huh. Anything else?"
Tickner shrugged. "The shooting of Federal Agent Jerry Camp was accidental."
"Your big boss called you into his office before six in the morning to tell you that?" . "Yep."
"Yowza."
"Not only that, he investigated the case personally. He and the victim were friends."
Regan shook his head. "Does this mean Rachel Mills has powerful friends?"
"Not at all. If you can nail her for the Seidman murder or kidnapping, go to it."
"Just don't involve the death of Jerry Camp."
"There you go."
Someone called out. They looked over. A gun had been found in the neighbor's yard. A quick sniff told them that it had been fired recently.
"Convenient," Regan added.
"Yup."
"Any thoughts?"
"Nope." Tickner turned to him. "It's your case, Bob. Always was. Good luck."
"Thanks."
Tickner walked away.
"Hey, Lloyd?" Regan called out.
Tickner stopped. The gun had been bagged. Regan stared at it, then at the body by his feet.
"We still don't know what's going on here, do we?"
Tickner continued toward his car. "Not a clue," he said.
Katarina had her hands in her lap. "Is he really dead?"
"Yes," Rachel said.
Verne stood, fuming, his arms folded over his chest. He had been that way since I told him that Perry had been the child I saw in the Honda Accord.
"His name is Pavel. He was my brother."
We waited for her to say more.
"He was not a good man. I always knew that. He could be cruel. Kosovo makes you that way. But kidnapping a small child?" She shook her head.
"What happened?" Rachel asked.
But her eyes were on her husband. "Verne?"
He would not look at her.
"I lied to you, Verne. I lied to you about so much."
He tucked his hair behind his ears and blinked. I saw him wet his lip with his tongue. But he would still not look at her.
"I didn't come from a farm," she said. "My father died when I was three. My mother took any job she could. But we couldn't get by. We were too poor. We'd steal rinds out of the garbage. Pavel, he stayed on the streets, begging and stealing. I started working in sex clubs when I was fourteen. You can't imagine what it was like, but there is no way out of that life in Kosovo. I wanted to kill myself, I can't tell you how many times."
She raised her head toward her husband, but Verne still wouldn't meet her gaze. "Look at me," she said to him. When he didn't she leaned forward, "Verne?'
"This ain't about us," he said. "Just tell them what they need to know."
Katanna put her hands in her lap. "After a while, when you live like that, you don't think about escape. You don't think about pretty things or happiness or any of that. You become like an animal. You just hunt and survive. And I don't even know why you do that. But one day, Pavel came to me. He told me he knew a way out."
Katarina stopped. Rachel moved closer to her. I let her handle this. She had experience with interrogation and at the risk of sounding sexist, I thought that Katarina would have an easier time being drawn out by a fellow female.
"What was the way out?" Rachel asked.
"My brother said he could get us some money--and to America--if I could get pregnant."
I thought--check that: I hoped--I'd heard wrong. Verne whipped his head toward her. This time Katarina was ready. She looked at him steadily.
"I don't understand," Verne said.
"I'm worth something as a prostitute. But a baby is worth more. If I get pregnant, someone can get us to America. They will pay us money."
The room went silent. I could still hear the children outside, but the sound suddenly seemed far away, a distant echo. I was the one who spoke next, reaching through the numb. "They pay you," I said, hearing the horror and disbelief in my own voice, "for the baby?"
"Yes."
Verne said, "Sweet Jesus."
"You can't understand."
"Oh, I understand," Verne said. "Did you go through with it?"
"Yes."
Verne turned away as if he'd been slapped. His hand reached up and took hold of the curtain. He stared out at his own children.
"In my country, if you have a baby, they put it in a horrible orphanage. American parents, they want so much to adopt. But it's hard. It takes a long time. More than a year sometimes. Meanwhile, the baby lives in squalor. The parents, they must pay government officials. The system is so corrupt."
"I see," Verne said. "You were doing it for the good of mankind?"
"No, I did it for me. For me only, okay?"
Verne winced. Rachel put her hand on Katarina's knee. "So you flew over here?"
26"Yes. Pavel and I."
"Then what?"
"We stayed at a motel. I would visit a woman with white hair. She would check on me, make sure I was eating okay. She gave me money to buy food and supplies."
Rachel nodded, encouraging. "Where did you have the baby?"
"I don't know. A van with no windows came. The woman with white hair, she was there. She delivered the baby. I remember hearing it cry. Then they took it away. I don't even know if it was a boy or a girl. They drove us back to the motel. The woman with the white hair, she gave us our money."
Katarina shrugged.
It felt as if my circulation had stopped. I tried to think this through, get past the horror. I looked at Rachel and started to ask how, but she shook her head. Now was not the time to make deductions. Now was the time to gather information.
"I loved it here," Katarina said after some time had passed. "You think you have a wonderful country. But you really have no idea. I wanted so much to stay. But the money started running low. I looked for ways. I met a woman who told me about the Web site. You put your name and men write you. They wouldn't want a whore, she told me. So I made up a biography with a farm. When men asked, I gave them an e-mail address. I met Verne three months later."
Verne's face fell even farther. "You mean the whole time we were writing . . . ?"
"I was in America, yes."
He shook his head. "Was anything you told me the truth?"
"Everything that mattered."
Verne made a scoffing sound.
"What about Pavel?" Rachel asked, trying to get us back on topic. "Where did he go?"
"I don't know. He went back home sometimes, I know. He would recruit other girls to bring over. For the finder's fee. Time to time, he would contact me. If he needed a few dollars, I'd give it to him. It was really no big deal. Until yesterday."
Katarina looked up at Verne. "The children, they will be hungry.
"
"They can wait."
"What happened yesterday?" Rachel asked.
"Pavel called late in the afternoon. He says he needs to see me right away. I don't like that. I ask him what he wants. He says he'll tell me when he gets here, not to worry. I don't know what to say."
"How about no?" Verne snapped.
"I couldn't say no."
"Why not?"
She didn't answer.
"Oh, I see. You were afraid he'd tell me the truth. Isn't that it?"
"I don't know."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Yes, I was terrified he'd tell you the truth." Again she looked up at her husband. "And I prayed he would."
Rachel tried to get us back on course. "What happened when your brother got here?"
She started welling up.
"Katarina?"
"He said he needed to take Perry with him."
Verne's eyes widened.
Katarina's chest started hitching, as if it was hard to get air. "I said to him no. I said I wouldn't let him touch my children. He threatened me. He said he'd tell Verne everything. I said I didn't care. I wasn't going to let him take Perry. Then he punched me in the stomach. I fell down. He promised me he'd bring Perry back in a few hours. He promised me no one would get hurt unless I said something. If I called Verne or the police, he'd kill Perry."
Verne's hand were balled into tight fists. His face was scarlet.
"I tried to stop him. I tried to stand up, but Pavel pushed me back down. And then"--her voice caught--"then he drove away. With Perry. The next six hours were the longest of my life." She sneaked a guilty glance in my direction. I knew what she was thinking. She had experienced this terror for six hours. I'd been living with it for a year and half.
"I didn't know what to do. My brother is a bad man. I know that. But I couldn't believe he'd ever hurt my children. He was their uncle."
I thought about Stacy then, my sister, my words of sibling defense echoing in hers.
"For hours, I stayed by the window. I couldn't stand it. Finally, at midnight, I called his cell phone. He told me he was on his way back.
Perry was fine, he said. Nothing had happened. He tried to sound light, but there was something in his voice. I asked him where he was. He told me he was on Route Eighty near Paterson. I couldn't just sit in the house and wait. I told him I'd meet him halfway. I packed Verne Junior and we went. When we got to the gas station by the Sparta exit. ..." She looked at Verne. "He was fine. Perry. I felt such relief, you can't imagine."
Verne was tugging on his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger. He looked away again.
"Before I left, Pavel grabbed my arm hard. He pulled me close to him. I could see how scared he was. He said no matter what, never tell anybody about what happened. That if they found out about me--if they knew he had a sister--they would kill us all."
"Who is they?" Rachel asked.
"I don't know. Whoever he was working for. The people who bought the babies, I think. He said they were crazy."
"What did you do then?"
Katarina opened her mouth, closed it, tried again. "I went to the supermarket," she said with a sound that might have even been a laugh. "I bought the kids juice boxes. I let them drink while we shopped. I just wanted to do something normal. To, I don't know, to put it all behind me."
Katarina looked up at Verne then. I followed her gaze. I again studied this man with the long hair and the bad teeth. After a moment, he turned to her.
"It's all right," Verne said in the gentlest voice I'd ever heard. "You were scared. You've been scared your whole life."
Katarina started sobbing.
"I don't want you to be scared anymore, okay?"
He moved toward her. He took her in his arms. She settled enough to say, "He said they'd come after us. The whole family."
"Then I'll protect us," Verne said simply. He looked at me over her shoulder. "They took my kid. They threatened my family. You hear what I'm saying?"
I nodded.
"I'm in this now. I'm with you till it's over."
Rachel sat back. I saw her grimace. Her eyes closed. I didn't kno w how much longer she could go. I moved toward her. She held up her palm. "Katarina, we need you to help us here. Where was your brother staying?"
"I don't know."
"Think. Do you have any of his possessions, something that can lead us to who he worked for?"
She let go of her husband. Verne stroked her hair with a blend of tenderness and strength I envied. I turned to Rachel. I wondered if I had the courage to do the same.
"Pavel just arrived from Kosovo," Katarina said. "And he would not come here empty handed."
Rachel nodded. "You think he brought a pregnant woman with him?"
"He always did before."
"Do you know where she's staying?"
"The women always stay at the same place--the same place I stayed. It's in Union City." Katarina looked up. "You'll want this woman to help you, right?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll have to go with you. She most likely won't speak English."
I looked at Verne. He nodded. "I'll watch the kids."
No one moved for several moments. We "needed to gather our strength, adjust as if we'd entered a no-gravity zone. I used the time to step outside and call Zia. She answered on the first ring and started right in.
"The cops might be listening in, so let's not stay on the line too long," Zia said.
"Okay."
"Our friend Detective Regan came to my house. He told me that he thought you used my car to leave the hospital. I called Lenny. Lenny told me to neither confirm nor deny any allegation. You can probably guess the rest."
"Thanks."
"You being careful?"
"Always."
"Sure. By the way, the cops aren't stupid. They figure that if you used one friend's car, maybe they would look for another."
I got her meaning--don't use Lenny's car.
<?69
"Better hang up now," she said. "Love you."
The phone went dead. I moved back inside. Verne had unlocked his gun cabinet using a key. He was checking weapons. On the other side of the room, he had a safe with ammunition. It opened by combination. I looked over his shoulder. Verne wiggled his eyebrows at me. He had enough firepower to overthrow a European country.
I told them about my conversation with Zia. Verne did not hesitate. He slapped my back and said, "I have just the vehicle for you."
Ten minutes later, Katarina, Rachel, and I drove off in a white Camaro.
Chapter 38
We found the pregnant girl right away.
Before we vroomed off in Verne's ride, Rachel jumped in the shower to rinse off the blood and grime. I quickly changed her bandage. Katarina loaned her a summer dress with a flower print, the kind that fits loose but clings just right. Rachel's hair was wet and kinky, still dripping when we reached the car. Forget the bruises and swelling--I am not sure that I ever saw a more beautiful woman in my life.
We started driving. Katarina insisted on taking the fold-down seat in the back. That left Rachel and me in the front. For a few minutes, nobody spoke. We were, I think, decompressing. "
"What Verne said," Rachel began. "About getting the secrets out of the way and wiping the slate clean."
I kept driving.
"I didn't kill my husband, Marc."
She didn't seem to care that Katarina was in the car. Neither did I. "The official word is that it was an accident," I said.
"The official word is a lie." She let out a long breath. She needed time to gather herself. I gave it to her.
"It was Jerry's second marriage. He had two kids from his first. His son, Derrick, has cerebral palsy. The expenses are ridiculous. Jerry was never good with finances or anything like that, but he did his best there. He even set up a large life-insurance policy in case something happened to him."
In my peripheral vision, I could see her hands. They didn't
move or tighten into fists. They just sat primly in her lap.
"Our marriage fell apart. There were a lot of reasons. I mentioned some before. I really didn't love him. I think he sensed that. But most of all, Jerry was a manic depressive. When he stopped taking his medication, it got worse. So I finally filed for divorce."
I peeked over at her. She was biting her lip and blinking.
"On the day they served him papers, Jerry shot himself in the head. I was the one who found him slumped over our kitchen table. There was an envelope with my name on it. 1 recognized Jerry's handwriting right away. I opened it up. There was just a single sheet of paper with one word written on it. 'Bitch.' "
Katarina put a comforting hand on Rachel's shoulder. I concentrated hard on the road.
"I think Jerry did it like that on purpose," she said, "because he knew what I'd have to do."
"What was that? "I asked "A suicide would mean that the life insurance wouldn't pay. Derrick would be financially devastated. I couldn't let that happen. I called one of my old bosses, a friend of Jerry's named Joseph Pistillo. He's a big deal in the FBI. He brought down a few of his men, and we made it look like an accident. The official line was, I mistook him for a burglar. The local cops and the insurance company were both pressured into signing off on it." She shrugged.
"So why did you leave the bureau?" I asked.
"Because the rank-and-file never bought it. They all thought that I must be sleeping with someone powerful. Pistillo couldn't protect me. It would look bad. I couldn't defend myself, for that matter. I tried to tough it out, but the FBI is not a place for the unwanted."
Her head dropped back against the pad. She looked out the passenger window. I didn't know what to make of the story. I didn't know what to make of any of this yet. I wished that I could say something comforting. I couldn't. I just kept driving until we mercifully arrived at the motel in Union City.
Katarina approached the checkin desk, pretending to speak only Serbian, gesturing like mad, until the clerk, figuring that it was the only way to settle her down, told her the room number of the only other person on the premises who seemed to speak that language. We were in business.
The pregnant girl's room was more a low-end efficiency unit than something you'd find in a normal highway motel. I refer to her as a pregnant "girl" because Tatiana--that was what she said her name was--claimed to be sixteen. I suspected that she was younger. Tatiana had the sunken eyes of a child who'd just stepped out of a war newsreel, which in this situation, may have literally been the case.
I stayed back, almost out of the room. So did Rachel. Tatiana did not speak English. We let Katarina handle it. The two of them talked for about ten minutes. After that, there was a brief silence. Tatiana sighed, opened the drawer under the phone, and gave Katarina a piece of paper. Katarina kissed her cheek and then came over to us.