The Girl Next Door (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 4)
Page 19
I wait a few more seconds, so Kevin won't see me in his rearview mirror, and pull out of the alley, heading toward the Lionheart office. Everybody inside falls silent when I walk in. Two of the women have the decency to pretend they don't even notice I'm there. They stare at the paperwork on their desks; occasionally looking up at computer screens I have no doubt are blank or displaying only their email. Another stares at me blatantly, then turns to whisper something into her co-worker’s ear. There's only one empty desk. Pamela isn't there.
Not bothering to wait for anyone to greet me or give me permission, I stalk through the office to Derrick’s door. It's open a few inches, so I let myself in.
“Emma,” he smiles.
"I need my keys," I tell him.
"Your keys?" he frowns. "Did you lock yourself out of your house?"
"No, and I apparently didn't lock anyone else out, either. Someone came into my house last night. They had a key."
Derrick stands and walks over to the large cabinet on the wall. He inputs a code into a keypad, and a light flashes green, allowing him to open the door.
"Nobody used the key we have here, Emma. All the keys to all our properties are kept in this cabinet. As soon as you changed your locks, I replaced the old key with the new one. No one has the access code but me. Even the agents representing the properties being sold or rented have to go through me to get them."
He takes the key down and hands it to me. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here."
I tilt my head at him. "Why is that?"
"I heard about what happened at the funeral home. I wouldn't think you would want to run into Pamela. She hasn't exactly been quiet about her evaluation of you recently."
My spine stiffens, and I draw in a breath.
"Well, I guess I'm lucky. She's not even here. I must have just missed her," I say.
"Actually, she took the day off."
"She took the day off?" I raise an eyebrow. That wasn't what I expected to hear. "You mean she hasn't been here at all today?"
"She came by early this morning to tell me she was going to be out and to reschedule her showings."
"Where is she?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I'm not sure. She said there was just something she had to do today. But she'll be back in tomorrow."
"Do you have a schedule of all the showings? Or does each of the agents handle that individually?" I ask.
"They each have their own schedule, but I keep a master calendar, too. I have to make sure there aren't times when everybody is going to be away from the office for long stretches," he explains.
"Could I take a look at that schedule for the last three weeks?" I ask.
"Sure. It's not confidential or anything. It's posted right out on the wall in the main office," he points out the door, and I nod at him.
"Thanks." I look down at the keys in my hand and toss them back to him. "Hang onto these. They might actually be safer here."
I head over to the large calendar posted on the wall and glance over it. It's a massive white dry-erase board with different colored markers used for each of the agents. Pamela is in purple. My mind scoops up the purple ink, plucking the dates and times from the board and lining them up against other moments, other incidents. When I'm done, I head back out of the office, looking over at Pamela's empty chair as I go.
My phone is ringing when I get into the car, and I answer it cautiously.
"Sam, I can't talk on my phone."
"You need to get back here," he says.
"What?"
"You need to get back to your house. I told you to stay home," he says.
"Are you there? Did you see it?" I ask.
"See what, Emma? There's nothing in the kitchen."
"Shit," I mutter. "Sam, I can't use my phone."
"Get back here. You shouldn't be driving after taking that medication. Not when it's going to affect you like this."
"It's not affecting me. Listen to me. I'm getting off the phone and I'm going to bring it to the station. I'll leave it at the desk for you. Have the guys look through it. Call Eric. He'll explain it."
"Emma, what are you doing?" Sam asks.
"I promise it's not dangerous."
“Emma,” he says again. In the exact same tone of voice, he’s been using on me a lot lately.
“Please trust me, Sam.”
I don’t wait for an answer.
I end the call and toss it onto the passenger seat and drive directly to the police station. I bring the phone inside and leave it at the desk with instructions to give it to Sheriff Johnson when he comes back.
I plan to stop at the first Wal-Mart on the drive so I can buy the cheapest version of a smartphone I see. It doesn't have to be complex. Just functional. The drive to Crozet is a little over an hour, and I can't be without any form of contact.
Chapter Forty-Two
I already confirmed my suspicions by looking up the obituary for Ruby Baker on the burner phone I bought, but it still makes my breath catch in my throat when I pull into at the small cemetery. It doesn't take long for me to find the red Miata parked along a curving stretch of path flanked with trees and bushes that will be in full bloom come spring. The stark emptiness of the November landscape, empty branches, and cold flower beds make the color stand out even more. It's almost difficult to look at. Like she should have chosen a different car to come here. Of course, she shouldn't have. She's here for herself, not anyone else. No one else knows she's here. I'm certainly not supposed to. But I couldn't stay away. I had to be sure.
Pamela sits on her knees by a grave towards the back of the cemetery section. Her head hangs over, and she rocks back and forth slightly. I stop walking toward her, feeling intrusive. I'm not supposed to be here. This isn't a moment I should be witnessing. It's the type of moment that leaves an impression in the entire space around it that sucks in energy and leaves a gaping wound. It doesn't need to be witnessed, to be seen, in order to leave its impact. I only came to confirm my suspicions and to set my mind at ease. I turn to walk away, but a feeling gnawing in the bottom of my stomach stops me. She stands up and faces me just as I start toward the grave again.
There's a brief moment where I see an almost peaceful look on her face as she brushes away a tear. But as soon as she realizes I'm there, her expression darkens. Her eyes narrow and her jaw sets so hard the muscles twitch. She stalks toward me.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”
I raise my hands to be as non-threatening as I can be.
“I know I'm the last person you want to see right now. Trust me, if the circumstances were any different, you would be ranking right up there on my list, too. But they're not. I needed to come here.”
“Why?” Pamela demands. “Why did you need to come here? Just so that you could mock me more? You could torment me with your ridiculous stories? You know what, Emma? I thought you just cracked. You spent too long chasing after murderers and rapists and terrorists, and finally, all the twisted shit in your past just caught up to you and melted your brain, but now I wonder if you're actually just mean. And to be honest, I don't know which one I would rather it be.”
“It's neither,” I tell her. “If you'd let me explain what's going on...”
“Why should I?” she wails. “Of all the days for you to shove yourself in my face, it had to be today? Why when I'm going through this, should I have to listen to you at all?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look, I’m sorry, Pamela. I have crossed the line a number of times, and I’ve said some really hurtful things. But I promise that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to visit Ruby, too. Because there's someone out there who is using the same person to torment both of us. Someone I know who at least claims to be Ruby. I didn't know her at all, but you loved her. And you might be able to help me figure out exactly why this is all happening,” I say. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for… everything. But I need your help.”
“It's her birthday,” she says.
“I know,” nod. “I thought I remembered reading that in her obituary but checked on the way here to make sure. Can you tell me about her?”
We walk slowly back to the grave, and I see flowers newly placed at the base of the headstone.
“Ruby is… was my cousin,” Pamela sighs. “We grew up together. She was the closest thing to a sister I ever had. I doubt you remember, but I didn't live in Sherwood for several years. I was born there and was there until I was around four, then we moved here to Crozet to be near my extended family. That's when Ruby and I got really close. We spent all our time together. Everybody around here would always say if you found one of us, you would find the other. I was happy here. I was happy with her. I didn't realize we had only come here so we could help take care of my grandfather. Apparently, there were some financial problems in the family that none of us kids knew about, and all the siblings had to band together just to get through. When he died, it fractured the family again. We moved back to Sherwood, and I could only see Ruby occasionally.”
“I know what it's like to be away from the people you love,” I say. “It's awful, and I'm sorry you had to go through that.”
“Yeah, well I'd rather still be feeling that than having to see her here,” Pamela says in a strained, tear-filled voice. “I knew that guy wasn't good for her. From the very beginning, when she started talking about him, there was something off. I only met him once, but by then she was already so far in. I just wish she had talked to me more. I wish she'd given me the chance to help her. But she was so desperate for someone to love her. She wanted so much to just have her place in this world and start a family that wouldn't fall apart. Can you imagine that?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Actually, I can.”
“Well,” she says, trying to put strength back into her voice. “I would have told her I was her family, and she didn't need anyone else to create that for her. It's not completely her fault. It's not like I made myself totally available to her, either. I always told her she could call me anytime. I didn't realize he wouldn't let her. The only way she would have been able to tell me what was happening was if I was here, and I was always too busy. Too wrapped up in my career.” She scoffs. “I was planning on coming for her birthday. I was going to surprise her and take her on a whole day of activities we used to do when we were younger. I wanted to show her that her little cousin had really made something out of herself. She was going to be so proud of me, and maybe then I could convince her to come to Sherwood with me. Derrick was going to interview her for a secretary position at the office, then we were going to train her to be an agent one day.”
“That would have been amazing for her,” I smile, emotions bubbling up in me. I’ve never seen this side of Pamela before. I never knew what went on in her life. To me, she was always this one-dimensional caricature of some frivolous girl always trying to steal Sam from me. I never even considered she was using that as a defense mechanism to cover the struggles she goes through
I was wrong about Pamela.
"Yes, it would have been. But she didn't make it to her birthday." Pamela crouches down and runs her hand across the name engraved into the stone. "I got a call that she was in the hospital. She had an accident. I thought someone smashed into her when she was coming home from work. She worked at a bar up the way called Fardowners. That was one thing he actually let her do. She brought back money from it, so he didn't care how much she hated it, or that she had to drive home so late at night. I was always afraid some drunk driver would run her down. By the time I got here, she was barely hanging on. That's when I found out it wasn't a car. She had gotten into an accident with Robert's fists. The doctors tried, but there was nothing they could do. He mangled her. She died the next day."
"Robert?" I ask.
"Her boyfriend."
"What happened to him?"
"He's in prison. It won't do Ruby any good, but I hope every day he gets a dose of what he did to her. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to make him suffer for the rest of his life." She looks up at me. "Does that make me a terrible person?"
"No. That makes you human. I had no idea you had gone through any of this," I tell her. “I’m really sorry, Pamela.”
"No one knows," she says. "At least no one in Sherwood. I didn't tell anybody there."
"Why not?"
"I didn't want them to judge her. That's what people do. They say they don't. They say to sympathize with the victim and tell her story, not the killer's. But it never works out that way. As soon as the story gets out, people start picking apart the woman who was beaten to a pulp, as if they can lay out all the mistakes she made that made her deserve what happened to her. I didn't want anyone in Sherwood to be able to do that to her. And, the truth is, I didn't want them to do it to me, either. I already blamed myself. I didn't want them to blame me, too."
"You weren't responsible for what happened," I reassure her.
"In a way I was. Everyone who ever met her was. But I didn't want to hear that from anyone who hadn't met her. And I didn't want hollow sympathy and people looking at me differently, so I didn't tell anyone."
"So, why are you telling me?" I ask.
"Because you made her real again. When I didn't talk about her, I told myself I was protecting her. I was keeping her all to myself and not letting anyone near her. But when you talked about her, even if you didn't realize who you were talking about, you brought her back. You made her a part of the world again. I had been pretending for a while that she was just at home, and we would get together sometime when we weren't so busy. You talking about her and making me face this, got me to come here. To see her for her birthday," she tells me.
"I'm sorry, Pamela."
"Emma, I need you to tell me what actually happened," she says.
"I did. A woman told me she was moving in at 2021 Candlewood, and that her name was Ruby Baker. Look."
I pull up the obituary on my burner phone. Pamela draws in a sharp breath when she sees it.
"That's not her. That's not Ruby," she says.
"I know that now. But this is the woman I met. She told me her name was Ruby Baker. She was running from an abusive boyfriend. She was from Crozet. She was nice, and she baked me a cake, and we talked. And I saw…” I trail off, taking in a slow, rattling breath.
“You saw what?” Pamela frowns.
“I saw through her window one night. I saw a man… hurt her. And I saw her body on the floor of the house.”
Pamela gasps and trembles. There is no doubt she has played this exact scene in her mind thousands of times. I reach out and give her a hug until she gathers herself back together. We take a couple of deep breaths, and I continue talking.
“But then the next morning, she was gone. No body, no evidence. Not even any boxes from her moving in. That’s why I asked you to walk through the house with us. And from what you just told me, she got some of the details wrong. Then after she disappeared, I looked her up, and I found an obituary and a grave locator. A memorial page. They all have pictures of this woman. Not the real Ruby."
"How?" Pamela asks.
"It took someone a lot of time and attention to detail to make sure it was as thorough as it is, but there are hackers who thrive on messed up little games like this. Someone hacked into these websites and edited them with the pictures they wanted me to see. They kept the information but changed the birth year to fit with the woman I saw. Then they just left it out there for me to find."
"So, you would think you were batshit crazy," she completes my thought. “I’m sorry too, Emma.”
"It’s fine. Me and everyone else," I say.
"But why her?" she asks.
"I don't think it was really about her," I tell her. "There was something else going on. Ruby's memory was just an unfo
rtunate casualty. Like I said, this woman got details wrong. She said Ruby was married before, and that her boyfriend's name was Frank."
"Franklin Robert Guzman," Pamela says. "This other woman must have at least seen his name once. She just didn't bother to find out more."
"Exactly. But that means it wasn't really about her," I point out.
"So, what was it about?" she asks.
"I'm not completely sure, but I need you to do something for me. You don't have any reason to believe me or trust me. I know that. And that's fine. After all this, it's fair game and you can go back to hating me. But for right now, I need you to be extremely careful. Stay put here. Don't go back to Sherwood, and don't see Kevin," I tell her.
"Kevin?" she asks, shocked.
"Pamela, just this once, I need you to believe me."
Chapter Forty-Three
The email from Eric pops up when I'm halfway back to Sherwood. I want to pull off and read through it, but I don't have the time. I need to get back. It's already late afternoon by the time I pull back into Sherwood. My first stop is the police station, but the receptionist tells me Sam is out on a call and doesn’t know when he's going to be back.
“Tell him I'm at the library,” I tell her.
The library is in the same complex as the police station. The station itself acts as the face of what is essentially the town square of Sherwood. From Main Street, visitors have to turn down a side road and park before walking into the square of buildings. The library, police station, courthouse, law library, and clerk, along with a few small historic buildings, create a perimeter around a courtyard with brick paths leading to a grassy center. The fountain in the middle of the grass has no water in it now, but when the weather heats up, it will become a popular destination for people hoping to cool off in the mist splashing off the concrete.