As expected, there were all kinds of trails crisscrossing the field. It was colder inside the forest and he put his jacket back on. There were no signs of secret hiding places, no trash other than some cigarette butts and more empty beer bottles than he could count. Jeffrey could still see the sun peeking through the limbs and he made sure to keep it on his right as he walked a straight line toward the motel. He kept checking his watch as he walked so that he wouldn’t lose his sense of time, which always moved more slowly when you thought you were lost.
Jeffrey was starting to get a little nervous when he heard the stream that he’d seen behind Hank’s bar the other night. Briefly, he had the entertaining idea that he might find whatever Boyd Gibson had dropped, but by the time he reached the bank of the stream, he’d pretty much given up on that miracle happening.
Jeffrey saw the room he and Sara had shared. Someone who wasn’t exactly handy had nailed a large sheet of plywood over the broken window. The door was ajar, and Jeffrey poked his head in and checked to make sure they had gotten all of their things. The room looked exactly as they’d left it, but for some reason, Jeffrey didn’t find the place as disgusting. Maybe it was because he’d spent a couple of hours in Hank’s house. He didn’t know how Lena had stood it.
“Shit,” Jeffrey whispered. Lena hadn’t stood it. There was no way she’d stayed in that house. She wasn’t exactly a neat freak, but no sane human being would sleep in that pigsty.
Jeffrey jogged to the front office. The night clerk was gone, but an orange-haired teenager was sitting behind the counter playing video games on the computer.
The kid didn’t look up from the screen as he jabbed his thumbs at the buttons. “What’s up?”
“Was somebody, a woman, staying here last week about this tall.” Jeffrey held up his hand to indicate Lena’s height. “Brown hair, brown eyes—”
“You mean Lena?” The kid kept his eyes glued to the screen.
Jeffrey reached over the counter and ripped the controller out of his hand. “Give me the key to her room.”
“The sheriff’s already checked—” The kid seemed to understand this didn’t matter. He quickly handed Jeffrey the passkey, saying, “Room fourteen. It’s on the second floor.”
Jeffrey bolted up the stairs. He jammed the key in the lock and threw open Lena’s door as if he expected to find her standing there with a full explanation.
She wasn’t.
He closed the door behind him and dropped the key on the plastic table. Lena’s toiletries were neatly lined up by the sink, her clothes still folded in her suitcase. Jeffrey couldn’t begin to know what, if anything, was missing because he didn’t know what she had packed. Still, he opened all the drawers, checked the nightstand, even looked under the sink.
There was nothing except a rusted flathead screwdriver that had rolled under the air conditioner by the window.
Jeffrey sat on the bed, trying to think. He had never seen Lena carry a purse, but then carrying a bag wasn’t conducive to the job. He would have to ask Sara about that. Or maybe Valentine would be the person to question since the sheriff had already checked the room. On second thought, there was no need to let the sheriff know he’d gotten one up on Jeffrey.
Jeffrey stood from the bed and lifted up the mattress, finding the remnants of what he guessed had been a couple of Cheetos but nothing else. He dropped the mattress, a rush of air blowing back on him. Jeffrey’s olfactory system was understandably out of whack since his time at Hank Norton’s, but he could have sworn he’d gotten a whiff of gun oil. He flipped the mattress off the bed and knelt down to examine the bedskirt that covered the boxspring. Glad that no one could see him, he sniffed around the thin cotton, stopping when he heard a key sliding into the lock on the door.
Jeffrey stood up just as the door opened. The maid did a double take when she saw him, a scowl on her face.
She demanded, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Can you come back in ten minutes?”
“Can you put that mattress back where it belongs?” Jeffrey didn’t snap to, and she tucked her hands onto her hips. “I ain’t got all day, mister.”
He took out his badge and showed it to her.
She squinted at the tiny letters, unimpressed. “Grant County. Sounds like a real shithole. You with the mattress division, checking to see if people pulled off the tags?”
Jeffrey put the mattress back in place, hoping he could keep her talking. “Did you ever meet the woman who was staying here?”
“The one what gave Jake the slip?” She chuckled, walking into the room. “And to think I voted for that dipshit.”
“Lena’s a friend of mine,” he told the woman. “I’m trying to help her out.”
“Ain’t you the gallant knight.” She took a rag out of her pocket and started wiping down the phone on the bedside table, mumbling, “Must’ve used the phone a lot. Damn greasy fingerprints are all over it.” Her head was bent, but she looked up at Jeffrey as if she was wondering why he was still here.
“Thanks for your help,” he told the woman, though the opposite was the case.
Jeffrey was halfway toward the stairs when he realized the maid may have been more helpful than she’d intended. He hadn’t seen Lena’s cell phone in the hotel room, so it must have been in her car. Frank Wallace, his second in command, could run a records check to see who she had been talking to before the night the Escalade was torched, or maybe even after. He would also put out his own APB on Hank’s Mercedes and maybe have Frank call in a few favors with the Highway Patrol to see if they could keep an eye out for Lena. As with Jeffrey’s phone, Sara’s couldn’t get a cell signal at the hotel, so he would have to call Frank on the walk back.
Jeffrey stopped on the bottom stair. Christ, what an idiot. If he couldn’t get a cell signal at the hotel, neither could Lena.
He jogged toward the front office again. This time, the kid was waiting at the counter, ready to serve. He asked, “Find anything?”
Jeffrey shot back his own question. “Did Detective Adams make any phone calls while she was here?”
“She made a long-distance one before she left.”
Jeffrey knew from his own bill that the motel charged fifty cents a minute for local calls and two dollars a minute for long distance. The calls were big money and the motel would keep exact records. “Let me see all of her calls.”
The teenager pulled a stack of papers off the printer. “There was only one,” he explained. “Got a nine-one-two area code.”
The number looked familiar. “That’s Savannah.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Jeffrey grabbed the phone off the counter and dialed the number.
LENA
CHAPTER 20
CHARLOTTE’S FACE WAS OBSCURED by the duct tape covering her mouth, so that all Lena could see was a pair of bright, terrified eyes. The woman trembled with fear, her sobs muffled by the tape. Lena glanced in the rearview mirror as she drove the SUV down a dark road, trying to silently communicate to Charlotte to just hold on, that Lena would find a way out of this. Though, how she would manage their escape, Lena did not know.
The tattooed man who had hit Lena was behind them, driving her Celica. She had no idea where they were going or why. She just kept driving because even though she could not see the masked face of the man in the backseat, she knew that he was not fucking around. The way he held the gun told her all that she needed to know. The weapon was like an extension of his hand. He was not afraid to use it.
Lena thought about Evelyn Johnson, Ethan driving her in his truck to that clearing in the woods where she was murdered. Had Ethan looked in his rearview mirror and seen the fear in Evelyn’s eyes, knowing there was nothing that he could do? Had he been just as afraid himself? Or had he been squirming in his seat, fighting the excitement building between his legs as he thought about what was to come?
“Turn here,” the man in the mask said, and Lena followed orders, turning onto Laskey Street, which ran
behind the school. There was no urgency in his voice and he seemed to have no particular plan in mind. As far as she could tell, he was making her drive in a circle around the periphery of the high school.
“Next right,” he said.
Lena looked at Charlotte again. She asked the man, “Why are you doing this?”
“Why do you think?”
“Did Ethan send you?”
“Who’s Ethan?”
“If Ethan sent you, then this is between me and him. Charlotte doesn’t have anything to do with this. I haven’t even seen her since high school.”
“Honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She didn’t know if he was telling the truth or playing with her. Had they followed her to Coastal State Prison or just waited for her to show back up in town? There was nothing in her motel room that would tell them where she had been. Ethan’s arrest jacket was tucked back in its hiding place behind the CD changer in the trunk of her Celica. The only thing of value in the room was her Glock, and they obviously didn’t need that.
Lena glanced over her shoulder. The man was small but well built. He sat casually with his legs spread apart, his left arm draped over the back of the seat, the gun in his hand pointing at Charlotte’s neck.
He said, “What are you looking at?”
“Who are you?” Lena asked. Did the mask mean he was going to let them go? She had already seen his flunky’s face, though maybe that didn’t matter because his cover had been blown two days ago outside of Hank’s house.
She looked around for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon. Other than the keys, there was nothing but a Styrofoam cup in one of the holders. She let her hand slide down the wheel and pressed her knuckles against the side of the cup. The contents were cold, probably water.
“Keep going,” the man said. “Take another right up here.”
Lena ignored him, going straight. He clicked his tongue as if she were a rebellious child, but didn’t say anything else.
Rule number one when faced with an abduction was to not let the perpetrator change your location. If he jumped you in a parking lot, then you fought tooth and nail to stay in that parking lot. You didn’t get in a car with him and you didn’t let him drag you somewhere else. Once he had control of you and the situation, he could do whatever he wanted. There was no going back.
Lena slowed the car, keeping her eye on the Celica behind them, wondering what she was getting herself—and Charlotte—into.
The man said, “You really like pushing your luck, don’t you?”
Lena stopped the car. She turned around to face him. “What do you want from us? Why is Charlotte here?”
The back door beside Charlotte opened. The man with the red swastika stood there.
The man with the gun ordered, “Give her a little incentive so she knows we’re not playing around.”
The thug reached around to the back of his pants. Lena braced herself for him to pull a gun and shoot them both, but what he did instead was pull out a rolled-up plastic bag.
“What are you doing?” Lena asked, but she knew well enough when the man unrolled the bag and took out a filled syringe.
Charlotte knew what was coming before Lena did. She panicked, tucking her arms behind her back, struggling to protect herself as the thug tapped the side of the syringe, squirted some liquid out of the needle. She started to flail desperately when he grabbed her arm, then suddenly it seemed to Lena that something inside of the other woman just snapped. She simply gave up, holding out her arm, waiting for the needle to go in.
“No…” Lena said, but it was too late. The plunger was pressed. Charlotte closed her eyes, a soft sound like a sigh coming from her throat.
The man in the mask nestled the gun against Charlotte’s cheek. “She likes that, don’t you think?”
Lena felt tears stream down her face. How many kids did Charlotte have? She had seen one of them in the library the other day, a young girl, probably not even thirteen.
“Please,” Lena said. “Just let her go.”
“Why don’t you drive some more?” the man suggested. He nodded to his lackey and the door was slammed shut.
Lena put the car in gear and pressed her foot to the gas. She drove aimlessly, following the circle she’d made before, the Celica close behind.
Charlotte gave a deep moan. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped against the door.
Lena demanded, “What did you give her?”
“Something to take the edge off.”
“I don’t understand,” Lena said. She was crying in earnest now. “Why is this happening? What did Charlotte ever do to you?”
“Want me to tell you a little story, Lee?”
He used her familiar name, the one reserved for close friends and family. Lena turned the rearview mirror away from Charlotte and onto her abductor.
She could see his white teeth through the hole in the mask. “You figuring it out, baby doll?”
She concentrated on his voice, desperately trying to place it. There was hardly any accent, and the tone was deep, almost as deep as Jeffrey’s. Lena ran through her childhood, trying to think of the men she had known. Hank did not have friends. When he was using, he ended up screwing them or pushing them away. When he stopped using, he’d lacked the skills to make connections. There were people he knew from AA meetings and Deacon Simms, but that was it. He spent his nights at home or at the bar.
The man told her, “You know, when I saw you at Hank’s place the other day, I thought, ‘Now there’s a good-lookin’ woman.’”
Had he been in the Escalade outside of Hank’s house? The SUV’s windows were tinted. Lena had been so focused on the man with the swastika that she hadn’t bothered to look for a passenger.
“You look a lot like your mama when she was your age. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t even know my mother lived to be my age.”
“Oh, yeah, Angie lived a lot longer than she should have.”
Hank had said that the man outside was the one who’d killed Angela Adams. Had he meant this man, the one who now held a gun to Charlotte Warren’s head?
Lena asked, “Did you kill my mother?” She turned around. “Hank said that you killed her.”
He laughed. “Hank says a lot of things. Not like he’s gonna make it much longer doped up like he is. Tell me, honey, do you like to bet? Maybe you want to make a little wager on how long it takes for him to die?” His laughter was a dry-sounding noise devoid of any humor. “Frankly, I’d be surprised if he was still breathing after that shit Clint gave him today.”
Clint, Lena thought. Now she knew the thug’s name.
“Let me tell you about your mama,” the man in the mask said. “Do you wanna know about your mama?”
“Yes.”
“Well…” He pretended to think back. “Like I said, you’re just like her. Same pretty hair, beautiful eyes. Her mouth was some kind of wonderful. I won’t go into details seeing as you’re her baby girl, but let’s just say she could suck the leather off a baseball and swallow it whole.” He cackled. “Angie wasn’t always like that, of course. Tight as a damn drum in high school. Real religious, just like her mother. Would’ve taken a crowbar just to get her open. Up here.”
“What?”
“Turn up here,” he said, pointing to the grass beside the school.
“There’s no road.”
“I keep forgetting you’re a cop,” he said. “Come on, now, just turn onto the grass. Nobody’s gonna arrest you.”
Lena held on to the wheel as the tires dipped into the shoulder off the road. Some of the water in the cup beside her splashed onto her leg as she steered the car to even terrain.
“Keep going.” He indicated that she should drive through the open gates to the football field.
Lena drove as slowly as she could without stalling the car. In the mirror, she could see the Celica pull into one of the spaces in the senior parking lot. Was this the plan, t
hen? To kill Lena and Charlotte outside the school? She didn’t understand why he was still talking if all he wanted to do was kill them.
“Little bit more,” the man said. “Through the gates and onto the football field.” He leaned forward, his hand brushing Lena’s arm. “Give me that cup, will you? All this talking is making me thirsty.”
She put her foot on the brake and did as he asked, careful not to let her hand touch his. As the cup passed between them, she got a whiff of the contents. It definitely wasn’t water, but she could not place the odor. The cup felt heavier than it should’ve been.
“Thank you.” He sat back in the seat, holding the cup at chest level. “You look like you’ve got a question for me.”
She cut to the heart of the matter. “How did you know my mother?”
“She was just like Charlotte here,” he answered. “Give them a little taste and they’ll do whatever you ask.”
“Taste of what?” Lena asked. “Drugs?” She looked back at Charlotte. The woman was slumped and silent, her lips slightly curled up as if she was hearing a different conversation. Had she lied about just being an alcoholic? Was she an addict, too?
“Stop on the fifty-yard line,” the man told her.
Lena put the car in park but left the engine running. Ahead of her, she could see Clint making his way onto the field. He strained from what looked like a heavy bucket he carried in his hand, his body listing to the side. Instead of coming to the car, he put the bucket down on the sidelines, then stood there, as if waiting to be called over.
In the rearview mirror, Lena watched the masked man tuck his gun into the waistband of his jeans. He held the cup in his right hand and kept his left wrapped around the back of Charlotte’s neck.
Lena could run now. She could bolt from the car. Clint was fat and out of shape. Lena could run through the woods on the side of the stadium and get lost in the darkness. She could pound on someone’s door until they opened up and demand to use the phone.
“You gonna leave?” the man asked, as if he could read her mind. “Or do you want to stay put and hear what I have to say?”
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