The car crunched to a halt in their driveway, and Sally said, “I am so sorry, Hope. I know what he meant to you.”
It seemed to Hope that those were the first soft words she’d heard from her partner in months. She breathed in deeply and wordlessly got out of the car and walked across the lawn, fallen leaves kicking up around her feet. She stopped at the front door and took a second to examine it before she turned back to Sally. “Not here,” she said with a deep sigh. “Unless whoever it was can pick a lock, which he probably can. But someone, like one of the neighbors or a delivery guy or someone, would have seen him out front.”
Sally had joined her. “Around back. By the basement. Or maybe one of the side windows.”
Hope nodded. “I’ll check the back. You check the windows, especially over by the library.”
It did not take Hope long to find the shredded doorjamb. She stood for a moment, simply staring at the shards of wood that littered the cement basement floor. “Sally, down here!”
There was only a single bare overhead bulb, which cast odd shapes into the musty corners of the old house’s basement. Hope remembered that when Ashley was young, she was always scared to come downstairs alone to do her laundry, as if the corners and cobwebs hid trolls or ghosts. Nameless had been her preferred companion on those occasions. Even as a teenager, when Ashley knew she was far too sophisticated to believe in such things, she would collect all her too-tight jeans and skimpy underwear she didn’t want her mother to know she was wearing, then grab a dog biscuit and hold the basement door open for Nameless. The dog would clatter eagerly down the stairs, making enough of a racket to scare away any lingering demon, and wait for Ashley, already sitting, his tail sweeping half-moons of enthusiasm on the floor.
Hope turned when Sally came down the stairs. “This is where he got in.”
Sally eyed the splinters and nodded. She stepped aside as Hope moved past her.
“Then he would have come up the stairs. He probably had one of those little miniflashlights. Then into the kitchen.”
“That’s where Nameless must have heard him. Or smelled him,” Sally said.
Hope took a breath. “Nameless liked to wait for us in the vestibule, so he would have reacted to the sound behind him and known right away it wasn’t you or me or even Ashley coming home.”
Hope glanced around the kitchen. “This is where he made his stand,” she said softly. Last stand, she thought to herself. She could see the old dog, the gray hairs on the back of the neck raised, worn teeth bared. His home, his family. No one was getting past him, even if his eyesight was weak and his hearing almost gone. Not without paying a price, this she knew. She coughed back some more tears and dropped down to the floor, inspecting the area carefully. “See,” she said after a few seconds. “Right here.”
Sally looked down. “What is it?”
“Blood. Got to be blood. And not Nameless’s either.”
“I think you’re right,” Sally said. Then softer: “Good dog.”
“But whoever it was that broke in, what was he looking for?”
This time it was Sally who inhaled sharply. “It was him,” she said quietly.
“Him? You mean…”
“The creep. O’Connell.”
“But I thought…you said he was out of our lives. The private eye told you…”
“The private eye, Murphy, was killed. Murdered. Yesterday.”
Hope’s eyes widened.
“I was going to tell you, right when we got home.” Sally didn’t need to continue.
“Murdered? How? Where?”
“On a street in Springfield. Execution-style, or so the paper said.”
“What the hell does ‘execution-style’ mean?” Hope asked, her voice rising.
“It means someone walked up behind him and put two small-caliber bullets into the back of his brain.” Sally’s voice was cold, mingling detail with fear.
“You think it was him? Why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I can’t tell. A lot of people hated Murphy. Any one of them…”
“We’re not interested in anyone else. I mean, do you think…” Hope stared down at the splatters of blood on the floor. “So, it might have been anybody in Springfield. But you think this break-in was…”
“Who else?”
“Well, it could have been any burglar. It’s not like it’s unheard-of in this neighborhood.”
“It’s still pretty unusual. And even when there is a break-in, it’s usually just teenage kids, anyway. This doesn’t feel like that. Do you see anything stolen?”
“No.”
“Then who else?”
“If it was O’Connell, that means…”
“He’s back after Ashley. Obviously.”
“But why here?” Hope finally said.
Sally shuddered. “He was searching for information.”
“But I thought Scott had invented this story and sold it to the creep. You know, Italy. Studying Renaissance art. Long gone and out of reach.”
Sally shook her head. “We don’t know,” she said coldly. “We have no idea what O’Connell knows, or what he thinks, or what he’s learned. Or what he’s done. We know Murphy was killed and we know Nameless was killed. Are the two the same? We’re the ones in the dark.” She sighed, then clenched her fists and pushed one up against her head in frustration. “We don’t know anything for sure.”
Hope looked down at the floor and thought she saw another droplet or two of blood, by the door leading into the house. “Let’s look around for a minute, see if we can trace his steps.”
Sally closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall for a moment. She gave out a long, slow breath. “At least there’s nothing here that would tell him where she is. I was really careful about that.” Opening her eyes, she continued, “And Nameless, just fighting him, you know, the way he did, that was probably more than enough to chase the son of a bitch out of here.”
Hope nodded, but inwardly she was less sure. “Let’s just look around.”
Another splatter of blood was in the hallway leading into the small library and television room.
Hope let her eyes sweep about, searching for telltale signs that O’Connell had been in here. When her eyes fell on the telephone, she gasped and took a step forward. “Sally,” she said quietly, “look there.”
Several crimson blood drops were on the telephone.
“But it’s just the phone…,” Sally started. Then she realized that the red message light was blinking. She pushed the playback button.
Ashley’s cheerful voice filled the room.
“Hi, Mom, and, hi, Hope. I miss you. But I’m having a great time with Catherine. We’re heading out to dinner, and I was just wondering if I could sneak down there in the next couple of days. Catherine will let me borrow her car, you know, maybe pick up some warmer clothes? Vermont is beautiful during the daytime, but at night, it’s getting chilly, and I’m going to need a parka and maybe some boots. Anyway, that’s the idea. I’ll talk to you later. Love ya.”
“Oh my God,” Sally blurted. “Oh no.”
“He knows,” Hope said. “He knows. For sure.”
Sally rocked back and spun around, her face stricken, her heart frozen in fear.
“That’s not all,” Hope said softly. Sally followed her eyes to a bookcase. The second shelf was filled with family pictures—of Hope and Sally, of Nameless, and of all of them with Ashley. There was also an elegant shot of Ashley, caught in profile, hiking in the Green Mountains, just as the sun was setting, the luckiest of pictures. It was a favorite of theirs because it captured her right at that wondrous transition from child to adult, from braces and bony knees to grace and beauty.
The picture usually occupied the center of the shelf.
It was no longer there.
Sally choked and grabbed at the phone. She dialed Catherine’s number, then stood helplessly as it rang over and over, without answer.
Scott had chosen that nigh
t to drive over to one of the other nearby colleges and attend a speech by a constitutional rights scholar from Harvard Law School, who was giving a presentation as part of a lecture series. The topic had been the history and evolution of the rights to due process. The speech had been genuinely lively. He was energized, and when he stopped on his way home to pick up some chicken lo mein and beef and snow peas at a Chinese restaurant, Scott was looking forward to the remainder of the evening, alone with student papers.
He reminded himself to call Ashley at some point that evening, just to check in, see how she was, see if she needed some cash. He was a little uncomfortable that Catherine was footing the bill for Ashley’s stay. He thought he should find some equitable financial understanding, especially because he was a little unsure how long Ashley would have to be there. Not much longer, surely. But still, she was probably something of a burden. He didn’t really know whether Catherine was wealthy. They had only met once or twice, on blessedly brief, overly polite occasions. He did know that she was fond of Ashley, which made her basically okay in his book.
The lo mein had started to drip through the paper bag when he came through the door and heard the telephone ring. He dumped it on the kitchen counter and grabbed the phone.
“Yeah, hello?” he said abruptly.
“Scott, it’s Sally. He was here, he killed Nameless, and now he knows where Ashley is and I can’t reach them on the phone.”
Her voice burst over the line, the words rushing toward him.
“Sally, calm down,” he said. “One thing at a time.”
He could hear his own tones. Calm. Reasonable.
Inside, he could feel his heart, his breathing, his head, all spinning and accelerating, as if he were dropping suddenly through a sullen, windswept sky.
Ashley and Catherine walked slowly through Brattleboro back to Catherine’s car, coffees in hand, observing a row of artisans’ studios, hardware stores, outdoor-gear outlets, and bookstores. It reminded Ashley of the college town where she had grown up, a place defined by the seasons and their modest pace. It was hard to feel uncomfortable or even threatened in a town that bent over backward to accommodate differing points of view.
It was a twenty-minute drive from the town out into the countryside where Catherine’s house was nestled between hills and fields, isolated from the neighbors. Catherine made Ashley drive, complaining that her eyesight wasn’t nearly as sharp at night as it once was, although Ashley figured that she just wanted to enjoy her latte in peace. Ashley was happy to hear the older woman go on this way; there was something fierce about Catherine. She wasn’t willing to allow any of the aches and pains of aging limit anything she did, as long as she got to rail against the process.
As they drove, Catherine gestured toward the road ahead. “Don’t nail some deer. Bad for the deer. Bad for the car. Bad for us.”
Ashley dutifully slowed the car and took a glance in the rearview mirror. She could see a set of headlights coming up fast behind them. “Someone seems to be in a hurry.”
She tapped her brakes once, just to make sure that the car behind them saw their lights.
“Jesus Christ!” she burst out.
The car behind them had roared up to their rear bumper, closing the distance with a screech, tailgating them, only inches back.
“What the hell?” Ashley shouted. “Hey, get back!”
“Stay calm,” Catherine said coldly. But she had dug her fingernails into the seat.
“Stop it!” Ashley shouted as the car behind them suddenly flicked on its high beams, filling up the interior with light. “God damn it, what are you doing?”
She could not see who was in the car, nor could she make out the make and model. She seized hold of her steering wheel as they maneuvered down the isolated country road.
“Let him pass,” Catherine said, keeping as much alarm out of her voice as she could. She pivoted in her seat, trying to look out the back, but she was blinded by the headlights and restricted by her seat belt. “Just pull to the side, first place you see. The road gets a little wider up ahead.” She was trying to remain calm at the same moment that her head was calculating rapidly. Catherine knew the roads in her community well; she was trying to think ahead, trying to envision how much space they might have.
Ashley tried to speed up, just to gain some separation, but the road was too narrow and twisted. The car behind them accelerated, keeping pace. She started to slow down.
“What the hell does he want?” she shouted again.
“Don’t stop,” Catherine said. “Whatever you do, don’t stop. Son of a bitch!”
“What if he hits us?” Ashley asked, to prevent herself from screaming.
“Just slow down enough so he goes by us. If he hits us, hang on. The road forks right, a mile ahead, and we can take that turn and head back towards town. It’ll take us towards the fire station, and maybe the cops, too.”
Ashley grunted in agreement.
Catherine did not tell Ashley that nearby Brattleboro might have twenty-four-hour police, ambulance, and fire service, but her little town relied on the state police after 10 p.m. or volunteers, who had to be summoned by radio. She wanted to check her watch, but was scared to release her grip on the handholds.
“Up there, on the right!” Catherine cried out. She knew there was a small turnoff a quarter mile ahead, designed to give school buses just enough room to turn around. “Head for that!”
Ashley nodded and pushed down on the gas once again. The car behind them jumped with them, sticking close as Ashley swerved the car onto a small dirt patch by the road She tried to move suddenly enough so that the car behind them would have no choice but to pass.
Except it didn’t.
Both women heard the squealing sound of brakes, and the screeching noise of tires complaining against the highway.
“Hang on!” Ashley shouted.
Both braced for impact, and Ashley crunched her foot down on the brake. The car was immediately enveloped in a cloud of dirt and dust, and they could hear gravel pinging off the undercarriage and spitting into the nearby trees.
Catherine threw one hand up to shield her face, and Ashley thrust herself back in the seat as the car skidded on the loose-packed dirt. Ashley spun the wheel into the skid, just as her father had taught her, seizing control before they slammed into an embankment. The rear end fishtailed for an instant, but Ashley was able to subdue it, wrestling with the wheel. She looked up, expecting to see the car behind them roar past, but she saw nothing.
The car shuddered and stopped, and Ashley pivoted, expecting headlights and collision.
Catherine slammed back in the passenger seat, bumped her head against the window, grunting hard. “Hang on!” she yelled again, expecting another impact.
But all that greeted them was silence.
Scott listened to the empty ringing, knowing no one was picking up the line.
The first thing he told himself was not to read too much into the failure to connect. They were probably just out for a meal and not yet home. Ashley was something of a night owl, he reminded himself, and more than likely she’d enlisted Catherine in a late showing at a movie theater, or maybe a drink at a bar. There were dozens of reasons why they could still be out. Do not panic, he told himself. Getting hysterical for no real reason wouldn’t help anyone or anything and would only irritate Ashley when they did manage to reach her. And probably irritate Catherine, as well, because she wasn’t the sort that ever liked being thought of as incompetent.
He breathed in sharply and called his ex-wife back.
“Sally? There’s still no answer.”
“I think she’s in danger, Scott. I really think so.”
“Why? Why this time?”
Sally’s head was filled with some perverse equation: dead dog times dead detective, divided by splintered doorjamb, multiplied to the missing photograph power. And it equals…But instead she said, “Look, a bunch of things have happened. I can’t fill you in, but—”
“Why can’t you fill me in?” Scott asked, as pedantic as ever.
“Because,” Sally spoke between gritted teeth, “every second we delay could prove—”
She didn’t finish. For a moment, the two of them were silent, the gulf between them cavernous.
“Let me speak with Hope,” Scott said abruptly.
This took Sally by surprise. “She’s right here, but—”
“Put her on.”
There was a momentary telephone fumbling before Hope picked up the line. “Scott?”
“I can’t get through, either. Not even the answering machine.”
“She doesn’t have one. She believes in making people call her back.”
“Do you think—”
“Yes, I do.”
“Should we call the police?” Scott asked.
Hope paused. “I will. I know most of the cops up there, sort of. Hell, a couple of them were high school classmates of mine. I can get one of them to drive over there and check on things.”
“Can you do this without making too much of an alarm?”
“Yes. I can simply say I can’t reach my mother and she’s elderly. They all know her, and it shouldn’t be a problem for them.”
“Okay. Do it,” Scott said. “And tell Sally I’m on my way up there. If you reach Catherine, tell her I’m going to show up there later tonight. But I’ll need directions.”
As Hope spoke, she saw that Sally was pale, her hands shaking. She had never seen Sally so scared, and this unsettled Hope almost as much as the shapeless night that engulfed them.
Catherine was the first to speak. “Are you okay, Ashley?”
And Ashley nodded, her lips dry and throat almost closed, not trusting her voice. She felt her racing heartbeat return to normal, and she said, “I’m fine. What about you?”
The Wrong Man Page 30