“You’re friends of Bella’s?” one of the women asked, the titter in her voice divulging the fact that she’d been drinking.
“Could we speak with you alone?” Hal asked Georgia Schwartzman. “Just for a moment.”
“Of course. Excuse me, ladies.” Georgia rose quickly and went around the table the long way. She wore a wool skirt that covered her knees and a sweater with a wide belt that accentuated her narrow waist. Her black flats had bows on the toes and little gold plaques with something etched on them. A designer’s name, no doubt.
She passed by them without stopping and waved toward the house. “I’ll be right back, ladies. Patrice, don’t you dare tell that story until I’m back!” She paused next to the maid. “Maya, will you bring out another bottle of the rosé?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll have another vodka soda,” the drunk woman announced a little loudly.
Harper and Hal followed Georgia Schwartzman down the hall and into a den. It smelled of books and dust and remnants of cigars, decades old. He guessed that it had belonged to Anna’s father.
She motioned them to sit on the couch and took a place in the chair. The veneer of elegance and control wavered. Her eyes suddenly looked slightly puffy, swollen as she alternated her gaze between Hal and Harper. Smoothing her hands along her skirt, she spoke with a crack in her voice. “Is there news?”
“Then you know Anna is missing?”
She nodded. “The police were here. They asked if I had spoken to her. But I hadn’t—” She swallowed as though something large and uncomfortable had stuck in her throat. “I haven’t.”
“And you don’t have any idea about who—” Hal stopped himself. He wasn’t ready to mention MacDonald. He wanted it to come from Georgia. Surely she’d thought about the possibility. He knew the police had mentioned Anna’s ex-husband. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”
Georgia shook her head. “Bella has always been quite independent.”
“Independent,” he repeated. “You think maybe she’s run away?”
Georgia picked at invisible lint on her skirt. He saw some shift in her, some softening. As though there were a war going on inside her, long-held beliefs battling a reality that was just becoming clear to her. “I guess I didn’t think of it as running away if you’re an adult.”
Hal clenched his teeth. So denial was going to win out. He leaned forward, feeling his voice harden. “She hasn’t been seen at her home. She hasn’t come to work or called in. She left without her keys or her purse or her phone. Does that sound like Anna?” Hal thrust each word like a blade, trying to puncture Georgia Schwartzman’s perfect posture and her clothes and her makeup and the whole damn place and bring her down, make her crash and break apart. Make her feel like he did.
Harper sat straighter on the couch. “Your daughter had felt threatened by her ex-husband, Spencer MacDonald.”
Georgia looked up, her gaze holding his only momentarily before skittering away.
“Anna is pregnant,” Hal said, the words a whisper. Coming out of his throat, they felt like a scream.
Harper stiffened beside him.
Georgia’s eyes went wide, and her fingers pressed to her throat. She sank momentarily against the chair. “Pregnant.”
“Yes,” Hal said. “There were two pregnancy tests found in her home when she went missing. Both were positive.”
Georgia’s gaze flicked across the room as though making a list of things she needed to do with this new information.
“I assume you didn’t know,” Hal said.
“No.”
“Is there anything you can tell us that might help us find your daughter?” Harper asked.
Georgia nodded slowly. “I really shouldn’t—”
Hal felt his anger rise with every word.
A sudden racket in the hallway—breaking glass and the sound of someone tripping—was followed by a woman’s gasp.
Georgia Schwartzman jumped from her chair and hurried into the hall. “Evelyn, are you all right?”
Hal rose, too, and walked into the hallway, where the drunk woman leaned against a doorjamb, hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes.
“Maya,” Georgia Schwartzman called. “Can you help me, please?”
The drunk woman was whispering, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe Dell’s going to leave. What am I going to do, Georgia?”
The maid in the uniform returned. “Help me get her to the guest room,” Georgia said.
“Can I help?” Hal asked, approaching, but Mrs. Schwartzman put a hand up and shook her head. “No. Please.”
Hal stopped and glanced back at Harper. Then the two of them watched as Georgia and the maid half led, half carried the drunk woman away. One of her shoes—a sandal covered in small gold spikes—remained on the floor of the hall.
“Maybe we should come back?” Harper said.
But Hal couldn’t wait. If Georgia Schwartzman knew something, he had to know now. Every minute counted.
Sounds filtered down the hall from the back bedroom, and a few minutes later, Georgia emerged. “I’m afraid now isn’t a good time.”
“We need answers.” Hal struggled to sound calm.
She smoothed her skirt again and touched her hair with the palms of her hands as though making sure it was still there. “Perhaps we could—”
But Hal didn’t let her finish the sentence. “Have you kept in touch with your daughter’s ex-husband?”
Her gaze darted down the hall, then back at him. There was a subtle shift in her posture, a reinforcement, as though she were afraid of being knocked down. “Last summer when he was in jail, I visited. I felt a responsibility. He was married to Bella, and his own mother was down in Florida. His father gone.”
Hal fought to keep a steady gaze. She felt a responsibility to her son-in-law, but she’d left her own daughter to fend for herself in Charleston with that man on the loose.
“And since he was released from prison?” Harper pursued the line of questioning.
Georgia Schwartzman shook her head. “Once or twice at the club, but that’s it.”
“Did something change?” Harper asked.
Georgia Schwartzman let the question hang in the air, wrapping her arms across her chest and rubbing her shoulders softly. Her gaze floated toward the front hall table where a picture of her and a man who must have been Anna’s father sat in a gilded frame. Hal wondered if she was channeling Anna’s father. If she heard him urging her to help or telling her that she needed to pay attention to their daughter’s life, to be there for her. Or maybe she’d noticed the way the dust swirled in the air and thought the room was due for a cleaning.
“Mrs. Schwartzman,” Hal said to pull her from her reverie.
The drunk woman called her name and let out a single sob. Georgia Schwartzman stepped toward the back bedroom, pausing to place one hand on the wall. Her veiny hand with nails tipped with the color of red wine appeared to grip the wall as though she were pulled between two places. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I have to attend to my guest.”
“Of course,” Harper said, holding out a business card. “If you think of anything that might help us find your daughter and your grandbaby . . .”
Georgia Schwartzman’s eyes looked momentarily wet, but she blinked quickly, and any emotion vanished.
“We need your help,” Hal said. “I don’t think she ran away on her own.”
Georgia nodded and took the card, walking from the room without another word.
A moment later, Maya reappeared in her black uniform and those black nursing shoes and ushered them to the door.
When the door had closed behind them, Hal marched toward the car in long, angry strides. His mother had come to be with him, to stay and care for him so that he could focus on Anna, on finding her. Anna’s own mother could hardly be bothered to interrupt a luncheon to talk to them.
Harper ran up alongside him. “Slow down.”
He reached the car and kicked at the air, holding back the anger that corked in his throat.
Over the top of the car, Harper called his name.
He turned to look at her.
“A baby?” she said. “For real?”
He nodded. “For real. Nobody knows . . . Only a few people, I mean.”
“But it’s yours.”
It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the door and sank into the passenger’s seat.
Harper didn’t press him as she started the engine. She backed out of the line of luxury automobiles, the Subaru clunking inauspiciously, and started back toward the road. “Where to now?”
“His house.” There was nothing left to do but watch him . . . and wait.
41
Sunday, 2:05 p.m. EST
Hal and Harper arrived at MacDonald’s house around 2:00 p.m. and parked across the street. They spoke briefly with the retired officer who’d been watching the house long enough for an arc of sunflower seed shells to form on the street outside his car window. According to him, MacDonald had not left home, though he’d brought the trash can to the curb and pulled his car out to sweep the garage. It seemed cool weather for a spring-cleaning, but it went with the theory that he wasn’t staying long. The retired officer left about ten minutes later, saying he was planning to be back to relieve the night shift at 5:00 a.m. Someone else would come tonight at 10:00 p.m. There were others they could call if Hal and Harper needed a break.
Hal didn’t want a break.
Harper positioned the Subaru where the retired officer’s Chevy Impala had been, at the corner of the street to the east of MacDonald’s house. The slight curve in the road gave them an almost dead-on view of his place even from fifty or sixty yards away. Hal recognized the location immediately, remembering the view from the traffic images that had come up in the investigation of MacDonald’s crimes. The camera above that same stoplight had caught Anna emerging from her car with a bag from a hardware store, where she’d bought items intended to frame MacDonald so that he would go to prison for the crimes he had committed.
Hal had barely known Anna then, but he could not imagine what had been going through her mind. How desperate she must have been, how out of her mind with fear and grief to think that she could create her own justice.
But who was he to talk? Sitting on the street, he was prepared to create his own justice, too. He wanted only a chance to face MacDonald alone. But he knew the camera was watching them. Not to mention Harper beside him.
They passed the time mostly in silence. The radio would drain the car battery, and Hal lacked the ability to make small talk.
It was growing dark when MacDonald came out of his front door. He wore khakis, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Hal had seen MacDonald only in a suit and button-down. The casual attire looked unnatural on him, but it also highlighted how thin and strong he was. His pants hung loose from his hips, his bare arms ropy and lithe. MacDonald walked across his driveway slowly, scanning his surroundings as he approached the mailbox. His gaze caught on the Subaru, hovering for a moment on the car before he ducked down to look in the box. It must have been empty because he turned, empty-handed, and proceeded back to the house without a backward glance.
“No mail,” Harper said.
“No mail, no groceries,” Hal confirmed.
“I’ll call tomorrow and find out if he’s got a forwarding on the mail.”
“Either way, he’s not here for long.”
She nodded. “I agree.”
A while later, Harper turned in the seat and pulled a cooler from the back. Inside was a Tupperware filled with pieces of fried chicken and biscuits wrapped in aluminum foil. Though they were cold, he could imagine how good they would taste warm. They ate in silence, drinking coffee from a thermos in two small tin camping cups.
MacDonald’s house went dark a little past eight. The street was dead soon after. Hardly a car passed over the next hour. At ten, another officer came to relieve them. He was spritely and alert while Hal felt groggy and tired. Hal hated to leave, but he needed the rest. He hadn’t slept at all on the flight.
“Promise to call if so much as a light goes on.”
Harper didn’t plan on going home to Charleston until they found Anna or she had to go back to work, so she’d made arrangements for her and Hal to stay at the home of a friend who was out of town. At the house, Hal followed Harper down the hallway to a small guest room. “I can sleep on the couch,” he offered.
“It’s fine. I’m set up in their daughter’s room already. Get some sleep, and we’ll head back in the morning.” She turned to leave him, and he called after her.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Hal. I want to see her home safely.” She took a step and stopped. “Her and the baby.” She paused as though wanting to say something else. Finally, she whispered, “And I want to see that bastard burn for what he’s done.” There was an extra layer of heat in her voice.
“Me, too.”
When she was gone, Hal took off his shoes and lay down on the bed. His eyes burned with exhaustion. His phone rested in his hand. He didn’t have the energy to return the missed calls from Roger and Hailey. He needed to focus on Anna. If he lost Anna, he would never forgive himself for not quitting his job and directing every effort on finding her instead of the San Francisco cases.
His thoughts drifted back to what he’d found in Anna’s house the day she vanished. Was she still pregnant? What kind of stress did it take to cause a miscarriage? He turned on his side, refusing to let the thoughts sit in his brain. Instead, he stared at the wall beside the door, studying the way the moonlight cut through the blinds and projected stripes on the blank wall. He recalled Anna’s description of the room in MacDonald’s house, the projection of herself tied up in Ava’s garage on the wall. How terrified she had been. At the time, Hal had been 2,600 miles away. That wasn’t going to happen again. The police had never found any evidence of that projection, likely a computer file MacDonald had deleted. In this town, Hal doubted there had been much police effort to gather evidence against Spencer MacDonald.
He closed his eyes and focused, willing his mind to sense her, wherever she was.
He woke in the dark, a single blade of moonlight streaked on the wall. For a moment, he was confused, out of sorts. The moonlight didn’t come through the bedroom window on that side of his bed. He sat and blinked in the dark until he remembered where he was.
He turned and checked the time on his phone: 2:50 a.m. He’d slept for four hours, maybe a little longer. He set his feet on the floor and stood, smoothing the comforter on the bed. He used the bathroom, rinsing his mouth with water and swallowing several long drinks before heading down the hallway to the kitchen. A small light shone above the stove. The room was tidy, the house silent.
He could go back to bed but doubted he would sleep. He was here, in MacDonald’s backyard.
He stared at Harper’s keys on the kitchen table and knew what he was going to do.
42
Sunday, 11:15 p.m. MST
Without the drugs weighing her down, time passed excruciatingly slowly. Over the course of the long day, Schwartzman found herself missing the draw toward sleep, the ability to wake up having passed hours without awareness of this place and her situation. When she lay on the bed and tried to rest, she couldn’t. The synapses in her brain fired rapidly, ideas and questions making it impossible to shut down her mind. Movement would have helped as a distraction, but the collar made it awkward. Not to mention the terror she felt at the thought she could be yanked off her feet and strangled at any moment.
For several hours after Roy had left that morning, she’d listened for him to return, praying that his curiosity and boredom would lure him back, despite his suspicion of her. Once it was close to noon, Anna gave up hope of seeing Roy again, since his mother had probably come back from church. Schwartzman went through the conversation again and again, trying to calc
ulate how she might have gotten him to bring her what she needed without arousing his suspicion. Eventually, she had to compel the thoughts away.
She made it a point to drink as much water as she could stand and made herself three peanut butter sandwiches, which she kept in the bedroom and nibbled. For the bulk of the day, she sat up in bed with the two keys Roy had given her—the one that looked like a house key and the Samsonite luggage key. Alternating them back and forth, she sawed at the collar and tried to wedge them into the place where the two sides of the collar came together. But even with all the time in the world, she wasn’t going to free herself with those keys.
In the afternoon, she rose from the bed and spent several hours inspecting the bedroom one foot at a time, imagining the room as a corpse that had to be inspected. As she went, she tested every piece of trim, the doorknob, and the window handles, running her fingers along each surface in search of something rough enough to cut. She returned to the baseboard heater, trying again to find a way to get the collar against its thin metal edge. Then she tried other things—the bed frame, the unfinished edge of door trim where a piece was missing or had never been completed. The rails that supported the two dresser drawers.
Nothing worked.
As the sky darkened, her panic crested. It was now Sunday night, and Tyler would be home soon. Would he come to her tonight? After seeing the projection of Hal on the kitchen wall, she had kept to the bedroom. Desperate to see Hal, she didn’t think she could stand seeing him projected on the wall. Her mind was playing too many tricks on her already. Watching him cross the street with that car coming at him, she’d been so terrified that he would be injured or worse. Spencer would love that. He would love to hurt her that way.
If something did happen to Hal . . . if something had . . . she wasn’t sure she could muster the strength to fight.
In the darkness, she gathered her nerve and rose from the bed, holding tight to the cord above her. She left the lights out in the bedroom and made her way into the similarly dark kitchen. As her eyes adjusted, she studied the walls and ceiling. The two times she’d felt like someone had purposefully strangled her had happened in this room, which made her think Tyler had some way of watching her in here, perhaps from the same place where the video of Hal had been projected. She wanted to locate the camera and block its view. Assuming there was only the one camera.
Expire Page 20