Almost Dead (27 page)

“Got it,” she said. “I used to live down there.”

“When?”

She slid him a glance. “In another lifetime. Don’t ask.”

He didn’t. As private a person as she was, it wouldn’t do any good anyway. And he wasn’t really concerned about her personal history, at least not now. Reaching into his pocket, he found a piece of gum and offered it to Quinn. She shook her head and rocketed around a gas tanker as she hit 101. Unwrapping the gum, he tried to focus as the cars flew by in a blur. Why kill the nanny? That didn’t fit into his theory about Marla Friggin’ Cahill.

“Did you get through to any of the employees or volunteers who worked at Cahill House when Marla Amhurst had her baby?”

“I’ve talked to five or six people who won’t say a word against anyone at Cahill House. They’re hiding behind sealed records and patients’ rights, but I still have those three names to work with, if they’re still alive. One nurse moved out of the area, lives in Boise, I think. Another aide is in Oakland, and the third, a secretary, I’m still tracking down.” She saw her exit and took a quick turn off the highway. “You know, just because Marla had another child, doesn’t mean squat.”

“Could be nothing. But it’s a loose end that bothers me.”

Quinn turned a corner around a gas station. “Only a few more blocks,” she said. “So why would anyone kill the nanny? Does that make sense?”

Paterno frowned. “Maybe she was a means to an end.”

“The end being the baby?”

“That little kid is Marla Cahill’s grandson.” Paterno didn’t like the turn of his thoughts as a motorcycle blew past them, loud pipes roaring.

“Shit. You think the boy was the target.” She shook her head, and the nostrils of her straight nose flared. “Then why not kill him too?”

“Don’t know.”

“I hope to God we don’t find his body in a trash can somewhere.”

“You and me both,” Paterno agreed as she rounded a final corner and he saw the flashing lights of two patrol cars and an ambulance. A crowd had gathered, and one news van sat on the horizon. He caught a glimpse of Jack and Cissy Holt standing together on the front porch, each looking desperate.

“Crime unit’s behind us,” Quinn said.

“I’m gonna look around, then get the Holts out of here. Take their statements if Perez and O’Riley haven’t. They don’t need to hang out here.”

“I’ll stick around. Talk to Jefferson.”

She parked the Jetta near the entrance to the lot of the apartment complex as Paterno unfolded himself from the seat. Before he’d even stepped on the curb, Cissy Holt was running toward him, across the parking lot. Tears streaked her cheeks, determination set her chin, and in an instant Paterno saw glimpses of her mother on her face. “Thank God you’re here,” she said before she reached him. “We can’t just stand around here. We have to start looking for B.J.! He’s missing! You know that, right? She took him!”

“She?”

“My mother.”

“You think Marla’s behind this too?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s what you think, isn’t it? So, if you’re right, then she killed Tanya, and she has my baby, so let’s move, Detective. Let’s find that murdering psycho! We can’t let her hurt B.J. We can’t!”

The glare of headlights was blinding. The kid was crying in the backseat. He was probably wet or needed to eat or something. “You’re going to be fine,” Elyse said, squinting against the drizzle and fighting the pain ricocheting through her head. At least the damn downpour had let up.

She had to be careful. The police would be everywhere, and there were security cameras in places she’d never think of—on streets, in parking lots, in stores. She’d been prepared, of course. She had a stash of disposable diapers, baby food, a car seat, bottles and formula, even clothes that she’d bought over the past week. But she hadn’t prepared herself for his crying.

God, would he never stop?

“Just a little farther,” she said as she reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. The childproof top gave her fits as she tried to drive and open it, but finally she managed to get the damned thing off and tossed several pills into her mouth. She swallowed them dry, then, on inspiration, pulled into a fast-food drive-through and quickly donned her dark glasses. The blond wig was already in place when she ordered some fries for the baby and a large diet soda for herself. Once they were through the series of windows, after she’d paid and collected the bag and cup, she twisted in the seat and handed the small container of fries to the boy, who quit crying long enough to be intrigued. He grabbed the bag, and though she knew that he’d spill more than half of the damned things, maybe it would keep him occupied for a while.

She jabbed her straw into the drink, then took a long swallow and felt better. Nosing into traffic, she headed still farther south, toward San Mateo. She’d take that bridge, hoping that if anyone had seen the car, they would remember it traveling in the opposite direction from her destination. She checked her mirror often as the night encroached but saw no one following her. It was a worry. She’d heard the newscasts, seen the picture of her car and herself in her Marla getup that had been taken by the damned medical school parking-lot cameras. She kicked herself for getting a ticket there; it had drawn the police closer. If she hadn’t switched plates a few times, she would have been caught. As it was, she should probably get a new vehicle as well. But she wouldn’t need one much longer.

She checked the rearview again, and the kid, finally, had calmed down enough to munch his fries, his eyes curiously studying the back of her head. Kidnapping Cissy’s kid hadn’t been part of the original plan, of course, but Elyse had seen a growing opportunity and taken it. Let Cissy twist in the wind a little, let her agonize over the whereabouts and safety of her darling boy.

Stealing the baby had been a bold act, but Elyse was happy with her decision. It complicated things, but the satisfaction of knowing that Cissy was worried sick, was sleepless and guilt-riddled, was worth it.

She drove through the middle of San Mateo and found the ramp for the bridge. She kept checking her mirrors, but it still appeared that no one was following her. All the commuters drove as if they were robots, some on cell phones, most listening to their favorite radio station, all anxious to get home.

She could have been invisible for all the notice they gave her.

Elyse was in no hurry. She drove carefully, turning north at the east end of the bridge.

She’d put another five miles behind her, heading toward Oakland, when she heard the first shriek of a siren.

Her heart jolted.

No! She couldn’t have been found out.

She looked in her rearview mirror. Lights flashed as a police car roared up the freeway. Cars behind her were pulling over to the side of the road, and she prayed one of them had been speeding and was the cop’s target. She thought of her switched license plates. Had they found out? She had a gun. In her purse. She could use it if she had to.

He was bearing down on her, his siren screaming, blue and white lights flashing wildly. She had no choice but to ease to the side of the road like everyone around her and pray that he would pass. Every nerve tight, she slowed into the far right lane.

The cop followed.

Oh shit!

What could she do? Blow him away? Risk someone seeing her kill a policeman? Every damned motorist had a cell phone with a camera. She slowed even further, onto the shoulder.

The cop blew past her, his siren deafening.

Elyse nearly fainted.

Her tense muscles relaxed.

“Loud!” the baby said, unconcerned.

“Oh yeah.” Elyse took a few deep breaths and then slowly accelerated, easing into traffic, her heart still madly pumping, her headache sweeping back with gale force.

She kept the needle of her speedometer right under the speed limit. Shaking inside, she was more than careful as she wound her way northward and finally reached the alley behind the bungalow where Marla was hiding.

This ought to be good,
she thought, hauling the baby and a blanket out of the car.

“Down!” he said as she started carrying him to the back door. “I get down.”

“Not yet.”

“Down.”

“In a second.” Elyse hauled him up the back porch, and as she fumbled in her purse for her keys, she heard a hiss. That damned cat again.

“Kitty!” Now the boy was a whirling dervish. Eyes on the cat as it hissed again and slunk into the shadows, he wrestled with Elyse to be free. “Kitty!”

“Yeah, that’s what it is,” she said as she found her key and jammed it into the lock. “A cat.”

“Want kitty.”

“No, you don’t. That’s one nasty thing,” Elyse said, then realized she was making too much noise. That nosy neighbor across the street was peering through her blinds again, not that she could see anything. Nonetheless, Elyse had to be careful.

She slipped inside the house, and the baby said, “Eew. Stinks!”

“That it does,” she agreed, reminding herself to get more air-fresheners. If Marla would ever get off her bony ass and clean the place, it would help, but it was never going to happen. Well, she was in for a surprise tonight. “Shh,” Elyse said and fought the blasted headache as she descended the stairs into the old, musty basement.

God, how could Marla stand it down here?

Her footsteps seemed to ring on the floorboards as she passed the rusting washer and eased to the bookcase where she unlatched the hidden lock. With her free hand, she pulled the door open.

God, the smell was worse in here.

The kid started whimpering.

“You’re fine,” she said tautly.

The door swung open, and Marla was inside, sitting in front of the television as always, her eyes glued to the news.

“Do you see that?” she said without looking up. “What kind of moron are you? Your picture’s all over the place! They caught you on camera, there at the medical center. Jesus Christ, Elyse, how do you think we’re ever going to escape?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled.”

“The village idiot would do a better job!”

Ungrateful bitch.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Elyse said. “Turn around, Marla. I think it’s time you met your grandson.”

Marla gazed at her grandson as if he were from a different planet. “What have you done?”

“I brought him to see his grandmother. Go on,” she urged, pressing a hand to B.J.’s back, but the boy was as reluctant to meet Marla as she apparently was to see him. “She’s been dying to meet you.”

“Mommy,” he whimpered. “Mommm…meeee…”

“This is your Nana Marla,” Elyse told him. This reunion was not going like she’d hoped.

“Why did you bring him here? Do you want us to get caught?” Marla was beside herself.

Elyse decided not to fill her in on the altered plans just yet. Kidnapping B.J. hadn’t been part of their original scheme, but sometimes, when opportunity knocks, you’ve just got to go with it. Couldn’t Marla see that?

“You’ve got to take him away. He can’t be here.”

“He doesn’t know where we are. He’s too little.”

“Somebody will see him. Oh God, look! He’s going to cry!”

B.J.’s face had crumpled and was turning red. Marla was right. The kid looked ready to wail for all he was worth.

“We’ll see your mommy soon,” Elyse said hurriedly. “Don’t worry.”

For an answer, he threw back his head and howled. The noise was loud enough to wake the dead. Marla looked ready to throttle the kid, so Elyse dragged him upstairs. What the hell was she supposed to do now? The little house scarcely had any furnishings apart from what Elyse had found for Marla’s secret room.

There was a beat-up chair in one of the two bedrooms, and Elyse carried the screaming child down the hallway, trying to shush him without scaring him. God, he could make noise! Were all children so
loud
?

“Shh…shh…,” she said, holding him awkwardly on her lap. What the hell was she going to do?

“Dad-
dee
,” he cried. “Dad-
dee
.”

“Make up your mind, kid. Mommy or Daddy.”

She could hear Marla hammering with something downstairs. Now what? Muttering furiously, Elyse hauled the kid back down the stairs while he wailed “No-o-o-o!” and tried to grab onto the handrail. Her head felt like it was going to split in two.

“What are you doing?” Elyse demanded of Marla. “I could hear you! Someone else might hear that pounding too!”

There was a piece of pipe on the floor beside her. “I wasn’t through,” Marla said, glaring at her. “We’ve got to leave. I’ve got to leave.”

“Not yet!”

“Look…” Her gaze centered on the television, where the news was just breaking on the murder of a young woman near Burlingame. Tanya.

Elyse stared in a kind of horrified fascination as Marla said, “You did that. You killed her.”

“It’s all part of the plan,” Elyse said through her teeth. Why did Marla question her? When she
knew
what had to be done!

“Did they see you? Get your picture? Like when you killed Rory?”

“No.”

“That picture of you in the newspaper? That artist’s composite? They’re saying it’s
me
. They’re blaming this on me.”

“Well, of course they are.” Elyse was fast losing patience, and the kid’s continued crying was enough to split her head right open. It was all she could do not to shake him.

“You want
me
to take the fall for this,” Marla said on a note of discovery. “
You
want to get away scot-free.”

“That’s not true. This is a partnership. Didn’t I help you escape?”

“You never intended to share. That’s why you’ve kept me down here. You want it all for yourself.”

“I haven’t kept you down here. You refuse to go upstairs! For God’s sake, Marla, get a grip!”

But Marla was right. Elyse did plan to double-cross her. Did want the police to blame all the murders on her. Why not? It was Marla’s relationship with her relatives that created the motive. Nobody knew Elyse was involved. They thought Mary Smith was Marla.

Elyse couldn’t take it anymore, so when Marla ordered her to get the kid to stop crying, she hustled him upstairs again.

“Go home!” he sobbed. “Me go home!”

“We’re going to my place.”

“No-o-o!”

“Shhhh!”

It was dark now. The ground was wet, but the rain had ceased for the moment as Elyse hauled a whimpering B.J. back to her car. She strapped him into the damn car seat. Couldn’t risk getting pulled over for not having him properly buckled in. Jesus, the rules they had these days.

Why did anyone ever have a child?

Across the way she saw someone peeking through the blinds of the old biddy’s house, the lady with the cat. The bitch was watching her! Infuriated, Elyse jumped behind the wheel.

“Shut up,” she warned B.J., who gazed at her with big eyes.

“Bad word,” he said.

Yeah, well, he was just lucky she hadn’t said the phrase that leapt to her tongue.

Damn! She could see the old bitch now as she’d pulled the blinds up and was watching Elyse like a hawk, her pointy face aimed in Elyse’s direction.

Had she seen the kid?

Carefully, Elyse backed out of her driveway, resisting the urge to flip the old crone the bird. She had things to do. Family business to take care of.

And nobody was going to get in her way.

Cissy watched dully from the apartment parking lot as CSI techs did their work and the detectives canvassed the area, searching for witnesses, information. Jack was with her, his arms pulling her close. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out her fear.

Everyone kept urging her to go home, get some food, get some sleep, take care of herself, but Cissy couldn’t leave. Jack was one of the few people who understood. He stayed by her side as the afternoon wore into evening and evening into night.

It was only when a weary Detective Paterno made the effort to bring them up to date that both Cissy and Jack knew there was nothing left for them here.

“We’ve canvassed the area,” Paterno told them. “Checked with the neighbors. People around the area.”

“Did they see B.J.?” Cissy asked urgently.

“Several of them remember seeing a woman carrying a boy about B.J.’s age from her car. The description fits Miss Watson and your son.”

“And?” Cissy gazed at him.

“She carried him into her apartment.”

“Did they see anything else?” Jack asked.

“Not really. One of them reported seeing a silver car, but she wasn’t specific about the make and model.”

“A silver car,” Jack repeated. “Like the one used by Mary Smith.”

Paterno nodded. “A lot of silver cars out there,” he reminded.

“The neighbor, Corinne Glenn, heard a ‘pop.’ Maybe the gunshot,” Jack said. “Anybody else?”

Paterno shook his head. “We’re still checking with people. But the crime scene’s off-limits. There’s no reason for you to stay.”

“Where would she take him?” Cissy asked. “Oh God…She can’t hurt him.”

Jack said, “We don’t know it was Marla. Maybe Tanya was into something we don’t know about.”

“We’re checking into her history. How did you come to hire her?”

“Jack’s father, Jonathan Holt, recommended her.” Cissy’s tone was sharp.

“Do you know how he knew her?” Paterno asked.

Jack’s face was a mask. “I believe he learned of her through a woman he was dating. He meets a lot of people that way.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Paterno promised.

The area had all but cleared out by the time the streetlights fully came on. The rain was a sputtering mist, as if being turned on and off by a spigot.

Cissy felt like her body wasn’t her own. She wanted to pinch herself, make herself wake up from this nightmare. Reluctantly, she allowed Jack to take her home. Both of them looked through the pantry and refrigerator, but neither had an appetite.

“We have to eat something,” Jack said, and he split a sandwich with her that he made from the leftover tuna salad used for B.J.’s lunch. Cissy took two bites and couldn’t go on. She laid her head on the table and sobbed.

Jack wanted to die. If he hadn’t trusted Tanya with B.J. she might still be alive and his son would be with them right now. Safe and sound. Cissy had given up blaming him, but he sure as hell was still blaming himself.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her to him and guiding her upstairs. “We’ll go to bed. Maybe by morning, Paterno will have found him.”

“You think so?”

“We’ll know more,” he evaded.

“Jack, if anything’s happened to B.J….”

“Shhh.”

“I just can’t bear it!”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand, kissed the top of her head, prayed that his son was all right.

And inside, a deep, boiling rage took root. Whoever had taken his son would pay a price. Jack would make sure of it.

Paterno drove to the station before dawn broke. He hadn’t slept. He’d tried to, but he’d watched the clock, his thoughts traveling various routes, all of them leading to Marla and her accomplice.

He’d left a message for Quinn. She was in charge of getting the background information on Tanya Watson. Meanwhile Paterno was chafing for the hours to pass. He wanted the ME to get the bullet from Tanya’s skull and give it to ballistics. And he wanted ballistics to compare it to the bullet that ended Cherise Favier’s life.

He’d bet dollars to doughnuts they came from the same gun.

Now, he rubbed his face as he got himself a tall cup of black coffee, the terrible sludge offered at the station, the perfect stuff to keep him awake.

He would check with the feds later. It was really their case now, but Paterno wasn’t about to back off one bit.

He sighed. He hadn’t told Jack and Cissy Holt that he was worried for their son’s life. He hadn’t wanted to scare them. But Marla Amhurst Cahill had never shown the smallest bit of humanity, and if she’d taken the boy—or had hired someone to take him—it wasn’t out of love and/or a crazy, obsessive need. Nope. The boy’s abduction would be for other reasons. Monetary, most likely. Something to feed Marla’s need for freedom and greed.

And he would be expendable.

Paterno popped a few antacids. Coffee and bicarbonates. Breakfast didn’t get any better than this.

He wondered about Tanya. Why had she taken the kid? Was it simply that she went back to her apartment for some reason, and B.J. was with her? Or was she somehow involved in Marla’s plot to systematically kill the members of her family? If that’s what Marla was doing.

And if so, why hadn’t she killed the boy and left his body with Tanya’s? Maybe Tanya had her own agenda, something unrelated to Marla herself. Maybe she had wanted something from the Cahills and ended up working at cross-purposes to Marla. Maybe that put her in Marla’s sights, and
blam!
She was permanently removed.

But why was Marla so careless? What was going on with her? The crime-scene investigators—under Tallulah Jefferson’s command—had scoured Tanya’s apartment. They’d found hairs and bits of fingernails—clipped pieces—that didn’t seem to match the victim’s. So whose were they? Someone Tanya knew? DNA tests would take weeks to get results, sometimes longer, and Paterno knew he didn’t have that much time.

He needed answers now. He needed to find Marla Cahill. Before she killed anyone else.

Before she killed her own grandson.

Cissy stood at the kitchen window. She’d watched the sun rise and glisten through the raindrops. She’d heard birds twittering and the groan and hum of their new furnace kicking into gear. She’d smelled the coffee Jack was brewing and felt the warm mug he pressed in her hand.

“Ciss?”

“What’s he doing right now? He should be asleep in his bed. We should be waiting for him to wake up. What do you think he’s doing?”

“Don’t torture yourself.”

“How can you stand there and not care!” she burst out.

Jack swallowed. “I care.”

Cissy sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I can’t do anything. I can’t think. I just want to go to sleep till they find him, safe and sound, but I can’t sleep!”

“Paterno will call us as soon as he knows something. Or, the FBI.”

“What if we never find him? What if we never know?”

“Don’t think like that,” Jack said sternly.

In truth, Jack was beside himself. His fury and fear were bone deep. If it turned out Marla was behind this, he planned to strangle her conniving neck himself!

The minutes crept by. He made toast for himself and Cissy. He practically had to browbeat her to get her to eat anything. In truth, he could scarcely choke down food himself, but he was determined to keep up his strength. There was a showdown ahead, and he planned to be ready for it.

It was barely nine when the feds arrived. They began to systematically set up for the expected kidnapping ransom call. Cissy and Jack hung back, watching and staying out of the way. Hearing another car screech to a halt in front of their house, Cissy rushed forward.

“Beej?” she whispered.

“Wait…,” Jack said, trying to stop her as she flew outside.

To Cissy’s shattering disappointment, she saw Jack’s father, Jonathan, and his brother, J.J., climb from Jonathan’s car and hurry their way through the rain. Cissy sagged against Jack, who held her tightly as they came inside.

“Is he back?” Jonathan asked, white faced. “Have they found him?” Jack had called his father the night before to tell him about Tanya’s murder and B.J.’s abduction.

Jack shook his head, and J.J., normally remote and completely self-involved, stared through wide, stretched eyes, as if looking at a harrowing vista only he could see. They both gave the feds a wide berth.

“Where’s Jannelle?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know, son. I just called J.J. and came over. God Almighty.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Have you had a ransom call yet?”

“No,” Cissy repeated faintly.

“Why else would someone take him?” Jonathan said, as if he were puzzling it out himself. “Has to be ransom.”

They all moved to the kitchen, and Jonathan sat heavily onto the chair Cissy had just vacated. J.J. stood by the back door, gazing outside. Jack spooned more coffee grounds into the filter and watched the pot fill.

“You have to pay the ransom,” J.J. said in a low voice. “Keep the police and FBI out of it. That never works.”