Hold Back the Dark (7 page)

Every once in a while, Josh wanted to grab one of the habitual offenders and shake them. Did they want to go to jail for life? Was that twelve-pack of Coors they had stolen from the Circle K really worth a life sentence? Most of them couldn’t think past the lovely melting sensation of the alcohol or the weed or the meth hitting their brains, making the rest of their troubles slide away for a while. Forget that the troubles would come back tenfold once the high had worn off. That was too far away to think about. All they were thinking about was the next six-pack or the next hit off the pipe.

“Ms. Bradley,” Elise said, pounding on the door. “Open up. It’s the police. We need to talk to you.”

Josh listened intently, but heard nothing. Lois Bradley could be gone or she could be good at keeping quiet.

Elise knocked again. “Police, Ms. Bradley. Open up now.”

They waited again. Still nothing. Elise nodded at him and he reached for the doorknob. It turned in his hand—the door wasn’t locked. He looked up at Elise, eyebrows raised. She tilted her head toward the door, giving her opinion that they should go in. He’d stay high, she’d go low since Josh was more than half a foot taller.

Josh silently mouthed “one-two-three” to Elise, then shoved the door open.

A
imee finished writing up notes on the client she’d seen that afternoon. He’d been anxious about a date he’d set up with a woman he’d met at Match.com. Sometimes Aimee felt like she should pay all the matchmaking Web sites commissions; they drummed up plenty of business for her.

But today it had been hard to pay attention. Marian’s little bombshell about Taylor’s personality change after her family moved to Sacramento had Aimee itching to get back to her files. Maybe that was the key piece she needed to form the other puzzle pieces into a coherent picture.

It was much earlier than she usually left the office, but she was exhausted. She folded up her files and shoved them into her briefcase. She’d look at them at home, if she could keep her eyes open long enough.

In the waiting room, Julie O’Neal, one of the other therapists that Aimee shared spaced with, was struggling to put the water jug on top of the dispenser. Aimee dropped her briefcase and helped her right the bottle.

Julie brushed her hair from her eyes. “Thanks. I thought I was going to lose that one.”

“You should have asked for help,” Aimee said. “Those things weigh a ton.”

Julie grimaced. “Louis and Carol have gone home and I didn’t want to bother you today.”

“I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”

“Are you sure?” Julie put her hand on Aimee’s arm. “This can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s easier for me than it is for Taylor.” Aimee shut her eyes for a second, trying to clear the image of Taylor’s white, grim face as she left Mercy General for an indefinite stay at Whispering Pines.

Aimee opened her eyes to find Julie staring at her, her face serious. “Did she do it, Aimee? Did she kill her parents?”

“No. Absolutely not. Taylor’s not violent.” Aimee willed herself to believe that.
Could
Taylor have been part of this? Detective Wolf had said she was a suspect, but how could she be?

Julie sat on the back of one of the waiting room’s overstuffed armchairs. “Are you really sure?”

Unspoken was the fact that Aimee had been fooled by a client before. She was still paying the price for that mistake. When Kyle had changed suddenly from a victim to an assailant, she had spent a week in the hospital with a broken jaw—and the two years since then second-guessing herself. But not this time. Taylor needed someone who believed in her. “I’m sure.”

Julie nodded. “Okay, then. What do the police think?”

That was an excellent question. It was nearly impossible for Aimee to figure out what was going on behind Detective Wolf’s controlled façade, or to figure out the feelings that fluttered through her when his watchful gaze landed on her. “I wish I knew. I don’t think they’re ruling anything out yet.”

Julie stood up and gave Aimee a quick hug. “Good night, then. If you need to talk…”

“You’ll be the first person I look for,” Aimee assured her, and headed toward the door.

“Aimee.” Julie stopped her.

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

With the exception of the crappy fourth-hand furniture, Lois Bradley’s apartment was empty.

Bradley had packed and left in a big hurry. She left food in the refrigerator, trash on the floor, and no forwarding address. According to the property management company, she’d paid through the end of the month, two weeks from now. In Josh’s experience, people who lived on housecleaner’s salaries and rented month-to-month didn’t waste two weeks’ worth of rent, even if it was a cruddy efficiency in a questionable neighborhood.

Bradley’s apartment was one of a series of tiny rooms for rent in a long, low cinderblock building. It looked more like a motel, with numbered doors opening onto a covered sidewalk with jasmine trailing up the wrought iron posts. It would seem pretty to anyone who didn’t realize that the plant was like a weed out here. If someone didn’t cut it back, it would take the damn posts down.

Josh leaned against the wall by the third door down. “Your dedication is impressive,” he told Elise while she knocked. “Misguided, but impressive.”

Elise shot him a look. “It’s basic police procedure, Wolf. You’re supposed to canvass the neighborhood.”

“I know. I also know exactly what basic police procedure gets us most of the time.” Nobody ever saw anything or heard anything—not in neighborhoods like this. It wasn’t easy to scrape up rent, and they had bills to pay and troubles aplenty. If they had seen or heard anything, half the time they were afraid to say so. The other half of the time they had a bone to pick with the police, and would keep whatever information they had to themselves just for spite.

Josh looked at his watch. “You want to knock on doors, get yelled at by people, and receive noise complaints for parties that happened last month, be my guest. I’m thinking one of us ought to go back to headquarters and start checking Ms. Bradley’s known associates, or at least call her boss.”

“And one of us would be you, huh?” Elise asked, knocking again on the door.

“You’re the one obsessed with basic police procedure,” Josh answered with a shrug.

The door opened. The man who opened it was an inch or so shorter than Elise, which would make him five foot six. His scant hair was white and cropped close to the scalp, but his mustache was a luxurious affair that extended down the sides of his mouth in a classic Fu Manchu. He wore khakis belted low under a protruding pot belly and a plain white T-shirt, and he smelled of cigarettes and Aqua Velva. It almost made Josh homesick. The guy could have been his uncle Dean’s double.

Elise flashed her badge.

“Police,” Uncle Dean’s doppelganger said. “And here I haven’t baked.”

“That’s okay,” Elise said. “We’re watching our weight.”

The man chuckled. Elise had a way with the cranky ones, that was for sure. “What can I do for you, officer?”

Elise flashed the picture of Lois Bradley. “Are you acquainted with this woman?”

He took the photo, stared at it for a moment, and then handed it back. “Sure. She lives a few doors down. Or she did.”

“What does that mean?” Josh leaned in, finally interested.

The man eyed Josh with suspicion. Josh did not have a way with the cranky ones. There might even be those who would argue that Josh
was
one of the cranky ones. “What’d old Wall-Eye next door tell you?”

Josh shrugged. “She said she had better things to do than keep track of her neighbors.”

The man grunted. “Only thing she keeps track of is the level in the vodka bottle.”

Elise lifted the photo again. “And what about this neighbor?”

“She hightailed it out of here a few hours ago. Ran back and forth to her car with a lot of boxes. Round here, that generally means somebody has to move in a hurry, and that generally don’t mean anything good.” He ran his hand over his head. “What’d she do?”

“What time did you see her loading her car?” Elise asked, ignoring his question.

“Probably around ten-thirty. I was done watching
ER
on that TNT channel, but it wasn’t lunchtime yet.”

Josh winced. Would his life ever get that small? Bounded by reruns and mealtimes?

Who was he kidding? It was damn close to that now. Substitute work for reruns and ballgames for mealtimes, and that pretty well summed up his existence.

“You know her?” Elise asked.

The man shrugged. “A little. She kept to herself. Went to work in the morning. Watched TV at night. Went someplace two nights a week. I figured it might be a class or something. She wasn’t too chatty. Seemed a little shy.”

Elise glanced over at Josh, and he knew what she was thinking. That didn’t exactly sound like the life a dangerous felon. Then again, everyone always talked about what quiet young men serial killers were.

“Where’d she work?” Josh asked. They knew she was supposedly working for a housecleaning business, but it didn’t hurt to ask the neighbors what Lois had appeared to be doing.

“Worked for one of them housecleaning places. Snappy Clean? Quick Mop? Something like that. She’d zip out of here around nine or so each day with a bunch of buckets and a vacuum cleaner in the back of her car.”

Elise nodded and handed the man her card. “Thank you very much. Would you mind calling me if you see Ms. Bradley return?”

“Not at all,” he said, and shut the door.

She turned to Josh. “Now, was that so difficult?”

“Was it so productive?” he countered. He’d known the second he’d walked inside her apartment that Lois Bradley was in the wind. Maybe it helped to know she’d left today and not in the middle of last night, but he didn’t see how.

Elise sighed and headed back to the car. “Wanna talk to the Kwikee Clean guy?”

“Boy, would I!” Josh said with false enthusiasm.

“Fine, then. Shut up and drive.” She threw the keys at him and got into the car.

Aimee felt her cell phone vibrate in her purse as she walked to her car, keys already in hand. She considered not answering—two more steps to the car, to safety. Ah, to hell with it. She fished for her phone, feeling vulnerable with her hand in her bag in the deserted parking structure. The prickle of unease she’d been living with for so long bumped up a notch as she caught a whiff of someone’s stale cigarette smoke. She brushed her fingers against her container of pepper spray, then grabbed her phone.

The caller ID read “Unknown Name and Number.” Probably another therapist; they all blocked their numbers. Discretion and all that. “Dr. Gannon,” she said, balancing the cell phone on her shoulder and opening the car door.

“Oh, hi, Dr. Gannon. This is, uh, Dr. Brenner from Whispering Pines,” a young man’s voice said.

Aimee slid into the driver’s seat. “How can I help you, Dr. Brenner?”

“I was hoping you could send over your files on Taylor Dawkin. Her aunt told me that you had been seeing her. I’d appreciate you sharing your notes with me.”

Aimee pulled the car door shut, locked it, and stifled the impulse to ask Dr. Brenner how old he was. He sounded like a kid.
Focus on the positive.
He was calling her. “I’d be happy to share everything I know with you. I could bring the file by tomorrow, say around eleven. Would it be possible for me to see Taylor then, too?”

There was a long pause. “I think you may have misunderstood me, Dr. Gannon. I’d very much like to see your notes, but I don’t think we really need to meet. As for seeing Taylor…well, I don’t think that would really be appropriate at this time.”

Aimee threw her head back against the headrest. Damn it all to hell! “I’m not sure my notes can completely capture the complexity of the case, Dr. Brenner. Given Taylor’s present circumstances, I think some kind of continuity of care could be helpful to her.”

“I’m certain you’re selling your notes short, Dr. Gannon. I’m sure they’ll be sufficient. Now, when can I expect them at my office?” Brenner’s voice sounded cold.

Aimee held back a sigh. “I’ll messenger them to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Aimee hung up the cell phone and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. She’d lost that battle.

Kyle watched from the shadows of the parking garage. It had been ridiculously easy to find Aimee’s car. A Subaru—like her, dependable but not boring. Classy, but not flashy. He smiled.

His heart had quickened as she walked into view. She was so exquisite. Even more beautiful than he remembered, thinking about her night after night in that miserable place, willing her image to stay sharp in his mind, hoping he’d dream of her.

She’d have to pay for those bad nights. She’d have to pay for sending him to that stinking Vacaville facility. How could she not have seen that they were meant to be together? He’d known she wanted it; he was sure of that. Then she’d clung to that stupid fiancé after he’d interrupted them, and cried. What was that about? Just a show for everyone else?

She’d definitely have to make amends for all of that—but first Kyle wanted to watch her for a while. He loved the way she walked, head held high, long legs striding out. She was amazing, like some graceful animal striding through the forest. It’s what made it so sweet when he remembered her the other way. The way he’d made her be. They way he’d made her cower on the ground before him. He could see it in his mind right now. The way she’d looked up at him, like he was a god. He swallowed hard and took a long hard drag on the cigarette in his shaking hand.

Then something made Aimee stumble.

Kyle frowned. He watched as she fumbled in her purse, distracted. She was pulling out her cell phone. She glanced at the caller ID and flipped the phone open.

Kyle held his breath. He hadn’t expected to get to hear her voice again so soon. He hadn’t dared to hope to feel how the soothing tones would cascade over his body like warm water. He bit his lip and leaned forward.

Damn. She’d gotten into the car after only saying a few words. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. The tease. She’d gotten his hopes up and then dashed them without a second thought. She’d have to pay for that eventually, too.

He watched her inside the car. Had she locked the door? Some things didn’t change. She was still so vulnerable. He couldn’t believe she didn’t know that yet.

But he knew—and he’d be watching.