“I should have realized there was something wrong when she left so abruptly and didn’t let anyone know.”
“Yes,” said Joan Atkins. “You should have. We wasted precious time because we didn’t know that her disappearance was linked to you.”
“It’s not my wife’s fault,” David protested.
“And what about you, Mr. Webster? Where were you on the day that Lizette Slocum disappeared?” Joan asked.
“I was in New York. Doing an interview,” David said.
“We’ll need to get in touch with that person,” said Trey, holding his pen poised over his pad.
“Well, I don’t have a number for him. He’s…in Europe.”
“How inconvenient,” said Joan Atkins.
“You can call my editor. He’ll tell you. I was with a French author named Bernard Weber.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“A restaurant. In the Village.”
“I need names. I need dates, times, and places,” Joan said loudly, “and I need them right now.”
“If you talk to me in that tone of voice,” David said, “I’m going to call my attorney and you can talk to him.”
“Stop, David. Forget the attorney,” Emma cried. “Just give her the information. That poor woman is dead.” She could see the fury on his face, but she didn’t care. “Right is right,” she said. “Do it. You know you were in the city. Why make this difficult?”
David got up from the couch and went into his office. Emma did not look at the detectives. In a few minutes, David came back into the room and handed them a sheet of paper. “Here. Talk to everybody. Knock yourself out.”
Joan pocketed the paper. “This investigation into the attacks on your wife is ongoing, Mr. Webster. Do not leave the state under any circumstances. Mrs. Webster, your life is still in danger. I would recommend that you hire someone to protect you. Round the clock. If you like, we can recommend someone.”
“That’s all right,” said Emma. “My husband found a bodyguard for me. We will call him.”
Joan Atkins looked at Emma with narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure that’s the wisest course of action. Why don’t you let the local police advise you on who would be competent to protect you? You need someone who is experienced with this kind of situation.”
“We don’t need your advice, okay?” said David.
Joan turned and glared at him. “I was talking to your wife. Call the station and ask to speak to the desk sergeant. He can help you. He’s expecting your call.”
Before David could reply, Joan nodded to the younger detective, and the two of them headed for the door.
David sat back down on the sofa and clapped his head in his hands.
“I can’t win,” he said. “I’m back to being the prime suspect. They’re determined to make a case against me.”
Emma sat back against the sofa cushions, stunned by these latest developments. “That poor woman,” she said, shaking her head. “She came here to take care of me and ended up dead. It’s unbelievable. Who would want to kill me that badly? Do you ever think about that?”
“Of course. I’ve thought about little else since last Saturday,” he said. “I figured it was Devlin. Or maybe, I don’t know…whoever sent you those notes. I don’t know. I just wish the cops would try to figure it out instead of insisting on blaming it on me…I have a sinking feeling that they’re not going to believe Nevin, or even Weber, if they manage to get a hold of him.”
Emma frowned at him. “Now you’re sounding paranoid, David. Your alibi is solid as far as Ms. Slocum’s death is concerned. Once they talk to Nevin, or track down the author, they’ll realize it. Besides, they don’t even know how she died yet. They may find traces of DNA on her body that will lead them to another suspect. That’s who’s really to blame.”
“You’re right,” said David.
“So, try not to worry.”
“Try not to worry,” he scoffed. “The police think I tried to kill you. They’re busy trying to work up a case against me while your life is still in danger.”
“I know. But I still feel safe as long as I’m with you.”
David sighed and shook his head. “Well, we have to hire a bodyguard. That’s all there is to it. And what was all that crap about their bodyguards being able to protect you better than someone I could call? What do they think? That I’m going to hire a killer instead of a bodyguard? It’s like Kafka! It’s a nightmare.”
“Dammit, David,” she cried, “we can’t worry about what they think. Let them think what they want.”
All of a sudden, the phone rang, and they both jumped. David hurried across the room and picked it up. He frowned. “Chief Osmund, yeah,” he said in a surly tone. “What do you want? You want to talk to my wife?”
He was listening intently. Then he looked at Emma, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Really? My God. Excuse me. Really? Tonight. Yes, we’ll come. Where should we meet you? Okay. Yes, we’ll be there. Okay.”
Emma sat up, staring at him as he hung up the phone. “What happened?”
David put down the phone and stared at her. “That was Chief Osmund. God, I almost hung up on him.”
“What did he want? Tell me.”
David sat down beside her on the sofa.
“You’re trembling,” she said, clutching his forearm. “Tell me.”
David raked his hand through his dark hair. “He said there’s been another attack in the Pine Barrens. Same everything. Ski mask. The works.”
Emma gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”
David nodded and started to grin. “But this time, they think they’ve got him.”
“C
AN’T IT WAIT
?
We’re almost there, honey,” David said.
“Obviously, you have never been pregnant,” she said.
“All right. All right. There’s a gas station up ahead. They’ll have a restroom. I’ll get us some gas,” he said.
“Thanks, honey. Oh, David, I feel…hopeful. If this is the guy, then this nightmare will finally be over.”
“I’d like to believe that,” David said, frowning. “But we know that you were a specific target. You haven’t forgotten the attack at the train station.”
Emma shuddered “Hardly. But at least there’s a chance.”
“We’re going to be all right,” David said. He flashed her his sad-eyed smile, which always made her heart turn over.
“God, I can’t wait until we have our lives back,” she said.
“Me neither,” he said. “Here. We’ll pull in here.”
Evening had come to the Pine Barrens, and Emma hoped it would be the last evening she would ever spend here. The call from Chief Osmund had given her a renewed hope that all would be resolved, that the danger was past.
The chief wanted her to view their suspect in a hooded lineup to see if she could pick him out by his size and body language. They also wanted to question her again, given what they had learned from the latest victim. This man could be Claude Mathis’s killer. Emma understood all too well how important this was to Chief Osmund. It was even more important to her. She looked around as David pulled off the highway and into the service station. The jagged outlines of the pines, which surrounded them, loomed black against the moonlit sky.
There was a missing persons poster with a picture of a pretty girl on the pump as well as a sign that read
THE ATTENDANT CARRIES NO MONEY. PLEASE PAY INSIDE
.
The man who came to the car window had hooded eyes and was lacking several teeth. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Fill it,” said David.
Emma leaned across the seat. “Excuse me. Do you need a key for the restroom?”
The man breathed through his mouth and studied her with a faintly hungry look. “No, ma’am,” he said. “Help yourself.”
Emma forced herself to smile. “Thanks.”
The attendant began to jockey the lid off their gas tank and insert the nozzle of the pump.
Emma grabbed her purse and climbed out of the passenger’s side of the Jeep.
“Do you want me to go with you?” David asked.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“Come on,” he said. “I better. I’ll stand guard.”
Emma smiled, relieved. “Okay. That would be good. It’s so creepy around here.”
Together they walked over to the side of the service station, and Emma turned the knob on the door marked
LADIES
. She steeled herself for whatever unpleasant conditions she might find there, but when she turned on the bright overhead light, she was relieved to see that the restroom was neat and clean. She poked her head out.
“Civilized,” she said to her husband.
David smiled and jammed his hands into his pockets. His hair shone in the halogen lamplight, and Emma felt her love for him well up in her heart as he waited for her like a sentry, guarding her safety. Emma closed the door and locked it. On the wall in front of her was the same missing persons poster that she had seen on the pumps outside. This time she was close enough to read it. The edges of the poster were curling, and a section that had ripped was held together with yellowing tape. The poster announced the disappearance of Shannon O’Brien, who had gone missing from this very service station several months ago, after finishing her shift. No wonder they have these posters everywhere, Emma thought. There was a blurry photo of the auburn-haired, freckle-faced girl, as well as statistics of her age, height, weight, etc. At the bottom of the poster it said,
Anyone with any information contact Chief Audie Osmund.
Below that was the address of the police station and the phone number.
Emma glanced at her watch. It had taken them a while to get going. She knew she should be dreading this evening, but the truth was that she was almost dizzy with excitement. This evening could mean the end of her fears, of the ugly suspicions, of her interrupted life. She was so grateful to Chief Osmund for letting her be a part of the resolution of this crime. Grateful that he wanted her to come right away and not leave it till tomorrow.
Seeing the chief’s number right there on the poster gave her an idea. I’ll call him, she thought. And tell him we’re almost there. We’ll be arriving soon. She quickly relieved herself, washed her hands, and then fished in her pocketbook for her phone. She turned around and gazing at the missing persons poster, punched in the number for Sheriff Osmund at the bottom of the poster, which she was able to read in the bright light of the restroom.
“Police,” said a female voice.
“Yes, I want to talk to Chief Osmund. This is Emma Webster.”
“Can someone else help you? the woman asked. “Chief Osmund isn’t here.”
Emma frowned. “Oh, there must be some mistake,” said Emma. “We’re meeting him there tonight. I just…I just wanted to let him know that we would be arriving very soon.”
The woman at the other end was silent. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Would you just check in his office? I’m sure he’s not usually there at this hour but—”
“I’m telling you. He’s not here,” the woman said. “And he’s not coming back. His grandson had an awards dinner tonight and Audie and his wife went to it. He was talking about it all afternoon.”
Emma was silent.
“Is there someone else who can help you?” the woman asked.
“I was supposed to view a lineup tonight,” said Emma.
“A lineup? Oh. Well, maybe Gene is in charge of that. Let me get Gene Revere for you. Hang on a minute.” Emma’s heart was pounding. Just a misunderstanding, she told herself. That’s all. Emma heard the phone muffled, and the woman speaking in a loud voice. Then she got back on the line.
“Honey, Gene says there’s no lineup tonight. He don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Emma’s face was burning. “Look. Chief Osmund called me. This is Emma Webster. I was the one…I was attacked the night Claude Mathis was killed.”
“Oh,” said the woman, her voice suddenly sounding interested. “How are you doing now, honey?”
“I’m doing fine,” said Emma, relieved to finally be recognized, acknowledged. “Chief Osmund called and told my husband about the latest attack. He said they were holding the guy. That’s what he said. There was going to be a lineup,”
“No,” said the woman. “We didn’t have no attack. Unless…Was he talking about the rottweiler that bit the guy out on Chapel Hill Road this morning?”
“Rottweiler?” Emma said weakly.
“That’s the only attack we’ve had around here in the last couple of days. But we don’t do dog lineups. I’m pretty sure of that,” she said, chuckling.
Emma was silent.
“Look, I’m sorry, Mrs. Webster. I don’t know what to tell ya. There’s been some kind of mistake. Believe me, if there was another attack on a person, I’d know about it. But that dog biting the woman on her bicycle was the only thing that’s happened around here in the last day or so.”
Emma punched the off button on her phone and stood, staring, unseeing at the poster on the wall.
The bathroom doorknob rattled, and Emma let out a cry.
“Emma, are you okay in there?” David asked. “What’s taking you so long?”
E
MMA STARED
at the rattling knob as if it were a hissing snake.
“Are you okay in there?” David called out. “Emma, answer me.”
Emma’s mouth was dry. She did her best to moisten her lips. “I’m okay,” she managed to say.
“Hurry up, honey. Chief Osmund’s waiting for us. Let’s get going.”
Emma’s heart was thudding and her knees felt like they were about to give way. She groped for the sink and turned on the faucets. “Right there,” she managed to croak.
She tried to collect her thoughts. To make sense of what she had just heard on the telephone. Chief Osmund was not waiting for her. No one was waiting for her. It was all a lie. That phone call was not from Chief Osmund. David had said it was, but it wasn’t.
“Who were you talking to in there?” David asked. “I heard your voice.”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’ll be right out.”
She didn’t know whether to cry or scream. The conclusion was obvious. Inescapable. Her husband was waiting for her on the other side of that door. Waiting to betray her. Or worse. Kill her. Her and their baby. David? Could it be David? The David she loved and had promised her life to? Why? Why would he do such a thing? It couldn’t be. Weren’t they happy? Hadn’t he told her so a million times? But a swirl of stern, familiar faces and warning voices warred for dominance in her head. Oh God, no, she thought. He wouldn’t do that to me. He loves me. He couldn’t. She leaned against the sink, clutching her stomach. NO.
And then, in the midst of her terror and abject misery, she suddenly found another way to explain it. There was another possibility. Remote, but possible. Maybe David was a victim of this hoax, just as she was. Maybe someone was pulling a scam on him too. Maybe whoever wanted to kill her had lured them both down here with a fake call. After all, how many times had David talked to Chief Osmund? How well did he know his voice?
Yes, that had to be it. Hope rose in her heart, shaky as a newborn colt. She was not alone, not betrayed, not her husband’s intended victim, not the stupidest woman who had ever lived. For a moment, her heart sailed. And then it plummeted.
That’s right, she thought. Be stupid all over again. Be trusting. Insist that you know better than the police because you are in love and because you are willing to believe in your husband no matter what.
The doorknob twisted again. “Emma. What’s going on? Is it the baby?” he asked.
Emma put her hand on her stomach and looked down at that hand. Inadvertently, he had given her the answer. Yes, she thought. It is. It is the baby. The only one who is completely and utterly innocent in all this. And in mortal danger. That’s the whole point. Whoever made that phone call wants to kill us. Both of us. Whether or not David is cooperating, or being duped, the person on the other end of the line was a killer. There was no wiggle room for the wrong guess. I have to protect you, Aloysius, she thought. Your life depends on me. I can’t trust anyone but myself.
Somehow, that thought, however horrifying, was also calming.
Call for help, she thought. Obviously not Chief Osmund, she thought. Lieutenant Atkins. She fumbled in her purse, found the lieutenant’s card, and punched in the number with trembling fingers. After two rings, the voice mail answered. Oh shit, she thought. “Lieutenant, it’s…Emma Webster. I’m in the Pine Barrens. I’m in trouble,” she whispered, hoping to be heard over the sound of the running water.
Emma punched off the lieutenant’s number and called 911. When the operator answered she whispered, “Help. I think my husband wants to kill me.”
“Where are you, ma’am?” the operator asked.
“At a gas station.”
“Where is the gas station?”
“I don’t know,” Emma cried.
“I can’t hear you, ma’am…and I’m not getting any address. You’re on a cell phone?”
“Yes, he’s right outside,” whispered Emma.
“We need an address—even a route number would be helpful.”
I don’t even know where I am, Emma thought.
“Emma, I don’t believe you’re all right,” David shouted. “I’m gonna force this door open.”
Emma pushed the off button, dropped her phone back in her bag and tried to calm the mad beating of her heart. “Everything’s fine,” she said, turning off the faucets. “Here I come.”
She unlocked the door and opened it. David was standing just outside on the blacktop, peering at her.
“Are you okay? You look sick.”
She stared into David’s eyes, which were now, perhaps had always been, the eyes of a stranger. She had thought she knew that face, knew those eyes. Hadn’t those hazel eyes mirrored her deepest feelings, shared them, sworn undying love and loyalty? It was so tempting to lean on him, to tell him all she knew and trust him to help her work it out. She wavered in her heart, but her gut reminded her of all that was at stake. Only trust yourself. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just my nerves.”
“Well, I have to pay for the gas inside the minimart, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Okay,” she said. He had to pay for the gas. He probably left the keys in the ignition. While he was inside the minimart, she would get behind the wheel, lock the doors, and leave him there. Drive away. She could drive, whether she was supposed to or not. A few popped stitches were nothing. This was a matter of life or death.
She wouldn’t drive farther into the Pine Barrens. She would turn around and go back the way they had come. Back toward Clarenceville.
David slipped his hand beneath her arm, and Emma jumped. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said irritably, steeling herself to allow him to hold her arm.
“Come with me,” he said. “I don’t want you out here by yourself.”
“I’m just going to go to the car,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Did you see that creep who was pumping the gas? You come with me.”
“No,” she protested. “I need to sit. I feel a little woozy.”
“Probably the smell of the gas from the pumps,” he said. “Here, come inside with me and get away from that smell. No arguments. You know you hate the smell of gas, especially now that you’re pregnant.” He knows me, she thought. He knows I like milk, no sugar, in my coffee, and he knows that I sleep on my side and that I love lily of the valley and hate the smell of gasoline. How could you know, and indulge, and chuckle over a person’s every little habit and tic, and all the time be planning to kill them? How could it be? You can’t answer that question right now, she reminded herself. You just have to get away from him.
He was steering her toward the lighted door of the minimart, even though she was dragging her feet like lead weights as her hope for escape slipped away. She could yell at him or try to run. But who would help her? That gas-pumping cretin who had leered at her? He’d probably laugh at her or join in the chase. Inside the minimart she could see a woman at the cash register. Maybe the woman would help her, she thought.
“Come on,” he said. “What’s the problem, Emma?”
“Nothing,” she said. “No problem.”
His hand firmly gripping her elbow, he led her up to the counter. The woman behind the cash register, a cold-looking blonde with bleached hair, was shouldering a phone to her ear, muttering into the receiver, and did not even look up as she checked the price of David’s gas. Emma’s heart sank. She was not going to be able to explain her predicament. She couldn’t. The woman wouldn’t even meet her pleading gaze. Emma looked around the little store and suddenly noticed a lighted
EXIT
sign in the back of the store.
She withdrew her arm from David’s hand. “I’m hungry. I’m going to get something to eat and maybe a…a soda to settle my stomach.”
“I’ll get it for you,” he said.
“Is this going to be credit or cash,” the woman with the phone snapped.
David turned to look at the cashier.
“I’ll go grab something. I’ll be right back,” said Emma.
Before he could reply, she started down the aisle, passing bags of chips, cookies, Kitty Litter, and Kleenex. She headed toward the refrigerated cases at the back and opened one of the doors, pretending to look inside. Instead, she looked down the aisle toward the
EXIT
sign. A hand-lettered sign was posted at the entrance to the corridor beneath the sign.
EMPLOYEES ONLY
, it read.
DO NOT ENTER
.
Emma closed the door to the cold case. She took a deep breath. You have to do this, she thought. No time left to decide. She bolted down the aisle across the back of the store and ducked into the forbidden corridor. There was a washroom on the left, which also had an
EMPLOYEES ONLY
sign on it. On the right were stacks of boxes. Emma hurried past them and saw the door leading to the outside.
Don’t be locked, she thought. Please God. Don’t let it be locked. She pressed on the waist-level bar, and the door opened with a loud clank. The gas station attendant came out of the washroom and saw her.
“Hey, you’re not allowed back here,” he said indignantly.
Emma did not bother to reply. She pushed the door open and stumbled out into the weed-choked lot behind the station and the blackness of the night.