Richard Montanari (59 page)

    Darkness.

    They
were moving. There was tape over her eyes and her mouth. Her hands were still
bound together behind her back with the plastic band.

    Lucy
tried to listen to sounds around her. She heard the sound of the road beneath
her. They were on a paved road, smooth, maybe an expressway, although she did
not have the sense that they were traveling at high speed. Every so often she
heard the sound of something passing. It was a distinct rhythm.
Light poles?

    Underneath
it all was the sound of the heater fan. There was no music coming from the
radio, no conversation. Then she heard humming. She didn't know the song.

    Lucy
rolled to her right, then her left. The movements were small but she could feel
the plastic on her wrists shift a little bit each time. If she had strength
anywhere in her body it was in her arms and hands. You didn't lift as many
mattresses as she had without getting stronger.

    
Left.

    
Right.

    She
flexed her wrists, relaxed.

    Little
by little she felt the plastic start to give.

    Drummond
called back ten minutes later.

    'Michael,'
Jessica said. 'What do you have for me?'

    There
were a few seconds of silence. At first Jessica thought the call had been
dropped. She looked at the screen. They were still connected. She put the phone
back to her ear. It was now quiet in the background on Drummond's end. He had
either left or stepped away from his Halloween party.

    'I
don't know how to say this, Jess.'

    This
was not good, whatever it was. 'Just say it, Michael.'

    Another
pause. Jessica heard the rustling of paper. 'I just heard from the Hudson
County prosecutor's office. They issued a search warrant yesterday to the
Mailboxes USA location in Jersey City.'

    Drummond
was talking about the location to which the tattoos had been mailed from World
Ink.

    'Do
we have something?' Jessica asked.

    'We
do. But it's not good news.'

    'What
did they say?'

    'They
got the records of where the material was forwarded to from Box 1606. The tattoos
from World Ink. The package went to an address in South Philly.'

    Jessica
waited. And waited. 'Michael.'

    'It
was Kevin Byrne's address. The tattoos went to his home address.'

    Jessica
felt the ground shift beneath her. She wanted to speak, but her breath had not
yet caught up to her words. 'It's not possible.'

    'It's
the only piece of mail the location ever forwarded from this box, under this
registration. It was sent about a month ago.'

    Another
long pause. Drummond continued. 'Half the department is looking for him,
Jessica. If I take this warrant request to the chief they're going to use it to
locate Kevin and bring him in.'

    'Okay,
Michael. I understand,' Jessica said. 'But I have a favor to ask.'

    'What
is it?'

    'I
need a head start. There's an explanation for all of this. I just need to get
to Kevin first.'

    Silence
for a moment. 'I can't break the law, Jess. You know and I know that there is
now a record of us having this conversation.'

    'I'm
not asking you to break the law. I just need some time. Besides, who's to say
what we talked about? Maybe we talked about the Phillies.'

    'How
about that Chase Utley, eh?'

    Jessica
took a moment, her mind spinning. 'All I'm asking for is a little window. Kevin
is innocent. Let me bring him in.'

    The
next few seconds were excruciating. Finally: 'If the office brings me into this
I'm going to have to drop the hammer. You know that, right?'

    'I
know.'

    'But
maybe it doesn't have to be immediately. Maybe I can't get a cellphone signal.
Maybe my phone was off.'

    Jessica
felt a cool wave of relief. 'Thanks, Michael.'

    'Good
luck, detective.'

    Jessica
clicked off. She filled in Josh Bontrager on the parts of the conversation that
he had not heard. She began to pace. The rain began to fall a little harder.
She barely noticed.

    'Okay,'
Jessica said. 'The killer was working toward this night for a reason.'

    
'Danse
Macabre
,' Bontrager said. 'Midnight on Halloween.'

    'Right.
The killer is doing this for Christa-Marie. Why?'

    Bontrager
thought for a moment. 'If he is true to form he's going to kill one more person
to fill in the last note.'

    'If
this is all coming down to Christa-Marie, there must be a connection.'

    'She
can't be a target, though. She was convicted of murder. She didn't get away
with anything, not like the other victims.'

    'Unless
there's something we don't know about,' Jessica said.

    
'I'm
scared that I made a mistake,' Byrne had said.

    Jessica
took out her phone again. She called a man named Gary Peters, a friend of hers
who worked the city desk at the
Inquirer.
They got their pleasantries
quickly out of the way.

    'What
do you need?'

    'I
need you to check something for me.'

    'Shoot.'

    'I
need you to look up an obituary,' Jessica said. 'It would be in November 1990.'

    'What's
the name?'

    'Gabriel
Thorne.'

    'Okay,'
Peters said. 'What am I looking for?'

    'I
just need the notice.'

    'Got
it,' he said. 'Do you want me to fax it to you?'

    'Can
you email it to me?'

    'Not
a problem.'

    Jessica
gave him her email address. 'ASAP, okay?'

    'On
the case, detective.'

    Two
minutes later Jessica's phone dinged with the arrival of the email. She tapped
it, opened it. It was a .pdf file from the
Philadelphia Inquirer.

    
Prominent
Psychiatrist Dead at 58
.

    Jessica
quickly skimmed the obituary, soon finding what she was looking for.

    '"Services
will be held at St. Stanislaus, followed by interment at the Briarcliff Cemetery,'"
she read out.

    'Does
it have an address?' Bontrager asked.

    Jessica
had to enlarge the image. Her eyes scanned the file. 'Here it is. It's at 122
Sawmill Road.'

    They
looked at each other. 'Any ideas where that is?' Bontrager asked.

    'No,'
Jessica said. 'Hang on.'

    She
tapped over to her Google Maps app, put in the address. Soon a map appeared
with a big red push pin at the center.

    
'Oh
hello
.
'

    'Where
is it?' Bontrager asked.

    Briarcliff
Cemetery was a small suburban graveyard that abutted a number of large estates.
One of them belonged to Christa-Marie Schönburg.

    They
took a slow bend to the right.

    'Stop!'
Bontrager yelled.

    Jessica
hit the brakes. 'What is it?'

    'Back
up.'

    Jessica
put the car in reverse. She backed up slowly for fifty feet or so. As she did,
she saw what had caught Josh's eye. On the right side of the road were tire
tracks cutting through the high grass, leading into the woods. A pair of small
trees had been recently knocked over and splintered. Jessica angled the car so
the headlights shone into the forest. There, about twenty feet in, was a
vehicle, its motor still running. The lights were off but they could see warm
exhaust spilling into the cold night air.

    Jessica
looked over at Bontrager. They drew their weapons, exited the car, walked down
the culvert, up the other side. As they stepped closer to the vehicle Jessica
saw more of it. It was a van.

    A familiar
van.

    Lucy
Doucette remembered a time when she was about four or five. Her mother had
worked for a few months at a Dollar General and the money had flowed in. They
were rich. That Thanksgiving they had a Jennie-O turkey breast, gravy, Hungry
Jack mashed potatoes. All her favorites.

    The
thought of it made her stomach clench. She could not remember the last time she
had eaten.

    She
had made slow progress on the plastic band around her wrists. She wasn't anywhere
close to being able to slip her hands out. Not yet.

    Ever
since the van had stopped, a few minutes ago, she had lain motionless. She
didn't know where they were or what was happening. It was better to be still
for the moment.

    At
first she thought it was her imagination, but she heard footsteps. Footsteps
approaching.

    Lucy
held her breath.

    They
approached the van, weapons drawn. Jessica took the driver's side, Josh
Bontrager flanked right, a few paces behind. The immediate danger was the
threat from the back doors.

    At
the rear bumper Jessica stopped, raised her left hand, made it into a fist.
Bontrager stopped. Jessica put her ear to the back doors, listened. Silence
from within.

    Jessica
held up five fingers. Bontrager nodded.

    Jessica
crept up to the driver door, counted down silently from five. There were no
lights in the van, so the side mirror did not reflect the inside. She held her
weapon in her left hand, trained on the door, slid her right hand along the
panel.

    On
four she opened the door, stepped to the left in attack stance, weapon leveled.
The driver's seat was empty, as was the seat on the passenger side. Keys in the
ignition.

    Bontrager
opened the passenger door on five, pointed his flashlight inside the van.
Behind the driver's seat were a pair of side racks. Strapped into them were
David Albrecht's equipment - tripods, equipment cases, lights, microphone
stands, a short ladder.

    Jessica
flipped on the van's interior light.

    There
was no one inside.

    Near
the back doors they could see the video camera on its side.

    The
camera was on, the blue rectangle of the flip-out LCD screen glowed. Jessica
took a single latex glove out of her pocket, snapped it on. She crossed to the
back of the van, opened a door. Reaching in, she tilted the camera back onto
its side. There had to be two dozen buttons.

    'Do
you know how to operate one of these?'

    'Sort
of,' Bontrager said. 'I took the video of my cousin's wedding last year.'

    'There's
video at an Amish wedding?'

    'My
cousin left the church. She married English.'

    Bontrager
put on a glove, looked closely at the camera for a few moments. He hit a
button. They heard a whirring sound, then a click. The side of the camera opened.