Voices Carry (36 page)

“Shhhh,” he cradled her against him, watching over her head as the three state police cruisers came into view. “If they’re there, we’ll find them.”

“You Agent Mancini?” A burly state trooper stopped on the opposite side of the road.

“Yes.”

“We’re on our way down,” the trooper told John, “we’ll let you know what we find.”

“I’m going, John,” Genna told him. “I’m going with him.”

“No. You’ll go with me.” To the trooper, John said, “We’ll follow you down. Let’s do it.”

The terse parade wound slowly along the narrow dirt road, with John, driving now, falling in behind at the end. Genna leaned forward in her seat, her eyes wide and frantic. As the cars came to a stop, still in their straight line, Genna bolted from the car and ran to the cabin area, John and the troopers close on her heels.

At the top of the clearing, Genna stopped, tilting her head to listen. She took several steps toward the first cabin to her right, then stopped.

“In there,” she said, turning to the state officers. “Call some ambulances. Quickly. We may be able to save them.”

The trooper closest to Genna brushed past her, a look of skepticism on his face, and took the cabin steps two at a time. Pushing open the door to the cabin that bore a large, hastily painted black number five on the outer wall, he stepped in, only to rush back out, his hands over his mouth.

The porch railing sagged as he leaned over it and lost his battle to keep his lunch.

“Get water,” he gasped. “And get that ambulance here as fast as you can. I think she’s still alive. God help her, I think she might still be alive. . .”

Of the twelve women that Michael Homer had abducted, half of them had not survived the weeks of horror spent gagged and tied to the old metal camp beds. Of those six who had managed to outlast the unspeakable torture and abuse, the insects and the dehydration, the rats, and the lack of food, two more were near death when they were rescued and another was catatonic.

Three of them, however, had managed to hold on to their lives and their wits, and it was hoped that at least one of these three women could assist the FBI by providing the information that would aid in tracking down their abductor and bringing him to justice. Once, of course, they were able to speak again. Weeks of dehydration had taken its toll on their vocal chords.

It was late afternoon by the time a totally drained Genna slumped back against the car, exhausted and haunted by the possibility that one or more of the dead women might still have been alive when she and Crystal had been at the camp the week before. Might still be alive if she had only followed the voices that had been carried on the wind. The guilt weighed heavily on her soul.

Somewhere, among the throng of law enforcement and emergency medical personnel that had invaded the campground, John guarded the corpses of the women who had died while chained to their
beds, then dragged into an open field for the vultures to feast upon. Genna had tried to keep that vigil with him, to be ever the professional. In her time with the FBI, she’d seen corpses mutilated beyond description, beyond recognition. But these were the remains of women who had been children with her, children with whom she had shared an important time in her life, children who had once been brave enough to stand in an open court and tell the truth.

Genna took the deaths of each of them personally, but knew she had to look to the living if the dead were to be vindicated.

Overwhelmed by sorrow, sickened with grief, Genna sat with the living while each awaited her turn for an ambulance, talked to them, praised them for their ability to have outwitted their captor and for having survived such horror. Apologized for not having understood their cries for help. And promised them that, with their help, the man responsible for their nightmare would be punished.

Just as the sun began to lower itself behind the trees, bright lights flashed from somewhere up near the road.

“Great,” she muttered. “The media has found us.”

Genna located the officer in charge of the scene and pointed out to him that they were no longer alone, suggesting that he have the entire upper end of the field placed off limits, which he agreed to do even if it meant appealing for backup from the National Guard.

Accepting a bottle of water from one of the emergency crew, she twisted the top off viciously, her anger barely contained. It was a hell of a thing, when
a woman who had survived abuse as a child became a victim of that same abuser all over again as an adult. A breeze rustled through the trees as she prayed that they would be smart enough to outwit him. She knew she would not have a moment’s peace until they found him.

There was a flurry of activity as the first of the body bags was brought up from the field.

“That oughta set the news people into a frenzy,” she murmured, wondering just what would end up on that evening’s news.

It occurred to her then that she hadn’t called Pats to let her know that she and John would be late. She’d be frantic by now.

Reaching into the car window, she grabbed her big leather bag that sat on the backseat. Sifting through it for her phone, she started to dial, when she noticed the message light blinking. Hitting the play button, she heard Patsy’s voice.

“Now, I don’t want you to be worried, everything’s okay now. But your sister gave me a good enough scare today. Something spooked her and as God is my judge I don’t know what that something is, but I mean to find out. She up and took off to go back to Kentucky and to the psychiatrist she was seeing down there. Left me a note apologizing for borrowing the money from my wallet for her bus ticket. Well, I called the bus line, and I found out that that bus will be stopping down in Slippery Rock around five-thirty. I guess you know that I’ll be down there waiting when that bus comes in. So don’t you be worried when you get to the cottage and we’re not there. We’ll be there, before the night is over, and we’ll find out what set Chrissie off. In the meantime, if you’d
do me the biggest favor. I couldn’t find Kermie before I left, and I know he’s going to be out there howling on the back deck before too much longer. He hasn’t had his insulin since this morning, and, well, you know what could happen if he goes much more than twelve hours without it. I’d sure hate to lose that old curmudgeon, Gen, and I know that you would, too. So I’m hoping you’ll be able to find him and give him his shot when you get here. I figure you and John should probably be here by dark, and if you could please try to round up that tabby, feed him then give him his shot, I’d sure appreciate it. . .”

Genna could all but picture a worried Patsy standing out on the deck, watching for Kermie even as she left the voice mail. That old cat meant the world to both of them.

In another hour or so, it would be dark, too late to find Kermie or much else up here. She started up over the rise to look for John, and saw that he was deep in conversation with a member of the ERT that had arrived an hour earlier. He’d be a while yet, long enough, surely, for her to run down to the cottage, find Kermie, give him some food and inject him with his insulin. She’d probably be back before John finished his conversation.

The car keys rustled in her pocket. She’d had all she could take for one day. For one lifetime. A few minutes away from it all would be most welcome.

“If Agent Mancini is looking for me, tell him I had to run down to the cottage for something, but I should be back within an hour,” she told the young state trooper who stood by the lower end of the road. Searching her wallet, she found one of her
business cards, upon which she wrote Patsy’s phone number.

“Just in case he’s forgotten,” she told the trooper, “the number’s on the back. But I should be back before he even realizes that I’m gone.”

She paused, wondering if it was wise for her to make the trip to the lake alone. It was not, she sighed. Getting out of the car, she searched for a trooper who looked as if he could use a half hour away from the madness. It wasn’t hard to find a likely candidate.

“What’s your name?” she asked him after he’d cleared her request to accompany her with his superior.

“Don Emerson,” he replied.

“Well, Don Emerson, I appreciate your company. We only have a short drive, but it’s one I probably shouldn’t take alone.”

She drove away in the blue Ford they’d rented earlier in the day, with no thoughts but to find Kermie and to escape, for just a little while, from the terrible reality that evil, still and always, was alive and well at Shepherd’s Way.

Chatting aimlessly with the young trooper, she eased into the driveway by the darkened house.

“Would you like me to come in with you?” her companion asked.

“If you like,” she nodded, “though I’m sure the cottage is locked. I’ll only be a few minutes. Unless, of course, I can’t find the cat. Then we’ll need to do a little searching.”

He smiled in the dark and got out of the car when she did.

“I’ll just keep a lookout, out here,” he told her.

“That’s fine,” Genna nodded, searching for the cottage key amongst the other keys on the crowded ring. “I shouldn’t be long.”

Her back covered, Genna disappeared down the driveway, her only thoughts on finding the old orange tabby that meant so much to Patsy and her, and now to Crystal. For everyone’s sake, she hoped she wasn’t too late.

He should have been tired, having been on his feet for several hours now, and he should have been starving, having had his last meal on the plane that had flown them to Erie that morning. But John Mancini was at his efficient best when chaos threatened those around him, and the events of the day had more than qualified. He’d stayed in the upper field until the last of the bodies had been removed, and was preparing to follow the last of the ambulances to the hospital, hoping that at least one of the women would be able to give them enough to begin the search for Michael Homer.

His eyes darted around the parking area, searching for Genna. When he could not locate her, he walked back to the car, thinking perhaps he’d find her slumped down in the passenger seat, sound asleep, though he figured it would take more than common fatigue to remove her from the action.

He was more than a little surprised to find that she had left the camp entirely.

“She said she wouldn’t be long, but for you to call her at the cottage,” a young trooper told him. “She sounded like you would know what she meant. One
of the troopers went with her. Oh! And she gave me the number in case you’d forgotten it.”

“I have it,” John said as the man began to search his pockets.

John dialed the number and listened to it ring and ring. Perhaps she had done whatever it was she’d set out to do, and was on her way back. He called her cell phone, but there was no answer there, either. He paced next to the car, trying to decide if he should be worried or not. He dialed the cottage again with the same result.

“Hey, John,” one of the field agents from Pittsburgh came toward him from across the clearing. “I just heard that one of the women at the hospital is insisting on talking now. Sharpe wants you there pronto to get a description of Homer from her. A forensic artist is already on her way. You’re to follow Detective Shivers from Wick’s Grove.”

“I’m on my way,” John turned back to his car, then stopped, and called to the young trooper, “How long do you expect to be here?”

“No one’s said, but I’m expecting we’ll be around all night.”

“Will you watch for Agent Snow? Just tell her I went to the hospital to speak with one of the victims, and ask her to call me when she shows up.” John got into his car, adding, “I’ll probably catch up with her before then, but I’d appreciate you watching out for her.”

“I’ll do that, sir,” the trooper nodded. “But take care up there by the road. I heard there’s all kinds of media people up there. All of the networks and CNN and you name it, they’re up there.”

“Thanks.” John waved as he started the car and rolled
up his windows. Stopping to chat with the press wasn’t on his agenda.

John called the cottage twice more, and a nagging fear had begun to prick at his senses. He’d decided to have one of the field agents go up to the lake to check on her if no one picked up on the next try.

Someone did.

“This is John Mancini,” he said when an unfamiliar voice answered, taking him off-guard. “Who is this, please?”

“This is Patsy’s friend Nancy, John. From the cottage next door.”

“Oh, Nancy, of course. Patsy and Genna have both spoken about you.”

“I was sitting out on my deck, and I heard the phone ring and ring and ring, and I thought, I should probably run over there and answer it if it rings again, since it seems like someone’s pretty anxious to get in touch with Patsy. Of course, she’s not here, you know.”

“No. I didn’t know. Do you know where everyone is? Have you seen Genna?”

“Well, Patsy’s gone off looking for Crystal,” Nancy told him, filling him in on Chrissie’s sudden departure as Patsy had related earlier in the day. “And Genna is out on the dock putting the cover on that flat-bottomed boat of Patsy’s. Looks like it might rain. Do you want me to run down and get her for you?”

Relieved, John said, “No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell her that I called and that I’m on my way to the hospital outside of Wick’s Grove.”

“Oh, my, I hope you’re all right?”

“Oh, fine. But if you’d tell her that I’m meeting an artist
at the hospital, she’ll know what I mean. And tell her to meet us there as soon as she can.”

“I’ll certainly do that, John. Now, I should tell you that Genna was looking a little peaked, and so I suggested that she stop over for a bite. I made a lovely shrimp salad this afternoon thinking I’d have plenty to share with Patsy, but of course she isn’t here. So I offered to make up a plate for Genna—she did tell me that shrimp salad is such a favorite of hers—so if she’s a teensy bit late, you’ll know not to worry, that she’s having a quick meal and will be on her way soon enough.”

“And what about the state trooper who accompanied her?”

“Oh, he’s helping her with the cover. I imagine they should be finished in another few minutes.”