Did You Miss Me? (28 page)

‘When I got here, there were fifteen reporters camped around the front door.’

‘That didn’t give you the right to—’

‘Fiona.’ He rarely used her first name and she quieted. ‘I had to throw two reporters out of the elevator. They’d signed in with the desk downstairs, claiming they were going to a different floor, intending to come here all the time. One told the other that their producer wanted her face when she learned the news. That they’d top the ratings. I couldn’t wait for your go-ahead.’

She sighed. ‘I get it. You didn’t want her to find out the wrong way. But—’

The water shut off and Daphne emerged, holding her hiking boots by the laces. She’d changed her heavy sweater for one of lighter weight and now wore sensible loafers.
No need to be dressed for an outdoor search now
. She’d applied lipstick. Her version of body armor, he suspected.

She sank into her chair, smelling faintly of toothpaste and peaches, the latter from her hand lotion. He knew this because he’d smelled peaches on his own hand after holding hers in the observation room earlier that afternoon.

She squared her shoulders. ‘All right, Dr Brodie. I’m listening.’

Hunt Valley, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 8.00
P.M.

Mitch took a step back, frowning at his handiwork in the glow of his flashlight. He’d done better work in Odum’s basement, but it was harder to line up the letters out here in the dark. He wondered how the message would appear in the light of day, if the human blood would dry a different color than animal blood.

It wasn’t the message he’d really wanted to paint. That would come after Ford got himself fucking found.

Did you miss me?

So far, Ford was still missing. What was wrong with that boy? He should have arrived in the nearest town by now. But there had been no reports on any of the police radio channels within a fifty mile radius of Wilson Beckett’s cabin.

He’d known there was a chance he’d have to go back and help the kid, but he’d really thought that Ford could handle a measly twenty-mile trek. He turned off his flashlight and stored his materials in the van.

He hoped the roads were clear through the mountains. He needed to be home by mid-morning.
Thank you so much, Cole
. Mitch had woken from his nap to a message from Cole’s guidance counselor who wanted to discuss his brother’s behavior issues with his ‘guardian’, Betty Douglas.

Mitch hoped the counsellor continued to buy his story that Betty was house ridden, the cold weather a risk to her health. Otherwise he’d have to hire another old woman to play Betty. He’d had to do so in Florida because he was on parole and didn’t want the cops knowing he’d left Maryland without permission.

He’d had to do it again when they’d first returned to Baltimore because Betty had died. Mitch had wanted to stay under the radar then, so he’d buried her quietly in the back garden, notifying no one. He’d read Betty’s will. It was enough to know the house belonged to him. He didn’t need – or want – his name listed as the new owner of the house. And, of course, he didn’t mind the Social Security checks that continued to be deposited in her bank account month after month. It wasn’t a lot of money but it kept the cupboards full. Because Cole ate like a horse. Mitch scowled. When he wasn’t getting into trouble at school.

If possible, he wanted to be back here at Daphne’s farm by dawn. Just to see the reaction of whoever found his barn art. He wished it could be Daphne herself, but the Feds had her locked down. They wouldn’t let her come all the way out here.

But that was okay. All this – the barn, the basement – it was all warm-up. Just the windup before the pitch. The tease before the huge rollercoaster dip. Is Ford alive? Is he dead? Is he alive? Soon enough she’d find out her son wasn’t dead after all, but then Ford would say the magic words and Daphne’s world would turn upside down.

Did you miss me?

Those four little words were the key to unlocking Daphne Montgomery’s personal nightmare.
And to think
 . . . 
Had I not gone to prison, I would have never known about them
.

Mitch had his stepfather to thank for the whole prison experience, but supposed he also owed some thanks to his old cell mate, Crazy Earl. Earl was convinced that the warden had hidden cameras in the ductwork so that he could spy on the inmates.

Mitch had tried for weeks to convince Earl that the warden didn’t
need
to hide cameras in the vents – there were cameras in plain view on nearly every freaking corner of the cell block. But Crazy Earl was not to be dissuaded because he was crazy.

Later, when the good people of the state prison board had enrolled Mitch in HVAC training, he remembered Crazy Earl and wondered if it could be done. At first his thoughts were purely prurient. After months of forced celibacy he wanted to catch a little T&A action. But then he realized that he was thinking way too narrowly. Having the ability to spy in people’s homes could be commercially lucrative.

And it had been.

Mitch tried it for the first time in the little house he’d rented in Miami. During the months he lived there, he experimented with camera brands – some worked better than others – and placement in the ceiling ducts. Too close and the camera would be visible. Too far away and the vent cover got in the way of the picture. He practiced installation over and over until he could place a camera in under five seconds flat.

When he came back to Maryland he decided he was ready to try it for real.

His first target? His stepfather, of course. It was incredibly poetic since the bastard had sent him to prison in the first place. Also, who was his stepfather gonna go to if he found the camera – the cops?

Placing the camera was ridiculously simple. On the night he’d gotten Mutt drunk and obtained the code for his brother’s password file, he had also stolen his house keys and made copies. Discovering the security alarm code wasn’t much more difficult. Mutt kept the alarm access code, along with his ATM sequence and all of his other passwords, in the same iPhone app.

All Mitch had to do after that was wait until Mutt and his daddy went away for the weekend to some stupid trade show, giving him time to install the camera. Waiting for his stepfather to open his damn safe was the hard part. He’d expected the old guy to open the safe every day. Instead, he’d had to wait three weeks.

But it had been so worth it. Mitch had expected to find deeds and maybe a few bonds and some cash. And he did. But far better was the manila envelope labeled
DE
.

The initials jumped out at him – he’d just found his mother’s diary a few weeks before. Just learned the identity of the woman who’d broken his mother’s heart.
DE
.

Daphne Elkhart
. Mitch had been tempted to look inside right there as he stood by the safe. But he’d controlled himself, waiting until he got home. What he’d found was a gold mine, a treasure trove of every detail of Daphne’s life.

It was damn creepy. His stepfather’s obsession was evident in the detail.
Detail after detail
. Mitch now knew everything there was to know about Daphne Montgomery – her birthday, social security number, underwear size . . . The record stopped about the time of her divorce, but that was okay. The most important piece – the childhood trauma that left her terrified of underground places and four little words – was all there.

With some old-fashioned ingenuity, a bit of con-artistry and the power of Google, Mitch used what he’d read in the envelope to locate Wilson Beckett and his cabin in the West Virginia woods. And all that lay beneath.

And because Mitch had done his research, gaining Beckett’s trust was a snap.
Hi, I’m Robert Jones
.
I think you knew my grandfather – you served in the same regiment in ’Nam
. That Beckett had served in the military wasn’t a big leap – most men his age had, in some capacity. All Mitch had to do was locate a list of men who’d served with him and pick one with a very common last name, who’d already died.

Then he laid it on thick.
My granddad used to talk about how you two dreamed about going home and doing nothing but fishing
.
He always said he wanted to find you and catch those fish
.
I lost him last year
.
Would you mind if I went fishing with you, for old times’ sake?
One day of fishing had led to more. A few months of fishing and a case of Jack Daniel’s later and Beckett was primed for the hook.

You need money? I know this kid whose daddy is a rich judge
.
I’ll nab him and you hide him
.
That’s all you have to do
.

Mitch had always known Beckett was bad. He’d read it in his stepfather’s obsession file. So he wasn’t surprised by how easily Beckett had fallen, hook, line and sinker. Mitch just reeled him in. In Beckett’s mind, Ford’s escape was a terrible thing – ransom lost and the danger of capture.

Mitch had made sure Ford never saw his face, but Ford had seen Beckett’s. Now Ford would hopefully get himself found soon. His mama would be so happy! Then Ford would tell her what he’d heard.

Did you miss me?

Daphne would know her secret was out. Ford would lead them back to where he’d been kept. Then the show would begin. Mitch had prepared the venue very carefully.

That he’d miss her reaction to the basement and barn art wasn’t such a big deal because when he got Daphne exactly where he wanted her, he’d have a front row seat.

Tuesday, December 3, 8.05
P.M.

Joseph stood behind Daphne’s chair, his hands on her shoulders.

Brodie focused her attention on Daphne. ‘I wanted to know if you’d seen this before.’ She put the watch they’d found in Odum’s basement on the table in front of Daphne. Sealed in an evidence bag, the watch was stained with blood.

When Daphne flinched, Joseph had to control the urge to shake his old mentor.

‘Sit down, Joseph,’ Brodie said mildly, but with an undercurrent of sharp command. He took the chair next to Daphne and he could have sworn Brodie rolled her eyes before turning to Daphne, her expression gentling. ‘Have you seen it before?’

‘Yes,’ Daphne said faintly. ‘It’s Ford’s. His grandmother Elkhart gave it to him for his eighteenth birthday. It’s a tradition. Elkhart men wear Rolexes.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘He hates that thing.’

‘Why does he hate it?’ Brodie asked.

‘He doesn’t have the best relationship with his father’s family.’

‘Tell me, does Ford wear this watch often?’

Daphne was speaking of Ford in the present tense, Joseph noted. Common in these situations. But Brodie was too, and that wasn’t common. Guilt slid through his gut as he waited for Daphne’s reply.

He’d compounded his momentary lapse in front of the Timonium house by rushing off to do the right thing, to make it right. His intentions had been pure but his logic completely clouded. He drew a breath and let it out slowly.
I fucked up
.
Big time
.

Daphne was still frowning at the watch. ‘No, he rarely wears a watch at all and if he did it wouldn’t be that one. So why did he have it last night?’ She looked up at Joseph. ‘And why did whoever did this leave it behind? It’s worth fifteen thousand dollars. Why didn’t they take it?’

Damn good questions.
I should have asked them myself
. He met Brodie’s eyes, telegraphing his apology, saw it was accepted. ‘Tell her, Fiona,’ he murmured.

‘Tell me what?’ Daphne demanded.

‘Daphne, I found two types of blood in Odum’s basement. Neither matched the blood found in the alley where the abduction took place.’

Daphne gasped. ‘What? You mean that wasn’t Ford’s blood?’

‘Do you know his blood type?’ Brodie asked.

‘Yes, of course. O negative, like mine.’

‘Type O neg was what I found in the first alley, but I found Type B on the wall and Type A on the floor in Odum’s basement. There wasn’t enough B blood to have caused death. But there was plenty of Type A.’

Daphne closed her eyes. ‘Oh God. It’s not Ford.’ She pressed the heel of her hand between her breasts. ‘My head is spinning.’

Joseph picked up the evidence bag containing the Rolex. On the back of the watch ‘Elkhart’ was engraved in a spidery script. ‘What about this? Is it real?’

‘It’s real,’ Brodie said. ‘I imagine whoever did this planned to come back for it, Daphne. Especially given what else we found in that room.’

Daphne looked up at Joseph. ‘What?’

‘Guns,’ Joseph said. ‘The neighbors thought the Millhouses were moving drugs through that house, but it’s weapons. Crates of assault rifles, just like the ones we found in Bill Millhouse’s trunk this morning.’

‘They’re dealing?’

‘Either that or arming one hell of a militia,’ he said. ‘If they had a fifteen-thousand-dollar Rolex, they’d sell it and buy more guns.’

Daphne took the watch from his hand. ‘Why? Why go to all the trouble of making us think they’d killed Ford in Odum’s basement? Why the charade? They had to have known the first thing you’d do is test the blood. We’d know it wasn’t Ford’s.’

Dammit
. Joseph wanted to kick his own ass, because she was right.
I played right into their hands
. He walked over to the white board and studied the text history from George’s phone. ‘George didn’t call you from the alley using Ford’s phone.’

‘We figured he couldn’t have. It must have been Doug,’ Daphne said.

‘When you read the text from Ford’s phone you felt hope, like this was a mistake.’

‘Yes. And when I realized it wasn’t Ford texting, I was devastated.’

‘And just now?’

‘Just now, I was devastated, and now I have hope.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘You’re saying that they’re playing with me?’

‘Yes,’ he said tightly.
And I helped
.
‘
Doug has been seen at the Timonium house.’
And the black delivery van was there today
. He turned to look at her. ‘He was there today. Setting all this up. Manipulating us.’ And then a puzzle piece dropped into place in his mind. ‘He wanted us to find that house, that “crime scene”, just like he wanted us to find that alley with the backpack.’