Going Gone (16 page)

Now Lucy understood his behavior from last night and felt somewhat guilty that she’d tarred him so quickly with the drunk brush.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need to go to a doctor? I can recommend one.”

Hershel was surprised by the offer. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, the reason I came up is only going to add fuel to the flame of your discomfort. I was in the garden when I noticed your back right tire has gone flat. I thought you would want to know.”

Hershel groaned, thinking of the pain of lifting and changing a tire.

Despite her distrust of him, Lucy felt bad for his discomfort. “I can make a call, if you like. There’s a garage that I use for oil changes and tune-ups. They fix flats. If I called them, they would come out and remove the tire, then fix it and bring it back, if you were willing to pay a little extra.”

Hershel sighed. “That would be great, and paying extra is no problem.”

She nodded primly. “Then I’ll get right on that. Have a nice day, and I do hope your back gets better soon.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” he said.

He watched until she was safely down the stairs before he shut the door. The scent of freshly brewed coffee pulled him back to the kitchen, and within an hour he heard a truck pull into the drive and park at his apartment. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs again, but this time he was wearing clean sweats and had given himself a half-assed shave for a face that grew a half-assed beard. Filled with more pain pills, coffee and cereal, he answered the door, then shivered from the chill of the wind.

The mechanic quickly introduced himself.

“Hey. I’m Frank from Georgio’s Garage. Mrs. Taft called us about fixing a flat on your van.”

“Paul Leibowitz,” Hershel said. “I really appreciate this. I hurt my back a couple days ago, and I’m barely mobile.”

“We’ll get you fixed up,” Frank said. “Do you have a spare?”

Hershel’s heart skipped a beat. It was inside the van, but he wasn’t sure if there was anything obvious in there that might incriminate him.

“I’ll get my keys and meet you downstairs,” he said.

The mechanic nodded and headed back down as Hershel went to get a jacket and his keys.

He descended the steps slowly, taking care not to hurry, and made it down with a minimal amount of pain. When he unlocked the van, he opened the back door and looked in. Nothing seemed out of place. He pointed at the tire lying against the side.

“There it is, but I’m not sure it’s good. I haven’t owned the van very long.”

The mechanic pulled the tire out and then let it go. It bounced. He nodded.

“It’s holding air. Do you want me to switch it out and bring back the one I fix as your spare?”

“That would be great,” Hershel said. “I think there’s a jack somewhere.”

“I brought a jack. This won’t take long,” Frank said.

Hershel shut the van and locked it.

“I’ll have your money ready when you come back,” he said.

“Boss said a hundred bucks, seeing as how we’re making two trips, plus fixing the flat.”

“That’s fine,” Hershel said. “I’ll pay cash.”

He watched for a couple of minutes and then went back upstairs, grateful he didn’t have to do this himself.

* * *

Laura was on her way into the church when her cell phone rang. When she saw it was Cameron, she smiled and stopped under a tree to take the call in privacy.

“Hello, my darling. How’s your morning?” she asked.

“Hectic. Another call came in the morning about a missing person. Someone else has been abducted, and we’re on our way back to the P.D. now.”

The smile slid off her face. “Oh, no. Who was it?”

“A dance instructor from Reston named Lionel Ricks. He had a studio in D.C. where he gave lessons. He disappeared sometime after eight last night.”

“Wow. Yet another resident of Reston,” she said.

Cameron frowned. That fact had already been noted, but maybe they were missing the obvious.

Laura lived in Reston.

“Yes, another one,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you to pay attention to your surroundings.”

“I’ll be fine. There are more than a hundred people here.”

“Still—”

“I’ll pay attention,” she said.

“That’s all I needed to hear. Love you most.”

She smiled. “Love you, too,” she said. But as soon as their call ended, she called Nola.

* * *

Nola was in her art studio, working on a commission, when the phone rang. When she saw who it was, she laid down her brush and quickly wiped the oil paint from her hands.

“Hey, Laura. How’s it going?”

“Another person has gone missing. That makes four.”

Nola groaned beneath her breath. The anxiety was getting to all of them.

“This is maddening. I can’t believe this is happening again, and right here in our area.”

“I know. Before, the Stormchaser team went to the killer’s chaos. This time he brought it to us,” Laura said.

“Are they sure it’s Inman?”

“I don’t know. But they have to operate under that assumption, don’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose they do. Are you on your own? Are you scared?”

“No, I’m still at the Red Cross shelter here in Reston with the people who were evacuated after the gas explosion.”

“That was just awful,” Nola said. “Did you know any of the victims?”

“I don’t know,” Laura said. “I don’t think they’ve even released a complete list of the deceased yet, because it’s been so difficult to confirm who was lost.”

Nola gasped. “Good Lord. You mean...?”

“Nothing intact,” Laura said softly.

“How awful.”

“Yes, it is. Anyway, I need to get back to work, but I can’t talk about this mess to just anyone, and I needed to hear a sane voice.”

“I hope to God they catch the beast who’s doing this, whether it’s Inman or not. Call me anytime.”

“I will, and thanks,” Laura said.

This time when she hung up, she felt better. She made herself focus on the task at hand and hurried back into the church, for the time being pushing Hershel Inman to the bottom of her to-do list.

* * *

It was nearing four o’clock, and with so many children who’d been forced to evacuate with little more than the clothes on their backs, Laura had to improvise old-fashioned entertainment. Without their usual Xbox games and televisions, they’d gotten bored.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor with four girls ranging in age from eight to twelve, showing the girls how to play jacks, when she saw a teenage girl walk in wearing a miniskirt and stockings, a turtleneck T-shirt and a bejeweled jean jacket. Her short brown hair was purple on the tips, and her eyes were red rimmed and welling with tears.

Laura handed her ball and jacks to one of the children.

“Here you go. You give it a try. Sorry, girls, I’m going to have to get back to work. Do you think you’ve got this now?”

“We’ve got it,” one of them said.

Laura smiled as she got up, brushing off the seat of her jeans as she went. The closer she got to the purple-haired teen, the more certain she became that the girl was on the verge of hysteria. She had a duffel bag in one hand and a cell phone in the other, and she was trembling from head to toe.

“Hi, I’m Laura Doyle. What’s your name, honey?”

“Lisa Welch.”

“How old are you?” Laura asked.

“I’m fifteen.”

Laura frowned, hoping she wouldn’t have to call the police about a runaway.

“Are you looking for someone, or do you need a place to stay for a bit?”

The girl took a deep breath. “I had a fight with Mommy and Daddy, so I ran away from home. I just wanted them to hear my side, but they wouldn’t listen. I thought if I ran away, they would be so scared that when I came back they would listen to what I was trying to say. I bought a bus ticket to South Carolina. We used to live there when I was younger. But I didn’t stay. I just wanted to go home.”

“Do you want me to call them for you?”

Lisa began to shake harder. Tears were rolling down her face now, and her words were coming out in thick choking sobs. She held up her phone.

“They didn’t call me. Even after two days, when I got scared and was running out of money, they didn’t call. I sent them a text, but they never texted back. I called and called, and no one ever answered. I thought they were so mad they didn’t want me anymore.”

Laura was beginning to get an awful feeling. She knew, even before Lisa said it, what had happened. “Come, sit with me,” she said softly.

Lisa took a deep shuddering breath and followed Laura into her office. The moment she sat down, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the horror of her reality was reflected through the tears.

“I begged money from strangers to get enough to come home, but home isn’t there anymore.”

Laura pulled a handful of clean tissues from her shirt pocket. “I’m sorry, honey. I am so sorry. How did you know to come here?”

The girl swayed where she sat, too shocked to pay attention to gravity.

“There was a guard where the street was blocked off. He told me to come here. I asked him if this is where the survivors were. He said there weren’t any. Is that true?”

Laura cupped Lisa’s cheek, and then pulled her into her arms.

“Yes, it’s true.”

It was Lisa Welch’s last straw. She moaned, and then threw back her head and screamed.

Laura caught her as she collapsed, cradling Lisa’s head in her lap. The girl’s eyes were closed. Heartsick and in shock, she’d gone as far as she could go.

Fifteen

L
aura called Child Protective Services. And then the media caught wind of the story and descended on the Wesley Methodist Church like locusts eager for the next big meal.

Everyone wanted the girl’s story.

The girl who’d run away from home only to find upon returning that home wasn’t there. It was something straight out of a Lifetime movie, and everyone wanted their own sound bite.

Laura fielded the reporters like the pro she was. It wasn’t the first time she’d been inundated with media, and it wouldn’t be the last. The media were always about fresh blood.

She was so involved in her job that she never thought about what Hershel Inman might do if she wound up on the local news. Her only thought was to protect the girl. And because of her diligence,
she
became their sound bite, along with a few moments of film footage on the teenager as the authorities finally arrived and whisked her away.

Cameron was in Homicide adding a new map to the murder board when Tate stuck his head in the door.

“Your girl is on TV,” he said, and then ducked back out.

Cameron bolted for the break room.

“What happened?” he asked.

Wade pointed. “Hell of a deal. Some kid who lived in the area of the explosion ran away from home that night. She got scared and came back after not hearing from anyone, and turned up at the Red Cross shelter at the church. Laura is holding her own with the news crews, but I wish the police had gotten there before the media.”

Cameron’s heart sank. He knew exactly what Tate was getting at. Every time anyone connected with the team got more news coverage than Inman did, it increased his rage.

“Is that live?” he asked.

“No, taped from about an hour ago,” Tate said.

Cameron kept telling himself not to panic, but he was already calling Laura as he walked out of the room.

* * *

After the girl was gone, Laura retreated to the motor home with Bea, leaving the police to move the news crews along. She couldn’t shake the emotion filling her at the girl’s plight, and kept remembering how the teen had fallen into her arms, devastated by despair. She’d heard Lisa tell a social service worker that she had an aunt and uncle in Colorado, and two sets of grandparents, one in New York State and one in Massachusetts. It was the only saving grace to her situation.

One day the girl would realize that she wasn’t meant to die that night and hopefully find reason for her life. But she knew that right now Lisa Welch’s only thought was for what she’d lost.

As Laura finished up some reports, she was vaguely aware of Bea puttering quietly about the kitchen. But when she suddenly appeared at the little table where Laura was working and set a frothy mug of hot chocolate at her elbow, the ache in her chest began to subside, a reminder that the world does go on.

“I thought you might like something warm,” Bea said.

Laura looked up and smiled. “And sweet makes it even better. Thank you so much. Did you make yourself some?”

Bea nodded.

“Then, get it and come sit with me. I need some company right now.”

Bea settled in on the other side of the table and took a quick sip from her mug.

“Mmm, that hits the spot. I’ve felt chilly all day. I think the weather must be going to change.”

Laura looked out the window. The sky did look a little gray.

“This is certainly the time of year for it. So tell me, Bea. Where did you grow up?” She noticed absently that when Bea smiled, her eyes almost disappeared.

“I grew up in Vermont, the baby of eight. I had five brothers and two sisters. I was a twin, but my sister died in an accident years ago.”

Laura frowned. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. That’s how my sister, Sarah, and I lost our parents. One day they were there, and then they weren’t.”

Bea nodded. “Yes, I’ve thought a lot about death lately.” Then she laughed. “I don’t mean in the sense of offing myself. What I meant was that the older one gets, the more solid the knowledge that it comes to all of us.”

“Is it true what they say about twins having a special connection?” Laura asked.

Bea nodded. “Leah and I sure did. I knew she was gone before the phone call ever came. Before, I’d always felt her inside me, so when I felt her absence, I knew. Even though I was married, it was scary, wondering if I would know how to live without her.”

Laura put her elbows on the table and leaned closer.

“That’s amazing. You really felt it?”

Bea shrugged. “It was normal to us, the knowing. We always knew when the other one was sick or had been injured. We could feel each other’s emotions. We just didn’t know what caused them.”

“What a gift, to be that connected to someone,” Laura said.

Bea’s smile softened. “I was that connected to my Robert, as well. In many ways, losing him was worse than losing Leah. She was my blood, but he was my heart.”

Laura leaned back, struck by her honesty.

“I think I know what you mean about that. After meeting and falling in love with my fiancé, I can’t imagine life without him.”

Bea patted her hand. “That’s the way love is supposed to feel. Now drink your chocolate before it gets cold.”

Laura smiled and did as she was told.

Bea finished hers and had left in a borrowed car on a grocery run when Laura’s cell phone rang. She smiled when she saw Cameron’s name pop up on the screen. “Hi, honey.”

“Hello, baby. I’m just checking in on you. We caught some of the footage about the runaway. That’s a really tough place for her to be in. Does she have other family?”

“Yes. Both grandparents, and an aunt and uncle.”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said.

Laura could hear the tension in his voice.

“Why did you really call?” she asked.

Cameron sighed. “Busted.”

“Did you find Lionel Ricks’ body?”

“Not yet. What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“We had to set up a second site today, and Kevin is over there now, so I was thinking I should stay here tonight.”

“Then send your roommate home and I’ll come stay with you.”

She smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, but maybe I want to.”

“Would you bring me a change of clothes?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Text me later and tell me what you want me to bring.”

Laura waited. “You still haven’t said why you really called.”

“You were on TV today. Inman isn’t going to like playing second fiddle to a story connected to you.”

A wave of fear washed over Laura so fast it took her breath.

Cameron frowned. “Laura?”

Her hand was shaking as she wiped it across her face.

“I’m here. I just never thought—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I just want you to pay very close attention from now on.”

She felt the first stirring of true panic. It was the same kind of fear she’d felt when the wolves were outside the plane, trying to get in. This was the same thing. She was alive, but until someone found Inman, there would always be a wolf waiting to take her down.

* * *

It was late afternoon before Hershel ventured out of the apartment. He had an appointment with a chiropractor Lucy had recommended and was hoping an adjustment would help whatever was wrong with his back.

He found the address without any problem but was a little surprised by the neighborhood. It was very residential. Obviously the doctor had an office in his home.

There was a small sign near the doorbell that read Enter. The line below read Ring After Hours. He opened the door and walked in. As he did, a buzzer sounded. Moments later a heavyset man walked in wearing a white lab coat.

“Good evening. I’m Dr. Payne. You must be Mr. Leibowitz.”

“Call me Paul,” Hershel said.

The doctor smiled, and handed him a clipboard with a paper and pen.

“If you’ll fill this out on both sides, I’ll be with you shortly.”

“I intend to pay in cash,” Hershel said.

Payne was still smiling, but it had yet to reach his eyes.

“That’s fine, but I’ll still need your medical history. Wouldn’t want to make a bad situation worse. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Hershel said.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to answer any questions you might have,” Payne said, and left the room.

Hershel began reading the form. He had no intention of responding to anything truthfully and began randomly checking off boxes, making sure that whatever he marked wouldn’t cause a denial of services, no preexisting conditions that would preclude manipulation. He needed this pain to go away.

A short while later he was on the table, grunting with every manipulation Payne made.

“I just realized the irony of your last name,” Hershel muttered as the doctor pushed against a knotted muscle.

“Eventually, everyone gets it,” the doctor said, and then moved to the end of the table and put effort into pulling first one foot and then the other, until Hershel actually felt the pain release.

“Oh, wow. Whatever you just did felt good.”

“Pinched nerve, I think. You’ll need to alternate heat and ice packs when you get home.”

“I can do that,” Hershel said.

“And no lifting. Definitely no lifting anything over five pounds until this stabilizes.”

“I hear you,” Hershel muttered, which was the truth. He just didn’t have any intention of obeying.

He left twenty minutes later with seventy-five dollars less in his pocket and a considerable reduction in pain. It was enough. He stopped at a pharmacy to buy some ice and heat packs, then at a bank ATM to get some more cash before moving on to a fast-food restaurant for a meal to take home. He planned to take it easy for the next two nights. Hopefully Ricks’ body would wash up somewhere within that time frame, and then he could finish what he’d come to do.

* * *

The urgency to find out what triggered Inman’s choice of victims was growing. The more time that passed, the more people who wound up dead, and still they had no more notion of why the first one had been picked than they did why he’d picked the last. There were no witnesses. They had no leads. They didn’t truly know what Inman looked like anymore. They didn’t know what he drove.

The official police report that a serial killer was at work in the D.C. area had sparked a flood of phone calls. The P.D. was following up on them as fast as possible, but so far every one had wound up a dead end.

The two detectives that Burch and Wells sent out on a balloon hunt had turned up nothing. Almost every place that sold helium-filled balloons sold the same brands and styles. It was not lost on the team that Inman had done the same thing when he’d purchased the flowers for his wife’s grave. He’d made sure there was nothing unique about the flowers or the card, and now he’d done it again. The balloons were as generic as they came.

After receiving a list of the places nearest the dance studio that sold the balloons, Wade left to follow up on an idea. When he came back hours later, he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Got the little bastard,” he said.

Every man in the room stopped what they were doing and turned around.

“Pull up a chair,” Wade said as he popped a disc into the computer. “This is a supermarket. The floral department is small, and the balloons are already blown up. All you do is walk in and buy one, which is what he did. I didn’t catch this at first until I saw the same man in a dark hoodie and jeans show up on the security footage from four other places. After that, I quit looking and went back to get copies. There’s no need looking for all twelve purchases. Not now. Watch this.”

The scene was typical of a grocery store, shoppers pushing carts, kids tagging along behind or crying for something they couldn’t have. And then the camera caught the back of a man in a dark hoodie and blue jeans walking toward the floral desk. Within minutes, he exited carrying a happy birthday balloon.

“Can’t see his face,” Tate said.

Wade popped in the next DVD. “Bear with me,” he said.

The next scene was inside a flower shop. A man wearing the same dark hoodie and jeans bought a happy birthday balloon and walked out with his head down and the balloon clutched firmly in his fist.

“He’s making sure we can’t get a good look of his face,” Cameron said.

Wade grinned and popped another disc into the computer. “Another supermarket buy.”

This time they got a better look beneath the hoodie. It wasn’t definitive, but they could see the man was the right age.

“Okay, we can all agree this is the same man who delivered the balloons to Ricks’ studio. But we really need a facial shot. Do you have one?” Cameron asked.

Wade handed the last disc to Cameron with a smile. “You do the honors.”

Cameron slipped it in and hit Play.

“This one is from another grocery store,” Wade said. “There he goes, straight toward the floral department. He makes the buy, he turns around to leave, now watch...watch...
boom!
How do you like them apples?”

“What happened there?” Tate asked.

“Some kid knocked down an entire end cap of soda. Glass bottles exploded all over the place. It was still sticky walking on that floor, even though it happened last night. Obviously the noise distracted him from his need for secrecy. Like everyone else, he looked up.”

Cameron froze the shot on Inman’s face. They couldn’t quit staring.

“He’s lost at least fifty pounds, wouldn’t you say?” Tate said.

“He’s also had reconstructive surgery on his face. Those burn scars are nearly gone,” Wade added.

“And we’ve got a bald head and a little black mustache,” Cameron muttered.

“Wade, make copies of that shot. I want them distributed to every beat cop,” Tate said.

“What about alerting the media?” Cameron asked.

Tate was the profiler, the one with the inside knowledge of how killers behaved. He shook his head.

“If he knows he’s been made, I think he’ll run, and then he’ll start all over somewhere else and more people will die.”

“So no to the media,” Cameron said.

“For now,” Tate added.

Wade hit Print and the first of two hundred copies started to emerge.