Just Take My Heart (24 page)

When left the house in Glen Rock early Monday morning, Zach Lanning drove straight to Newark Airport. He found a spot in long-term parking, just a few spaces away from where he had parked the van he had bought from Henry Link. As he switched his belong-ings from one vehicle to the other, he hoped he was blending in with the airport travelers carrying their suitcases to and from the terminals.

He had a scare when he was taking his television set out of the trunk of the car and a security guard drove past but he didn't seem to pay any attention. Zach finished transferring the last of his gear, then locked his car. By then, his nerves were almost shot. That security-guard might suddenly wonder why anybody would have a heavy television set and might think he had broken into a parked car.

He might come back and check it out, Zach worried.

But he got out of the lot without any problem. He got back on the Turnpike and began the drive to Camelback. At 7:45 he pulled into a rest area and made calls to his job and to the rental agent telling them that he wasn't coming back.

There was a lot of traffic on the highway and it was nearly eleven when he arrived at the lodge and went to the reception desk to check in.

As he waited for the clerk to finish a call, he looked around and felt himself calming down. This was just the kind of place he had wanted. Somewhat run down, in an area far removed from the main roads, it was bound to be quiet. The ski season had not yet started. Anybody here now is just looking for peace and quiet and to take autumn nature walks, he assured himself.

The clerk, a slow-moving guy pushing seventy, had the cabin key in his hand. "I gave you one of our best cabins," he said, amiably. "It's preseason and we're not too busy. In another six weeks, this place is gonna be jumping. We get a lot of skiers, especially on the weekends."

"That's nice," Zach replied as he took the key and started to turn away. The last thing he needed was any more conversation where the man could focus on him.

The clerk squinted his eyes. "You've been here before, haven't you? You look familiar. I know," he said chuckling, "you kind of look like that guy who killed all his wives. They had stuff on him on Fugitive Hunt last week. I was just kidding my brother-in-law. He looks even more like him than you do."

The clerk started laughing heartily.

Zach attempted to laugh with him. "I've only had one wife and she's still around. And if her alimony check is a day late, I get a call from her lawyer."

"You, too?" the clerk said loudly. "I pay alimony, too. It really stinks. The guy on Fugitive Hunt killed his last wife because she got his house in the divorce. He went overboard, but I still kind of feel sorry for him."

"So do I," Zach mumbled, anxious to get away. "Thank you."

"Just so you know," the clerk called after him, "they start serving lunch in the bar at noon. The food's pretty good."

Zach's cabin was the one nearest to the lodge. It consisted of one large room with two double beds, a dresser, a couch, an armchair, and a night table. A flat-screen television was mounted on the wall above the mantel of a wood-burning fireplace. There was a small bathroom with a plug-in coffeepot on the counter.

Zach knew it was not safe to be here for long. He wondered if anyone had noticed that Madeline Kirk was missing yet. And what about Henry Link? He bought into the story that I was going to file all the paperwork at Motor Vehicles and would send it to him in a few days. But suppose he watched that program Saturday night, too? Suppose he thinks I look like Charley Muir?

Zach closed his eyes. The minute they find Kirk's body there'll be a whole new round of publicity and I'll be the lead story on Fugitive Hunt again, he warned himself.

He was suddenly weary. He decided to lay down and try to take a nap. He was astonished when he woke up and realized it was nearly six o'clock. Suddenly panicked, he grabbed the remote from the night table next to the bed and turned on the television so he could watch the news.

He wondered if there would be anything about him or Kirk on a Pennsylvania news station. It's possible, he thought. Camelback is only a couple of hours away from Bergen County.

The news was coming on. The anchor began, "We have a grim story about the murder of an elderly woman in Glen Rock, New Jer-sey. Police believe that the killer was a neighbor who lived right across the street. They also strongly suspect that this man is the very same person who has allegedly committed at least seven prior murders and who was profiled only last week on the Fugitive Hunt program."

The anchor continued: "A tip from a coworker sent police swarming to his home where they discovered that he had apparently just fled. A canvas of the neighborhood led to the discovery of a breakin at eighty-two-year-old widow Madeline Kirk's home. Concerned for her safety, the police pushed in the door of her home and shortly thereafter found her body stuffed in the trunk of her car in her ga-rage."

I knew it, Zach thought. Somebody at work saw the show and recognized me. Kirk recognized me. The jerk who checked me in here noticed that I looked like the guy in the composite. And what if he watches the news tonight? There's bound to be a lot more on about me, and a lot more in the newspapers tomorrow . . .

Zach's mouth went dry as the anchor indicated that after the commercial, he would display the same pictures and age-enhanced composites that had been on Fugitive Hunt.

I can't stay here, he thought. If that dope at the desk sees this, he's not going to be thinking about his brother-in-law. Before I get out of here, I've got to find out if the van is still safe to drive. And I've got to know if Henry Link has put two and two together and called the police.

Using one of his stash of prepaid phones, Zach dialed information to get Henry Link's telephone number. After buying the car, he had thrown away the ad with the number in it. Luckily it was listed. Nervously biting his lip, he waited for the connection to be made.

He had used the alias Doug Brown when he was with Henry Link. He had also been careful enough to wear sunglasses and a baseball cap all day Saturday when he was shopping for the car.

The connection went through. "Hello." He recognized Henry's gravelly voice.

"Hello, Henry. This is Doug Brown. Just wanted to say that I took the paperwork to Motor Vehicles this morning. You should be getting everything in the mail in the next few days. The van's running great."

Henry Link's voice did not sound friendly. "My son-in-law gave me a hard time about letting you do all the paperwork. He said that if you had an accident before the what-doyou-call-it, the title, was transferred, I could get sued blind. And what about the license plates? He says it's my job to turn them in. And he wondered why you would pay me in cash."

Zach's nerves were raw. He felt as though a net were closing over him.

"Henry, I had no problem at Motor Vehicles this morning. I turned in the plates and they gave me a new title. You tell your son-in-law I thought I was being a nice guy. I had to go to Motor Vehicles anyway to register the car in my name and I was happy to help you out. I really felt bad that your wife was in a nursing home."

Zach moistened his lips with his tongue. "Henry, I deliberately brought cash so there would be no problem. Do you know how many people won't take a check? Tell that sonin-law of yours that if he was so worried, he should have been there with you when you sold the van."

"Doug, I'm really sorry," Henry said, sounding upset. "I know you're a nice guy. The trouble is since Edith's been in the nursing home my daughter and her husband think I can't take care of my-self. We made a fair deal and you put yourself out by taking care of the paperwork and now even checking in with me. Most people aren't that considerate these days. And I'm going to give my son-in-law a piece of my mind."

"Glad to help you, Henry. I'll call you in two or three days and make sure that the records came in the mail."

I'm probably okay with the van for a couple of days, Zach thought as he snapped the cell phone shut. When the paperwork doesn't ar-rive, the son-in-law's going to go straight to the Motor Vehicles of-fice. And right after that, he's going to go to the police.

My luck may be running out. But before I get caught, if I do get caught, I'm going back to take care of Emily.

Belle Garcia was desperately unhappy at the prospect of confront-ing Sal when he got home. The few times in their thirty-five-year marriage that they had had a serious argument, it had been because she had been too stubborn about something. But she knew it wasn't like that this time.

The thought of getting Sal in trouble was anathema to her. It was five o'clock when she heard his key turning the lock in the front door. He walked in looking exhausted. He works so hard, Belle thought.

"Hi, honey," he said, as he gave her a kiss on the cheek and then headed to the refrigerator to get a beer.

He came into the living room, flipped the can open, sat in his favorite chair, and commented on how tired he was. "After dinner, I'll just watch television for a little while and then pack it in."

"Sal," Belle said, gently, "I know you've had a long day. But I have to tell you what I did this morning. I've been so upset about whether or not Jimmy Easton ever worked for you that I decided to go through the boxes you have downstairs in the storage area."

"Okay, Belle," he said with a tone of resignation. "What did you find?"

"I think you know what I found, Sal. I found a phone book with Easton's name in it and I found a receipt for a delivery to the Aldrich apartment right before Natalie Raines died."

It was disconcerting to Belle that Sal was listening to her but would not look her in the eye.

"Sal, here they are. Look at them. You knew that Jimmy Easton worked for you and did deliveries for you. Tell the truth." Pointing her finger and tapping the receipt, she demanded, "Do you know if he went on this delivery?"

Sal buried his face in his hands. "Yes, I do know, Belle," he said, his voice breaking. "He was with me. We were inside the apartment. And he may have had a chance to check out that drawer."

Belle looked at the chapped and rugged hands of her husband. "Sal," she said gently, "I know why you've been so tormented. I know why you are afraid. But you know that we have to come forward. We'll never have peace of mind until we do."

She got up from her chair, walked across the room, put her arms around Sal, hugged him, then went to the phone. She had written down the phone-in number for Courtside. When she was connected, she said, "My name is Belle Garcia. My husband is Sal Garcia. He has a moving company. I can give you proof that on March third, two and a half years ago, the day Jimmy Easton claimed that he met Gregg Aldrich in his apartment, he was actually there delivering an antique lamp with my husband."

The staff member asked her to please hold, then added, "Mrs. Garcia, just in case we're disconnected, may I please have your phone number?"

"Of course," Belle responded and quickly rattled it off.

Less than a minute passed and then a familiar voice came on. "Mrs. Garcia, this is Michael Gordon. I have just been informed that you may have critical information pertaining to the Aldrich case."

"Yes, I do." Belle repeated what she had just told the staff person, then added, "My husband paid Jimmy Easton off the books. That's why he's been afraid to say anything."

A tidal wave of hope swept over Mike. He had to let a few moments pass before he could even speak. "Mrs. Garcia, where do you live?"

"On Twelfth Street between Second and Third."

"Would you and your husband get in a cab and come to my of-fice now?"

Belle looked pleadingly at Sal and repeated Mike's request. He nodded that it was all right to say yes.

"We will be there as soon as we can," she told Mike. "I know my husband will want to shower and change first. He was out all day moving people from Long Island to Connecticut."

"Of course. It's five thirty now. Do you think you could be here by seven?"

"Oh, sure. Sal can shower and dress in ten minutes."

And I'll have to get dressed, too, Belle thought. What should I wear? I'll call Mama and ask what she thinks. Now that she'd actually made the call, the relief she felt was stronger than the apprehension about Sal's possible tax problem.

"Mrs. Garcia, take good care of that receipt. You do know that if this checks out, you may be entitled to the twentyfive-thousand-dollar reward."

"Oh, my God," Belle moaned, "I didn't know anything about a reward."

At six o'clock on Monday evening, Emily, holding Bess in her arms, headed for her car. Her immediate neighborhood was cor-doned off with yellow tape to protect the physical integrity of the three crime scenes --Madeline Kirk's home, her own home, and Zach's rental house. The large van marked medical examiner was parked at the curb. Squad cars were posted all along the street.

Totally traumatized by the death of her neighbor and the knowledge that Zach Lanning had been not only spying on her but creep-ing in and out of her house, she had told Jake Rosen that she had to get out. Walking her to her car, Jake said soothingly, "I'll take care of everything." She completely understood that her home had to be fully processed for fingerprints, any additional electronic devices, and any other evidence that Zach Lanning may have left behind.

"Try to calm down," Jake Rosen told her softly. "It's a good idea for you to get away from this for a couple of hours. When you come back, I will tell you everything that we have found. I promise I will not hold back on you." He smiled. "And I promise we won't leave your house a mess."

"Thanks, Jake. I do insist on knowing right away if he's had cameras or other devices planted anywhere in my house. Don't try to protect me from it." She attempted to return his smile but couldn't manage one. "I'll see you later."

She drove straight to the courthouse. Carrying two folded duffel bags over her arm and holding the leash with Bess excitedly bounc-ing along beside her, she got into the elevator. There were only a handful of people left in the whole office.

As she walked down the inner hall toward her own office, a cou-ple of young investigators who had heard about the discoveries pat-ted Bess and expressed their outrage at what Lanning had done to her and to the old lady. Then, sympathetically, they asked if there was anything at all that they could do for her.

Emily thanked them. "I'm okay. I am going to stay home the next couple of days. I want to have all my locks changed and I don't have to be convinced that I have to upgrade my alarm system. I'll just be here a few minutes. I have a bunch of files that I need to go through that really got backed up while I was on the Aldrich trial. While the work is being done at my house, I can make some headway on them."

"Can we at least help you carry them out to the car?"

"That would be great. I'll let you know when I'm ready to go."

Emily went to her office and closed the door. There were indeed plenty of files that needed her attention but they would have to wait. She had made the decision to pack up the entire Aldrich file and bring it home. That was the reason for the duffel bags. She didn't want anyone to be able to see what was in them. She intended to go back again through this case and scrutinize every word contained in the hundreds of pages of documents to see if anything had been missed.

It took her about thirty minutes to reorganize the folders and pack them in the duffel bags. One of the thicker folders, which she particularly wanted to scour, contained copies of the New York police reports from the nearly twenty-year-old murder in Central Park of Natalie Raines's then roommate, Jamie Evans.

It had happened so long ago. Maybe that file didn't receive enough of our attention, she thought, as she watched her colleagues lift the duffel bags into her car.

On the way home, Emily wondered if she would be able to fall asleep in her own house tonight, or for that matter, anytime soon. The personal invasion and sense of humiliation is bad enough, she thought with a lump in her throat. But the reality of that psychopath Zach Lanning still on the loose was terrifying.

But there was also a part of her that needed to be in her own home.

As she pulled into her driveway, Jake walked out of her house to meet her. "Emily, we're all finished inside. First let me tell you the good news. There were no cameras or listening devices other than the one you already know about in the kitchen. The bad news is that Lanning's fingerprints are all over your house and they're a match to Charley Muir. We even found his prints in the tool room in the basement."

"Thank God there were no cameras," Emily said, feeling huge relief about that part of it.

"I don't know how I would have handled that. The rest of it is bad enough. And I can't believe he was even in the basement handling my father's tools. When I was growing up, Dad was always fixing something. He was so proud of his work-shop."

"Emily, we have to talk about something. We both know that Lanning is still out there and that he's a maniac. And he's a maniac who's been obsessed with you. If you are even thinking about staying here, we'll have a police officer outside 24/7 until he's appre-hended."

"Jake, I've given that a lot of thought in the last couple of hours and I was pretty torn about what to do. I think I'm going to stay here. But I would like an officer to be outside." She half smiled. "And please ask the officer to watch the back of the house carefully. Lanning liked to go in through the porch."

"Of course, Emily. The Glen Rock police will make sure that any officer assigned continually walks around the house."

"Thanks, Jake. That makes me feel a lot better. I'll have to introduce Bess to the officer on each shift so she doesn't keep barking her head off."

Seeing the duffle bags on the backseat of her car, Jake asked if he could carry them inside.

As much as she trusted Jake, at this point she didn't even want to tell him what was in them. "That would be good. They're kind of heavy. I brought home some files to work on. I won't be back in the office for a couple of days. I want to be here when the locks are changed and when they upgrade my pathetic alarm system that Lanning got around so easily."