Mercy Street (14 page)

Not that she judged Sally for the life she chose. Everyone had to find their own way, and while having sex with strangers for money was something Mallory didn’t really understand, she’d never walked in Sally’s shoes. Just like she’d never walked in her mother’s, she reminded herself. God knew she had to fight herself from making judgments there. She supposed that was hypocritical on her part, but a twenty-four-year-old hooker and one in her midthirties with a newborn she didn’t want didn’t necessarily have a lot in common.

At least her mother had had the good sense to abandon her to someone she knew would take care of her, Mallory’d give her that. The fact that
that
hadn’t worked out so well didn’t mean that it might not have seemed like a good idea at the time.

FOURTEEN

T
he covered bridge was painted barn red and ran over the widest part of Coyote Creek sixty miles east of Pittsburgh. Susanna Jones was headed back to Conroy from her weekend away—one that hadn’t been particularly profitable, but then again, for the most part, none of her trips had been. Disappointed that she hadn’t accomplished more, she consoled herself with the thought that at least she was being proactive. That had to count for something.

She drove slowly, the bridge being narrow even for one vehicle, then picked up speed when she was back on the road. Coyote Creek Road, barely two lanes wide, wound around the mountain like a snake. How the people who lived up here managed in winter was one of life’s mysteries, not that she’d seen many houses since she’d turned off first the Pennsylvania Turnpike, then the main road that ran through the small town of Ogden and onto this sidetrack. Those she did see weren’t all that close together. It appeared that people in this part of the country liked their solitude.

The car picked up speed as it headed downhill, and she eased her foot onto the brake. There were many quick twists and turns, and with the bright light of the late-afternoon sun slanted at exactly the wrong angle through the windshield, it wouldn’t take much to go off the side of the road. She was into another hairpin turn almost before she realized it, and she had to hit the brake solidly to avoid scraping along the guardrail on the right side. She craned her neck to look over the rail.

“Like falling off the edge of the earth,” she muttered, wondering just how often cars had gone off the road in this exact spot.

She drove until she found a place where there was sufficient clearing on the shoulder to allow her to park safely, then got out of the car. She walked back to the turn, stepping around the side of the guardrail to look down.

“Some serious rocks there,” she murmured as she picked her way around to the other side of the battered and scraped railing to study the vegetation. It was dense but not impenetrable. A car that went off the road here would easily be discovered if enough people were looking for it.

Convinced that this was not the right place, Susanna walked back down the road to her own car. She debated whether to head back home or to go a little farther on Coyote Creek Road.

“Oh, what the hell. I’m already here.” She turned the key in the ignition and pulled back onto the road.

After all, she reasoned, you never knew what you might find around that next bend in the road. And if not the next, perhaps then the one after that or the one after that.

What she did know was that Robert Magellan would never be at peace until his wife and son were found. If it took every weekend for the rest of her life, Susanna would keep on looking for that twist in the road, that drop off the mountain that had somehow been overlooked.

Susanna had examined every conceivable explanation for their disappearance. She knew Beth Magellan all too well, enough to know that Beth was totally in love with her lifestyle—if not her husband—and never would have walked away without taking a hell of a lot with her. That her personal accounts had not been touched since the day she disappeared and none of her credit cards had been used spoke volumes as far as Susanna was concerned. The stories that had circulated for a few months had been varied, but none of them rang true to Susanna. Beth had met and fallen desperately in love with someone else and had left her husband and all his wealth behind, taking only her child with her to her new life.

Uh…no. Not ever. If Beth had met someone, she’d have divorced Robert and taken every penny she could get. With no prenup, she’d have drawn as much as she could from that well.

So nix the lover theory.

Another theory that had made Susanna laugh was, Beth felt stifled by her husband’s enormous wealth—which would make it impossible for Ian to live a normal life—so she packed up her son and went in search of something simpler.

Too silly for words to anyone who knew Beth.

Then there was the kidnapping theory, which would have made sense except for the fact that they’d never been contacted by anyone demanding ransom. For a while, the papers had toyed with the possibility that something had gone wrong during the abduction and both Ian and Beth were killed, but Susanna couldn’t imagine that the kidnappers wouldn’t have tried to collect a ransom. Robert would have paid anything to have them back under any circumstances, even the worst, and he’d put that out there in the press. But there’d been no phone calls, no letters, no e-mails. So while possible, to Susanna’s mind this theory wasn’t probable.

Of course, she’d read the alien abduction theories, but figured even aliens would have gone after the reward money Robert had posted. For a time, Susanna and Trula had spent all their time just wading through all those calls, none of which was worth a damn.

Which left only one plausible explanation as far as Susanna was concerned: Somewhere between Gibson Springs and Conroy, Beth’s car had gone off the road and down the side of a mountain. After having spent so many weekends on those narrow, twisting roads, Susanna had become convinced that if Beth and Ian were to be found, it would be at the bottom of one of those deep ravines. She’d located several such possible locations herself, and had made so many phone calls to the state police to request their follow-up that the detective in charge of the investigation knew her voice. Over the months, she’d felt his enthusiasm and interest in the case wane. After a while, she found it easier to check things out on her own. Even at this late date, wouldn’t there be some telltale sign if a car had gone off the road? A scrape on a guardrail; a tree or shrub holding evidence that a car had careered off it and over the side of the road? Wouldn’t there be something?

There would be, Susanna told herself as she rounded yet another tight curve in the road. She knew from the reports she’d read from the varying investigative agencies that on the morning of the disappearance, there’d been an accident on the turnpike right at the second exit past Gibson Springs. Traffic had backed up, then stopped for hours. Susanna’s theory was that an ever-impatient Beth was likely to have driven on the shoulder to the exit in an attempt to circumvent the blockage. In doing so, she could easily have gotten herself on a road to nowhere and, with no cell phone aboard, kept going, figuring that sooner or later she’d find a main road, maybe even a town. Which could have worked for her as long as she stayed on one of the main roads, but here again Beth’s impatience could have come into play. A series of wrong turns could have wound her around and around the mountain, and, as Susanna learned, taking one of those unexpected turns in the dark or with the sun in your eyes could be hazardous. There were miles and miles of mountains with such twisting roads between Pam’s house and Beth’s. It was entirely possible that Beth had become increasingly lost as the day went on, had made a bad turn, and had ended up at the bottom of one of these ravines that couldn’t be seen from the road above. While the initial search had been thorough, could every gully, every rocky ledge have been discovered?

If her theory was wrong, well, no harm, no foul. But if she was correct, sooner or later Susanna would find the right mountain road, the right ravine.

Robert’s life depended on it.

FIFTEEN

C
harlie rubbed the back of his neck and walked to the window that overlooked the parking lot. He’d shown up early that morning, eager to start his new job, more eager still to start tracking down the files he and Mallory had discussed. He’d read straight through lunch and now, at three thirty, was certain anyone coming within a city block of his small office could hear his stomach rumbling.

He stretched, walked to the door, and opened it. He started down the hall, surprised that the department was so quiet for a Monday afternoon.

“I wondered when you’d be coming up for air,” Joe said as Charlie passed by.

“I just got sucked into this case file—” Charlie paused at Joe’s doorway. “—and I lost track of time. I thought I’d run out for a sandwich.”

Charlie looked back at the department, which lay behind him.

The large open room was quiet and practically empty. “Where is everyone?”

“Busy day,” Joe replied.

“Something you wanted…?” Charlie paused.

“Nothing that can’t wait. Go, eat. Stop in when you’re finished.”

Charlie took the steps from the second floor and exited the building through the front door. He’d noticed a deli across the street, and he headed in that direction. Fifteen minutes later, he was back at his desk, enjoying an exceptionally satisfying corned beef on rye and a large bottle of springwater.

It had been six weeks since he’d left Philly, and it felt good to be back on the job. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. While he ate, he glanced over his notes and made a list of things he still wanted to do. At the top of the list went a reminder to follow through on finding Courtney Bauer’s father. Charlie had called Mallory on Sunday afternoon, and she’d apologized for having forgotten to tell him on Saturday that the man may be living in western Pennsylvania.

“Timothy J. Bauer,” she’d said. “Courtney’s mother thinks he could be living out near Erie. He had a brother, Clark, in that area, and she thinks he might be there. At the very least, there’s a damned good chance that Clark would know where to find him. I’m sorry it slipped my mind yesterday. I should have referred to my notes while we were in the diner.”

“If he was there yesterday, chances are he’ll still be there tomorrow. I’ll see what I can find on him. You think Courtney and Ryan might be hiding out with him?”

“If they’re still alive, they are getting help from someone. They’ve been gone three weeks now. That’s a long time for a couple of kids to be on the run with no money.”

“There’s still that missing thousand to be accounted for,” he’d reminded her.

“I don’t see it having happened that way.”

“Frankly, neither do I, but the fact remains that the money is still out there somewhere.”

“Speaking of being out there somewhere, let me tell you what I learned about Regina Girard,” she’d said, then filled him in on everything she’d learned from Sally the night before.

“She’s known to be a stone-cold hard-ass,” she concluded. “There’s no doubt in my mind that if she’d been the shooter at Hazel’s and knew that Courtney saw her there, then she saw her again on the playground…”

“Courtney would have been scared to death.”

“Scared enough to run like hell and take Ryan with her. So it’s got me thinking. Maybe the meeting of the four friends in the park was about something more than poor Courtney didn’t get into Penn State. Maybe she asked the guys to meet her there because she thought Regina was looking for her. Maybe Courtney saw her somewhere, thought she was following her, and got scared shitless and wanted advice from her friends.”

“If Regina
was
following Courtney, she would have followed her into the park thinking she’d be able to take her out once and for all.”

“Then she gets there and there are these two boys there who would be able to identify her, so Regina gets rid of them even before she goes after Courtney. If you eliminate them right off the bat, you’ve eliminated possible future problems.” Mallory paused. “It would fit, Charlie. Sally said that Regina had no conscience, that it didn’t bother her to hurt people.”

“We need to share this with Joe,” Charlie said. “Even though it’s supposition, it’s good solid supposition. It feels right.”

“I already told him,” Mallory said. “He’s trying to figure out the best way to get to Regina. Street name, by the way, is Gigi.”

“I know. I pulled her rap sheet. She’s been in and out of the system since she was very young. Foster homes for a while. She spent more time in juvie than most of the guards. And she didn’t slow down once she came of age. Drug possession, assault charges…She’s been around the block.”

“So what are we doing to find her?”

“Talk to Joe. He’s got a couple of undercover guys trying to find her.” Before he could respond, she said, “By the way, I gave Sally your name.”

“Why?”

“She’s a hooker,” she said matter-of-factly. “She gets picked up from time to time. She needs a friend on the inside. So tag—”

“Right. I’m it.”

“You won’t be sorry. She’s good, if she trusts you.” Mallory had paused again, as if she was about to say something else. He’d waited, but she hadn’t said anything more.

“So she sounded scared of Regina?”

“Totally. I just hope we find her before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” he’d asked.

“I’m not really sure…,” she replied.

She’d sounded worried but hadn’t said why. Too bad she was off the force, he thought as he balled up the bag his sandwich had come in and tossed it into the trash can near the door. Mallory Russo would have made one hell of a partner. She was every bit as smart as the chief said, and—from what Charlie’d seen—intuitive, not afraid to think outside the box, which to his mind was just about the best thing a cop could be. He was happy for the opportunity to work with her in any capacity, he realized, officially or unofficially. Happy to get a chance to know her better, happy to have an excuse to spend more time with her.

She was certainly one hot ticket, he was thinking as he tapped on the door to Joe’s office, in more ways than one. Smart and sexy.

“Come on in,” Joe called from inside.

Charlie found Joe seated on a small sofa covered in a dark blue fabric. A knitted afghan was neatly folded over one of the fat arms. The chief was reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Have a seat.” Joe gestured to the two mismatched armchairs that stood opposite the sofa. “I was just catching up on the sports section. Haven’t seen a baseball game since the season started, between the playground case and the mess this damned sniper is stirring up.”

“I heard he shot at another pedestrian late on Saturday night,” Charlie said as he lowered himself into one of the chairs.

“Yeah, some young father with a baby in his arms, down on Madison this time.” Joe shook his head. “You gotta wonder how these people think sometimes, you know? You just wake up one day and say to yourself,
Hey, I think I’ll go take potshots at some strangers
?”

“I guess you’d have to ask a profiler that.”

Joe snorted. “Yeah, right. You ever talk to one of those people?”

“Actually, back in Philly…”

Joe waved a hand to dismiss whatever it was Charlie was about to say. “Don’t want to hear it. This guy isn’t out there shooting because he was potty-trained at too early an age. He’s out there shooting at helpless, defenseless people because he can. And because he likes it.”

“That’s pretty much what a good profiler would say, I’d think.”

“I don’t buy in to any of that psychological crap, you need to know that right off the bat.” Joe folded the paper in half. “Anyway, I understand you spoke with Mallory yesterday. I like the possible connection between the shooting at Hazel’s and the playground. Could be something to it. Girard is one nasty young lady. I could see her doing both.” He slapped the paper onto the coffee table that stood between the chairs and the sofa. “Then there’s the sniper. Bastard’s got the entire city on edge.”

“Anything new there?”

“Other than the shell casings that were picked up from the various scenes, no. We sent them to the FBI lab with a request for ASAP processing, see if they can be matched, but God knows how long it will be before we have a response.”

“Which reminds me, Chief, I’d like to have the shells from the Hazel’s Market and the playground shootings compared to see if they’re from the same gun, but I’m not sure what lab you use.”

“Give them to my secretary, Marlene, when she comes back from break. She’ll get them to where they need to be.”

Joe slapped the paper again on the tabletop. “So whose idea was it to connect the two shootings?”

“Mallory’s,” Charlie said without hesitation.

“I figured. I heard you were good—wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t—so don’t take offense, but that’s the kind of thing she does well. Connects the dots. Not that she always connected them in the right way—too soon to say if she’s right this time—but at least she was always thinking and was never afraid to be wrong.” He nodded almost absently. “Be great if we could connect these two cases, though. Be brilliant if this was on the money, close two cases with the same shooter. We know she did the first one. The more I think about it, the more she feels right for the second. I’d love to put her away once and for all…”

“Mallory mentioned that you’re trying to find her.”

“She’s slippery,” Joe said. “We’re watching the boyfriend, too. He steps over the line—any line—we’ll bring him in for questioning. We get him, you can have him for a few minutes, see if you can get some information out of him that might help your case.”

“Thanks. Maybe he knows what she’s been up to. I’d like an opportunity to question him. In the meantime, I’m trying to track down Courtney’s father. I’m guessing Mallory mentioned that possibility. I have a call into the state to see if he has a current driver’s license.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. I just happened to be talking to a friend this morning, and while we were on the phone, I got him to run the name. Timothy Bauer is living about eighty miles from here.” Joe got up and walked to his desk. “He’s in Beaver Creek. Not far from Penn State, by the way.”

“I have a feeling that’s supposed to be meaningful, but I’m afraid it’s lost on me,” Charlie admitted.

“Penn State, where Courtney suddenly decided she wanted to go to school. Some coincidence, eh?”

“So maybe Courtney got spooked and decided to run to Daddy?”

“Possibly.” Joe sat in his desk chair and leaned back.

“But Courtney sent in her application back in March, before Regina got out of prison.”

“Maybe Regina found a way to get a message to her:
I’ll be home soon and we have some unfinished business.
”

“I’ll take a drive out to speak with him. See if she’s been in touch, and if so, when.”

“Here’s the address.” Joe handed him a piece of paper. “You might want to think about asking Mallory to go with you. She knows the area.”

“Did she go to school there?” Charlie frowned. Odd; she hadn’t mentioned it when they were discussing Penn State last week.

“She grew up not far from there.” Joe reached for his phone, which Charlie took to mean their talk was over. “Do her good to go back.”

“Sure. If she wants to go.”

“She’ll go. She’s hooked on this case.” He looked at Charlie from across the expanse of his desk. “Thanks for letting her work with you.”

“Like you said, she’s good.” Charlie shrugged then, before he thought twice, heard himself asking, “Why’d you let her go?”

“She handed in her resignation.”

“Why’d you accept it?”

Joe returned the phone to its cradle, his hand still on the receiver.

“One of my detectives—off duty, that’s the key here—decided to involve himself in a high-speed chase into the next town.” He leaned back into his chair, his expression stony. “Unfortunately he had his six-month-old son in the backseat.”

Charlie felt his jaw drop in spite of himself.

“Yeah.” Joe nodded. “You get it. But my detective did not ‘get it.’ When he was reamed out for it, he tried to tell me that when the chase started, he was in the parking lot of a local convenience store talking to Mallory, who just happened to be there, and that he’d handed the baby off to her before he set off in pursuit.”

“I take it it didn’t happen that way.”

The chief’s expression made a reply unnecessary.

“So how did Mallory end up being the bad guy?” Charlie asked.

“She didn’t lie for him.” Drabyak cleared his throat. “There’d been some talk that…” He looked out the window as if searching for words. “Right from day one, anyone could tell that Mallory had the makings of a great cop. She made detective faster than anyone else in the department ever had. When our previous chief announced his retirement and I was moved up to fill the office, the lead detective’s job was coming up for grabs. There were a couple of men who had more seniority than she, but none of them was as good. And they all knew it.”

“So when an opportunity arose to push her out…”

“They jumped on it. Said the only reason her name was on the short list was because she and I had a thing going, if you follow.”

“I follow.” Charlie hesitated before asking, “Did you?”

“No. Not that it’s any of your business, but no. She was just an exceptional cop, and she deserved the promotion. And for the record, the former chief was the one who put her name on the list.” Drabyak looked up at Charlie. “Not that I wouldn’t have recommended her. He just did it first.”

“So when Mallory didn’t step up as a team player to bail out this other guy’s ass…”

“He’d been her partner.”

Charlie nodded slowly. To a cop, not supporting your partner when he or she was in trouble was unforgivable. “With the lead detective spot about to open up, what better time to get rid of the opposition.”

“That’s pretty much what it boiled down to.” Drabyak drummed his fingers on his desk and looked sad. “Anyway, suffice it to say that her coworkers were less than kind when the word was spread that she’d lied to get her partner out of the way so she’d have a better shot at the job.”