One Scream Away (15 page)

But she did stop at the interchange. Billings reported there were two gas stations and a mom-and-pop diner. Denison parked at the diner.

“Billings,” Rick said into his handset, “stake out the intersections. We’re gonna follow Denison into the restaurant.” He turned to Neil with a look of resignation. “Aren’t we?”

Neil nodded, but he felt a little dead inside. This wasn’t the way he had imagined helping her. Damn fool that he was, he’d still believed she might come to him willingly.

It didn’t matter anymore. Willing or not, she was gonna deal with Neil now.

Arlington, Virginia Ground Zero

C
hevy was glad the dog was gone. He liked dogs fine, actually took in a stray once, but he didn’t want Beth’s sniffing around the house. He hadn’t even known she had one except he’d heard it barking once in the background of a phone call. Now he saw the food and water dishes sitting in the corner of her kitchen floor. Must be a big brute, he thought, noting the size of the bowls, then saw a photo on the wall that confirmed it. Sixty-five or seventy pounds. All the better it wasn’t here.

He walked through the kitchen, looking, soaking up the essence of Beth. He knew she was gone; the absence of the dog and empty spots on toy shelves indicated that she had taken her daughter and run. Alerted the police? Of course. A squad car had arrived about an hour ago and was parked down the street. A couple of cops had even walked through the house, and Chevy had barely had time to hide. He’d crouched in a basement cupboard and listened, the two cops just about pissing with excitement over the idea of a serial killer, expounding on all the ways the cops could nail him.

Chevy climbed the stairs, passing a door with the stylized letters
A-B-B-Y
hung across the top. Abby. How fortunate. He hadn’t known until after he’d spoken with her former employees that Beth was pregnant when she moved from Seattle. He’d felt like the grand prize winner on one of those TV game shows. He couldn’t have asked for a better tool of torture.

He ambled through the rest of the upstairs, saving the master bedroom for last. He didn’t dare turn on any lights, and he’d have to wipe down everything he touched, but it would be worth it to
feel
the very things Beth had touched, to gather her scent, savor it. She was a pretty girl; he remembered that from their first encounter. But he remembered other things more. Her strength. Her silence. Her cruelty to Jenny. No woman since Mother had ever gotten away with that.

La-dee-da. Who’ll dig his grave? I, said the Owl…

The rage was like a cancer, swelling inside, making him tremble. He gripped the four-poster footboard, closed his eyes, and battered down the fury, forcing himself to think of Jenny. In the end, Mother hadn’t won. Despite all her efforts, Chevy had found Jenny, nursed her, and cared for her.

And then, beginning with Gloria Michaels, he’d learned how to silence Mother. One woman at a time, and each one better than the last.

Until Beth. She’d ruined everything.

But how sweet the taste of vengeance now. Already when he listened to tapes of their phone calls, he could hear the raw terror underlying her voice. Already her fear had grown to something that was almost tangible, that lived inside her day and night and hour after hour. And soon, when she figured out the dolls, she’d be able to look ahead to each one and know what was coming.

Then come… I’m the one you want. I’ll scream and cry all you want…

Chevy closed his eyes.
Oh, yes, you certainly will.

The sign for the restaurant had once read
RON AND SALLY’S DINER
, but Ron’s name had a thin coat of paint over it, and the word
Diner
was missing the vowels. Inside, the atmosphere was homespun, smelled of simmering vegetables and overcooked beef, with a display of desserts in the lobby that could bring on diabetic shock in a perfectly healthy person. There were a fair number of customers, given the hour. Most appeared to be travelers; most of the license plates in the parking lot had been out-of-state. But a few were probably residents of Covington, giving all-alone Sally their business.

Beth Denison and Abby were already in a booth when Neil and Rick walked in. Another woman sat across from them.

“Whoa. Let’s watch,” Neil said, and Rick let out a weary curse.

“You think she’s gonna talk to her friend, see the light, and come running to you to save her? Give it up, Neil. The lady’s got a plan, and you aren’t part of it.”

“I’m hungry,” he grumped. “Let’s watch.”

Thirty minutes later, Abby was fading, her head on Beth’s lap. Beth appeared almost at ease, despite her stifled yawns. She and the other woman had talked, eaten bowls of the house vegetable soup, played table games with Abby. They could have been two girlfriends, meeting for a late-night snack. Except for the suitcase beside the table and Heinz in the SUV.

When they paid the tab and went to the lobby, Beth bent and hugged Abby—fiercely.

“Jesus, they’re saying good-bye,” Rick said. “Who the hell is that woman?”

“I don’t know, but call Billings.”

Rick was already punching it in. “Kid and woman leaving the restaurant. Follow whatever car they take, call in the plates, and find out who she is.”

“They’re getting in Denison’s car, Lieutenant,” Billings announced. “No, wait. They’re just taking the dog. Okay, the blue Camry, that’s theirs. Local plate. Will call it in.”

And Billings was gone. The woman was gone. Abby and Heinz were gone.

And Beth disappeared into the ladies’ room.

They gave her five minutes, then Rick said, “You know, the gun is probably in her purse now. You sure it’s Bankes she’s planning to kill?”

Neil’s eyes snapped up. Jesus, he’d never thought of that. Would Beth do something to hurt herself? He started toward the women’s room.

“Wait,” Rick warned. “She’s exhausted, scared, and maybe holding a loaded gun.” He caught the arm of a hostess wearing blue eye shadow and showed his badge. “Keep everyone out of the ladies’ room, miss. And don’t go telling everybody.”

The girl nodded, eyes wide. With their hands hovering over their guns, Rick and Neil entered the restroom.

Crying. Wrenching, heartbreaking sobs filled the corner stall, the door shut. Rick made a quick check of the other two stalls to make sure they were empty, then perched a hip against the counter, a gesture that clearly said,
She’s all yours, buddy
.

Neil squatted. He could see that Beth was sitting on the floor against the wall, her knees squeezed tight against her body. He stood back up; peeking under the stall door in a women’s bathroom seemed wrong no matter what the circumstances. But her purse was sitting on the floor beside her, her gun presumably within reach. Or maybe in her hands already.

Jesus, she
sounded
like a woman who had decided to kill herself. “Beth,” he said, and the sobbing choked to a halt. “It’s Neil.”

Silence. The air went still.

“I know Chevy Bankes called you tonight. We heard it.” Steady, now. Voice low and calm. “Beth, I know you have a gun, at least the derringer. Is it in your purse?”

More silence.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Neil said. “Two police cars are following your friend and Abby now. Who is she, Beth?” Use her name a lot, let her know he’s here for her. Even though it’s the last damned thing she wants. “Sweetheart, Rick Sacowicz is here. I’m here. I think you have to talk to us now, Beth.”

“I d-didn’t know he was k-killing people.”

Relief poured in at the sound of her voice. “I know; we should have told you.” And they should have. Lawsuits and politics be damned. “Beth, honey, push the gun out to me.”

A movement in the stall, and Neil held his breath. A small black object slid under the stall door. Neil frowned, picking it up. “Your phone, Beth?”

“I was calling you.”

A tidal wave of something deep and protective surged through Neil. It startled him with its intensity. “I’m sorry, honey. My phone got broken this afternoon at the park.” He paused. “Where’s your gun, Beth?”

The .22 slid under the stall door, and a second later, a state-of-the-art 9 mm Glock.

“Christ,” Neil said, gathering both. He emptied them and dropped the cartridge, loose bullets, and .22 into his coat pocket. The 9 mm he stuffed behind his back in his belt.

Now, for Beth.

“I’m coming in, Beth. Open the door.” His hand was already on the top of the door as he said it, and it gave without effort. It wasn’t locked.

She looked up at him, those beautiful, dark brown eyes glistening and swollen and red-ringed. “Her name is Cheryl Stallings,” she said, and it took him a second to realize she was talking about the woman who had taken Abby. “She’s Adam’s sister. They live on Oakdale Lane in Covington. But I didn’t tell them about Bankes. I couldn’t.”

Rick left, punching in numbers on his cell phone. Neil reached down and lifted Beth to her feet. Her gaze narrowed on his face.

“What happened to you?”

“Joshua Herring happened to me.” He waited for that to take hold.

“Oh, God. Is he… Did you… ?”

“Don’t worry, he’s all right. He gave up client confidentiality at the drop of a hat, though. Real tough guy,” he said, dripping sarcasm. He gave Beth a scolding look. “Your
ex-husband
?”

“I had to tell him something. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Anger slid past worry. “But now you do. Now that you know what Bankes is up to, you decided to get rid of Abby and go back and blow his brains out yourself, is that it?” Neil tightened his grip on her arms. “I was right here all along, damn it. You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“The hell you couldn’t!” He gave her a shake. “Did it ever occur to you that
I
would keep Abby safe? Did you ever think, just once, that if you’d told me what was happening, maybe
I
could take care of both—”

She broke; the air just came out of her. Her body crumpled, tears coming fast. Neil cursed, dragging an armload of sobbing female against his chest. Nothing made a man feel more helpless.

When the worst had passed and her breathing came more easily, he pushed her back and tipped her chin. “Tell me the truth, Beth. Were those bullets for you or for him?”

“Abby needs me,” she said simply.

Relief pounded through Neil’s veins.

“Well,” he said, “thank God for Abby.”

It was hot in Beth’s basement—that seemed odd. Or maybe Chevy was just sweaty. The cupboards had been harder work than he’d imagined, the position awkward and the little hacksaw from Beth’s bachelorette tool kit inefficient. Still, when he finished, he had nearly five feet in one cupboard, and the back wall could be removed to get into the crawl space beneath her porch. His own private dwelling, right under Beth’s nose. Literally.
Bedroom with access to a terrace
, he thought, making himself giggle.

He cleaned up the sawdust as best he could with just a penlight, and stowed away the boxes of dolls he’d picked up from Mo Hammond. He climbed into the cupboard and lay on his back to try it out, legs bent and shoulders a little cramped. Not great, but it would do, at least if he had something to use as a pillow.

He felt his way slowly through the house, mindful of the police cruiser sitting down the block. He thought about taking a couch cushion or a pillow from a bed, then decided it might be missed. He went to the laundry room, found a sweater of Beth’s and the shirt she’d apparently worn under it.

That would do. Chevy held it to his nose and reeled with pleasure. Yes, that would do especially well, he thought, then straightened when he heard a sound.

A car. It was coming down Beth’s driveway.

Chevy’s heart kicked into his throat. He scrambled back down the stairs, wary of his steps in the darkness, trying not to panic. Just outside the garage, men’s voices murmured.

Shit.

N
eil drove Beth’s Suburban back to Arlington; Rick detoured to Covington to bring the locals in on the case and check in with the FBI. Beth’s instincts for Abby’s safety had been good. Covington was a peaceful, small community. The Stallings were well-known; Jeff was a strapping career military man just back from temporary duty. The only thing Neil could fault Beth for was sending Heinz away, too.

“You should have kept the dog with you for protection,” he’d complained as they pulled away from the diner.

“Heinz is no protection. He would beg a murderer to pet him.”

“He’s noisy. That’s something. More useful than Joshua Herring.”

She frowned. “Herring watched out for Abby.”

“Who was watching out for you?”

“I was. I do it all the time.”

“Not anymore.”

A promise or a threat, Neil wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter: She was asleep before the words sank in. She slept all the way back to Arlington. Shivered and shook and made heartbreaking little sounds, but slept nonetheless. At four-thirty, Neil pulled into the driveway of her house and gestured to the police officer walking toward them from his cruiser. The officer jogged down the drive to meet him and shook hands when Neil stepped out of the vehicle.

“Sacowicz told me to expect you.”

“Everything quiet?” Neil asked.

The officer nodded. “I came on about two hours ago. And Wilson, parked down the street. We did a walk-through when we got here, before we took our posts. No sign of anyone.”

“Okay.” Tomorrow—this morning, rather—when the task force assembled, they’d work out a more sophisticated surveillance plan with a team of off-site agents. Put some people in the neighborhood, maybe put someone inside the house, just in case Bankes showed.

At least, that’s what Neil thought they’d do. It had been a while since he’d been in on a murder investigation. Once the FBI took over, he wasn’t sure he’d still be in on this one.

“The lady’s asleep,” he said, nodding to the Suburban. “I need five minutes.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” the officer said.

Neil raided Beth’s purse for the key card to her garage and went inside. He went straight upstairs and found an empty suitcase, logically stored in the guest room closet. He went to Beth’s bedroom. The top corner of a big dresser was dismantled, the compartment just big enough to hide something the size of a Glock.