One Scream Away (8 page)

And maybe pigs fly.

“Even if you dismiss the two missing women, what about my case?” Neil asked. “There are too many similarities between Gloria Michaels and this dancer in Seattle.

“Like what?”

He ticked them off and Lochner listened, then went silent for a long, long moment. Finally, she squared off to Neil. “And based on those similarities, has the DA reopened that case? The FBI?”

Neil glared.

“That’s what I thought.” She picked up her briefcase. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’d like to go speak to my client now.”

Neil watched her disappear into the interview room, frowning at her back. When the door closed, he turned to Rick. “She didn’t ask the logical question.”

“Huh?”

“You told her we had a recording of the last call to Denison, and Lochner didn’t ask what was on it.”

A crease burrowed between Rick’s eyes. “You think she already knows?”

“I don’t know how she could. We’ve been on Denison since before the call came.” A thought hit. “Unless Denison had already told her about the calls.”

Rick rubbed a hand over his face. “If that’s the case, then she’s known for a while she was in trouble. Otherwise, why bother with a lawyer?”

Neil thought about it and came up with nothing. There was a reason Denison was lying, and Lochner seemed to have had a heads-up about the calls. But there was also a reason Beth Denison went around every corner with her fists balled up, ready for a fight.

“I barely touched Denison today, and she just about gelded me,” Neil said.

“What?”

“I’m beginning to think she is scared. You saw the way she was shaking in there talking to you. It’s like she was on crack or something.”

“Then why doesn’t she tell us?”

“Maybe she’s more scared of him than us. Maybe he’s got something on her.”

“Or… you think she’s in love with him?”

The image of Beth Denison loving some faceless murderer drove a knife into Neil’s gut. He remembered too well what a woman would do to protect a man she cared about.

Anything.

“We gotta find out how this guy’s pushing Denison’s buttons. Tap her phones.”

Rick blinked. “I know you didn’t just say that,” he said, heading for his office.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Rick moved faster. “Patriot Act aside, Neil, police departments are queasy about tapping personal phone lines.”

“The Sentry’s not.”

Rick stuck his fingers in his ears and rounded a corner. He began to hum.

“The Sentry taps everyone it guards, secures all lines to and from.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“I’ve still got some connections there.”

“She’s lawyered up,” Rick said between hums.

“I’ll keep the police department out of it.”

Rick got to his office door, looked around to see who was listening, and stopped. He pulled his fingers from his ears. “Out of what? Did you say something?”

“Right.” So, that was settled. Neil looked at his watch. “What are you gonna do about Abby?”

Rick already had his Rolodex out, dialing. He put the phone on speaker and a woman with a smoker’s voice answered: “Shirley Barnes. Child Protection Services.”

“Shirley. How’s my favorite CPS caseworker?”

“Sacowicz. I paid off those parking tickets with the Ramez kids, remember? A crew of seven, and you busting my chops to keep them together. Not an easy thing to do, by the way.”

“But you’re our resident miracle-worker.”

“And you’re our resident shit-flinger. What do you want?”

“I’ve got a mom in custody, but not for long. I need to cover her kid for a little while.”

“File the papers and we’ll send someone. You know the drill.”

“Man, there’s no sense in that—it’ll only be another few hours. Maybe not even that.”

“You’re suggesting…”

“Maggie’ll watch her, no need for anything formal. You come with me to pick her up, we swing by the house, get waylaid, and before you know it, her mom shows up.”

“So you don’t want the daughter to get entered in the system, but you don’t wanna get charged with kidnapping.”

“I’m funny that way.”

Silence. “Meet me downstairs. And Sacowicz, you owe me. Again.”

“Next time you’re in jail, I’ll arrange for the
special
menu.”

A
dele Lochner sat down at the table while Beth thought about burned pot roast. A strange thing to think about when you’ve just been arrested; nonetheless, her mind filled with the sharp aroma of gravy bubbling into pungent black blisters at the bottom of her oven, charred meat and vegetables huddled in a dry clump in the pan, the smoke alarm singing through the air. And Adam, joking about having married a woman who was hopelessly domestically challenged.

How surprised he’d be at what she’d become. The woman Adam married had two advanced degrees and an ambitious career. She’d never been touched by violence, lifted a weight, or thrown a punch. She traveled widely, dealing in outrageously expensive antiques, attended museum exhibits and law firm dinner parties, and rarely attempted a meal that wasn’t microwave-ready and botch-proof.

Now, she made a kick-butt pot roast. And princess-castle birthday cakes and the neighborhood’s best chocolate chip cookies. Her home wasn’t the flashy urban condo she’d always imagined, but a quaint little haven where she both lived and worked, a painstakingly created bubble for her and Abby on Ashford Drive, complete with a picket fence, flower beds, and a mutt from the pound.

And a state-of-the-art gym, where she’d spent hours each week getting strong, never letting herself forget there was a time when fear and weakness had almost cost Abby her life.

“Are you listening to me, Beth?” Adele Lochner touched her arm.

“No,” she admitted. “I was thinking about Adam and Abby. I’m sorry.”

“Tell Abby you’re sorry when you can only talk to her on the phone once a month.”

Beth quailed, and Adele Lochner seized the moment. “You came to me this morning wanting to know what to do. Now I’m telling you: Keep your mouth shut.”

“I did.”

“So far. But the authorities haven’t pressured you yet.”

“They haven’t?”

“They haven’t even begun. I know how these guys work. If the police decide you’re the link to someone they want, they’ll bulldoze you under to get to him.”

“Sheridan knows about Anne Chaney. He said the caller may have committed a murder several years ag—”

Adele Lochner put up a hand. “They don’t know.”

“You’re sure?” Beth asked, wanting with all her heart to believe it. “Then why are they hunting for Bankes, without even knowing who he is?”

“It doesn’t matter why they’re hunting for him.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matt—”

“I mean, if you want me to be your lawyer, nothing matters but doing what I say. And I say
keep quiet
. I can tell you honestly that right now the authorities are looking for Bankes based on pure speculation; that’s why they haven’t thrown the book at you yet or charged you with anything real. As long as you don’t give them any morsels to chew on, nothing is going to come of this. Even if Bankes does show up, you can send him away with a butt-load of money and no one will ever be the wiser.” She gave Beth a cutting look. “But if you break down, the whole story will come out. Then, Ms. Denison, you can’t win, your daughter can’t win, and I’ll drop you like a hot potato.”

Single-minded bitch.
But then, that’s why Beth had chosen her. “They’ve filed charges against me.”

“Smoke and mirrors. I’ll have them dropped within the hour. If you want, I’ll bring charges of harassment against the police department, and I could manage a restraining order against Sheridan, too.”

“I don’t care about any of that. Just get me out of here.”

“Fine. But there’s one more thing to do before you go.” Adele Lochner crossed to the door and summoned a uniformed officer. “My client would like to file a complaint,” she said to the officer.

“What for?” he asked.

“She wants to report obscene phone calls.”

Neil stayed out of sight until it looked like the paperwork was done, then strode to Denison’s side.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

Her eyes flared. “I’ll call a cab.” She signed on one more line, and the receptionist handed over her purse, phone, and derringer. “Where do I go to get my daughter?” she asked the woman at the desk.

“Daughter? There’s nothing here about a custodial child.”

“What? What do you mean?” Her voice began to shake. “Oh, God. Where’s my daughter? Lieutenant Sacowicz was getting her! Where’s my daugh—”

“I’m checking, ma’am. Are you sure the lieutenant—”

She spun to Neil, on the sharp edge of horror. “Where is Abby? Where is Abby?”

“Abby’s fine,” Neil said and couldn’t help but take her by the shoulders. She was trembling. “Abby is in good hands. I came to take you to her.”

A sound passed her lips—relief and even gratitude, maybe. “You’re sure?”

“Lieutenant Sacowicz didn’t want her to be taken into protective custody for the night, that’s all. He called in a favor with one of the caseworkers and made other arrangements.”

“What other arrangements? Where is she?”

Neil was hard-pressed not to smile. Christ, she loved that little girl. And Christ, she seemed fragile and small just now. It touched him in a place he’d thought was long gone.

“Maybe you should talk to her,” he said, pulling out his phone. He dialed and asked for Abby, then handed the phone to Denison.

“Honey? Are you all right?” she asked.

Silence.

“I’m coming to get you, sweetie, right now. I’ll be there soon.” Beat. “What?” Denison looked stricken. “No. I’ll see you in a little while. I love you, baby.”

She handed the phone back to Neil, looking perplexed.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“She’s mad I’m coming. She wants to stay longer.”

Neil chuckled. “See? Nothing to worry about.” She was finally calm. “So, I’ll make you a deal. Forget the cab, come with me, and in thirty minutes, you’ll have her back.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “What’s my part?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said it was a deal. What will it cost me?”

Neil looked at her. He could ask anything of her right now, and she’d do it. Anything for her daughter. “I misspoke,” he said, finding his voice a little stuck. “There’s no deal; some things are just wrong, that’s all. A mother shouldn’t be separated from her child.”

She looked at him with open shock.

“Come on. I won’t even grill you about the phone calls along the way.” When she still hesitated, he drew an X over his chest. “Hope to die.”

They rode in a rental car—a sporty Dodge about ten cuts above your standard rental car. Beth tipped her head back against the leather seat, a mixture of exhaustion and emotion making lucid thought nearly impossible. Two more days until Cheryl and Jeff got home and could take Abby, and meanwhile, Beth could almost feel Bankes getting closer. Pray God, it would take him another few days to get here; pray God that when he did, it would be as important to him to keep their secret as it was to Beth. Maybe she could get him to leave them alone. She had money to bribe him, and she had Adele Lochner to threaten him. She had a place to hide Abby. She had the financial solvency to run if necessary, and if he followed, she had her Glock…

“Are you cold?” Sheridan’s voice was oddly quiet. “I can turn on the heat.”

Lord, she was shivering again. Damned chills. “I’m fine.”

He turned on the heat anyway. Five minutes passed before he turned it off and spoke again. “Are you in love with him?”

He meant Bankes, of course. “What happened to ‘hope to die’?”

“I said I wouldn’t grill you about the calls. This is… personal.” She gawked at him and he shrugged. “So sue me for finding you attractive.”

A tingle raced across Beth’s skin for no good reason. She clutched her arms over her chest.

“Are you in love with him?” he repeated.

“No.”

He wheeled around a corner, pulled up to a light, and stopped. “Then I have another question. Personal, that is.” He looked right at her, eyes like blue crystals. “Have you got a thing going with Evan Foster?”

Beth shook her head. “No.”

“And if I asked him, would he give the same answer?”

She looked at her lap.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought,” he said, going back to the road. He rolled through the intersection, his wrist dangling over the top of the steering wheel, a pose so casual he might be discussing the weather rather than something so intimate as Beth’s love life. She chanced a glance at the side of his face, her emotional barriers dangerously flimsy. She had the strange feeling that if he chose to, he could simply reach inside and help himself to a slice of her soul. “So, seven years after your husband died, you’re still wearing your wedding ring, you haven’t given any other man the time of day, and your social life consists of T-ball games and PTA meetings.”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” she said.

His big shoulders moved a little. “It just seems like a long time to be alone, that’s all.”

Alone.
She closed her eyes on the word, her lids so heavy she wished she didn’t have to open them again. Alone was the key to survival. Alone was the way to never experience such loss again. Alone was the way to protect secrets only Adam had known.
Never tell. Trust me, Beth; I’ll handle everything…

“Ms. Denison.”

She jerked and found Neil Sheridan standing in the open passenger-side door. His fingers smoothed a strand of hair from her face. “You slept for twenty minutes,” he said, answering her unvoiced question. “Abby’s here.”

Beth got out of the car, still muddled. They’d stopped in a nice neighborhood, in a driveway lined with red and yellow tulips. “Where are we?” she asked.

Sheridan’s hand settled on the small of her back. “Sacowicz’s house.”

The lieutenant had taken Abby to his home? A spark of anger ignited, then she remembered the alternative: protective custody. And Abby, on the phone, saying,
Mommy, puh-leeze… Can’t I stay and play longer?