Willow Pond (9 page)

She stiffened. “What rumors?”

“You know. That the police are considering the possibility that the kidnapper is part of your aunt’s gang.”

She glared at him. “I find that impossible to believe.”

“Really? Think about the world she lives in, the people she does business with. Think about—”

“Stop it,” Laura said tersely. “Please.”

Ever since they’d sat down she’d been avoiding looking at him. Now, when she finally did, she was unprepared for the intensity of his gaze. She forced her tone to soften. “So tell me. Are we just here having lunch? Or are you here to grill me about my aunt?”

“I just wanted to take your mind off things for a while, that’s all.”

“By talking about my aunt? By telling me she could be responsible for kidnapping her own nephew? You have an odd sense of humor, Mr. Muller.”

Why was he doing this to her? She had been enjoying his company until now. Despite the fact she knew he was a journalist, this felt like a betrayal. Maybe Phillip was right. Maybe all reporters were vultures who enjoyed the misery of others.

She tucked her purse under her arm and started to get up.

Erich reached across and gently laid his hand on her arm. “Don’t go. Please. The truth is, well, the truth is I asked you here because I wanted to see you again.”

She frowned at him. If he had any romantic interest in her he had a strange way of showing it. “Why?”

“It wasn’t to talk about Virginia, believe me,” he said, looking bemused. “Actually, in hindsight, I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

“Mr. Muller - Erich - if you considered this to be some sort of date, you need to understand I can’t think about things like that right now. My life’s in turmoil. All I do is worry and wonder about Todd. I wonder where he is, if he’s all right, if I’ll ever see him again. When I do manage to work, loss in one form or another creeps into everything I write.”

“You’re a writer? I didn’t know that.”

She sighed, defeated. “No, you wouldn’t. I feel lucky to have been published in literary magazines. Nothing big.”

“So you write … what? Fiction? Non-fiction?”

She let herself to sink back down, but clutched her purse in case she needed to make a mad dash.

“I’ve tried both. I’ve had several non-fiction articles published in a community newspaper called The Villager.”

“Really? I know the editor. Good guy.”

“Yes, I like him. I tried writing fiction once and ended up tossing it in the garbage.”

“I don’t know how many times I’ve done that.” He held her gaze with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “You should give it another try.”

“Another try?” A faint smile crossed her lips and she returned the gaze. She knew where he was going with this. “Maybe you’re right,” she said after a moment. “I’m a big believer in second chances.”

Chapter Fourteen

Laura had just hung up her coat when the phone rang. It was Ben Wilson, and something in his voice frightened her. He said he’d been trying to get in touch with Phillip, but no one had answered at Willow Pond. She could have told him that. Phillip had been staying in Manhattan. She was about to give Wilson his telephone number when the detective interrupted her.

“Mrs. Austin, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the body of a small child was found in a vacant lot in Jamaica, Queens.”

The image shot through her like lightning. “Oh, God. No!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Austin,” Wilson said. “Truly I am.”

She hung up. She was unaware that she shook, that tears streamed down her face. Somewhere in the back of her mind she watched people walk by, and hoped none of them ever experienced the pain she felt at that moment.

Deep within herself, Laura’s heart began to harden, but she refused to get angry. For her to become bitter would mean the kidnapper had won. She couldn’t let that happen.

When Phillip’s white Rolls Royce pulled up in front of 12 Patchin Place, Laura sat waiting on the stoop. Phillip sat beside her and she raised her tearstained face to his.

“Why does it have to end this way? I thought … I thought I wanted to know if he were dead. But I don’t. I’d rather keep on hoping.”

He took her hand and spoke in a husky voice. “I won’t rest until I find out who did this.”

She tried to recite the Lord’s Prayer during the ride to the morgue, but kept losing her place and finally gave up. Phillip held her hand the whole time. He didn’t want her to see the body; he wanted her to remember their son alive. But she insisted it was something she had to do. She dried her eyes and vowed they would help each other get through this.

When they arrived at the door to the morgue, Phillip took control, as if he were playing the lead in one of his movies. He shoved the door open and strode toward a tiny lump laying on a table. No one else was in the room. Laura began to shake and Phillip put an arm out to steady her. They stood perfectly still by the body, saying nothing. Then, without waiting for permission, Phillip flung back the sheet.

Laura cried out, spinning away from the sight.

“Wait!” the coroner cried, coming in behind them. “Wait a moment.” But Phillip had uncovered the little body and now stared down at it.

Phillip turned to the coroner, frustrated. “We weren’t told the child was burned beyond recognition. We can’t possibly identify this child. There may never be any way to identify these remains. There’s nothing left of him.”

The coroner looked at them with a vague smile, laced with impatience. “I know that. However, had you waited for me, I could have saved you the trouble. We took a measurement of the pelvis and have determined this is a female. This is not your son.”

Laura’s jaw dropped and she stared hard at the coroner. Tears hung on her eyelids like raindrops after a storm. “You’re sure? Is there any chance you could be mistaken?”

“None whatsoever. The child was around the same age as your son, eighteen months to two years, but it’s not him. There’s still hope for you, Mrs. Austin. I wish I could say the same for the parents of this poor little girl.”

Through her tears Laura took one last look at the horrible remains of the child’s face, then turned and followed Phillip out of the room. She felt sick, twisted by grief for the parents of the other child, and relief for herself.

The first thing she saw when they stepped into the sunshine was Erich.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

She blew out all her breath and explained what had happened, then dropped her chin to her chest. “So what do we do now?”

“Wait,” Phillip said. “Just wait and hope.”

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” Erich said. “Anything.”

She nodded, unaccountably relieved to see him there. She noticed Phillip staring at Erich and didn’t like the expression in his eyes.

Phillip took her arm. “The driver’s waiting. We’d better go.”

Once they were in the car he turned to her. “What’s going on between you and that guy?”

She shrugged. “We’re friends.”

Phillip’s narrow expression said it would take a lot to convince him of that.

Chapter Fifteen

Later that afternoon, Erich covered a five alarm fire in Brooklyn. When he got back to the newsroom he walked into Daniel Spencer’s office, closed the door, and asked his editor for a couple of days off. Dan shook his head. He couldn’t be spared. Several reporters who’d been hired during the last six months had been laid off, and the entire newsroom staff had taken a ten percent cut in pay.

“How long am I going to be covering fires like some cub reporter?”

“Connelly’s mother died. Give the guy a break.” Dan took a sip of what Erich knew to be at least his fifth cup of coffee of the day. “Why do you need time off?”

“To do some investigating.”

“The Austin kidnapping? The trail’s cold.”

Erich propped his feet up in the same spot as always, nestled between the picture of Daniel’s nieces and nephews and his press club plaque. “The kidnappers rented a car from a place on Northern Boulevard. I thought I’d snoop around Bayside, see what I can find out.”

Dan squinted at him, tapping the end of his pencil against the desk. “Probably a waste of time.”

“Maybe so, maybe no. I’d like to try. Be quite a story if I turned up something the police haven’t.”

“All right. But I may have to pull you back in if things get hairy.”

***

Three mornings later, Erich left his apartment in the Bronx and headed to Queens. Spring was in full bloom, filling the air with the smells of freshly cut grass and budding flowers. He gazed up at the cloudy sky and spied a patch of blue. He smiled, hoping it was a good omen.

He found Walters Car Rental on Northern Boulevard and pulled his car into the parking lot. He sat for a few minutes, looking around. Then, instead of going inside, he headed down the street and started ringing doorbells. He’d developed a pretty good nose for figuring out who didn’t want to become involved and who really hadn’t seen anything. Out here people slammed doors in his face too fast to pick up anything. Obviously he was working ground the police had already strip-mined.

It was part of the job though, so he kept at it. He hit paydirt at about 9:30 when an elderly woman answered the doorbell. Her husband had been a reporter for the Daily News for thirty years. She was certain if he’d been around, he’d have been working on the kidnapping too, but he’d died a year earlier.

Erich expressed sorrow for her loss and said how much he appreciated her talking to him when so many others wouldn’t. She wanted him to know how angry the residents of Bayside were that the kidnapper had chosen their community as his hideout.

“We don’t like the publicity. Your being here just means we’re going to have more. What was your name again?”

“Erich Muller. From the Tribune.”

“Oh right,” she said, waggling a finger at him. “You’re the one who won the Pulitzer. Hmph. Well, I guess we can count on you to be accurate, anyway. But you’re looking in the wrong place, dear. The farm is on the other end of Bayside. Take Bell Boulevard to 32nd Avenue, make a left and keep going.”

He walked back to Walters Car Rental, situated between an empty lot and a Chinese restaurant. Erich had skipped breakfast and was hungry, so he thought he’d have an egg roll and some wonton soup when he was done. The owner of Walters Car Rental couldn’t slam the door in his face, but was either too reluctant to talk or just bored with the subject. He recited his answers as if he’d said them many times before.

“Can you describe the guy who rented the car?”

“A woman rented the car.”

That stopped Erich. He’d never heard anything about that. “A woman?”

“A woman.”

“Can you describe her?”

“About twenty-five, average height, good figure, made me think of the lines of a good racecar.”

“What about her hair, her face?”

“Her hair was dark, but I think it was a wig. She had big sunglasses on, so I didn’t get much of a look at her.”

“How come I’ve never heard this woman mentioned before?”

He shrugged. “How would I know? Ask the cops.”

“Do you have a phone?”

“Remember who’s paying the bill.”

Erich dialed the Wilson’s number. “Detective Wilson? It’s Erich Muller. Got a minute?”

“What’s the problem, Muller? Laura Austin turn you down?”

“Comedy doesn’t suit you, Wilson. Tell me. What’s this about a woman being involved in the Austin kidnapping?”

“Who told you a woman was involved?”

“Do the Austins know?”

“We’re checking things out.”

“Why are you withholding this information, Detective?”

“That’s none of your damn business. We’re in the middle of a criminal investigation and we’ll do it the way we think is best.”

When Erich got to the other side of town it didn’t take him long to find the farmhouse. That was just about the same time as he noticed a dark green Packard town car parked in front of the house. He stopped across the street, close enough so he could see the farmhouse clearly, but far enough away so he wouldn’t attract attention. About half an hour later a woman came out and got into the Packard.

Erich stared. What was she doing here?

Chapter Sixteen

Ben Wilson got off the elevator at the fourth floor. The tapping of his heels on the wood floor echoed as he paced the long narrow hall. He read the names on the doors to his left and right, then turned the corner and opened the door to the Ackles Employment Agency.

Typically, business people hate seeing cops, and when the young, blonde receptionist looked at him and frowned, he knew this time would be no different. Her frown deepened when he told her he needed to see Gina Ackles.

“Is Mrs. Ackles expecting you?”

“She will be when you tell her I’m here.”

The look of confusion on the girl’s face was replaced by one of relief when Gina Ackles appeared at her office door and motioned Wilson in.

Wilson smiled back at the receptionist. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Mrs. Ackles ushered him into her office and he sat in the leather chair she offered. “What can I do for you, Detective? Mr. Austin called and asked me to help you in any way I can.”

“Then you already know this is regarding the Austin kidnapping case.”

“I do. How can I help?”

“I’m here about Brian Madigan. I believe you have his records.”

“Brian Madigan.” She looked blank for a moment, then started thumbing through a box of cards. “Let’s see. Oh yes, the landscaper. We usually handle household employees, not groundskeepers or anything like that, but he had excellent references. Too bad it didn’t work out.”

Wilson needed to see the employee records. Gina Ackles searched briefly through a filing cabinet, then produced a slim folder. She slipped two sheets of paper from the folder and began to read.

“He came here a few days after the Austins let him go, but we had nothing for him.”

“Is that the last time you were in touch with him?”