A Cold Dark Place (32 page)

"And Bonnie?" Emily asked. "What about her?"

"Look, Bonnie was my friend. She was visiting with Dylan,
too. Nothing going on there. I mean, she was never his type"

Emily caught Christopher's eye. The black album of clippings and letters surely indicated otherwise.

"Anyway, she knew I was pregnant and she promised to
help me by putting the baby up for adoption. That's what I
did. I couldn't continue the friendship with Bonnie after that.
Every time I saw her, I was reminded of what I'd done" She
looked at her watch. Her husband would be home soon. "Are
we finished?"

"No. Why the calls to Bonnie? And where were you yesterday?"

"Don't even go there. I was at the gallery all day. And the
calls to Bonnie, that's the real reason why you're here, right?"

"That's right," Emily said. "Why were you talking to her?"

Before she answered, Christopher cut in. "We'll have to
verify your whereabouts, you know."

Tina nodded in his direction. "Verify, if you must. I have
no reason to lie. At least not anymore. Seeing how you know
everything."

"Not everything. Why the calls? Why did you reconnect?"

"Because of this," she answered. She went to her Prada
purse and retrieved a slip of paper. She handed it to Emily. It
was a white card, better paper than a standard index card, but
about that size, with just five words printed in a now-familiar
handwriting.

I miss you. Love, Dash

Christopher looked over Emily's shoulder, then over to
Tina. "Dash?"

Emily answered for Tina, who by then had slumped back
into a chair.

"Dylan Walker. He was called Dashing Dylan by some of
the media during the trial. It became his nickname for a time."

Tina nodded in solemn agreement. "That's right. Bonnie
and I shortened it to Dash. He liked it. God, we were so
screwed up ""

"You think this is from him?"

Again, another nod.

"Where's the envelope?"

"There wasn't one. It was slid under the door. He got into
the building."

"Did you tell anyone? Your husband? The police?"

Tina didn't have to answer. The look on her face was
transparent. She hadn't told a soul.

"I called Bonnie about it," she said. "She told me she'd
heard from him, too. She was positively giddy. It was as if
she'd been waiting for him all these years, and he'd come
home to her. She was the keeper of the flame. He was in love
with her. She was the chosen one. She was dieting to get into
a wedding dress she'd picked out. The woman had lost it.
Talking to her made me sick, but she was the only one who I
could talk to. Rod doesn't know any of this and I need to keep it that way. I didn't know what Dash wanted with me,
anyway."

"Or if this really was written or delivered by him at all,"
Emily said, setting the card down on the table. "Did Bonnie
have any kids?"

Tina shook her head rapidly. Clearly the concept was beyond absurd. "Absolutely not. Never. She was too busy brokering out those babies for Angel's Nest. She had two things
in her life. Dylan and that job"

"No family?" Emily asked.

"None that I ever met or heard about"

Christopher leaned closer. "We have reason to believe
that Nick Martin, the boy who survived the family homicide
back in Cherrystone, could be your son"

"Oh, no," she said. "That's absolutely not possible."

Emily had seen the look of denial countless times. So
much of what people believe is what they want to believe,
not necessarily what is true. Denial is the defense mechanism of first resort. Anger usually follows such confrontations, and Emily prepared herself for it.

"I know all of this is hard on you," she said.

Tina shook her head. "No. It can't be" Her tone was confused, but relatively calm. "You don't understand. Nick Martin couldn't be mine. I had a baby girl."

Chris Collier played tug-of-war with the hotel valet as he
insisted he didn't want to give up his keys.

"I'm dropping her off. She's a hotel guest"

"Key card, please?" the pimply-faced kid asked.

Emily showed the card and disappeared inside the revolving door. A florist had delivered a new table arrangement,
teddy bear sunflowers and spikes of blue delphinium. Freesia
filled the air. Ordinarily she'd stop and take in the beauty of
the flowers. But not then. All she could think about was Jenna,
Tina, Bonnie, and the serial killer that had somehow brought
all of them together. She and Chris would talk later, but right
then she was on her own. David was mad at her. Kip wasn't
answering. Even Gloria was too busy. She felt a flash of
paranoia; a feeling that came from making a major mistake
and never being able to rectify it.

"FBI here. Can't talk," Gloria whispered. "Call back in an
hour"

"All right." Emily shut her phone and looked at the black album. The image of a little blond girl came to mind. She
was laughing. She was on a swing. She was running in a
field. And she ended up in the cold darkness of hole in the
ground, a root cellar, a grave.

If Dylan Walker was responsible for Kristi's death, then
how was Reynard Tuttle involved? She flipped through the
pages. What happened?

But more than anything, where was her daughter?

Christopher's number lit up the LED display and her
phone vibrated.

"I'm on my way back to the hotel," he said. "Em, I have
some news" His voice was mixed with dread.

"What is it?" Emily asked.

"Better if I talk to you about this in person"

"Chris," her unsteady voice was ten times louder, now.
"Don't do this. Tell me. Am I in trouble?"

Christopher hesitated. "No, not you. Not directly."

"Please" Emily was begging then. She never begged. "Is
it denna? "

"All right. Be calm. Sit tight. I'll tell you" His words came
in a machine gun fashion, a breath between each staccato utterance. "Shali Patterson's car's been found. The one Jenna
and Nick Martin were driving. There's blood on the steering
wheel."

"Were they in an accident?" The remark was merely her
best reaction to what he was saying, partly a cover for what
she already knew. It was also hoped. The color had drained
from her face. "What hospital?" The phrase ended with the
up tick of a question. It was spoken by a mother with hope
at least a mother wanting to believe that everything was all
right.

"Jenna and Nick are missing. The VW was found behind
a grocery store not far from Jeffries's place."

There was silence. He waited for Emily to say something.
"Are you all right?"

"Dear God," she said. "Where are they? What happened?"

"There's more, Emily."

"Yes?" She steadied herself. What more could there be?

"There was a note"

"A note?" From Jenna? "I don't understand"

"We'll figure it out. I'm turning in to the garage now." Silence followed and Christopher thought maybe the phone
had lost its cell.

"Emily?"

"Yes. Yes," she repeated.

"You need to know something. The note was addressed to
you.

Emily put her hand out for the card. There was a slight
tremor in her grasp, but she kept her eyes riveted on Christopher Collier as he entered her hotel room. There was a
strange look on his face, and she couldn't quite determine
what it was. Look at me, her dark brown eyes pleaded. Show
me. She took the card. It was plain, white, and carried in a
clear glassine envelope.

On its slick surface it read:

EMILYKENYON: YOUR TURNNOW

The words were handwritten, with a distinct and printing
cursive combination that looked like what they'd seen at Tina
Esposito's house and in the black album. She noticed some
smudges on the other side. It had already been processed for
latents by the crime lab.

"When did you get this?" she asked.

"Two hours ago. Yes, it's been processed. Unfortunately,
it's clean."

Still holding the card, Emily sat down. "How could you?
Why didn't you call me right away?"

Christopher moved closer. "We think it's about Jenna's
disappearance."

The air was sucked out of her lungs, and she could barely
speak. She forced the words from her lips. "No. No it's not."

Christopher shook his head and tenderly took her hand.
"Look, Em, it seems to be. The card came for me. It was in
my mail slot downtown. No one saw who brought it. It had
no envelope, just the card" He could see that Emily was crying then, though she was doing it silently, in that way that he
came to know when they worked together. When the case
went bad. When the murder scene involved children. She was
tough and smart, but she had her breaking point. A lot of cops
did. Some reached for the bottle. Some smoked like there
was no tomorrow. Emily Kenyon cried it out, very quietly.

"Look, there's something else you should know," he said.
"The blood in the car was Bonnie's and another person's"

"Jenna's?" Her face froze.

He shook his head. "We typed her through your old HR
records. Not her. We think Nick Martin's, but that's just a stab
in the dark" He regretted his word choice right away and
backpedaled. "You know, just preliminary. Could be anyone"

Emily got up and opened a bottle of water. She took a
couple of aspirins.

"All right," she said. "The card is the same as the one we
saw at Tina's. The writing is the same"

He nodded and let her talk.

"Someone wants to hurt me, right?"

"That's what I'm thinking. That's likely the message here,
about it being your turn"

"Right. My turn to suffer? My turn to die?"

"Maybe. But we don't know."

"But we do know one thing. My daughter is missing.
Some sicko is playing some game with me. I don't know if it
is Nick or Dylan or Tina's husband or who might want to do
this."

She went for the crumpled Macy's bag and pulled out the
papers she'd smuggled from the hospital. It was all she had.
Doing something always won out over tears and frustration. She
and Christopher spread them out on the hastily made bed.

"I've started dividing by year," he said, "I found the one
with Tina Winston's daughter listed." He held up a printout.
"Says the father is Eddy Bunt, thirty-three, born in Tacoma"

Emily took her notebook to Christopher and wrote down
the name. She reached for one of the papers and started
scanning.

"We'll figure this mess out. We always could, you know."

She looked up and smiled. "I know. I just want to know
where my daughter is."

"Me, too"

Her eyes stopped cold on one of the printouts. The mother's
name was listed as Bonita Jeffries. The father was Herb La
Sift. But that wasn't what nearly cut off her air supply. The
birthday was Columbus Day, October 12, the same year as
Nick Martin's birth date.

She pointed to the document. "This could be Nick. Same
birthday. I know that from the school records I looked at "

"No shit? There's another here. Bonita Jeffries is the
mother and Johnny "Ace" Wage is the father. Same DOB as
La Sift."

"Boy? Girl?"

"This one's a boy."

Emily set down her pen, her eyes fastened on Christopher's. "There's someone else with that birthday, you know."

He nodded. "Dylan Walker."

"That's right."

"What a lonely woman won't do for love."

The remark made Emily bristle slightly. She'd made some
bad choices, too. "What a cruel game a sick manipulator like
Dylan Walker plays with a lonely woman"

Christopher seemed to understand. "The only problem
with this is that Bonnie Jeffries never had any kids of her
own. Black market babies?"

"I'm not sure. But she did have those baby pictures. Remember? There were photos of kids that meant something to
her."

"A lot of adoption agency people keep a wall of fame.
You know the place where they can stick up all the photos so
they can feel good about what they've done"

"Yes, but this was at her home. That makes it even more
personal"

Emily looked down at the names in her notebook: Herb
La Sift, Eddy Bunt, Johnny "Ace" Wage. "Maybe there is a
little game of sorts going on here" She and Jenna had played
Scrabble every night when Jenna was in seventh grade and
going through that awkward "no one likes me" phase that afflicts so many prepubescent girls. That all changed, good or
bad, when Shali Patterson decided to make Jenna her "new"
best friend.

"Eddy Bunt is an anagram for Ted Bundy," Emily said.

Bundy, of course, was the superstar serial killer of the
1970s, having been the prime suspect in dozens of murders
of pretty young women from the Northwest, Colorado, and
eventually Florida where he met his fate strapped into Old
Sparky, the electric chair. She glanced over at Christopher,
who had a dumbstruck look on his face. "Remember her book
collection? How her reading material seemed to indicate a
preoccupation with serial killers?"

He did-the mostly red and black volumes filled the dead
woman's shelves-Lethal This, Deadly That, Fatal Whatever.
"To know one is to love one, I guess. And yes, I remember.
You get that by just looking at the letters?"

Emily shrugged; it wasn't exactly a gift, but merely a
practiced ability.

"Yes, but the others are more difficult. Nothing's popping
out at me. She tore some squares of paper and wrote one of
each letter of Johnny "Ace" Wage's name. "You work this one"

He took the pieces of paper and stretched them out on the
floor.

"I'll do Herb La Sift," she said.

"You're not going to time me, are you?"

He grinned. "Good, because I'm not a right-brain guy."

"I know." Two minutes later, Emily had her puzzle figured
out. "I think I took the easy one," she said. "This one's Albert Fish."

"Fish?" Christopher looked at her blankly. "Doesn't ring
a bell."