Cry Mercy (9 page)

“Did you ever hear the expression, time heals all wounds?”

Debra nodded. “But I don't feel healed.”

“And you won't, not completely, maybe, until Belinda—Belle—is found. But I think what the expression really means is that each day it gets a little easier to cope.”

“We were talking the other night about all the things that could have happened to her.” She shivered.

“I don't think that imagining things that may not have happened is the best thing to do right now.” Emme shuddered at the thought of what the unfettered imaginations of a roomful of college girls might have come up with. “Just try to remain hopeful, Debra. We'll do everything we can to find her.”

“Tell me what I can do to help.”

“Let's start with Belle's attitude that Saturday morning. How did she seem?”

“Like I told the police, she was upbeat … well, she was always pretty upbeat, that's the type of person she was, you know? Happy-go-lucky, positive, full of fun. But that morning”—Debra paused as if remembering, and wanting to get it right—“she was maybe a little more … I guess the word is
buoyant
. Like, she was singing while she was getting dressed.”

“Did she give you any indication why?”

“Not really.” Debra's eyes filled again. “I'd been out really late the night before, so I didn't have a whole lot to say to her. She asked me if I had twenty dollars she could borrow and I told her to look in my wallet. I was too tired to get up and look for it myself. I'm embarrassed to say it, but the truth is, I just wanted her to shut up and go away so I could get back to sleep.” Debra's lips were quivering. “Some friend, huh?”

“You wouldn't have had any way of knowing what was going to happen, Debra,” Emme tried to console her.

“It's bothered me every single day, you know? That I didn't pay more attention to her. Maybe she'd have told me something that could have helped find her.”

“She didn't give you any hint of where she might have been going?”

“I just thought she was going to the library, since she'd taken her backpack.”

“Were you able to tell if any of her clothes were missing?”

Debra nodded. “It was hard to tell, because I didn't really notice what she was wearing. Jeans, I'm sure,
and I thought maybe she had on a brown tee. I didn't actually see her go out, though. She probably had her red jacket on. The way we all borrow stuff around here, though, I couldn't say what she might have taken. Her raincoat was gone, I did notice that, though. But if the police hadn't asked me to look, I wouldn't have thought to look for it, because it was sunny on Saturday morning, but they were calling for rain later in the day into Sunday.”

“So she might have been planning on getting in late that night or staying over wherever she was going.”

“Honestly, she could have been saying something about getting in late or not coming back but I wasn't paying attention.” Debra began to cry.

Emme reached out and took one of the girl's hands.

“Debra, I know the police asked you these questions, but I have to ask you again. Was Belle involved with anyone?”

Debra shook her head.

“Are you sure? Maybe she'd met someone—”

“She'd have told me. She told me everything.”

Everything
, Emme thought,
except where she was going
.

“Did she ever mention her father?”

Debra reached for a tissue. “Only to say she didn't have one. We figured that meant he'd left her and her mom, or that he was dead or something, so no one asked about it again.”

“The police asked you if you knew anyone with the initials D.S.”

“I don't. I mean, I do, but no one who'd have been with Belle that morning.”

“Who are you referring to?” Emme didn't recall seeing the name of anyone in particular in the file.

“Danielle Singletary is one of our sisters, but she left Friday night on the bus to St. Ansel's for a lacrosse tournament over the weekend.”

“Do you know for sure she went?”

“She was the tournament's high scorer.” Debra picked at a loose thread on the cuff of her shorts. “The bus didn't get back until late Sunday. It was a two-day thing.”

“Maybe the library can give me a list of all the students and faculty members whose initials are D.S.,” Emme thought aloud.

“I can print them off my computer,” Debra offered.

“That would be great, thanks. Debra, who else was Belle friendly with?”

“Everyone here in the house is friendly with one another.” Debra shrugged. “It's a pretty small school, so you know just about everyone. I don't think there was anyone outside of the sorority that she hung out with. There were four of us who were in the same dorm last year and got close and pledged together.”

“Can you give me the names of the other two girls?”

“Patti Sullivan and Kendall Long. Did you want to speak with them?”

“If they're available, sure.”

Debra stopped rocking and stood. “I'm pretty sure they're both here. We all signed up for summer session this year. I can check while I print out that list for you. I'll just be a minute.”

The girl got to the door, then turned around and said, “I'd invite you in but the place is really a mess.
We had a little party last night, and we're still cleaning up.”

“I'll wait,” Emme told her, and while she waited, she rummaged in her bag for the notebook she knew she'd brought with her and the pen she was positive she'd picked up on her way out of the hotel room that morning. Moments later, the door opened and the two girls Debra mentioned joined Emme. She'd hoped that one of them would have thought of something that would shed some light on Belle's disappearance, but neither had.

Debra returned with three sheets of paper that she handed to Emme.

“I ran a search for all the students, faculty, and former students back three years whose initials are D.S.,” Debra told her. “There are twenty-two names.”

Emme scanned the lists.

“Debra, this is perfect.” She smiled at the girl. “You'd make a good cop.”

“Thanks.” The girl beamed, evidently pleased at having done something that might help find her roommate. “I wish I could do more.”

“I wish she'd have left something behind to guide us. Her computer would have been nice. I wish she hadn't taken it with her.”

“Uh-uh, she didn't take it.”

“Chief Dietrich thinks she did.”

“Nope.” Debra shook her head.

“Are you positive?”

“It was on her desk when I got up. That was around ten thirty. The cover was open, but the screen was dark, like it had gone into suspend mode? She used to do that all the time, turn it on and then forget
and leave. I always told her she was lucky I wasn't a nosy person because I could read her email when she wasn't looking. Didn't seem to bother her, though”—Debra shrugged—“because she did it all the time.”

“The police are under the impression that she took it. Why would they think that?”

“When they asked me if I knew where it was, I said no. It had been on her desk earlier in the morning but it wasn't there later. I guess they just assumed that I meant she'd taken it. Maybe she did come back later and pick it up—who knows?”

“What do you think the chances of that are?”

“Probably not so good,” Debra admitted.

“So if it was still there after she left, and she didn't come back for it, what happened to it? Where is it?”

Debra shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Did you notice anyone in the house that day … someone who didn't belong here?”

“I was out all afternoon. There was a big basketball game and a bunch of us walked down to the gym together. After the game, we stopped in town for dinner so we didn't get back here till around eight thirty or so. Then we all got changed and went to a party, so I wasn't around much.”

“Did you notice if the laptop was there when you came back after dinner?”

“I didn't. I'm sorry.”

“I guess it's too much to hope you lock your doors when you leave?”

Debra blushed. “I didn't think about it. We almost never lock the door unless we're both leaving for the entire weekend.” Her voice dropped to almost a
whisper. “Do you think someone came in and stole it?”

“I'd say that's as good a guess as any.”
Unless it sprouted legs and walked out on its own
. “How many ways in and out of the house are there?”

“There's the front door here, and the terrace door around the corner.” Debra pointed to the left side of the house. “There's a door out back that goes into the kitchen, and one of those outside doors that go down to the basement.”

“Are any of the doors left unlocked during the day?”

“The front door, but I don't know about the others. I guess it depends on what's going on.”

“How about that Saturday? Anything going on that might have made it necessary to leave the doors unlocked?”

Debra thought it over for a moment. “I don't know.”

Emme stood. “Debra, if you think of anything—anything at all, doesn't matter how small or silly it might seem to you—get in touch, all right?”

“I will.” Debra stood also, and when Emme began to walk toward the steps, she followed along. “Do you think you'll find her, Ms. Caldwell? Do you think she's still alive?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I.” Debra corrected herself. “So do we … all of us. We all miss her, and we worry about her. We pray for her every night.”

“You just keep on doing that,” Emme told her as she turned to leave. “Every night until we find her…”

N
ick had remained standing on the walk while Emme backed out of the parking spot. He'd walked her outside mostly to satisfy his curiosity about her ride.

He'd figured her for a turn-of-the-century smallish sedan that had good gas mileage but not much under the hood. He permitted himself a smug smile as he watched her drive off in her 2001 Honda. That had been way too easy a call.

A pity. A woman that beautiful should be behind the wheel of something with more style, something small and zippy—maybe a Z or a Saab convertible. Then again, she hadn't seemed too interested in cars. Didn't know a classic Porsche when she saw one, but then again, to be fair, how many people did?

The understated sedan fit her to a T in some ways. She'd been pretty understated herself—rich, reddish hair pulled back in a simple elastic, and not much makeup, even on her eyes, which seemed to be where most women wore the most color. Her eyes had been the first thing he'd noticed about her. They were green—not almost green, but green-green—and flecked
with gold. She had skin fair enough to burn if too long unprotected from the sun, he'd noticed that, too, and small hands that seemed to be moving all the time. An image flashed across his mind, Emme handing him the photocopy from Belinda's datebook. No rings on either hand. He was surprised that he hadn't picked up on that at the time. His fingers toyed with her business card. He knew he'd be calling her.

After she'd left, Nick had gone back to work and tried to keep his focus on the Porsche, but he was distracted thinking about the boxes of Belinda's belongings that had arrived at the farmhouse in Liberty Creek when the new semester had started. Back in February, the housemother had called with concern, but the bottom line was that she felt it would be better for everyone—especially Belinda's roommate—if his niece's things were removed from the sorority house. If he trusted her to pack for him, she would be happy to do that, and would she like him to ship them directly to his house. Her way of making sure it was done and done soon, he'd thought at the time. He'd opted to have everything sent to the farmhouse, since his place was small and he had no intention of unpacking her things and putting them away. The cartons could sit out there until she came back for them … or not. He'd given little thought to the call until Herb Sanders, whose property bordered the old Perone farm, left him a message saying that a whole lot of boxes had been delivered to the back porch and he'd put them in the barn for safekeeping. That had been sometime in March, Nick recalled. He'd kept telling himself that Belinda would be back and she
could see to her own things, but that had proven to be just so much wishful thinking.

Nick rubbed a smear of grease from the back of his hand and turned off the spotlight he'd trained on the engine. It had been months since he'd been to Liberty Creek. Today was as good a day as any to go back.

The drive through the Maryland countryside was an uneven one, here an acre-sized lot sporting a trailer, there a breeding farm of thoroughbred horses or a herd of bison, then suddenly, a small town would appear as if by magic, like Brigadoon. It was only a forty-five-minute drive, but Liberty Creek was worlds away from Khoury's Ford.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone there without Belinda. Upon her mother's death, the property had passed to her. It suddenly occurred to him that if the worst had happened to his niece—he could not bring himself to even think the words
If Belinda was dead
—the farm would be his.

That was a sobering thought.

Not that Nick hadn't wanted it—he had. Still did, if he were to be honest with himself. He'd spent the happiest days of his life there when his grandparents were alive. There were a lot of surprised faces around Liberty Creek when it became known that Wendy, not Nick, had inherited the property. Back then—ten years ago, now—Nick hadn't minded. All he'd really wanted was his grandfather's garages and what they held. As long as he had those—and he did—Wendy and Belinda were welcome to the house and all the property that went with it.

He turned onto Evergreen Road without even realizing he'd done so. A quarter mile more and he made
a second right, this time onto the long drive his grandfather had had paved almost twenty years earlier. Nick never drove up that lane without hearing his grandmother, Angela, bending her husband Dominic's ear over having spent so much money on the macadam.

“What, are you crazy?” She'd been incredulous when she found the entry in the checkbook. “For a
driveway?”

He'd responded calmly, but from behind the safety of his newspaper. “I haven't spent all those hours and all that money on my cars to have them bottom out on a pothole, not to mention all the dust.”