Dancing in the Dark (16 page)

She wasn’t moving. Arthur shook her shoulders. He tried to clear her
mouth and perform the resuscitation he had learned so long ago. But he
couldn’t get her to breathe on her own.

He had to get her out of here. He had to get her some help.
Frantically, Arthur pulled at the sturdy plastic strips that bound
Carly’s ankles and held her wrists together. He felt at the birthmark
on the inside of her limp wrist, searching in vain for a pulse.

While Matthew and the crew stayed behind, capturing the images and
sounds of the volunteers’ search headquarters, Diane followed the young
man who had been ordered out of the Lavender & Lace storeroom by
Leslie Patterson’s father.

“Shawn. Shawn,” she called after him.

He turned around and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Yes?” he
said warily.

“Shawn, I’m Diane Mayfield with KEY News.” She put out her right
hand. As he automatically reached out to shake it, she added, “Would
you be willing to talk with me?”

Shawn pulled his hand back and ran it through his auburn hair. Diane
noticed that his nails were bitten to the quick.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” he said. “Not in
here, anyway.” He looked uncomfortably around the store’s display area.
“Maybe we should go outside.”

On the sidewalk, Diane spoke first. “That was pretty rough for you
in there, wasn’t it?”

Shawn nodded, squinting in the bright sun. “Yeah. I shouldn’t expect
Mr. Patterson to understand how terrible I feel about what happened to
Leslie. But I couldn’t get involved in the search for her. I just
couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Diane asked gently.

“Look, I really shouldn’t be talking to you. The police think I have
something to do with Leslie’s and Carly’s disappearances. They don’t
think it’s a coincidence that I happened to be dating both of them.”

“It doesn’t look good,” Diane agreed. “Maybe it would be a good idea
to get your side of the story out there, Shawn.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I should say
anything on camera—at least not until I talk to my lawyer.” He put the
tip of his index finger to his mouth and tore at the ragged nail.

“All right, I understand,” said Diane. “But how would it be if we
talked off the record? You can tell me your side of things. To tell
this story fairly, I need to know where you’re coming from.”

” ‘Off the record’ means you can’t tell anyone what I say?”

“Not unless you decide to give me your permission.”

Diane could see he was still uncertain. “Look, let’s just start with
some simple things. Like spelling your last name for me.”

He complied, and she wrote it down in her notebook.

“And what do you do, Shawn?”

“I’m a graduate student, and I tend bar some nights at the Stone
Pony to make money.”

“What are you studying?”

“I’m working on my MSW.”

“Social work?”

Shawn nodded.

“Admirable,” Diane said. “And what do you want to do after you
finish school?”

“Work with the mentally ill.”

The wheels in Diane’s mind sped. “Was that why you were attracted to
Leslie Patterson, Shawn? Because she was troubled?”

He looked down at the sidewalk. “Maybe,” he muttered. “I guess I
didn’t even realize it at first.”

“Leslie was pretty needy, huh?”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” Shawn sighed heavily. “No
matter how much attention I gave her, it was never enough. I thought I
could help her, but I couldn’t. I thought that if I made her feel
secure, she would feel better about herself and start eating right.
You’d think, with all the studying I’ve done, I’d have known better. I
couldn’t make Leslie well. She had to do that for herself.”

“I thought she was in therapy,” Diane said.

“She was. But I don’t know what good it was doing. That
t
herapist of hers had a helluva job, though.
Anorexia wasn’t Leslie’s only problem.”

Diane waited.

“Leslie was cutting herself. When I found that out, I couldn’t take
it anymore.”

“So you broke up with her?” Diane asked.

“Yeah, I’m not proud of it, but I did. I had to get out of the
relationship. It wasn’t healthy. But I felt guilty about breaking up
with her, believe me. And when Leslie disappeared, I didn’t think she
had been kidnapped at all. I thought she was hiding somewhere, just to
get attention. My attention. That’s why I didn’t join the search. I
didn’t want to feed into her sickness.”

“So what do you think now, Shawn? Now that Carly Neath is missing
too?” Diane’s eyes searched his face. “Do you still think Leslie was
faking it?”

Shawn stopped to consider the question. “No. I guess I don’t. Carly
is one of the most well-adjusted, happy girls I’ve ever met. I’m sure
Carly isn’t faking this, so maybe Leslie wasn’t either.”

He was as angry with God as he was with himself, so Larry didn’t
bother going to church anymore. But that didn’t mean he had no Sunday
ritual. Every single week, after breakfast at Na-gle’s, he drove the
five miles to St. Anne’s Cemetery.

Larry parked the car, got out, and walked across the parched, brown
grass, careful not to step where he estimated the bodies to be lying
beneath the ground. Weathered granite headstones marked the final
resting places of hundreds, all somebody’s loved ones. Husbands, wives,
sons, daughters. Acres and acres of sadness and heartache.

Jenna’s and his wife’s markers stood out from the others around
them, still fresh and bright, the years of exposure to the elements yet
to take place. Though Larry took some small comfort from the thought
that the two people he loved were lying down there, side by side, the
rage he felt at the injustice of their deaths trumped all other
emotions.

He knelt on one knee and instinctively crossed himself, knowing as he did it was wrong to cloak
himself in religious ritual while he had so much anger in his heart. He
knew he should let go of his hatred of Owen Messinger, but he just
couldn’t do it and he shouldn’t be expected to. That man had ruined all
their lives.

Larry rubbed his hand over the granite gravestone, then traced
Jenna’s carved name with his finger as he whispered, “I promise you,
honey. I swear. I’ll make sure that Owen Messinger can’t do to other
girls what he did to you. I’ve warned him now, and if he doesn’t stop
on his own, I’m going to stop him.”

Leslie spent her morning doing her sit-ups and leg lifts, washing
her hair, taking a shower, and dressing, killing time before leaving
for Lavender & Lace. When she got to search headquarters, she was
going to do whatever was asked of her to help find Carly Neath, even
though Carly had stolen Shawn away.

She pulled on a pair of cotton capri pants, noticing that they were a little looser than the last time she’d
worn them. It seemed like so long ago now, but it was only the week
before last. Shawn had taken her to play miniature golf, and she’d
thought they were having so much fun. But when they went out to get
something to eat after the game, they’d gotten into another fight.
Shawn had insisted that she eat; Leslie didn’t want to. The next time
they went out, Shawn told her he didn’t want to see her anymore.

Even though she was devastated Shawn had broken things off, Leslie
almost felt sorry for him now. Last night she had overheard her parents
talking about him and how the police must be looking at him as a
suspect in both her and Carly’s disappearances. Her father had been
especially angry, declaring Shawn a no-good SOB. Her mother had quieted
her husband, saying that he should just be relieved to know their
daughter had been telling the truth all along.

Leslie went downstairs and stopped in the kitchen, opening the
refrigerator and taking out a couple of celery stalks. She was looking
for her other flip-flop when the telephone rang.

“Leslie? It’s Dr. Messinger. How are you?”

Leslie closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”

There was a pause on the line. The kind of pause Leslie was used to
in their sessions. The pause that meant Dr. Messinger was waiting for
her to continue talking. Well, she wasn’t going to fall for it this
time.

Messinger gave in. “I just wanted to remind you about group
tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it this time, Dr.
Messinger. You know, I’m just going back to work tomorrow and
everything. I think it’s better if I skip it this time.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.” His voice was calm and patient. “It’s
important that you come. You’ve just been through a very traumatic
time. Come and let the group congratulate you on your survival.”

“To tell you the truth, Dr. Messinger, I’m sick of therapy. I don’t
think it’s doing me any good. I want to try things on my own.”

“We can talk about that when you come, Leslie. Four o’clock
tomorrow. And remember, bring your stuffed animal.”

“All right,” said Leslie, already hating herself for giving in. “But
this is the last time I’m coming.”

It was as if the gods didn’t want her to get to Lavender & Lace
to help with the search for Carly. Leslie was standing on the porch
locking the door when a police car pulled up at the curb. Chief Jared
Albert himself, accompanied by another officer, got out of the vehicle
and strode up the sidewalk. Leslie was pleased to see him take off his
cap as a sign of respect when he reached her.

“Leslie, we have some questions to ask you,” he said. “Your answers
might help us find Carly Neath.”

“Would you like to go in the house?” she asked. “It’s so hot out
here.”

Chief Albert looked at the front door. “Are your parents home?” he
asked.

“No, they’re at the store with the search volunteers.”

“It’s just as well we talk out here on the porch then,” he said. He
might believe Leslie Patterson’s story now that Carly Neath had gone
missing too, but he still wasn’t sure how stable she was. He didn’t
need to take any chances with a young woman who could falsely accuse
the police of improper behavior. No, it was better to stay right here
on the porch for everyone to see.

Leslie took her place in the rocker, while Albert and the younger
officer sat side by side on the wicker sofa.

“We need more details about what happened during your abduction,
Leslie,” said the chief.

“I already told everything I remember when I was in the hospital,”
she replied. “What else do you want to know?”

“We’d like to know more about the dancing you described. There was
no music playing?”

“No, just the sound of the ocean.”

“You said you were blindfolded. But could you feel anything?”

She closed her eyes and tried to get a mental image. “I felt the man was wearing a nylon jacket of some
kind. I could hear it swishing as his arms
moved.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m pretty sure he was wearing gloves too.”

“Do you think they were latex, the kind a dentist wears?” asked Chief Albert.

“No, I think they were leather. I could smell the leather.”

“Thank you for your cooperation with this, Leslie.”

“That’s okay,” she answered. “I want to do anything I can to help.
I’m on my way to the volunteer search headquarters now.”

“Can we drop you off?” offered Chief Albert.

“No thanks. I’ll walk.” As she stood on the porch and watched the
officers get back into their car, Leslie let out a sigh of relief. The
police finally believed her.

They decided to go back to the Starving Artist for lunch. After a
ten-minute wait, they were seated at a table for four. Diane, Matthew,
and Gary ordered club sandwiches, while Sammy, ever happy to take
advantage of the KEY News expense account, ordered the more expensive
crab cakes, a side of beer-battered onion rings, and a slice of
cheesecake.

“What are you, begging for a heart attack?” said Matthew.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got good genes,” Sammy boasted. “No
heart disease in my family.”

“Ever hear of not tempting fate?” Matthew asked, to which Sammy only
smiled smugly.

While they waited for their food, Diane recounted her conversation
with Shawn Ostrander, giving his explanation of his relationship with
Leslie Patterson and why he’d had to break up with her.

“I don’t know,” she said, stirring her iced tea. “I just can’t
picture this guy abducting women. He seems so earnest and sincere.”

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for.” Sammy sneered.

Diane ignored the remark.

“What about Carly?” asked Matthew. “Shawn must know that it looks
bad for him that both of the missing women have been his girlfriends.”

Usually quiet, Gary spoke up. “I sure wouldn’t want to be in
his
shoes.”