Dancing in the Dark (22 page)

He shook his head. “No, Diane. Now the cops are saying they won’t be
making any more announcements until tomorrow.”

“Well, that makes it easier for us, doesn’t it?” she observed. “With
no new information, we won’t have to update the piece. When are we
slated to air?”

“After the first commercial break.”

Diane looked at her watch. “Great. We’ve still got about twenty
minutes.” She pulled her makeup case out of her bag and began to apply
fresh foundation. “Where are we going to do the stand-up for the end of
the piece?” she asked.

Fifteen minutes later Diane was standing on the grass in front of
the Beersheba Well. The protective gazebo was roped off with yellow
police tape. She was not alone. Reporters from other media outlets
thought this was the perfect place to do their on-camera closes too.
Groups of curious onlookers had gathered.

Across the lawn, the Ocean Grove Camp Meeting Association’s Ladies
Auxiliary was holding a fish and chips dinner in the auditorium
pavilion. Helen Richey smiled and made small talk as she helped serve
the homemade fare. But her eyes kept searching the assemblage for
Jonathan and the girls.

Since Larry Belcaro had told her that he hadn’t had an appointment
with Jonathan last Thursday afternoon, Helen was feeling a bit better.
Maybe Jonathan hadn’t been in a position to have deposited Leslie
Patterson at the Beersheba Well after all.

But the question still nagged at her. What did the notation on the
business card mean?

Jonathan swallowed the last piece of fish and wiped his mouth with a
paper napkin. He hated eating this early when he was on vacation. He
much preferred to have a couple of drinks or cold beers and then head
out for something to eat around eight or nine o’clock. But he’d known
enough not to make a fuss with his wife about going to the fish and
chips dinner at five-thirty.

After nine years of marriage, and three years of dating before that,
Jonathan knew in his gut when something was on Helen’s mind. He could
tell she was upset that he’d misled the police. Yet what else could he
have done? If he had told them he followed Carly that night, they’d
surely have tied him to her disappearance. By now they’d be trying to
pin her death on him too.

He gathered up their paper plates and napkins and tossed them into
the trash receptacle. “Come on, girls,” he said. “Mommy still has to
work for a while. Let’s go take a walk.”

“Can we get an ice cream cone, Daddy?” asked Sarah.

“Sure,” said Jonathan. “That sounds like a good idea, honey.”

Sarah and Hannah skipped in front of their father, certain of the
direction they wanted to go. Their favorite spot was Day’s Ice Cream Parlor, just off the association grounds on the
other side of the Beersheba Well.

“Girls,” Jonathan called. “Get back here.” There were too many
people gathered around the well, and Helen was always reminding him how
easy it would be for one of their daughters to get lost in a crowd or
stolen by some stranger. He vividly remembered the time he had lost
Hannah at the Paramus Park Mall. Those ten minutes searching the aisles
at Sears had been some of the scariest of his life.

He held Sarah and Hannah firmly by their hands as they got closer to
the well.

“What are they doing, Daddy?” Hannah asked, pointing to the people
with the cameras and microphones.

“They’re doing news reports, sweetie. For television,” Jonathan
explained. “Let’s stop and watch for a while, want to?”

His daughters were content to watch for a few minutes, but the
promise of chocolate or strawberry cones meant more to them than the
explanations of anxiety in Ocean Grove coming from the grown-ups with
microphones. They pulled their father by the arms, eager to get to the
ice cream store. Jonathan had heard all he wanted to hear as well.

After they were good-nighted from the studio in New York, Diane
invited everyone out for dinner. But Sammy said he was tired, and Gary
said he was going to ride up the Garden State Parkway to see his wife
and kids for a few hours before driving back early in the morning.

“Make sure you’re back by five,” Matthew warned. “If something
breaks and
KTA
wants a story in
the morning, we’ll need you.”

“Don’t worry, Matthew. I’ll be back.”

Diane and Matthew left the crew to pack up their gear. “Where do you
want to go?” she asked as they turned onto Main Avenue. “We’ve had
Italian two nights in a row, so something other than that.”

“How ‘bout the obvious?” Matthew said. “Seafood.”

“Great,” Diane agreed. “I’ll go back to the inn to freshen up and
get the kids and Emily. You pick a place, call me on my cell, and we’ll
meet you there.”

Fried calamari, broiled scallops, baked stuffed shrimp, and fillet
of sole were served up piping hot and devoured hungrily. Diane noticed
that Michelle even finished most of what was on her plate.

“I was starving,” said Anthony as he popped the last piece of
buttered corn bread into his mouth.

“The sea air increases your appetite,” Diane observed. “Or at least
that’s what they always say.”

The adults ordered coffee. Michelle didn’t want dessert. Anthony
took a picture of the group and then suggested they play miniature golf
and stop for ice cream afterward.

“I saw a mini-golf place near my motel,” Matthew offered.

All five of them went out to the parking lot. “I want to drive with
Matthew,” Anthony announced. “I’m sick of being with girls all the
time.”

When they arrived at the course, Anthony suggested they split the
group. “The guys go together and the girls go together,” he said. “And
the guys should go first. It’s sexist that the girls always go in
front.”

Diane did her best to ignore the tug she felt in her heart. It was
apparent that Anthony wanted to be with Matthew. These were important
years in a boy’s life, and Diane knew her son needed a male presence.
She was sure Anthony missed his father desperately. Watching him tee
off with Matthew, Diane ached for Philip to be there with them.

After the ninth hole, Matthew and Anthony sat on a bench waiting for
the group in front of them to finish.

“So, you having a good time down here?” Matthew asked.

Anthony shrugged. “It’s all right, I guess.”

“But it’s not the Grand Canyon, huh?”

“No way.”

Matthew tossed his green golf ball up in the air and caught it
again. “I know your mother felt really bad about having to cancel that
trip. She couldn’t help it, you know. Our boss made her do it.”

“I know,” Anthony said grudgingly. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“Nothing.” Anthony got up from the bench and positioned his golf
ball on the rubber mat.

Later, as they waited at the end of the course while the females
finished playing, Anthony wanted to share something other than his
feelings with Matthew. He pulled some plastic strips out of his pocket.

“Look what I have.”

“Wow.” Matthew took one of the strips from Anthony’s outstretched
palm. “Where did you get these?”

“They’re flex cuffs. Plastic handcuffs. I saw the cops use them on
television.”

“I know what they are, Anthony. I asked where you got ‘em.”

Anthony paused, uncertain what to answer. Matthew was his mother’s
friend, and he might tell her. Anthony was sure his mother wouldn’t
want him prowling around in the dilapidated Casino. But the Casino was
the best thing about this trip so far. He didn’t want to give it up,
and that was what he would have to do if his mother forbade him to go
in there again.

“My friend’s dad is a cop,” Anthony lied. “He gave them to us.”

TUESDAY
AUGUST 23

OCEAN GROVE NOW OCEAN GRAVE

Every journalist camped out in front of police headquarters read the
Ashury Park Press headline and accompanying story as they waited for
the press briefing to begin. It was just after noon, in time for the
local news broadcasts, when Chief Jared Albert came out to make his
next announcement.

“Neptune police apprehended forty-year-old Arthur Roy Tomkins in
connection with the death of Carly Neath. Mr. Tomkins resides at a
boardinghouse here in Ocean Grove and is a Gulf War veteran. He is
currently in police custody in Monmouth County Jail in Freehold. He
will be arraigned tomorrow on charges of unlawful imprisonment,
kidnapping, and depraved indifference murder. I’ll take a few of your
questions now.”

When he heard the reference to a boardinghouse, the ears of the
Ashury Park Press
reporter perked
up. “Would that be a boardinghouse for the mentally ill?” he asked.

“Yes. It would,” Albert answered.

“So the suspect is mentally ill?”

“Mr. Tomkins has been treated for mental illness, yes.”

“What evidence ties Tomkins to Carly Neath’s death?” Diane asked.

“Fingerprints.”

“Can you expound on that, Chief? Where were the fingerprints found?”

“No. That’s all I’m willing to say about that evidence at this
point.” Chief Albert looked in another direction.

The next reporter spoke up. “Did Tomkins know Carly Neath? What was
the connection between them?”

“We don’t know. We’re investigating that.”

Diane called out the next question. “Do you think Tomkins was
involved in Leslie Patterson’s abduction as well?”

“There would seem to be a link between the two cases, but we can’t
prove that at this point. I will say this much,” Albert declared. “The
citizens of Ocean Grove and the vacationers who are visiting with us
can feel much safer today.”