Into the Dark (18 page)

“Thank you, Angel.” Nathan extended his hand.

She took it. “You gotta find a way to let go of that guilt in your eyes before it eats you up inside.” Angel shifted on the hard crate, stretching her legs. “Take it from me; it’s no way to live.”

“So do you,” Nathan answered.

Angel laughed bitterly. “I’ve got my own way of dealing. But you’re a good boy. Don’t let the past mind-fuck you the rest of your life.”

As the group headed farther into the drain, Nathan glanced back at Angel for one last time. She’d switched off the camp light. All he could see was the glowing end of her pipe as she lit up.

Burrell led the small group into many camps, but Snake appeared to have vanished. No one had seen him in at least two weeks. The location Angel mentioned had been taken over by a new resident.

Burrell agreed to sit with a sketch artist so a composite of Snake could be distributed.

“Maybe he got a job, went legit.” Nathan dumped his gear into the trunk of his Camry. His clothes again stank of the drains, and his boots were covered in grime.

“Nah,” Burrell said. “Snake’s been down here a long time, likes it. He’s not the type to get a boss. He’s either in jail or dead.”

Nathan exchanged a look with Ronson. Snake was a liability to the Taker. Had he simply been eliminated?

“Avery,” Ronson said. “Take Burrell back to the station and get him started with the sketch artist. I’ll ride with Madigan.”

Avery grunted. His sneakers were caked with dirt, his clothes spattered with mud and other organic material. “Thank God I took a Metro car. I’d never get this smell out of my leather seats.”

Nathan rolled his eyes and slammed the Camry’s door. Ronson had already started the car and cranked up the air conditioning. He inhaled a deep breath of the clean air. “That smell will stick with you for a long time. Burns itself into your memory.”

“That’s not the worst I’ve smelled.” Ronson grimaced.

“Body?”

“In a tanning bed. Died inside and baked for two days before anyone found her.”

“Murder?”

“Looked like it at first, but turned out she had a heart attack. That was the worst smell I’ve ever encountered. Her insides were pure goo.”

Nathan looked wistfully at his glove compartment where a bag of chips waited for him. “So much for a snack.”

“Sorry. Guess you get immune to it after a while.”

“You couldn’t be immune to what we saw today. Those people shouldn’t have to live that way.” Nathan had thought seeing innocent lives lost would be the worst experiences of his career He was wrong. Seeing the living existing in the filth and sadness of the tunnels was far more painful.

“No, they shouldn’t.” Ronson pulled out her phone and began typing in a note in the memo pad. “But some are there by choice, whether it’s from drugs or simply not wanting to be a part of proper society like Snake.”

“It’s more than that,” Nathan argued. “Like Angel. She’s doing drugs to numb the pain. She fell through the cracks in a screwed up system.”

“She really got to you, huh?”

Nathan switched on the radio. Tense moments had followed after leaving Angel, and Nathan waited for Avery to start in. But either the stench or some tiny sense of compassion had kept him quiet. Nathan was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about Jimmy any more.

“I heard about your uncle,” Ronson said.

Nathan looked sharply at her. “Johnson tell you?”

“No. I’m an FBI agent. I do have my ways.”

Of course. She had access to his records. “Good. Then I don’t have to tell you the details.”

“You were just a kid.”

“I’ve had this conversation before, Agent.” His tone was deliberately curt.

Ronson dumped her phone into her bag and reclined her seat. Her sunglasses covered her eyes, but Nathan could sense her stare.

“I don’t mean to pry. But I saw the pain on your face when Angel talked about guilt. She’s right. You need to let that go, Madigan.”

Let it go. How was Nathan supposed to do that when he saw guilt every time he looked in the mirror? When remorse ate away at his insides every time his father wouldn’t look him in the eyes?

“It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing in life is easy.”

Nathan pulled into a vacant spot in downtown command’s back lot. “What do you think about Snake? Is he sitting in jail, or did the Taker snuff him out?”

Ronson acknowledged the change of subject with a wry smile and a nod of her head. “I’m not sure the Taker is a murderer. He was in disguise in the tunnels and has enough confidence to think no one can I.D. him. My gut tells me Snake’s sitting in county lockup.”

“He’s your best chance, so I hope to God you’re right.”

“Me too.”

Her phone beeped with a message. Nathan waited in silence while she listened. He couldn’t stop thinking about Angel.

“Well, I didn’t expect that.” Ronson stuffed her phone back in the bag.

“What?”

“Emilie Davis called. She wants your sister to hypnotize her.”

Chapter Nineteen

Emilie sat down on the taupe-colored couch. She crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Her back was uncomfortably straight.

“Relax.” The woman sitting across from her looked nothing like the uptight psychologist she’d talked to in the psych ward at University Medical Center years ago. Kelsi Madigan-Bennett’s shoulder-length black hair was streaked with dark red highlights. She wore denim capris with slightly raggedy cuffs and colorful bracelets adorned her arms. The physical resemblance between her and Nathan was clear, right down to the blue eyes. Their noses had the same delicate slope, and each had full lips and a dimple on their right cheek.

“I’m relaxed.”

Kelsi laughed. Her eyes wrinkled around the edges like Nathan’s when she smiled. “You look like you’re ready to bolt. This won’t hurt, I promise.”

“I know that.”

“Is there something you’re afraid of?” Kelsi leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. “Besides your stalker?”

“That’s pretty much it.” Emilie looked around the small office. It was cozy, painted in calming neutral shades with family pictures scattered throughout. Several of a blond man and a tow-headed little boy sat on Kelsi’s desk.

“I don’t believe that.” Kelsi tapped her foot, her silver toe-ring shining in the morning sun.

“Can we just get this over with? I’ve got a pile of work waiting for me.”

“Agent Ronson’s not here yet. She needs to observe.”

Emilie shifted in her seat. Her stomach growled. She’d been too nervous to eat this morning. This was a colossal mistake. Kelsi would dig into her mind and snag something Emilie didn’t want to talk about.

“This won’t work if you’re agitated.”

“I’m not.”

“Emilie, I’m just trying to help you.” Kelsi was as pushy as her brother.

“I know.” She stared back at the woman, trying to make her expression as benign as possible. Kelsi smiled and raised her eyebrow. Emilie could tell the therapist wasn’t buying her act.

A knock on the door saved her.

“Come in,” Kelsi called.

Agent Ronson hurried through the door. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.” She sat in the chair next to the couch. “You ready?”

“Yep.” Emilie looked at Kelsi. “Go ahead.”

“Why don’t you lie down?” Kelsi suggested. “The more comfortable you are the better.”

Emilie stretched out and made sure her dress hadn’t hiked up her thighs. She didn’t want to give the other women a panty show.

“Take a deep breath. As you let it out, close your eyes. Feel yourself relaxing.”

Emilie glanced at Ronson, who nodded. She took a deep breath and exhaled, closing her eyes. She prayed Kelsi didn’t get her talking about Claire. She’d left that in the past a long time ago.

“Become aware of your legs.” Kelsi’s voice softened. “Now let them grow more and more comfortable, loose and relaxed.”

Emilie tried to do as she was told. Her left leg gave an involuntary jerk.

“Relax,” Kelsi said. “Let your arms become loose and limp, comfortable. Deep breaths.”

Inhale, exhale. Relax. She couldn’t. Every muscle in her body felt tight.

“Emilie, you’ve got to let go. You can’t be hypnotized if you don’t trust me.”

Why should she trust Kelsi? She didn’t know her. But Nathan did. He wanted to help.

“Unclench your fingers,” Kelsi said. “Let your arms fall to your sides. Breathe deeply.”

Emilie became aware of the ticking of the wall clock as Kelsi spoke. She started counting the seconds as she tried to follow instructions. The same words over and over…deep breaths, relax, let the tension go…how many minutes had passed?

A pleasant feeling washed over her. She knew she was awake but sleep felt near. Her mind was active. She could still hear the clock, the sounds of the traffic outside, the sound of Ronson shifting in her chair.

“Emilie, can you hear me?” Kelsi’s tone matched the peaceful state Emilie was in.

“Yes.”

“I want you to go back to the art gallery when you first met the man calling himself Jim. Can you do that?”

The Bellagio’s large gallery rose in her mind. The light was modulated, the room full, as admirers moved from exhibit to exhibit.

“What are you doing?” Kelsi asked.

“Looking at
Girl with a Straw Hat
. It’s even more beautiful than I expected.”
Mémé’s
face had glowed every time she spoke of the painting. Then her expression would sag and sadness crept into her eyes. She missed
Grand-père
.

“I wish
Mémé
were here.”

“Why?”

“She loved me. Claire didn’t. My mother hated me.”

A low voice muttered something. Ronson, Emilie thought.

“Look around the room. Do you see the Taker—the man who called himself Jim?”

“The room’s pretty full.”

“Just look.”

“He’s beside me now. Out of nowhere.”

“Tell me about him. What does he smell like? Is he wearing cologne?”

“Yes. Musky. Nice. He’s asking me about the painting. I don’t want to answer, but I can’t help it.”

“Why?” Kelsi prodded.

“He seems so genuine. Compelling. And no one ever cared about my interest in art. Just
Mémé
.”

“You said he wore a ring. Can you see it?”

The man’s hands flashed in front of Emilie. Slender fingers. “It’s silver with a dark stone. An onyx, maybe. Something on the stone, but I can’t see it. He put his hand in his pocket.”

“Is he wearing any other jewelry?”

“A watch. Silver. Expensive.”

“How’s he dressed?”

“Dark gray suit. Blue shirt, blue and yellow striped tie. Leather shoes, nice ones. He’s got money.”

“I want you to think about leaving the gallery,” Kelsi said. “What did you do?”

“I got a cab. It was cold, and I didn’t drive.”

“Where did you go next?”

“A bookstore. Not a big chain store. Bauman’s.”

“The rare books store at the Palazzo?”

“Yes. They’re expensive, but I like to browse.”

“You’re in the bookstore. Where do you go?”

Emilie saw the store’s mahogany shelves lined with careworn books. She could smell the scent of the old paper. She browsed through the sections on her way to her favorite—poetry.

“I was sad that day. Missing
Mémé
. She used to read me poetry instead of nursery rhymes.William Blake was my favorite.”

Ronson was muttering again, but there was excitement in her voice this time.

“Do you find any of Blake’s work?”

“Yes. A second edition of
Songs of Innocence, Songs of Experience
. I have a copy, but it’s a reprint.”

“Emilie, I want you to concentrate. Focus on your surroundings. Who else is in the store?”

Her mind’s eye searched the aisles of Bauman’s. “A couple—tourists. A woman and her daughter who kept complaining about the old book smell. And a man…”

“What does he look like?”

“I can’t see him very well. He just walked by. His head was turned.”

“Tell me what you saw,” Kelsi urged.

“Cropped hair, dark suit—gray, I think. Leather shoes. Nice cologne. Musky smelling.”

The man stood in her peripheral vision, his back to her. He was tall, lanky. The suit fit him well. His skin was olive-colored, a spattering of gray in his hair.

“Emilie, look closely. Is this the man from the art gallery? Is this the Taker?”

“Yes.”

* * * *

Emilie walked out of Kelsi’s office twenty minutes later. She shaded her eyes and searched her bag for her sunglasses.

“Now we know how he knew about Blake.” Ronson walked beside her. “He followed you from the beginning.”

“How do we know the art gallery was the beginning?”

“The Taker is smart. He needed to make sure you were worthy of his time. The man was evaluating you.”

“How could he have followed me so easily? I took a cab.”

“He’s experienced. This kind of thing excites him, but he keeps his cool. He probably took a cab too–followed you directly out of the museum. You wouldn’t have been paying attention. Where are you parked?”

Emilie pointed to her car. “We still don’t know what set him off. And how does the bookstore help us?”

“We’re going through the security footage from the art gallery. Bauman’s has cameras too. Hopefully both keep their footage. Maybe we can get a match, or maybe he came back. An employee might remember him.”

A scorching wind blew through the parking lot. Emilie’s skin burned and the back of her neck was damp.

“Did I say anything else?”

“About the Taker?”

“No. About…anyone else.”

“Your grandmother.” Ronson stopped at Emilie’s car. “And your mother.”

Emilie’s stomach clenched. “What did I say?”

“That Claire never loved you.”

“Is that it?” Emilie could see her tense reflection in Ronson’s sunglasses.

“That’s it.”

She sagged against the car. The knot between her shoulders loosened. “Thanks.”

“You did well in there. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“I hope I never have to do it again, though.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”

Emilie turned on the engine and cranked on the air. She didn’t feel any different. She’d hoped for a sense of empowerment, like she was doing something to combat the Taker. But nothing had changed. It wouldn’t as long as she sat around playing the damsel in distress.