Authors: Kevin O'Brien

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

Terrified (25 page)

BOOK: Terrified

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“Yeah, I can see that,” Teresa said, wincing at her. She readjusted her grip on the big box. “Where do you want this thing?”

Megan nodded to her desk. “Just set it there, thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” She watched Teresa plop the box on her desktop. She wished she could tell her what had really happened, but she was afraid. Her friend might try to talk her into calling the police—or maybe Teresa would have called the police herself. It was all Megan could do to keep from breaking down and crying. But she held back.

“What in the world is going on?” Teresa asked.

Megan couldn’t quite look her in the eye. “Listen, you have a customer waiting. Can you give me some time alone back here? I’ll explain everything later, I promise.”

“Okay,” Teresa said, giving her a puzzled look. She headed out, closing the door behind her.

With a sigh, Megan started digging into the lost-and-found box. Among the unclaimed items were: one Nike shoe; an ID bracelet that said
Brady
; a tennis racket; several umbrellas; one earring that looked like costume jewelry; a CD of
The Best of Brook Benton
; some pens; and two cell phones—one of them belonged to a man from Las Vegas who was a real creep. He’d haggled over the prices before renting and brought the nonsmoking vehicle back with an ashtray full of cigarette butts, and a horrible scratch on the driver’s side of the car. He’d threatened to sue if they charged him for it. Teresa had decided not to tell him about the cell phone he’d left behind in the cupholder. The phone had a lot of bells and whistles, and as of a few days ago, it was still working. Maybe the creep had prepaid minutes, because Teresa had called her sister in Fairfax, Virginia, on it and had talked for a half hour.

Megan figured if she wanted to stay anonymous with Glenn’s lawyer, this was the way to go. It would take Jerry a long time to connect her to a phone call that showed up on his caller ID as someone in Las Vegas.

The phone was still working. She dialed the number for Jerome Purcell in Lincolnshire, Illinois. It rang three times before someone picked up. “Hello?”

Megan sank down in her desk chair. Even after fifteen years, she recognized Jerry’s voice. She hoped he wouldn’t recognize hers. She didn’t have to try hard to sound different. Her voice was husky and broken from all her crying and lack of sleep. “Hello, is this Jerry Purcell?”

“Yes …”

“Hi, Jerry, I’m an old friend of Glenn Swann’s. My name’s Rita. I was supposed to get together with Glenn this weekend—”

“Wait a minute. Who is this?” he said.

Megan glanced at the CD cover among the lost-and-found articles on her desk. “I’m Rita Benton,” she said. Her hand holding the phone shook. “You don’t know me. Glenn and I were supposed to get together this weekend. I came up from Las Vegas to meet him in Portland, and he never showed up. The phone number he gave me isn’t answering… .”

“Um, exactly how do you know Glenn?” Jerry asked.

“I met him years and years ago—before all his trouble. His friend, JJ, introduced us.”

“JJ?”

“Jimmy Jordan,” Megan said.

“I haven’t heard that name in a while. So—um, have you talked to JJ recently?”

She hesitated. “No, we’ve lost touch.”

There was a silence on the other end.

Megan nervously shifted in her desk chair. She glanced out her window toward the front counter, where Teresa had three people in line. Two of them were men. She couldn’t help studying their faces. Was one of them the second man from last night?

“Um, Ms. Benton,” Jerome said, at last. “Maybe you don’t know that JJ and Glenn had a falling-out back in ninety-six—‘before all his trouble,’ as you so tactfully put it. In fact, I’m guessing you don’t know Glenn at all. Perhaps you’re some reporter, looking for a story with a new angle… .”

The news about JJ had thrown her for a loop. She’d figured JJ might have been the second man working with Glenn last night.

“I’m not a reporter,” she said.

“Whatever. I think I’ll hang up now,” he muttered.

“Listen … Jerry, just because Glenn hasn’t told you about me, it doesn’t mean I don’t know him—
intimately
. I know a lot about you, too, and some of the shady things you’ve swept under the rug for him. But I’m not calling to get into that. Believe me, Glenn and I are well-acquainted and have been for years. If you don’t believe me—well, Glenn used to play racquetball with you at lunch every Thursday—except for the few times he canceled on you to be with me. You saw him in the locker room, right? He has a big brown birthmark on his back—just above his right butt cheek.”

He didn’t say anything, but at least he hadn’t hung up.

“Look, Jerry,” she said finally. “I didn’t call you to discuss Glenn’s—imperfections. We were supposed to meet in Portland. He said he had some business in the Pacific Northwest, and indicated you might know something about it. Mind you,
he phoned me
. But he hasn’t shown up, and the phone number he gave me isn’t working. I’m sitting here in my room at the Red Lion for the third day in a row now, and I’m getting a little irritated. Do you know where he is?”

Megan held her breath, and waited for Glenn’s lawyer to answer.

“I haven’t a clue where Glenn is,” he said. “He took off and left town without telling me. I had no advance knowledge about this trip. Apparently, the police found out he flew to Portland as of Wednesday, and that’s it. I have nothing after that.”

Biting her lip, Megan tightened her grip on the cell phone. “Well, doesn’t he have a niece in Seattle? Do you think she might know something? Could Glenn be in Seattle?”

“Not according to his niece,” Jerome replied. “And I just spoke with her yesterday.”

“Well, maybe I should talk to her, you know, woman to woman?” Megan said. She figured Candy was the only other link she might have to Glenn. “If I find out anything, I’ll call you. Do you have her phone number or contact information?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Not to be insulting, but if Glenn is keeping you a secret from me, he might not want you talking to his niece. If I hear anything, I’ll phone you. Is this your number, area code seven-oh-two … ?”

“That’s right,” Megan said. “I’m from Las Vegas.”

“You said your name is Benton. The name here on your caller ID is J. Knoll.”

“Yes, Rita Benton is my show-business name,” she thought to say. “It’s how most people know me—including Glenn.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything, Ms. Benton,” he said. Then he hung up.

Megan clicked off the phone. She hadn’t found out much—except that Glenn no longer had JJ doing his dirty work for him. She wondered what they’d had a falling-out over. Had JJ finally realized how much Glenn had used him—and at the same time, considered him an embarrassment? The break in their relationship had occurred before Glenn’s trouble. When she’d left the Chicago area, Glenn and JJ had still been buddies. There had only been two or three weeks after her disappearance before Glenn became a suspect in the Garbage Bag Murder. In that short time, they’d gone their separate ways. What had happened? Had Willow’s death something to do with the estrangement?

She set the cell phone aside on her desk, then stood up and started loading up the lost-and-found box. She glanced though the office window—at Teresa, who now had two customers in line. Beyond them, outside the storefront, she noticed a silver SUV parked across the street.

Megan hurried out of her office to the front of the store. As she got to the glass door, the SUV pulled away from the curb. She wasn’t sure if it was the same car from last night. The tires didn’t screech this time. It didn’t seem in any kind of hurry to get away. But it disappeared around the corner just as she stepped outside. She hadn’t gotten a look at the license plate.

Wandering back into the store, Megan caught her breath and saw Teresa shooting her a concerned look. Obviously, her coworker was trying to figure out what was going on with her. Megan retreated into her office, and with one hand, managed to pull the lost-and-found box from the desk, plop it into her chair, and then lower it to the floor. She kicked it aside with her foot.

She felt so defeated. She’d thought she would get more out of Glenn’s lawyer. He wouldn’t even give her Candy’s unlisted phone number. She’d already conducted an exhaustive hunt online and with directory assistance the other night. Still, she tried again on her work computer, typing in
Candice Blanco, Seattle
for the Google search. All she got was the KOMO-TV news story from five nights ago. Megan peered out at the office again. She turned the computer’s volume down to low, and watched the video again. She saw Candy being interviewed—with Pioneer Square’s pergola in the background. They’d mentioned she was a glass artist. Pioneer Square was full of art galleries. How many of them specialized in glass art?

She found seven galleries online under
Glass Art Galleries, Pioneer Square, Seattle
. Of the first four galleries she contacted with Mr. Knoll’s cell phone, two were closed on Sundays, and the other two didn’t have any information on a
Candice Blanco
or
Candice Kruger
.

However, the woman who answered for the Imogene George Glassworks Studio said they had a Candice Blanco on their staff. “But she’s not here today,” the woman went on. “She’ll be back tomorrow. Do you want to leave a message?”

“Well, it’s really important I get in touch with her,” Megan said. “Do you have a home phone or a cell number I could try her at?”

“I’m not allowed to give out that information, sorry.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to make an exception, but this is an emergency,” Megan said. “I really need to talk with Candy.”

“Does this have anything to do with her being on TV the other night?”

“It’s more of a family matter,” Megan replied.

“Really?” the woman replied archly. “Try her tomorrow. And good luck. She’s not talking to any more reporters.” The woman hung up.

With a sigh, Megan clicked off the phone.

At least she knew where she could find Glenn’s niece tomorrow. She wasn’t sure if Candy could tell her anything at all. She felt so hopeless at the notion of having to wait until tomorrow for something that might not pan out. She couldn’t stand another day of this uncertainty. She wanted her son back.

Turning away from her office window, Megan started to cry.

After a few moments, she heard a click. She looked up and gaped at Teresa, standing in the doorway. “What the hell is going on, Meg?” she whispered.

Megan quickly wiped her tears away. It hurt to touch her face. She glanced at the front of the store—and a customer waiting at the counter. “Teresa, please,” she murmured. “You have a customer… .”

“And you have a phone call,” Teresa said. “A detective with the Seattle Police, he’s on line one. He says it’s important.”

Megan stared at her—and then at the blinking light on her phone. Clearing her throat, she nodded. “Thanks.”

Teresa closed the door and started back toward the front of the store.

Megan kept gazing at the blinking red light on her phone. Had they found Josh? Or had they found his body parts in a garbage bag somewhere?

She felt sick to her stomach. Taking a few deep breaths, she reached for the receiver. “Hello, this is Megan… .”

There was a pause—and then that gravelly voice. “You bitch, you went to the police.”

“No, I didn’t!” she cried. “You called me! All I did was pick up the phone. You called me, goddamn it!”

She heard him snickering on the other end. She glanced toward the office again, and saw Teresa and the customer both looking at her with concern. “I haven’t told anyone,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’ve done exactly what you said. So—where’s my son? What have you done to him? I want some kind of proof that he’s alive. I want to talk to him—”

“You’re in no position to make demands, Lisa. Keep it up, and I’ll send you one of his ears. You can put it in the pocket of that jacket I left for you last night.”

Tears of rage filled her eyes. “Glenn, I know it’s you—”

“So you said on that message you left on your cell phone. It wasn’t hard to figure out your code for retrieving messages—Josh’s birthday, six-oh-seven.” She heard him chuckle. Then there was a faint, high-pitched squeak on the other end of the line. “I transferred it to tape. This is my favorite part, when you start to cry. Listen to yourself, Lisa… .”

Megan heard a click, and then her own voice on the scratchy tape. She also heard him snickering in the background:
“If you hurt him, you’re hurting your own flesh and blood. Just ask him when he was born, and he’ll tell you… .”

Megan spoke over the last few seconds of the recording. “If you can play me a tape, you can put Josh on the phone. I need to talk to him. I need to know he’s all right. Are you listening to me?”

There was a click. Megan thought he might have hung up. “Hello? Are you there?”

“Go home, Lisa,” he said finally. “Tell Teresa you don’t feel well. Then I want you to phone Dan Lahart… .”

BOOK: Terrified

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