The Guardian (42 page)

But when they reached the front, they saw nothing.

Everything was exactly as it had been before.

They split up then, Pete approaching the front of the house, Jennifer moving forward into the yard.

Her mouth was dry and she was breathing hard, trying to stay calm. A short distance away, she eyed a grove of low-growing trees surrounded by bushes, reminding her of a duck blind hidden for maximum effect.

She looked away, then back. She could feel the gun in her hand growing slick with perspiration.

That's where he is, she thought. He's hiding, and he wants me to come get him. Behind her, she could hear Pete moving across the gravel.

Jennifer raised the gun in front of her, just as her dad had taught her.

"Mr. Franklin, this is Officer Jennifer Romanello, and my gun is drawn," she called out slowly. "Identify yourself and come out with your hands in the air."

Pete turned at the sound of her voice and, seeing what she was doing, started toward her, crossing the driveway. Like her, he had drawn his gun.

From the back of the house came the sound of a car engine turning over. The engine whined as the accelerator was slammed to the floor, rocks spitting out from behind the tires. It was racing toward them from the other side of the house.

Pete stood frozen in the middle of the drive; he saw the car a moment before Jennifer did.

It wasn't slowing down.

For a moment, Pete was immobilized. He pointed the gun at the car but hesitated, and by then even Jennifer could see what was going to happen.

In the last possible second, Pete dove out of the way as the car ripped past him. He landed on his chest, like a baseball player sliding into home, and the gun flew from his grasp.

Jennifer had only a split second to take the shot, but because of Pete's dive and the broken view through the trees, she opted against it.

The car roared down the highway, veered around the curve, and vanished from sight, leaving a trail of flying gravel in its wake.

Jennifer ran toward Pete. He was already getting up and had begun searching for his gun by the time she reached him.

Seconds passed before they found it, and they ran to the squad car without a word. Jennifer reached the passenger side and jumped in; their doors slammed simultaneously. Instinctively, Pete reached for the ignition keys.

They were gone.

It was then that Jennifer registered that the wires connecting the radio had been torn from the dash.

The sound of Richard's car had already faded.

"Damn!" Pete shouted, slamming the wheel hard.

Jennifer grabbed for her cell phone and called the station. Because it was a small town and there were only a few officers on duty, she didn't hold out much hope that they would be able to catch Richard in time. When she hung up, Pete looked at her.

"Now what do we do?"

"I'm going inside."

"Without a warrant?"

Jennifer opened the door and stepped out. "He tried to run you down and he's probably on his way to harm someone else. I think that qualifies as a legitimate reason for entry. Don't you?"

A moment later, Pete Gandy was behind her.

Through the rush of adrenaline and frustration, he couldn't help but notice that as far as learning the ropes, Jennifer Romanello seemed to be a rather quick study.

Jennifer was struck by the normalcy of the setting as soon as she entered.This could be anyone's house, she observed.

The kitchen was miraculously clean, the kitchen sink gleaming in the sunlight, a washrag folded neatly over the sink. There wasn't a single pot on the stove or a used dish on the counter. Had she taken a photograph, no one would have noticed anything amiss. Though obviously old-the refrigerator looked like the models advertised in the Sears catalog right after World War II, and there was neither a dishwasher nor a microwave oven-the kitchen seemed almost homey, the kind that children remember when thinking of their grandparents.

Jennifer moved forward, passing through what was once a breakfast nook. It was surprisingly bright in this room, the morning sun riding high on the glass and sending streams of gold across the floor. A richly patterned wallpaper, light yellow and hinting of flowers, and oak crown molding gave the room a sense of richness. The table was simple, the chairs surrounding it pushed in neatly.

She moved into the living room, thinking again that there was nothing out of the ordinary. The furniture was plain, and nothing was out of place. Yet . . .

It took a moment before she realized what was wrong.

There's nothing personal here, she thought. Nothing at all. No photographs or paintings on the walls, no magazines, no newspapers stacked on the end table, no plants. No stereo system or compact discs, no television.

Just a couch, end tables, and lamps.

Jennifer looked up the stairs. Behind her, Pete came in, his gun drawn.

"Kind of empty, huh?" he offered.

"I'm going up," she said.

Pete followed her. At the top, they peeked down the hallway before starting toward the right. Opening the door, they found the darkroom and flicked the switch. Bathed by the reddish glow, Jennifer felt suddenly weak as she realized what Richard had been doing with his time since he'd quit work.

"Lord help us," was all she could say.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Richard slowed the car once he reached the major roads.His heart was pounding, but he was free! Free! He'd escaped when escape seemed impossible, and he laughed aloud. He could still see the officers' faces as he tore down the driveway, and he was soaring.

Too bad that Pete Gandy had rolled out of the way. In his mind, he could imagine the delightful whump as the car crushed him, but alas, Pete would live to see another day.

He laughed again, exhilarated, and began to focus on his plan.

He had to ditch the car, but he wanted to put as much distance between Swansboro and himself as he could. He turned onto the highway that led to Jacksonville. There, he'd park the car where it wouldn't be spotted right away, and he'd begin his search for Julie.

Jessica had tried to run once, too, he remembered, and she thought she'd been careful. She took a bus halfway across the country and hoped he would simply let her go. But he'd tracked her down, and when he opened the door to the run-down motel where she was staying and found her sitting on the bed, she wasn't even surprised to see him. She'd been expecting him, and by the end, the waiting had worn her down. She didn't even have the energy to cry. When he handed her the locket, she slipped it around her neck, as if knowing she had no choice.

He helped her up from the bed, ignoring the lethargy of her movements, and put his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, as Jessica's arms hung by her side.

You didn't think I'd let you go that easily, did you? he whispered.

Please, she whispered.

Say it.

Jessica's words came out raggedly. No, you couldn't let me go.

You were wrong to run, weren't you?

Jessica began to cry, as if finally recognizing what was to come.

Oh . . . please . . . don't hurt me . . . please, not again. . . .

But you tried to run away, he said. That hurt me, Jessica.

Oh . . . God . . . please . . . no . . .

Standing in the doorway of the darkroom, Pete Gandy blinked a few times, his head turning from side to side as he tried to take it all in.Taped to the walls were hundreds of photographs of Julie. Julie leaving the salon and getting into her car, Julie in the woods taking Singer for a walk, Julie at dinner, Julie in the supermarket, Julie on the back porch, Julie reading the morning newspaper, Julie getting the mail. Julie on the beach. Julie on the street. Julie in her bedroom.

Julie everywhere she'd been over the last month.

Jennifer felt something collapse inside her. Even she hadn't expected this. She wanted to stay longer, she knew it was important to check the rest of the house for obvious signs that Andrea had been here. Pete was still frozen in place.

"I can't believe this guy," he whispered as she brushed past him. In the second bedroom, Jennifer found Richard's workout equipment. He'd hung a mirror in there, surrounded by more pictures. Jennifer moved to the final door, which she assumed was his bedroom. Though she wasn't sure her actions were legal, she decided to poke around while she waited for backup to arrive.

Pushing open the door, she saw a beat-up chest of drawers that looked as if it might have been left behind by whoever had lived here before. In the closet, she found Richard's suits, hanging neatly. Against the wall, she saw the hamper; a phone sat on the floor near the head of the bed.

But it was the photo on the bedstand that held her attention.

At first, she thought it was Julie. The hair was the same, and her eyes were a similar mixture of blue and green; yet it wasn't Julie, Jennifer realized after a moment, just someone who closely resembled her. Holding a rose to her cheek, the woman in the photograph was younger than Julie by a few years, her smile almost childlike.

It was as she reached for the frame that she noticed the locket around the woman's neck. The same locket that Julie had shown her in the kitchen.

The same. . . .

Her foot hit something; whatever it was felt heavy, though it shifted slightly. Looking down, she saw the corner of a briefcase poking out from beneath the bed.

She slid it out and set it on the bed.

Inside were dozens of pictures of the woman in the frame, and she started sorting through them.

Pete came in behind her. "What is it?" he asked.

Jennifer shook her head.

"More photographs," she said.

"Of Julie?"

"No," Jennifer said, turning toward him. "I don't know for sure, but I think it's probably Jessica."

Within forty minutes, Richard Franklin's home was crowded with Swansboro police officers and Onslow County sheriffs. The forensics team from Jacksonville was inside collecting fingerprints and looking for evidence of Andrea's presence.Jennifer and Pete were standing outside the home with their captain, Russell Morrison-a gruff bulldozer of a man with thinning gray hair and eyes set too close together. He had them repeat their story twice, then listened as Jennifer filled him in on what she'd already learned.

When she finished, Morrison just kept shaking his head. He'd been born and raised in Swansboro and regarded himself as its protector; the night before, he'd been one of the first to arrive at the scene where Andrea had been found, even though he'd been sound asleep when he'd received the call at home.

"This is the same guy that Mike Harris assaulted in the bar? The one she claimed was stalking her?"

"Yes," Jennifer said.

"But you don't have any concrete evidence linking him to this crime?"

"Not yet."

"Have you talked to Andrea's neighbors to see if they've seen him around?"

"No. We came here right after the salon."

Russell Morrison considered what he'd been told.

"Just because he ran doesn't mean he's the one who assaulted Andrea. Neither does anything you've learned about him."

"But-"

Morrison held up his hands to cut her off. "I'm not saying I think he's innocent. Hell, he tried to kill an officer, and that doesn't happen on my watch." He glanced at Pete. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Pissed off, but I'm okay."

"Good. You're the lead on this investigation, but I'm going to put everyone on it."

Pete nodded as they were interrupted by a shout from Fred Burris, one of the officers who'd been in the house. He was approaching them rapidly.

"Captain?" he called out.

Morrison turned toward him. "Yeah?"

"I think we've got something," he announced.

"What is it?"

"Blood," he said simply.

Henry's beach house was on Topsail Island, a slit of land half a mile offshore, about forty minutes from Swansboro. Covered by rolling dunes speckled with sawgrass and white sand, the island was popular with families during the summer, though few people lived there year-round. During spring, visitors seemed to have the island all to themselves.Like all homes there, the main floor of the house had been built above the garage and storage areas due to storm surges. Steps led from the back porch to the beach, and the windows along the back of the house offered an unobstructed view of the waves as they rolled in.

Julie stood at the window, staring at their ceaseless motion.

Even here, it was impossible for her to relax. Or feel safe.

She and Mike had stopped at the grocery store along the way, buying enough food to last them a week; then they swung by Wal-Mart to grab enough basic clothing to get them through the next few days. Neither of them had any idea how long they would be here, and she didn't want to go out in public unless she had to.

The drapes were drawn on every window but this one; Mike had parked Emma's car in the garage so it couldn't be seen from the road. As they were driving, he had taken Henry's advice and exited the highway three times, circling through neighborhood streets, constantly checking the rearview mirror. No one had followed them; they were sure of that. Still, Julie couldn't shake the feeling that Richard would somehow find her.