The Only Witness (28 page)

Art soothes the mind, a psychologist once told him. Painting was a way to find serenity after a stressful day. The infinite array of colors entranced him. He had dozens of tubes of beautiful paints he had never opened, and every time he cracked a catalog, he wanted more.

Did Neema and Gumu long for colors they had no way to ask for? What would Grace think if she knew that he painted as a hobby, just like her gorillas? Their artwork was already earning a minor fortune on E-bay. Hell, if a gorilla could do it, maybe he ought to give it a try. Might be a new career after he got fired from his current job. Then again, it would be humiliating as hell if nobody bid on his paintings.

He couldn't believe his only witness on the Morgan case was a gorilla. His brain kept circling back to the details. Ivy was still missing. Brittany Morgan was in jail.
Knock it off, Finn
, he told himself
.
Forget work for a few hours. Enjoy your hobby.

Kee's tail brushed across the manila envelope he sat on. Swish swish, swish swish. The divorce papers. Something else to forget for awhile.

After adding dashes of crimson and cerulean, the sailboats began to appear three-dimensional. Finn held the paintbrush in the air, comparing the painting with the photo. The water was still too flat; if there was enough wind for racing, there'd be more movement to the water. He dipped his brush in a puddle of cerulean and touched the tip to the paper.

Kee attacked, paws out to snag the paintbrush. Finn flung the cat away, caught the water container with his elbow and slopped a spray of water across the desk. Kee landed on the off-white carpet, hissing, and then dashed through the doorway to the living room, leaving a trail of blue and crimson paw prints. Cargo bolted to his feet, barking. Water trickled down the desk drawers to soak into Finn's pant legs.

"Damn it!" Finn padded to the kitchen for a roll of paper towels. The painting could be salvaged, but he wasn't so sure about the carpet. He mopped up the water and emptied the container, dabbed at the paw prints with a folded paper towel.

So much for serenity. His whole life seemed like a farce these days. God, he needed a drink. And someone to talk to.

There was only one person he could think of. He shouldn't contact her. Then again, nobody knew about the connection between them. Heck, she wasn't on anybody's radar as far as he knew. She seemed lonely. And she was the only other human who understood the crazy situation he was in. He picked up the phone and called Grace McKenna.

She was at his house by five, bearing a sack full of steaks, freshly made tabouli, bread, and red wine.

The unusually hot streak of weather had finally broken, and it was bearable to be out under the October evening sun. Actually, it was quite nice in the backyard. He'd have to find a way to spend more time out here.

After a quick perusal of the instruction manual, he fired up the grill like a pro. He found a long-handled fork in his mangle of kitchenware and slapped the steaks on the grill, sprinkling a little garlic salt and Worcestershire sauce on them. God only knew how long the sauce had been in the fridge, but he didn't think it could go bad.

"Sit."

He pivoted to see why Grace was giving him that order. She stood on the deck, holding a piece of dog food, her hand down at her side. Cargo stood in front of her on the lawn, his gaze fixed on her hand. A long string of drool stretched from his massive jaws to the grass.

Finn waited for the inevitable attack. Amazingly, Cargo lowered his hindquarters to the ground and transferred his attention to Grace's face, staring at her intently with shiny eyes.
Aarrnnhh
, he whined.

"Good boy." Grace gave him the piece of kibble. "What a goof." She rubbed the dog's head.

It was the exact same kibble that he poured into the beast's bowl every day. What made Cargo obey her for it? Probably the same thing that made Finn break out the grill when he usually nuked his own dinner.

"What a nice dog." Grace made a fast two-handed slash motion, touched her hip and snapped her fingers softly. Cargo tilted his head, watching. Grace turned pink. "Oh lordy, I'm impossible! You can't take me anywhere." She clasped her hands together to keep them still.

He laughed and picked up the bottle of Merlot. "More wine?"

She picked up her glass from the deck and held it out for a refill. Sinking into a deck chair, Grace sighed contentedly as she put her feet up. "A night out. You have no idea what this means to me, Matt."

Her comment sparked a little trill of electricity in his gut. Excitement, or fear? He flipped the steaks and studied her out of the corner of his eye. Obviously, she was pleased; did that mean she was attracted to him? She looked different tonight, scrubbed clean, her hair pinned back at the crown of her head, dressed in a green blouse and white slacks.

She caught him inspecting her and raised a hand to cover the scar on her upper lip. Embarrassed, he turned back to the grill. He hoped she wasn't one of those needy middle-aged women seeking a husband. He wasn't ready to go down that road again, not by a long shot. He shouldn't even be having dinner with her.

"Grace," he said.

"Yes?" She smiled at him.

"This isn't a date."

Her smile faded and her eyes clouded. "Okay," she mumbled.

Oh jeez, now he'd hurt her feelings. "I mean, it can't be. I'm a detective, and we're both involved in an open case."

She pretended to pick a speck of lint from her shirt. "I understand."

Did she? "But if I weren't a detective and we weren't on the same case, then it would definitely be a date."

She raised her gaze to his, looking happier now. "I get it, Matt."

Cargo climbed onto the deck, flopped down by Grace's chair, and laid his massive head on his front paws. Lok appeared, slinking through the open patio door. He examined Grace for two seconds before leaping into her lap.

"Well, hey there." The cat's back rose under her hand and he turned, purring, and butted her arm with his head. She laughed. "What a sweet cat. I had no idea you were such an animal lover, Matt."

He barely stifled a snort. "I like to remain a man of mystery," he said, taking a sip of his wine. "You know what? That cat fetches. Like a dog. Well, like some dogs." He stared pointedly at Cargo.

"I love how animals are such individuals, don't you?" she said. "Each one has a unique personality." She kept one hand on the cat as she sipped her wine.

He turned back to the steaks. Now that he thought about it, the two cats
were
very different from each other—Lok always ready to play and Kee usually ready to complain or to bite him. Speaking of the devil, Kee appeared and now sat beside the lawn chair, switching his tail and glaring at his brother in Grace's lap. One front paw was still blue and there was a red spot on his tail. His mouth opened and an irritated yowl emerged.

"Watch out—that's the bitchy one," Finn said.

"He's probably just frustrated that we're so hard to train." Grace leaned sideways to stroke Kee. "At least
your
animals don't actually tell you you're an idiot." She gazed longingly into the back yard and inhaled deeply. "I love your roses. I can smell them from here."

He followed her gaze to a cascade of yellow roses creeping over the trellis. More pink and lilac roses bloomed on bushes near the back of the yard. All he remembered was blackberries out there. Clearly, Dolores and Scott had done more than simple housecleaning and mowing. How often had they been here?

When the steaks were done, they moved to the patio table to eat. They made a point not to talk about signing gorillas and missing babies, but instead talked about where they'd come from, and how different it was from Evansburg. Finn was surprised to find that for once, he was the expert on the area.

It grew dark while they polished off the wine. In the distance, a lone coyote howled. At 9:30 p.m., Grace checked her watch and stood up. "Jane go back to jungle," she said, signing. He laughed with her.

He walked her to the door, wondering what should happen next. They were—what were they now? Friends, he guessed. Should he hug her? Shake hands? While he was debating, she turned, put her hands on his shoulders, leaned forward and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Good night, Matt. See you tomorrow?"

"Oh. Yeah." They'd made an appointment so he could do a more organized interview with Neema.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

"Just thinking about interviewing a gorilla."

"Don't expect too much. Neema has a short attention span." She left him standing on the porch rubbing his nose and feeling that too much wine kept his thoughts from coagulating properly. He stacked the dishes in the sink and turned in. As he pulled the sheet up over his shoulders, first Lok, then Kee leapt onto the bed and positioned themselves, purring, on either side of his hips. Cargo sat by the side of the bed, breathing heavily and eyeing the bedspread as if he was about to join the party.

"Forget it," Finn said. "Lay down."

Amazingly, the dog did. Finn put a hand on each cat. "Good job tonight, crew; way to impress a lady."

Then he flipped over onto his side, rolling Lok off the bed onto Cargo, who woofed and took off in hot pursuit of the startled cat. Kee hung half off the bed. He clawed his way back up and sat on his pillow, switching his tail across Finn's nose.

"Good grief," Finn groaned.

Chapter
19

Thirteen days after Ivy disappears

Brittany lay down on the bunk that wasn't really a bunk, but just a steel shelf that stuck out from the wall. A thin mattress with a plastic covering was all that separated her from the cold metal. She was alternately hot and cold. She pulled the scratchy blanket over herself and rolled onto her back. Her jaws were killing her and she felt nauseous and dizzy; she really needed the tranqs to come down after the X. Especially at night. How could anybody stay asleep with the lights on?

On television, jail looked gross and sometimes dangerous, but they never showed how boring it was. She'd been in this cell for a night and a day. She could see the clock at the end of the hallway if she stood in the corner and looked through the bars. Now it was her second night, and it seemed more like she'd been here for a week. A female guard brought her magazines; she'd already paged through them twice.

But she deserved boredom; she deserved punishment. Every time the jailers brought her a meal, they asked if they could call her parents. "Are you sure you don't know the number?"

Each time, she shook her head. She was sort of surprised her parents hadn't shown up. Maybe they'd called Joy, and Joy had lied for her, told them they were having a good time and Britt's phone was dead. Or Joy had answered Britt's phone and lied for her then.

In any case, she was glad they hadn't found her yet. She wasn't ready to talk to them. What could she say? They'd be so disappointed. They'd never leave her alone again. They'd never trust her again. And why should they? She couldn't do anything right. She was a terrible daughter and a terrible mother. A complete fail, the Sluts would say. A failure, Mr. Tanz would correct.

Her head began to buzz; she rubbed her temples to make the noise go away. She hadn't even known for sure if that baby was Ivy. What kind of mother wouldn't instantly recognize her own baby? She didn't deserve Ivy. That was probably why God took her away.

There was a stain on the ceiling, like a toilet or sink above had leaked. It was a dark rustred, oblong stain, with a darker spot in the middle. It looked like a mouth. She squinted to bring it into focus. It seemed to be moving.

Did you cause your daughter to be kidnapped?

She put her hands over her ears. A ceiling stain couldn't be talking to her. No, it was just her stupid brain replaying the FBI agent's questions.

Did you cause your daughter to be kidnapped?

If she hadn't left Ivy alone she couldn't have been kidnapped. God knew the truth.

Did you leave your daughter in the car when you went to the grocery store?

God was everywhere. God could do anything, assume any form—that's what Joy always told her. And God could forgive anything.

"God?" She stood up on the bunk to get closer to the ceiling mouth. "Please," she whispered. "I'll do anything. I'll be anything you want. Just tell me what to do. Just bring Ivy back."

Did you leave your daughter in the car when you went to the grocery store?

God wanted a confession? "Yes!" she said to the mouth-shaped stain. "Yes, it's all my fault!"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" A man's voice growled from down the hall. "It's three in the fuckin' morning!"

Brittany stared out through the bars into the dim light. Why didn't they ever turn the lights off? The baby was crying again, just down there, just around the corner where she couldn't see. "Ivy?" she whispered.

"Yes, it's all my fault!" the nasty voice mocked in falsetto. "You're right about that, bitch. Now shut up."

"Zip it, motherfucker," another man's voice said. "Leave the girl alone."