"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)Chapter Eight Steven stood at the coffeepot in the corner of the SBI conference room, his arms crossed, his fingers drumming his upper arm impatiently. The coffee dripped in slow motion, just to annoy him. If he pulled the carafe away now he'd have a mess and he still wouldn't have a full cup of coffee. Which, when he got it, would be his fourth. Helen, bless her heart, had set up the machine in their kitchen to start brewing at six in the morning. She knew his habits well, knew he'd be calling an early-morning status meeting. So the pot at home had taken care of his first three cups. Hopefully the fourth would actually wake him up. He dragged his palms down his cheeks, wincing when he touched the razor nick on his jaw. His hands had been unsteady this morning. It was a small wonder he hadn't cut his face to ribbons. He hadn't slept all night, worries about Brad in the front of his mind periodically interrupted by thoughts of Brad's teacher that lurked in the back. He wished he could say another night of worrying had miraculously solved the mystery of his son's problem but that was no more true than his hope that the morning light would dispel Jenna Marshall's soft voice that still echoed in his mind. "An IV would be faster." Steven looked over his shoulder to find Lennie Farrell leaning against the wall behind him, his tie perfectly knotted, not a wrinkle in sight. Special Agent in Charge Lennie Farrell was a Joe Friday cop if there ever was one. His cardboard walk was mimicked by the department, although never with malice. Lennie was a good man. He even laughed when they called him "Joe." As much as Lennie laughed, anyway. "And probably less painful," Steven responded, looking back at the coffeepot that hadn't speeded its drip one single iota. "'When I finally get my cup, it's going to scald on its way down." "You could wait for it to cool," Lennie said, his tone wry. "But that wouid require patience." Steven glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "I Lennie pushed away from the wall and walked over to the bulletin board Steven had set up the night before. Photos of both young girls were hung with thumbtacks, smiling yearbook photos provided by their terrified parents. Lennie bent down to look at the photo of the mutilated body of Lorraine Rush, the first victim, then straightened as he drew a deep breath. "Steven, if you are patient, I'm a stand-up comic." "Your point. This time." Steven grabbed a chair and swung it around so he could straddle it. "What are you doing here this morning? I'd planned to call you with an update at the ninth hole." Lennie sat down at the table. Heavily. "I got a call from the governor last night." Steven sighed. In a case with the potential to become such a high profile, it was only a matter of time. "We knew it was coming. Well?" "He's concerned, of course, and wanted to know what we had. I told him I'd call him after this morning's briefing." "At least we don't have help from the Feds or the press yet." Lennie lifted a brow. "Let's try to keep it that way." "I talked to Kent Thompson last night." Steven pulled a folder from his briefcase, conscious of Lennie watching his every move. Steven knew why and it pissed him off. Lennie was looking for signs of strain. Of stress. Of anything that might suggest Steven was ready to blow a gasket because this was his first abduction case since Nicky. Fe'd felt like a fish in a damn bowl for six months now?nd Lennie's watchful stare wasn't helping matters. He drew a deep breath. "You know Kent, don't you?" Lennie nodded. "New guy. Works in Diane's department." "Yeah. Seems like he knows his stuff. Anyway, he was here until midnight last night, doing some lab tests on the material we found in the hypo at the clearing. Said he needed to let the samples sit overnight before running the chromatogra-phy test. He should be here any minute." "I wish Diane were here," Lennie mused. "This is a big case for a rookie. Maybe I should call in someone from the Charlotte office until Diane gets back from her cruise." Steven shook his head. "Give the guy a chance, Lennie. Let's see what he's come up with. Coffee's done, finally. Do you want some?" "Not till Nancy comes. Don't forget I've tasted your coffee." Steven grimaced. "So have I. Caffeine addictions can be a real bitch." One corner of Lennie's mouth lifted. "So what time is this meeting scheduled to start, Steven?" Steven glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes. Everybody will be here." Within ten minutes the conference room was filled with the team Steven had assembled Thursday morning, a few hours after receiving word of Samantha Eggleston's disappearance. Kent Thompson brought up the rear, carrying an overstuffed folder and looking like he'd slept in his suit. Steven could see Lennie giving him a look that clearly won-dered if he'd made a mistake in not calling for Charlotte reinforcements sooner. "Sorry," Kent mumbled and took the last empty chair. Nancy put a cup of coffee in front of the young man who stared at it warily. "Did Steven make this?" Kent asked and Steven rolled his eyes at the chuckles that rippled through the room. "You're safe, honey," Nancy said and patted Kent's shoulder in her motherly way. "I dumped Steven's pot and made a new one." "And I called the plumber to repair the corrosion to the pipes," Harry chimed in with a grin. "Yeah, yeah," Steven muttered. "Are we ready to begin?" Steven asked loudly and the side conversations abruptly ceased. "Thanks." He looked around the table at the team he'd assembled. Seven men and women, including himself. Solid agents, all of them. Kent Thompson was their forensic scientist, Harry Grimes and Sandra Kates his fellow investigating agents, Meg Donnelly would profile the killer they sought, and Nancy Patterson would provide the database support. He'd added Liz Johnson, the assistant DA, to ensure any move they made would stand up in court. He knew they'd need every drop of talent the group offered to stop this killer before Samantha Eggleston's battered body ended up in a clearing like Lorraine's. "I want to start with results from Forensics, then review the database search of like perps." He raised his eyes across the room to Meg, the staff psychologist. "And then, Meg, I'd like you to give your take on who we're looking for." Steven turned to Kent, hoping that he had something decent to say or Lennie would have a more experienced replacement up from Charlotte before lunchtime. "Showtime, Thompson. Let's see what you've got." Kent opened his file folder, exposing a two-inch stack of papers. "I have a number of items to cover this morning. Please stop me if I talk too fast," He gave a funny little smile. "I'm a little nervous, but I'm sure I'll get over it." Everyone smiled back in encouragement, including Lennie. "Let's begin with the underwear Bud Clary found under the tree in the clearing yesterday morning," Kent said and pulled out a photograph showing two magnified hairs. "They were the same size and brand worn by Samantha and I found these two pubic hairs stuck in the cotton fibers. We can compare the DNA to hairs from her brush and epithelial cells from her toothbrush." "So we at least can put her underwear at the scene," Sandra Kates commented. She was a seasoned agent with a niche expertise in sexual deviants. Steven didn't envy her dreams. His own were bad enough. Kent nodded. "Exactly. I searched the flattened grassy area for hair from Samantha's head, but found none which I thought a bit odd." "Why?" Lennie asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "Because Samantha has very long curly hair." Kent pulled another photograph from his stack, one magnified with a microscope. "Here's a blade of grass from the clearing at fifty-ex. See the way the little thorny structures protrude all up and down the blade? It makes the grass like Velcro." "Which should have pulled at least one or two hairs if she'd been laid on the grass," Steven finished and Kent nodded again. "Exactly right, especially with how dry the grass is right now." Steven glanced over at Meg. "He shaved her head? Just like Lorraine Rush." Meg shrugged. "That would be my guess." Steven looked back at Kent. "What about the dark hair you found?" 'The hair was clipped at the edge, almost like it had been shaved with a razor or some other kind of blade. It's not Samantha's, I can tell you that. As for DNA, there was no follicle, like I told you yesterday, so I'll need to use mitochon-drial cells for the DNA print instead of cells from the nucleus. It doesn't provide the full range of gene mapping as it only holds genetic material from the mother." Steven turned to Assistant DA Liz Johnson. "Admissible?" Liz nodded. "Yes, I've used it before. Not often, but enough." "What else do you have?" Lennie asked brusquely and Steven knew he was impressed. Kent's expression hardened. "The hypo had traces of ket-amine." Steven's shoulders slumped as murmurs ran round the table. "Shit. Are you sure?" "Unfortunately, yes. I ran the GC three times, which is why I was late this morning. All the peaks match up." Steven looked to Harry. "Did Latent find anything on the hypo itself?" Harry shook his head. "Not a print. Bastard wore gloves." Nancy raised her hand. "I'm out of the loop here. What's ketamine?" "Close relative of PCP," Sandra answered grimly. "Widely used as an anesthetic, especially with vets. Veterinarians," she specified. "Available from most veterinary supply catalogs." Meg pushed away from the table and walked to the window. "Legally used, it's an effective replacement for general anesthesia, especially outside of hospital environments." "Doctors on charity missions to Africa will use it when they're operating out in the field," Kent offered. "It completely immobilizes the patient." Meg nodded. "That's right. And when used correctly it's quite safe." "But?" Nancy asked. "But it's one of the fastest-growing illicit drugs out there today," Steven said grimly. "If you take enough you enter what users call the 'k-zone.' Users have out-of-body experiences. Some even say they witness their own death." "Our perp uses ketamine to immobilize these girls," Nancy murmured. "Like a date-rape drug." "Something like that," Meg replied. "But unlike rhohypnol where the victim doesn't remember anything, ketamine users have a detached awareness of their surroundings." She turned to the group. "But the worst part is what they call the reemer-gence dreams. They can be simply horrific." Steven rubbed the back of his stiffening neck. "Wonderful. Was there anything else, Kent?" "The dog's teeth were clean. If Pal bit our perp, he didn't bite deep enough to take any flesh. His stab wounds were deep and wide. I took some digital photos before the vet sewed him up." "Good thinking. Let's compare them to the pictures from Lorraine Rush's autopsy," Steven said, "and let's hope there's something to compare. Also see if they can do any tests for ketamine on Rush's tissue samples. Harry, I want you to focus on finding out where he got the ket." Harry wrote it in his notebook. "I'll start with the vet supply houses and the local vet clinics." "Good. Sandra, see if any of your contacts on the street have heard about this." Sandra nodded. "I've already put out some feelers. I'll see what I can drag in." Steven turned to Nancy who was busily taking notes of her own. "Nancy, what have you found in your database search?" Nancy looked up and lifted her half-lensed glasses off the end of her nose. "I checked for perps charged with sexual assault crimes in a one-hundred-mile radius and popped up more names than we can run through in a month. I'll see about doing a cross-ref with ketamine and perhaps we can narrow it a bit." Steven mentally ticked off the items he planned to cover in this meeting. "I'm going to work the connection between the two girls. I know they went to the same church. I want to know how well they knew one another and how our perp knew them. Finally, Meg, can you paint a picture of what kind of person we're looking for?" "It's just a top of head sketch," Meg cautioned. "We're assuming he's killed twice. At least. The savagery with which the first girl was brutalized before and after death indicates he's angry. He probably doesn't communicate well, probably holds his anger in. We'll likely find he's killed animals leading up to this. Most certainly he's committed some lesser sexual crimes in the past, again working up to this. By not burying the Rush girl, it seems like he wanted her to be found. Media exposure will make him very satisfied." She stopped and fixed her stare out the window. "I'm wondering how the ketamine factors in. Does he dope them up before he kills them? During? Does he use it to initially immobilize these girls while he's kidnapping them or as an anesthesia to keep them from feeling anything while he's killing them?" "A considerate serial killer?" Sandra asked skeptically. "That would be one for the books." "Bundy volunteered at a suicide hotline," Harry said thoughtfully. "That's not the same thing and you know it," Sandra shot back. "These guys kill for the thrill of seeing another person in pain." "You mean our guy is Steven lifted his hand. "Boys and girls, please. What else, Meg?" Meg glanced over her shoulder, then back out the window. "Sandra could very well be right. His use of ketamine could have nothing to do with its anesthetic effect. It could be he's using it for the dream effect. That would indicate a curiosity about psychology or maybe even firsthand experience with some kind of therapy." "Or he could have a trigger-happy mouse finger," Nancy said, her eyes on her laptop screen. "In the last few minutes I've come across six articles written by chem-heads espousing the awesome trips you can take into the 'k-zone.' Some of these are incredibly well written. It's hard to believe such articulate people are stupid enough to do this drug." She looked up and slid her glasses off her nose. "Sorry, Meg. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just surprised at the amount of information I was able to get so easily seeing as how I'd never heard of this stuff before." "It's everywhere, Nancy," Meg murmured. "That's what makes it so scary." Clearing her throat she went on. "I'm also wondering about the timing of this second abduction-it bothers me." "It's too soon," Sandra supplied. "It is," Meg agreed. "We found the Rush girl's body five days ago and the autopsy showed she'd been dead less than a week. That's less than two weeks between incidents. Early in their 'career' serial killers may go months or years between incidents. I don't know. Maybe he's done this before-many times that we don't know about-and he's now at the critical escalation point." Steven sat back in his chair. "But you don't think so." "No, not really. This feels more…" She tightened one side of her face, struggling for the words. "Immature," she said finally. "Especially given the way he was shaken up by the dog yesterday morning. Leaving behind the hypo was… unprofessional at best." "An amateur," Harry said wryly and Meg smiled. "For lack of a better word, yes." She shrugged wearily. "Summing up, if I had to guess his age I have to say he was younger and I'll bet we find he's well educated. He's probably white, since serial killers tend not to cross ethnic lines. That's all I can offer until 1 have more information." Steven closed his notebook and stood up. It wasn't much. But it was the best they had at the moment. "Then let's go get some more information." Helen Barnett had been staring at the leather briefcase on her kitchen table for close to half an hour, debating whether she should unzip the front panel in the hope that Brad's chemistry teacher had stored a phone number inside so she could return the briefcase. Such a stuffed briefcase meant this teacher had brought home a lot of work that, Helen was willing to bet, a busy teacher would be needing to get to earlier than Sunday afternoon. Jenna. Helen liked the sound of the name. It was pretty without being simpering. Helen knew by now that Steven hated simpering women. Unfortunately Helen wasn't sure what kind of women Steven didn't hate. It just wasn't natural for a young man Steven's age, with half his life ahead of him, to insist on staying lonely. He was handsome, had a charming disposition when he wanted to, and rarely left his dirty socks on the floor. He didn't snore, usually put the lid down, was financially comfortable, and had three beautiful sons-who needed a mother. It wasn't natural for those three boys to grow up without a mother when it was so unnecessary. Steven could have had his pick of pretty young things who would have adored his boys. Helen ought to know. She'd handpicked the pretty young things herself. "But no," she muttered, staring hard at the briefcase, annoyed she was so tempted to snoop. Snooping was what desperate people did. Desperate was what Helen Barnett had become. She'd agreed to come and live with Steven four years ago when Melissa took such an untimely death, leaving her poor boys motherless. At the time, Helen was sure within a few years Steven would have remarried and she, Helen, would have been on her merry way, resuming the life she'd dropped without a second thought. Now, four years later, Helen desperately wanted her old life back. She wanted to play canasta whenever the mood struck, every night if she wanted. Without having to get a baby-sitter. She wanted to go on cruises with her friends with a week's notice. She wanted to go on a safari to Africa for a month. Maybe even get a gentleman friend of her own. A woman had needs, too, after all. But until Steven got a wife, none of that could happen. Nicky needed someone here all the time. He was just a baby, after all. And he'd been through so much. And Brad? God only knew what was wrong with that boy, but Helen knew sooner or later he'd come around. So Helen wanted Steven to get himself a wife. For the boys. For Steven. For her own sanity. And this Jenna was the first woman Steven had even appeared to be interested in. Maybe if Helen asked this Jenna to dinner, gave them a chance to get to know each other better… And for that she'd need Jenna's phone number. Which was likely in the briefcase. "So are you going to open it or not?" a squeaky voice said behind her. Helen gasped, her hand flying to cover her heart, which, her doctor assured her, was as strong as an ox. Slowly she turned to find Matt lounging against the microwave, an insolent grin on his face, looking just like Steven at thirteen. Brad looked like their mother, but Matt and Nicky were Steven all over again, red hair, freckles, and a smile to make girls swoon. Matt's hair had started to lighten to that strawberry blond color Helen so loved on Steven. In a few years the girls would be lining up outside Matt's door. Hopefully by then the boys would have a real mother with a stick to beat off the undeserving girls. Only the best for her boys, the middle one of whom was a real sneak. "How long have you been standing there?" Helen demanded, her eyes narrowing. Matt just grinned wider. "Long enough. Yenta." Helen bit back a grin of her own. Insolent pup, using Matt shrugged. "I was listening last night when you and Dad were talking about Brad." "Eavesdropping? Matthew Thatcher, I'm shocked," Helen said, deadpan. "It's the best way to get information around here. Besides, how could I resist when you're saying something bad about Mr. Perfect?" Helen frowned. "I can't believe you're taking pleasure in whatever's wrong with your brother," she said severely. "I thought I raised you better than that." His face fell and he looked down at his feet. "Man, you know how to take all the fun out of life." He looked up, ducking his head like the little boy he used to be, when, just yesterday? How had he grown so tall and so old… so fast? "Look, I'm not happy that Brad's in trouble, but I am happy you're not yelling at She put on her imperious face. "News flash, Matthew. I'm a versatile woman, capable of multitasking. I can yell at two boys at the "Now you tell me," he mumbled, then she watched his expression slide from sullen to sly. "What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. Matt leaned forward. "I also heard Dad call Brad's teacher by her first name last night. Very interesting. You want to know what she looks like?" Helen bit her lip. The boy was incorrigible. Utterly. It was one of the things she loved most about him. "Your dad said she was sixty." Matt cracked out a laugh. "And you believed him?" Helen stiffened her back. "Of course not." She tilted her head to one side and crossed her arms over her chest. "You have a picture?" Matt pressed the lever on the microwave, popping open the door and exposing a bound book sitting on the glass turntable. Helen glanced up to find his brown eyes dancing. "Brad's yearbook?" "I'm surprised at you, Aunt Bea. I thought you would have already thought of this yourself." "I'm old. Cut me some slack. And don't call me Aunt Bea." Helen reached for the book only to have Matt grab it first. She sighed. "What do you want?" "Lemon meringue, apple, and pumpkin." " "She's a looker. Aunt Bea." "Okay. "I am a thirteen-year-old growing boy. I won't get fat. Oh, and I want ice cream with the apple pie. Vanilla " "You're pushing me, boy. Matt handed over the yearbook. "Page forty-two." Helen flipped to the page and stopped short. "Oh, my goodness." Matt looked over her shoulder and let out a low wolf whistle. "Yeah, mama." Helen looked up and over her shoulder with a glare. "Matthew!" He grinned. "Come on, Aunt Bea. I'm thirteen. If I didn't drool a little you'd say I was sick and take me to Doc Theopo-lis for a shot." Helen considered and conceded. "Okay, you have a point. This time." She dropped her eyes back down to the photo where a tall, black-haired woman and ten lab-coated teenagers held a test tube in each hand and beamed sunny smiles. "If she's sixty, I want to know what she's been cooking up in her lab to keep her face so smooth. She's beautiful." "Great legs, too." "Matthew!" "Oh, like I'm the first guy to say that. I'll bet every one of those six guys in the science club joined for 'academic stimulation." " He punctuated the air. "Matthew!" Helen choked on the laugh she tried to stifle. "Please. That is a picture I don't need in my head. Okay, fine. She's pretty and obviously very smart." "Probably too smart for Dad." "Probably," Helen agreed. "But maybe she won't figure that out until it's too late." "So are you going to open the briefcase or not?" Helen shook her head. "It's an invasion of privacy. It would be wrong." Matt shrugged nonchalantly, putting Helen on instant guard. "What do you have, young man?" "A business card." He grinned. "With her address and phone number." "Hand it over." Matt sulked. "I was going to hold out for turkey with trimmings." "If it's good enough, I'll throw in the turkey for free." "I love you, Aunt Bea." "Shut up, Matt." He grinned. "Check the back." Helen turned it over and read Jenna's address and phone number. "She has good penmanship." "And great legs. Hey," he added at her impatient sigh, "at least I stayed at her legs." "And this is supposed to please me? Don't answer that. Where did you find this card? Or do I not want to hear the answer to that either?" "In Dad's suit pocket. I was looking for loose change to support my arcade habit." "Uh-huh. Okay, so I guess the ball's in my court now." "So you'll call her and invite her for dinner?" "Was my plan so transparent?" "Predictable, at least." Helen looked up at him, suddenly suspicious. "Why are you helping me?" Matt pulled a glossy brochure from his pocket. "I found this under the cushion on the couch. When I was looking for-" "Loose change to support your arcade habit," Helen finished and took the brochure from his hands. "Africa, the Dark Continent," she read. "I was wondering where I'd left this." "And I overheard you talking to your friend Sylvia." "Quite the little spy, aren't we?" Helen asked, not sure whether to be annoyed or repentant. "I didn't mean to," he defended himself. "You were right here in the kitchen and I got hungry. I didn't sneak or anything. Anyway, I heard you tell her you couldn't go on the safari because no one could watch the kids for that long. I started to think about all the cool places you went before you came here and…" He let the thought trail off with an awkward shrug. Repentant it would be. "You know I love you guys," she said, relieved when he nodded. "You just want to have fun. I can buy that." He gently yanked a hank of her hair. "You know you'll have to get a buzz cut when you go to Africa or the tsetse flies will make nests in your hair." "I'll have to take my chances," Helen returned dryly. "You want mashed potatoes or Stove Top with that turkey tomorrow?" Mart's eyes lit up. "Which is easier?" "Which do you think?" "Then you know which 1 want." He took the yearbook and sauntered out of the kitchen. Helen watched him go, wanting to swat his sauntering behind and marveling at his growing maturity at the same time. She'd done a good job raising these boys if she did say so herself. And Brad would come around. "Mashed potatoes, turkey, three pies, and repentance," she said aloud to no one at all. "This Jenna better be worth the trouble." Marvin Eggleston surged to his feet, pushing back from his kitchen table so hard the chair fell to the floor with a clatter that made his trembling wife jump in her chair. "So you're telling me you are no closer to finding my daughter than you were two fucking days ago!" he exploded. He leaned on the table, balancing on the knuckles of his clenched fists, his face inches from Steven's. "What the hell have you been doing, sitting with your thumbs stuck up your asses?" Steven smelled whiskey on the man's breath and said nothing. Eggleston was a grieving father. Steven would have preferred to see the man sober, though, if for no other reason than to answer the questions he needed to ask. But everyone dealt with grief and terror differendy. While Marvin Eggleston blustered, his petite wife sat quietly crying. Anna Eggleston grabbed her husband's arm, holding on for dear life. Her face was haggard, her eyes haunted. Beyond pale, her skin had a translucence, the look of being stretched too thin over her bones that came from forty-eight hours of constant fear and tears. Her voice shook when she spoke and Steven's pity grew. "Marvin, please. Serena will hear you." Steven was grateful Mrs. Eggleston's mother had taken four-year-old Serena upstairs when he arrived. No child needed to see her parents so wildly grieving. More tears welled in Anna's eyes and spilled to her cheeks, unchecked. "You're not helping. Please, sit down." She turned to Steven. "I'm sorry. It's just that we've had no sleep." She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking as a new wave of sobs took over. "We can't sleep. He has my baby," she whispered, her hand still clutching her husband's arm. Steven placed his hand over hers, feeling the chill of her skin. "It's all right, Mrs. Eggleston. I truly understand. You don't have to apologize to me." He placed his other hand on Marvin's arm, creating a circle, connecting them. "Mr. Eggle-ston, if I knew where your daughter was, believe me, she'd be with you right now. I know it doesn't help, but we're doing everything we can." Eggleston slumped, his chin dropping to his chest. "God, I can't believe this," he whispered. "I feel so damn helpless." He looked up and in his eyes Steven recognized the desperate terror he himself felt when that bastard Winters held Nicky. "Yesterday, the young one from your office…" Eggleston shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "The one that took the cast of Sammie's footprint outside her w indow." "Agent Thompson?" Eggleston nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Yes, he's the one. He said it had happened to you. That someone had stolen your child out of his bed." Steven wasn't sure whether to thank Kent or curse him to eternal perdition. "That's true." Anna looked up, her face streaked and puffy. "But you got your son back." Steven nodded. "I did, yes." She bit her lip. "Was he… all right? After you got him back?" Steven knew what she was asking. Was his baby molested? Was his baby normal? Was his family normal? The answer to every one of those questions was a resounding no. "The man that abducted my son didn't physically hurt him, if that's what you mean, Mrs. Eggleston. But no, my son is not all right. He has nightmares. He refuses to sleep in his own bed. His schoolwork suffers. He doesn't hug anyone and hasn't since that day." The Egglestons absorbed this information. Finally Marvin Eggleston drew a deep breath. "So even if we get her back, she won't be our daughter anymore, will she?" he asked gruffly. Steven carefully avoided the "if." These parents were grasping at straws, trying to hold on to hope. "She'd need counseling. You all will." Anna blinked, sending fresh tears down her stained cheeks. "You did?" Steven nodded. "I did." He squeezed Anna's hand and Marvin's arm, then let go and sat back in his chair. "I need to ask you all some more questions. Some of them may sound the same as questions I asked yesterday and the day before. Please don't become frustrated with this process, though. Sometimes you remember tidbits today that you didn't think about yesterday." "And those tidbits could help you find our Sammie," Anna said, very faintly. "They might." Marvin Eggleston pulled his chair forward and collapsed into it. "Then ask." "Please understand I am in no way blaming your daughter for what happened," Steven began. Marvin held out his hand and Anna placed hers in his, the gesture so trusting that Steven found himself wishing he had someone to lean on. "She was popular," Anna said. "She had lots of friends." "Did she date?" Anna shook her head. "She had a boyfriend, but they broke up about six weeks ago." "What happened?" Anna lifted a shoulder wearily. "They're sixteen. Nothing lasts forever when you're sixteen." "Why did they break up, Mrs. Eggleston?" Anna clearly hesitated and Marvin turned to fully face her. "What, Anna? What happened that you two didn't tell me?" Anna sighed. "He dropped her for another girl." Steven watched Marvin's fist deliberately clench and release. "You didn't approve of the boy I take it?" Steven asked and Marvin tightened his jaw. "No, I didn't. He was a fast boy." Anna laid her hand on Marvin's arm again, this time gently. "And she said 'no,' Marvin. That's why he dumped her for another girl." Marvin swallowed hard. "She cried for a week over that sorry piece of shit." Steven cleared his throat and Marvin looked up, his eyes filled with tears. The sight shook Steven soundly. "Does the sorry piece of shit have a name?" he asked carefully. "Gerald Porter," Anna said, stroking her husband's arm as Steven scratched the name on his notepad. "She didn't want you to know because she knew you' d give him a piece of your mind." "And I would have, too," Marvin muttered. "And she would have been embarrassed," Anna murmured. "She wanted to keep her dignity at school. To hold her head high and pretend Gerald hadn't hurt her so badly." "So she may have been vulnerable in that respect," Steven said thoughtfully. "What do you mean by that?" Marvin demanded. "Not that Samantha did anything wrong, Mr. Eggleston," Steven reminded him and Marvin's body relaxed a notch or two. "Just that if she'd been abandoned by the sorry Gerald, then maybe she would have been more readily accepting of someone new. Who would she have confided in?" "My wife," Marvin said. "JoLynn Murphy," Anna said at the same time. "I know you think my relationship with Samantha is that close, Marvin, but it isn't. She doesn't tell me everything." "She loves you," Marvin said, desperately. "Of course she does," Anna murmured, stroking his arm. "She loves you, too. But I was a sixteen-year-old girl once and I didn't tell my mother everything." She looked over at Steven. "I also understand that you found no evidence of forced entry into the house or her bedroom. Wherever she is, she started out, at least, of her own free will." It was true, Steven thought. No forced entry and Saman-tha's perfectly formed shoe print outside her window. What could he say? "If not her own free will, at least on her own two feet. JoLynn says she hasn't talked with Samantha in over a week. Did she have any other friends?" Anna closed her eyes, thinking. "Pamela Droggins," she said finally. "And Emily Robinson. They're all on the cheer-leading squad together." She opened her eyes. "And Wanda Pritchard. They knew each other from the drama club. I don't think I gave you Wanda's name the other day." Steven smiled at her. "No, ma'am, you didn't. Thank you for trying so hard to remember. Now, do you happen to know the name of the girl that Gerald Porter dumped her for?" Anna shook her head. "No, she wouldn't tell me that. All she would say is that the new girl 'put out.'" She curled her lip distastefully. "Sammie said she was a low-class slut." Steven looked at his notepad. He had names of one new friend and a sorry piece of shit and an unnamed low-class slut. Progress. He stood up and slid his pen in his pocket. "I want to thank you for your time," he said. "I know how difficult a time this is for your family." "Agent Thatcher, wait." Anna looked at her husband. ''Marvin, CNN called this morning when you were out with Serena. They want an interview." Steven's heart sank. The last thing he wanted was to give their perp any more media coverage than he'd already received. If Samantha was still alive, it could force him to kill her. If she was dead, the surge of publicity could incite him to do it again. "Why didn't you tell me?" Marvin demanded. "I wanted to hear what Agent Thatcher had to say first," Anna answered. "I'd say we have nothing to lose by talking to them." "Mrs. Eggleston, I don't think that's a good idea at this point." Marvin Eggleston looked at Steven with challenge in his eyes. "If you're truly doing all you can, then you won't mind the public seeing you do it." "That's not it at all. Our team psychologist believes whoever took Samantha may have done it to call attention to himself. If you talk to the media, he will have what he wants." Anna Eggleston pursed her lips and Steven knew he had underestimated her influence on the couple's decisions. For all his high-volume bluster, Marvin wasn't the decision-maker. Anna was. "I will consider your position, Agent Thatcher," was all she said. "I need to talk with the names you've given me," Steven said evenly, controlling his frustration. "Please don't go to the media. In my experience, that would be the wrong thing to do." "I understand, Agent Thatcher," she said quietly. "I understand." So did Steven, all too well. He understood she was a desperate mother willing to do anything to get her child back and that even though she'd given him her full cooperation in his investigation this desperate mother needed to feel she was doing something. Something, anything was better than the helpless waiting. He also understood he'd be seeing the Egglestons on the never-ending CNN loop before midnight. Dammit. |
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