"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)Chapter Twelve "Jenna," Casey called from the doorway of the faculty lounge, "wait up." Jenna stopped, her head still pounding from sheer fury at listening to Blackman's lecture a second time, practically commanding her to give "young Rudy" a passing grade. Casey caught up, huffing and puffing. "'Where's the fire, Marshall? Slow down. You've got twenty minutes till the first bell. Besides, doesn't that hurt your ankle, walking that fast?" "Yes, but the throbbing in my ankle takes my mind off the throbbing in my head," Jenna answered curtly. "Keep up, Thumbelina," she added, her voice as sour as her disposition. "I'm in a really pissy mood this morning." "No shit," Casey muttered, then was blessedly silent until they stopped in front of Jenna's closed classroom door. Casey leaned against a locker and looked up, her eyes worried and her forehead covered in a sheen of perspiration. "Look, Jen, I don't mind a morning run, but you could at least have let me change into my cleats." She stood on one foot and rubbed her ankle. "What's gotten into you this morning?" "Nothing." Jenna dug in her purse, looking for the keys to her classroom. "I just didn't get much sleep last night and Blackman hit me with a guilt trip this morning about Rudy Lutz's grade." "That's what I wanted to discuss," Casey said with an emphatic nod. Jenna pulled the bag of dog biscuits from her purse and handed them to Casey. "What, Rudy Lutz's grade? I didn't know you had the pleasure of his highness's presence in your class this year. Anyway, I don't want to talk about that in the middle of the hallway. Where Casey pursed her lips. "Not Rudy. I wanted to talk about why you couldn't sleep last night." "I don't want to talk about that, either. Especially not here. Go away, Casey." She shoved her hand in her purse again and muttered a curse when something sharp poked her finger. She brought out a metal nail file and put it in Casey's outstretched palm. "Don't "Really, Jen. I've been thinking about Adam and… you know." Jenna glanced up, totally annoyed. "What part of Casey lowered her voice to a whisper. "Listen, Jen, you shouldn't even try to remember how things were between you and Adam. I don't even think you have rational memories of how he was before, so I'll remember for you. You were perfectly satisfied. You told me so." Jenna went still. "I did?" Casey's curls bobbed in a hard nod. "You did. I swear it." She grinned. "It was the night we were trying to discover the best recipe for Long Island Iced Tea. You gave all kinds of juicy details." Jenna dropped her eyes to her purse, suddenly feeling worse even though she hadn't believed it possible. She remembered the night of the Long Island Iced Tea marathon. She remembered the juicy details and that she truly had been satisfied. That was the problem. What she'd felt just holding Steven Thatcher's hand had nothing to do with satisfaction. It was greed. Pure, unadulterated craving. Throw-common-sense-to-the-wind desire. It was as different from any previous experience as… As Haagen-Dazs Rocky Road to store-brand vanilla. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Adam deserved a hell of a lot more than being store-brand vanilla. She felt like a dirty traitor even letting the comparison form in her mind. Her hand closed on her keys and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Here they are," she said thickly. "Casey, don't you have someplace to be?" "Of course. I probably have thirty-two panting tenth graders looking for the dirty parts in the Jenna's body had gone still with dread. When she put her key to the lock, the door creaked open. It was already unlocked. With her fingertips she gave it a tiny push. "Holy shit," Casey swore on a shocked hiss. "Jenna!" Jenna was speechless. Her beautiful classroom was a shambles. Vandalized. A disaster area. She found her voice. "Call Blackman. Let's see what he says about his golden boy now." The red-eye from Seattle had been uneventful. Neil landed in Newark at six in the morning where he'd reset his watch to Eastern time, grabbed a three-dollar bagel and a two-dollar cup of coffee. Then he'd changed planes and landed in Raleigh two hours later and five bucks poorer. "Would you like a smoking or nonsmoking room, sir?" the man behind the motel counter asked politely and Neil wanted to scream "Smoking!" but didn't. "Nonsmoking," he made himself say. He'd quit ten years ago, but there didn't pass a day that didn't have him fighting the craving. Especially stressful days, which was pretty much every day of his life. He signed the ledger and took the key. The room was nondescript and mostly clean. He dropped his overnight bag on the bed, then pulled out an envelope. He drew out four photos and laid them on the dresser, edge to edge. Four young girls. He didn't need to look at the neatly typed labels on the back of each photograph to remember their names. Laura Resnick. Trudy Valentine. Emily Barry. Gina Capetti. All sixteen years old. All cheerleaders. All brunettes. All dead. He studied each photo, seeing the girls as they'd been before meeting William Parker. Beautiful, vibrant smiles. Eyes shining with anticipation over their bright futures. He didn't need to look at the "after" photos. He still saw their faces every time he closed his eyes. But he looked anyway, their eyes wide-open, blank, staring upward. Their heads shaved bald. The photos blurred before his eyes, the smug smile and cold eyes of William Parker materializing in his mind, uninvited. The fatigue was catching up with him. He'd lie down for a little while, get over the jet lag. Then he'd find William Parker. It was time to honor his promise. "Jenna, what is this word?" Jenna tossed the putty knife to the lab table where some creative individual had superglued all of her glassware to the tabletop. She walked over to where Casey stood looking up at the spray-painted Periodic Table with a quizzical expression. Jenna looked up, squinted, and tilted her head. "I don't know. But here"-Jenna pointed to the chart- "some Einstein connected the "But you'd have to give them an Casey reached up and yanked one comer of the ruined ten-foot-wide Periodic Table from the wall. "So tell me again why Blackman didn't call the cops?" "Because there's no indication of who did this," Jenna said, mimicking Blackman's nasal tone. She sighed. "At least there wasn't a threatening note this time." Casey and Lucas stopped what they were doing. " Jenna bit her lip. "I didn't mean to say that. Must be the cleaning fluid making me dizzy." Lucas dropped the broom, walked over, and grabbed her chin. "What threatening note, Jen?" Jenna winced. "The one that was on my car windshield on Friday afternoon." "Was there text included, or did they just make all those comic-strip cursing characters, like ampersands and asterisks?"' Casey asked, tongue in cheek. Jenna sighed again. "It said, 'Put him back on the team or you'll rue the day you were born.'" Lucas squeezed her chin. "What else?" She rolled her eyes. " 'You bitch,'" she added. "They misspelled 'rue.' That's it, I swear. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. Steven gave it to the police and they took it in for prints, but Officer Pullman called me this morning and told me they didn't get a single print." "Who's Officer Pullman?" Casey said. "He took the report," Jenna said. Lucas's eyebrows had shot to the top of his forehead. "Who's Steven?" Jenna closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat. "He's Brad Thatcher's father." "He's Rocky Road," Casey added slyly. "Yum. yum." Lucas frowned at Casey. "Yum, yum?" "Hey, I just call ' em like I see 'em," Casey said. "He looked pretty good to me on CNN." "Hmm," Lucas mused. "So you're on a first-name basis with a parent. Interesting." Jenna opened one eye. "Is it illegal?" She almost hoped it was, so she could have a decent excuse for canceling dinner on Tuesday night, which by turns she'd been dreading and anticipating with a furor that scared her. "No. No. Perhaps a bit sticky, but a young Jedi like yourself can navigate." He let go of her chin and patted her head. "I have every confidence in you." "Gee, thanks, Obi Wan," Jenna grumbled and went back to scraping glue from the tabletop. Lucas looked at Casey. "She almost sounds like she wants it to be against the rules." Casey looked disgusted. "She does. She-" "Casey!" Jenna looked up in alarm. "Shut up." Lucas looked hurt. "I thought I was one of the girls." Casey leaned toward him and whispered, "Hormones. Approach with caution." Lucas shot her a sympathetic glance. "What's wrong, honey?" "Nothing. Lucas, it's really nothing." Casey pulled the rest of the Periodic Table from the wall and scampered backward to keep from being covered when it fell. "It's not nothing. She's convinced she's being untrue to Adam's memory because she drools over Steven Thatcher." Jenna scowled. "Last time I ever tell you anything." "Hmm. Seems to me the situations are very different," Lucas said. "Adam and this Steven." Jenna narrowed her eyes. "If you want to be one of the girls, you might as well jump in. Don't tell me it's different because Adam was sick. We had a very healthy sex life. I never drooled." Lucas shrugged. "You women always blame men for your lack of orgasm." Jenna choked while Casey laughed so hard she turned red. Lucas, however, remained totally serious. "Seems to me, you're the one who's changed, Jen. I remember when Marianne turned thirty. "You're impossible, Lucas." "That's what Marianne Casey held her stomach, still chortling. "Stop, Lucas, you're hurting me." "I think Jenna's increased sex drive is all her fault. The real tragedy is that Adam died before she fully matured." He backed up, then turned, startled. "Kelly. How long have you been there?" Kelly Templeton's eyes were wide. "From yes, yes, yes. You said we could talk extra-credit on my test during lunch, Dr. Marshall." Jenna covered her eyes, mortified. "Kelly, just go, and don't mention a word of this. Please." "Eight points partial credit on my test?" Kelly asked, her tone smug. Jenna frowned and peeked through her fingers. "I don't give unearned grades." Kelly pursed her lips, then smiled. " Jenna sucked in a breath. "That's extortion." Lucas chuckled. "Sounds like free commerce to me." Jenna glared at Lucas, then considered Kelly. "Tell you what. I'll give you the "Make it twelve points and you have a deal," said Kelly with confidence. Jenna stuck out her hand. "Deal. Now go away. And never say Kelly laughed as she turned for the door. "I never thought I'd be looking Casey sucked in both cheeks. "Whoa, that girl has a future." Jenna shook her head. "As what I don't want to know." "But the important thing is, will you partake of Rocky Road?" Casey wanted to know. Jenna considered it. Maybe Adam had been Rocky Road all the time, but her taste buds were just too dull to appreciate him. Maybe she wasn't such a louse after all, just a slow bloomer. Casey plunked her fists on her hips. "Well?" Jenna sighed. "Maybe a taste. Just to see how it goes." Casey patted her arm. "Good girl." Then she winked at Lucas. "I've never known Jenna to stop at one bite of Rocky Road." Lucas chuckled and picked up his broom. "Some things are not made for moderation." The Pineville Public Library looked like something out of colonial times. Neil just hoped they had Internet access. He needed to track down the Parker family. One Parker in particular. He found the fifty-something librarian sitting at her desk, her hands neatly folded. Her nameplate said Miss Wells. "What can I do for you today?" she asked pleasantly. "I'm visiting and I need Internet access. Can I use one of your computers for a few hours?" "Of course you may," she said and he realized she'd corrected his grammar, probably through reflex. She stood and gestured him to follow, leading him to a large table with eight desktop computers. "Take your pick. They do have software that blocks access to certain sites." Neil felt his lips twitch. "I'm not looking for porn, ma'am." Miss Wells's face heated to the color of cherries. "I never… I mean…" she stuttered. "Well, please just take one. I'll sign you in. What is your name, please?" "Neil Davies. D-a-v-i-e-s. It sounds like She gave a professional little nod. "Very well, Mr. Davies. Can I get you anything else?" "How about local newspapers from the last two weeks?" He watched her pleasant expression change. Harden. Her mouth thinned to a straight line. "Of course. I'm sure you'll find all the little tidbits you're so hungry for." She looked away. "Parasites." "Excuse me?" Neil asked. "Reporters," Miss Wells spat. She looked back, her eyes flashing. "We can't turn around anymore without running into one. Turning a tragedy into copy. Go right ahead," she added bitterly. "You won't be the only one." "I'm not-" Neil started to say, then stopped. Perhaps being a reporter would be a decent cover. "I'm not going to write a story on the missing girls," he said earnestly and watched her eyes go from angry to merely suspicious. "I'm doing a piece on local families," he added, inspired. Miss Wells nodded uncertainly. It didn't really matter if she believed him or not. The papers were public record, but he did prefer to be on good terms with the librarian. "Very well," she finally said. "They're in the back room. I'll be right back." Twenty minutes later, Miss Wells brought him a stack of the "Understood," Neil said, his fingers itching to begin. "Thank you." Three hours later he was deep into the microfiche and still hadn't found the face he sought. Another man might have given up by now. Another man who didn't see the faces of four innocent girls crying for justice every time he closed his eyes. He blinked hard and gritted his teeth. William Parker was in here somewhere. He knew it. He just had to find one picture. Miss Wells sat in the seat next to him. "Perhaps if you told me what you're looking for," she murmured in her librarian voice. "I'd be happy to help you." "Very well. But you might want to take a break. You're starting to develop a twitch." A She stood up with him and pointed to the far wall. "The high school has put together a collection of pictures of local events. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for there." He wouldn't, he knew. But his back ached and his eyeballs felt like they'd been carved out with a melon-baller. He definitely needed a break. Miss Wells resumed her post at the front desk and Neil walked to the far wall she'd indicated. The high school stu-dents had done a good job, capturing a number of different aspects of local life including agriculture-a dried tobacco leaf; commerce-an aerial view of the Research Triangle; society-the first high school dance of the season; and of course sports. He bent forward and stared at the photos gathered in collage fashion. And froze. There, amid photos of farmers, white-collar professionals, babies and senior citizens, students, parents and teachers, was the one picture he was looking for. The only face that mattered. William Parker. Smiling. It was the smile Neil had last seen from the window of a black Mercedes sedan on a cold drizzling day in Seattle. It was the smile he'd seen every day from across the courtroom where Parker sat at the defendant's table, tie knotted impeccably, hair neatly combed, eyes defiant. It was the smug, self-satisfied smile that had made Neil want to rip his face in two. That still made Neil want to rip his face in two. Gathering his wits, Neil walked back to the computer and brought up a search engine, typed in a few words and got the result he was looking for the first time out. It was amazing how simple a search was when you knew who you were looking for. Then he cleaned up his area, thanked Miss Wells for her help, and left the Pineville Public Library, his gut churning in the absolute certainty that he had found William Parker and in the absolute belief beyond a shadow of a doubt that Parker was actively murdering once again. The problem was, he had not a single shred of proof. Steven pulled his Volvo into the very last parking place. Well, technically it wasn't a parking place, he thought, taking a fleeting backward glance as he jogged toward the soccer fields. It was a grassy area next to the Porta-John next to a sign that said NO PARKING. Technically he was in violation of the law. He was fifteen minutes late for his son's soccer game. The first one in which Matt started. First string. Technically he'd royally screwed up. "Don't miss it, Dad, okay?" Matt had asked quietly this morning over breakfast. "Not for the world," he'd answered. Matt looked unconvinced, making Steven promise himself he wouldn't be late. Well, damn. He was late. But he was here. He stopped at the sidelines where a group of parents stood cheering. "What's the score?" he asked one of the parents. "Thatcher!" The man gave him a broad grin and a slap on the back. "Haven't seen you around in ages. Our boys are up one to nothing." The man drew up like a peacock. "Mine did." Steven breathed a sigh of relief. "But yours assisted," he added and Steven felt his heart sink. He'd missed Mart's first assist. One game was all Matt had asked and he'd already missed the most important play. Steven could see compassion flicker across the other dad's face. "I got it on video," he said kindly. "I can rewind it to show you at halftime." "Thanks," Steven said, feeling his stomach pitch, knowing Matt must have looked for him, knowing his middle son must have been disappointed that his father hadn't been there to cheer. He'd been late tonight for a very good reason. Kent had called with the results of the ketamine analysis of Lorraine Rush's body. Positive. So now they knew what they'd suspected. The same person was responsible for the abduction of both girls. They had a serial killer on their hands. And he'd missed his middle son's big play. L ife sucked. Steven easily found Matt among the running boys, his bright red head standing out like a torch. He waited until Matt looked his way and gave a tentative wave, afraid of the look of scorn Matt would probably give back. But his son surprised him. Matt's face broke into a huge grin and he waved back and pointed to the goal. "I assisted," he shouted. Steven felt his face break into a relieved grin. "I know," he shouted back. And then the ref blew the whistle resuming play and Matt turned back into the fray. Without taking his eyes from the dancing torch in knee pads, Steven reached in his pocket and turned off his phone. It was the first time the phone had been turned off since he'd bought the damn thing. He'd watched a full ten minutes of play before he heard the voice behind him. "Excuse me." Steven looked over his shoulder to find a tall dark man in a denim jacket standing behind him. The man needed a shave and a new pair of shoelaces on his beat-up Nikes. "I'm kind of occupied here," Steven said kindly. "Trying to watch the game, you know." "It won't take long," the stranger said. "I want to talk to you about Lorraine Rush and Samantha Eggleston." Steven huffed out a frustrated sigh. "No comment." "But-" Steven turned, keeping one eye on the field. "Look, you can call SBI headquarters and get a statement from the PR guys, but it won't be any different than what I've been telling you press guys all along. "Yes!" Steven screamed at the top of his lungs, jumping a foot in the air and easily drowning out video-dad. And when Matt looked over this time, Steven gave his grinning son the thumbs-up. "Look, buddy," he said to the stranger behind him, "I have to get back to the game." But when he glanced back over his shoulder, the stranger was gone. His eyes narrowing, Steven spied a teal Dodge Neon exiting the fields, now a hundred yards away. His hackles raised, Steven gave his attention back to the team who was high-fiving his son. He pushed the feeling of trepidation to the side and moved closer to the field boundary line. "Great goal, Matt!" he shouted. Matt looked over, his face flushed with exertion and excitement. And his smile said it all. "It's not like you've got a serial killer running around or anything," Neil muttered under his breath as he drove away, unimpressed with his first impression of Special Agent Steven Thatcher. The leader of the investigation. The guy who didn't have anything better to do than watch a group of kids play soccer. Wonderful. These girls didn't have a fucking chance. It would have to be up to him. Grinding his teeth, Neil drove to the address he'd etched in his brain. He pulled his rental car two houses down and… spied. It was a nice house, he thought. Almost as nice as the house they'd owned in Seattle. He wondered if they still had the grand piano and the vases worth a year's salary. He wondered if they still had all the paintings and antiques. He wondered if they were able to sleep at night. Knowing what they'd done. He hoped not, because he sure as hell couldn't. He wondered if he'd see William Parker coming and going. He wondered what he'd say, what he'd do when he saw the man whose smug smile had haunted him for three years. He knew what he wouldn't do. He wouldn't do anything stupid. And he sure as hell wouldn't do anything to allow some fucking defense attorney to have any evidence he gathered thrown out of court on a technicality. This time he'd do it by the book. This time he'd do it right. |
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