Have You Seen Her? (42 page)

“Mrs. Templeton,” he called and the worry-worn mother hurried in. “I need your help.”

Warily, Mrs. Templeton regarded him. “What?”

“I want to reevaluate how your daughter would have struggled against her attacker. You’re her same size. Would you reenact this with me?”

Mrs. Templeton’s jaw squared. “Where should I stand?” Neil smiled at her. “Right here, next to me.” Gently he turned her around so her back was to him and put his hand over her mouth. “Now fight me. Fight hard.” He winced when her elbow caught him unprepared and she abruptly stilled. “No, ma’am, fight harder.” So she twisted in his arms, clawing at the front of his jacket until one of his buttons came off and flew across the room. He let her go and she turned around, her cheeks red and her breath coming in hard pants.

“Well?”

Neil opened his mouth, then closed it again as a furry shadow crept to the corner where his button had fallen. He put his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet and together they watched the Templeton family cat pick the button up between his teeth.

Quietly they followed until the cat crawled under a chair in their unused spare bedroom. Neil picked up the chair, and the cat hissed, then ran. Leaving behind a pile of shiny buttons.

Mrs. Templeton’s eyes were huge. “Do you think ...?” “I’m praying, ma’am,” Neil said and meant it. “Very, very hard.”

Friday, October 14, 3:30
P.M.

“You have company,” Seth said and Jenna groaned. Casey was gone and Jenna wanted to sleep.

“Go away, Dad. I don’t want any company.”

“You’ll want this guy,” Seth said and opened the door to her room, letting Jim bound in, tail wagging, tongue lolling, looking healthy and happy. Good as new. “Wendy said Jean-Luc had to stay for another few days until his sutures were healed more, but that Jim could come home.”

Jenna took one look at Seth’s happy face and Jim’s wagging tail and burst into tears.

Friday, October 14, 3:30
P.M.

“Steven,” Kent said and Steven lifted his eyes from his paperwork to Kent’s excited face.

“What is it?” he demanded, rising to his feet. “What do you have?”

“New information,” Kent said, the young man’s tension almost palpable. Certainly catching. Kent laid two sheets holding DNA prints side by side on top of the clutter of Steven’s desk. One was a bit faded and bore a bright yellow sticker declaring it confidential property of the State of Washington. The other was new.

“Liz’s favor came in,” Steven said and Kent nodded. “This is William Parker’s DNA from the sealed record in Seattle,” Kent said, his voice crackling. “This is the DNA from the hair we found in the Clary clearing.”

Steven leaned forward and squinted. “And?”

“They’re not the same,” Kent said triumphantly.

Steven looked at him in confusion. “So? We already knew Rudy was in class that day. So he’s either not William Parker or wasn’t at the clearing or both.”

“He could still be Parker,” Kent said. “The Clary clearing DNA is not the same as Parker’s, but it’s dead close. Close enough so that the two came from blood relatives. And not a father/son because the sample from the Clary clearing came from mitochondrial DNA which only carries the maternal genetic print. William Parker wasn’t in the Clary clearing, but a blood relative with the same mother was.”

“That leaves the brother,” Steven hissed. “The brother everyone said was too slow to notice.”

Liz hurried in just then. “I came as soon as I got your call, Kent. What’s happened?”

“It was the younger Lutz boy.” Steven grimaced, slamming his fist against his desk. “The one everybody said was too slow to be involved. Dammit, Jenna even defended him. Poor boy, knocked around by his thug father.”

“And he well might have been,” Liz said, still breathless from running. She quickly looked at the DNA prints, Kent’s neatly typed conclusion, and nodded her understanding. “But we won’t let that stop us. You’ll be wanting a search warrant on the Lutz place?”

“With a big red bow,” Steven said from behind gritted teeth.

“I’m on it,” Liz said. “Great work, Kent. Steven, call Neil. He’ll want to know about this.”

Friday, October 14, 3:45
P.M.

Neil spread the buttons out on the sheet of aluminum foil Mrs. Templeton had stretched across her kitchen table. One by one he separated each button from the pile with his gloved finger. then breathed a prayer of thanks both for Mr. Whiskers’ consistent habit of button pilfering and for the sudden return of his memory. He picked up a pewter button and held it up to the light, watching the way the shadows bounced off every turn of the design.

“You recognize it?” Mrs. Templeton asked hopefully and he jerked his attention back to her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped the button back into the pile. “Do you have a Ziploc bag—new and unused?” he asked, then wrapped the buttons in the aluminum foil and dropped the foil in the bag. “Close the bedroom door and don’t go near the area under the chair,” he instructed. “Forensics will vacuum to make sure the cat didn’t take anything else from your daughter’s bedroom.”

Neil rushed to his car, his precious Ziploc bag of evidence clutched in one hand. And prayed like he never had before.

T
HIRTY
-
TWO

Friday, October 14, 4:30
P.M.

C
HARLIE STUCK HER HEAD IN
J
ENNA
’
S ROOM
. “Aunt

Jenna—”

Jenna sat up in bed snarling. “I know. I have company. Send him home, whoever it is.”

“I don’t know, Aunt Jenna, I think you’ll want to see him.” Jenna dragged herself out of bed, muttering all the way. And stopped short at the sight of Brad Thatcher standing uneasily in Allison’s living room. He took a look at her face and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Marshall.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she lied and sat on the sofa. “Sit, Brad. What’s on your mind?”

He sat, blinking at her brusque tone. He licked his lips, opened his mouth. Closed it.

Jenna sighed. “Brad, do you have something to say or not?”

“It’s about my dad,” Brad said and stared down at his feet. “He was wrong last night, but you need to understand why.”

Jenna frowned. “How do you know what happened last night?”

“Everybody knows, Dr. Marshall.” He ventured a tiny grin. “None of the guys want to come near you anymore. They’re all afraid they’ll be singin’ soprano.”

Jenna huffed a single chuckle. “So what brings you way out here, Brad?”

Brad reached into his pocket and pulled out a ratty folded sheet, curled at the edges. “This.”

She opened it and went still as the written words on the page jumped out at her....
tired of chicken nuggets, soccer games, and diaper changes. The boys are yours and you’re welcome to them
. . . She carefully put the note on the lamp table, her hands trembling. “You knew?”

Brad’s brown eyes widened. “
You
knew?”

“Your father told me today. How did you know?”

Brad looked away. “I found the note.”

Jenna’s heart clenched at the thought of a boy reading those terrible, hateful words from his own mother. “When?” But she knew before he answered.

“Last month.”

“Oh, Brad.” She’d wanted to know how a boy could change overnight. Now she knew.

“So, if you knew about my mother, why didn’t you come home?”

Jenna sighed again. “Oh, Brad. It’s not that simple.”

He glanced at her sharply before standing up to stare out the window, his hands in his pockets. And even though physically Brad resembled his mother, in that moment he looked so much like Steven that she wanted to start crying all over again. “Do you love him, Dr. Marshall?”

She wouldn’t, couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

“Then it’s simple.”

“No, Brad, it’s not. He doesn’t trust me.”

Brad made a frustrated noise. “Do you know how many people know about that note? Four. And I’m not even supposed to know. Father Mike knows because Dad told him early on. Then for four years he told no one. Until you.” He turned from the window with a frown. “He trusted you with something he didn’t even trust with his own family. That’s how much he trusts you.”

Brad’s words echoed in her mind.
That’s how much he trusts you.
But she shook her head, remembering last night. The pain of the boys’ fists had been nothing compared to the knowledge that Steven had abandoned her. Because of something she hadn’t even done. “It’s not enough.”

Brad’s eyes flashed. “Last night he told Helen he wanted to marry you. She told him you’d come back. She’s already planning her trip to the Serengeti.” He stared at her with such authority, she wanted to back away. From a seventeen-year-old. “And what about Nicky?” he demanded.

She closed her eyes. And said nothing. What could she say?

“He already thinks of you as his mother,” Brad said harshly. “Last night he was awake. Crying. Worrying about you.”

Jenna felt the tears come, and damned each one. Her eyes felt like they’d been pounded with a meat tenderizer. “Your father was right. It was wrong for me to let Nicky get too attached to me so fast. He was afraid if it didn’t work out...” She let the thought trail away.

“So that’s it?” Brad demanded. “You walk away without a word? At least
she
had the balls to leave a
note
.” He pointed to the ragged page on the table. “I thought more of you, Dr. Marshall.”

Jenna looked away. Brad was right. She was wrong about Nicky. But she was right about Steven, not to trust him. But how wrong she’d been to love him.

She drew an unsteady breath and handed him the note. “Then I guess we were both wrong.”

Friday, October 14, 4:30
P.M.

Neil’s cell phone started ringing as he rounded the corner, headed for Steven’s office. Nancy pointed him to the conference room. “Davies,” he said into the phone and skidded to a stop in the conference room where Thatcher held a phone in his hand. Thatcher rolled his eyes and hung up.

“It was me,” he said. “Good timing.”

Neil shook his head. “Uh-uh. Great timing. Look what I found.”

Thatcher looked at the bag in his hand and raised a sarcastic brow. “Aluminum foil?”

His mood was too good to let Thatcher spoil it. “No, better.” He slid on a pair of gloves and pulled the foil from the bag. “Buttons.”

Thatcher looked positively grim. “Buttons.”

“Yes. One in particular.” He pulled out the pewter button and held it up. “Recognize it?”

Thatcher’s eyes flashed. “The tattoo. Where did you find that?”

“The Templetons’ cat had a stash of buttons under a chair in a spare room. The pattern on this button is the emblem of a prep school outside Seattle.”

Thatcher pulled on his own gloves and held out his hand. An intensity buzzed around the man. Carefully Neil dropped the button into Thatcher’s palm.

“I take it William Parker attended this prep school,” Thatcher said evenly, staring at the button as if inspecting a diamond.

“He did.”

“And did his brother go there too?” Thatcher asked. Dangerously, Neil thought.

“Yes, he did, but—”

“Don’t tell me he was slow,” Thatcher snapped. “It’s the brother, Neil,” he said, his voice biting. “Under our noses the whole fucking time.”

Neil felt his pulse stutter. “No. He was never even a suspect.”

“He is now,” Thatcher said acidly, and pointed to the table, where two DNA prints lay edge to edge. One from Seattle, one from the Clary clearing. And next to them Kent Thompson’s neatly typed conclusion. Not the same. Blood relatives.

Not the same. Not Parker. Not
William
Parker. Blood relatives.
Josh
Parker.

Neil looked down and his heart ...just... sank. “Oh, my God,” he heard himself whisper.

“And Nancy says the rosters show Josh as
absent
the day of the Clary clearing. We were after the wrong brother the whole time,” Thatcher said, barely controlled fury in his voice. “Dammit!”

Neil couldn’t take his eyes off the prints. He’d been chasing the wrong man. All this time.

“Steven.”

Neil didn’t look up at the voice at the door. Couldn’t. He was frozen.

“Lucas,” Steven said. “What a coincidence.”

Lucas Bondioli, the high school guidance counselor. Neil made his body move, his brain function. Bondioli stood in the doorway, his face pale, holding a blue folder in his shaking hands.

“Steven, I found something today you need to see. Casey’s substitute was going through all the themes Casey’s class had written on
Crime and Punishment
. This one was written by Josh Lutz.” He held out the folder, which shook like a leaf on a tree in a high wind. “Casey gave him an
A
.”

Thatcher reached for the folder, his face still grim. “Pretty damn good for a kid with an eighty-five IQ, huh?” He skimmed the first few pages, then tossed the theme on the table in disgust. “Under our damn noses all along,” he muttered. He marched to the bulletin board where all the girls’ pictures were mounted side to side, Kelly Templeton’s the newest. “Interesting point of view young Josh has of the killer in the book,” Thatcher added, his voice tight. “That the killer was right. That those with superhuman intelligence are above the laws that bind normal men.”

A picture flashed in Neil’s mind from the night before. Josh Parker, standing over Jenna, then turning. Neil closed his eyes and his stomach seemed to implode. “He was missing a button last night,” he said hoarsely.

“Who?” Steven asked, not turning from the board.

“Josh. He was with Jenna. He was there before I was, chasing off those boys before I got to her. I held my weapon on him, made him turn around. And he was missing a button.”

Thatcher had gone pale. “Josh was there last night? With Jenna?”

Neil made himself nod. “He slipped away before the police came. Jenna said to let him go, that he’d helped her and she didn’t want him scared by the police.”

“Why was he there?” Thatcher asked, his voice now raspy, choking.

“He said he didn’t want them to hurt her.”

“But why was he
there
? At that particular moment?” Thatcher demanded, his voice shaking. Then he stilled. “Oh, dear God,” he murmured. “Neil, look at these girls.”

Neil moved on legs shakier than Thatcher’s voice. Then he looked at their happy smiling faces. At their long dark hair. And with the exception of Alev Rahrooh, their big dark blue eyes.

“No,” Neil whispered as their likeness sank in. He’d dreamed of Jenna and thought he’d escaped the dreams that haunted him. But he’d still been dreaming about the dead girls. He hadn’t found peace. Dammit. He’d overlooked the vital link right in front of his eyes, awake and asleep. “
No.
”

Steven barely heard Neil’s denial. His own heart was pounding so hard it filled his brain.

“They all look like Jenna,” Steven whispered, remembering thinking that little Serena Eggleston could have been Jenna’s daughter. Panic filled his throat. “Where’s Kent?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just started running for Kent’s office in the lab, barely conscious of Davies and Bondioli behind him. He found Kent hunched over his microscope, taking neat notes.

“Kent, where’s the DNA print from the samples from Jenna’s apartment?”

Kent looked up and blinked behind his thick lenses. “It isn’t finished yet.” He slid off his stool uncertainly. “I can call and see when it’ll be back.”

“Do that,” Steven gritted, then grabbed one phone as Kent grabbed another. Kent called the lab and Steven called Liz to find out where the hell was his warrant. His next call would be to Jenna at the Llewellyn house to tell her not to move. Not to leave that house under any circumstances.

Friday, October 14, 5:00
P.M.

“Get in the car, Jen, we’re going for a ride,” Seth said.

Jenna turned from the window where she’d stood since Brad had driven away. She’d been thinking about Steven and Brad and Nicky. And Helen and the Serengeti, whatever the hell that had to do with anything. And Steven. And Nicky. And Steven. “Dad, please.”

Seth shook his head. “Don’t ‘Dad, please’ me. I said get in the car, we’re going for a ride.” He put her jacket around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shove out the door. “Go.”