A Cold Dark Place (11 page)

"We'll find her," she corrected. She looked down at her
latte, trying hard not to cry.

Jason spoke to fill the awkward silence. "Anything more
off Shalimar Patterson's computer? Jenna's Mac?"

"Not a goddamn thing. Both girls use something to avoid
spyware, viruses, and all the rotten stuff out there. I can't
even tell what sites she visited. She must have cleaned it just
before the chat with Batboy."

"Nick. Nick Martin."

"Right, Nick." Jason hesitated a moment. "I know I'm just
a deputy around here," he said. "But I did call the Spokane
ME about the Martin case. For an update. I know it isn't my
job, but you and the sheriff were so busy with Jenna stuff.
Are you mad?"

Emily sighed and leaned forward. She even managed a
little smile. Despite all that was going on Jason Howard was
still doing his job. That was good. She regretted how she'd chewed him out at the crime scene. It was like shooting the
Easter Bunny.

"That's good, Jason. Did they have anything for us?"

The young man pulled up a chair. He tried to temper his
excitement, but he was bursting with the news.

"Yes, they did. They told me that the victims had probably been tied up before they were shot"

With those words, Emily found herself back at the crime
scene. The bodies had been such a mess. So battered by the
debris of the tornado, she doubted that outside of the gunshot wounds there'd be little in the way of forensics. But this
was good. This was real information.

"Bound? Then murdered?" she asked. Her bloodshot eyes
widened. She looked down at her cup, already empty. She
hadn't even remembered drinking it, let alone sucking it
down as she apparently had.

"Yup. That's what she said. Paperwork's on its way. Some
sick puppy really did a number on that family. They were
held captive, like animals. Maybe he tortured them, too.
Maybe he made them really, really suffer."

Sick puppy. The term was not only at odds with the deed,
but it lessened the truth of what the killer had done. A puppy
doesn't rage. A puppy doesn't do the unthinkable. But a Batboy just might.

Emily's thoughts swung back to Jenna. It was like Jason
Howard had slammed a door in her face. He didn't mean it.
But she wondered why it hadn't dawned on him that the socalled sick puppy was Nick Martin. And that the sick puppy
might be holding her daughter.

Jenna! Where are you?

"I'm going over to the high school," she said, abruptly
rising. "I need-we need every bit of information we can
get about Nick." She drummed her fingertips on a manila
folder on her desk.

Inside was a copy of Judge Crawford's subpoena for all of
Nick's school files.

As she walked from her car to the school's administration
office, Emily Kenyon was acutely aware of the looks of concern coming at her from in every direction. Kids she didn't
know, but who probably knew Jenna and why her mother the
cop was there, were fixated on her. They stared, mouths slack
jawed. Only one had the courage to come forward, a boy of
about sixteen. He had tiny white shells strung on jute around
his neck. A chain dangled from his belt loop to his pocket.
He'd been fighting acne and the smell of the ointment he
used was heavy.

"Sorry 'bout Jenna. She's a good girl," he said.

Emily nodded. She could have said something, but she
just had no words. Her silence seemed to make the boy step
back. He looked suddenly insecure and awkward.

"Everyone liked her," the boy added, looking down at the
ground.

"Likes her," Emily finally said, correcting his tense. "I'll
find her. She'll be home. She is a good girl."

"Yup. Just wanted you to know."

Emily swung from mom to detective mode. "Who are
you?"

"Kev Bonnets," he answered, this time, looking her in the
eye.

"Do you know my daughter?"

He shifted his weight and looked down. "Not really. But
she's talked to me a few times. Nice. Always nice to everyone"

"Do you know Nick Martin?"

"Hell, I mean heck no. The guy's a freak"

Emily stared hard at the boy. His blotchy face. His gangly arms. He was only a notch above Nick Martin on the lowest
rung of the high school's social ladder. Yet in his own somewhat earnest manner, he was trying to help.

"It's been awhile since I was here, but all of us have had
our turn being a freak," she said. "That's just the way high
school is, or was"

"Guess so," he said.

She fake smiled before turning away and walking into the
office.

"I'm back with the court order for Nick Martin's student
file," Emily told the secretary. She could see the top of Sal
Randazzo's beaconlike pate as he looked up from his desk.
He got up and started toward her. His mouth was a straight
line. His dark eyes sparked.

"Let me see that," he said.

Emily slid the subpoena across the counter. A couple of
girls tabulating the day's absences pretended to be busy at
work. When one looked over and caught Emily's gaze, she
smiled.

Making Randazzo squirm was fun.

"Is Jenna going to be okay, Mrs. Kenyon?" said a pretty
blonde with a mouthful of metal.

Emily recognized her from the intramural basketball
team that Jenna had been on a few years ago. She was a nice
girl. God, the whole school was filled with nice boys and girls.
Why this? Why did her daughter find the only bad apple in
the barrel?

"I'm sure we'll get it all sorted out," Emily said. She
shifted her attention back to the principal, who by then was
done reading the paperwork.

"I'll get you the files myself," he said. With an irritated look
on his face, Randazzo vanished around the corner to the file
room. He returned with a green folder. A very thin green folder.

"Is that it?" Emily asked.

He shrugged, and she opened it. There were no more than
ten sheets inside. One was a permission slip from Peg Martin for her son's participation in a field trip to a dairy outside
of the county. A few pages indicated some visits to the nurse.
Finally, the basics of his life-his gender was male, he was
born in Seattle, his parents' names and occupations.

Nothing more. Nothing at all.

What did I expect? Emily asked herself. He was a kid. He
didn't have a life yet.

"This is it?" she repeated.

`.. Fraid so," Randazzo said, impatiently. "We don't carry
a lot of paper on our kids. I'm surprised that the permission
slip for the trip to Clover Dale Farms is in there. That should
have been purged long ago"

Emily looked up from the minidossier on a troubled high
school kid. She held her tongue. The pretty blonde looked
over. A beat of silence. It wasn't Randazzo's fault that he was
complete nincompoop. He probably was born that way.

"Judge says I can take these" She turned for the door. In
doing so she caught the eyes of the girls working at the attendance office one last time and smiled in their direction. It
was an invitation for them to come speak to her if they
wanted, but they just went back to their work.

Emily felt the buzz in her purse, and then came the muffled, but familiar ring. She had begun to hate the Elvis Costello
ringtone Jenna had downloaded as a surprise. What had once
seemed so silly that it made them laugh until their sides
ached now seemed derisive and a sad reminder.

"Hey Emily, can you come back to the office?" It was
Kiplinger. His normally gregarious nature was masked by
concern. "Marina Wilbur is here to see you"

Emily searched her memory, but nothing came up. She
didn't know anyone by that name. Before she said so, Kip
offered up more information.

"She's Peg Martin's sister. From back east. She's here to
make arrangements"

"I'll be right there" Emily flipped her phone shut and sat
in her car. The seat belt warning pinged, but she paid it no
mind. She turned the ignition and looked in the rearview
mirror, catching her own reflection for the first time. Her eyes
were underscored with dark circles. This is what a mother
looks like who has lost her daughter. The face is mine.

Emily engaged the seat belt, which stopped the pinging.
She wanted to cry.

Kiplinger was as grim-faced as Emily had ever seen him
and they'd been through some pretty bad cases, though nothing of the magnitude of the Martin murders. He met her in
the parking lot in front of the Public Safety building in
downtown Cherrystone. His anxious countenance disturbed
Emily to such a degree, she didn't turn off the ignition. The
Accord idled. She pushed the button and the window slid
down.

"I wanted to catch you before you came inside. Didn't
want to have this conversation on the phone," he said. "Can I
get in?"

Emily indicated all right with a quick dip of her head.

"What is it, Kip?" She called him by his nickname, rather
than the more formal "Sheriff" that she used around the office. This felt exceedingly personal. "Have you heard something about Jenna?"

He shut the door and struggled to adjust the front seat to
accommodate his six-foot, 200-plus-pound frame.

"No. Let's drive away from here"

Without speaking, she put the car in gear and it rolled
from the lot to the main street.

"Let's go to the park and talk. And no, I haven't heard
anything about Jenna. But that's what I want to talk about"

"You're scaring me," she said, her eyes switching from
the road to Kip, then back again.

"Don't be scared. We're just going to talk and we just can't
do it at the office. Too many people listening all around"

A spot under a willow that hung over the street like an
archway. She parked and they walked over to a picnic table.
A couple of preschoolers played nearby on a jungle gym,
their mothers fixated on their every flip and twirl. A poodle
was tethered to the slide. It barked sharply. It was a sunny
morning and for a moment it seemed like any other day.

But that was all about to change. Kip lit up a smoke and
faced Emily, his big brown eyes full of concern.

"Look," he said, "I know this is awkward. But I need to
know how you and Jenna were getting along."

Emily knew where he was going and she didn't like it
one bit.

"How can you even say that to me? You know we got
along. Are you trying to suggest that she ran away?"

Kip narrowed his gaze. "That's right. There really isn't
anything to suggest that she left against her will. You know
that. She wasn't abducted"

"We don't know that. We don't know anything for sure.
And where is this coming from?" Emily stood up. She
wanted to leave. It felt so insulting that her boss, her friend,
a man that she trusted more than just about any other would
sit there and utter such a cruel lie.

"I talked to David. He said that Jenna wanted to come
live with him. You'd argued about it. Isn't that right?"

The poodle got off his leash and started running through
the park. One of the mothers was frantically chasing him,
while calling over her shoulder for her daughter to stay put.

The distraction was only momentary, and Emily's anger
was a volcano.

"Goddamn that David! What an idiot! He thinks his backbiting comments against me are helpful in his daughter's disappearance? What kind of a man would put his hate toward
his ex-wife over the love of his own little girl?"

"David called us. He talked to Jenna late last night. She
called him. She's fine. She's-"

It was a molten iron spike to her heart. "What? He talked
to her? Why didn't he call me? Where is she? What did she
say to him?"

Kip motioned for her to be seated. "Take a breath. One
question at a time, all right?"

Emily planted herself on the rough-hewn wooden bench,
her heart pounding and sweat dampening her underarms.
She was mad and relieved at the same time. Jenna was alive.
She wasn't Polly Klaas. Jenna Kenyon was alive!

"Please," Emily said, "tell me everything my daughter
said."

Kip exhaled a stream of smoke. "David told us she called
last night about midnight. Said she was calling from a pay
phone-the caller ID indicated she used a calling card-I
knew you would ask. She was a little shaken. She said she'd
be home soon. She was helping a friend in trouble."

"What friend?"

"She didn't say. David pressed her for more details and
she was pretty adamant that none would be coming. She did
say one thing for you, though. `Tell mom, I'm doing the right
thing."'

Emily flashed to the sheet metal sign that hung in her
daughter's bedroom. It was the same sign that she'd displayed
when that room was hers. It was made to look like a NO
PARKING sign and read:

DO THE
RIGHT THING
-EVEN IF
IT HURTS.

"What else did she say?"

Kip shook his head. "Nothing. That's all. David said she
was on the phone no more than a minute, if that long."

Distrust won over relief. "I don't believe him. That bastard's got her. My daughter is not a runaway." She didn't
even care that Kip was right next to her and was going to
hear intimate family business.

She flipped open her cell phone and punched the code for
David. It rang five times then the recording came on. Jenna
must be with him. If she was with anyone else, if that ridiculous story about a mysterious phone call was true, then
David would be standing by waiting for another call or even
news from Emily in case she had received a similar call. He
would pick up right away. Unless he knew where Jenna
was safely at his side.

What had happened at the Martin place on the Thursday
before the tornado? It was after hours, but there was no
going home. There was no reason to. Jenna was gone. The
phone was forwarded. And there was the matter of the Martin murders. Emily Kenyon studied the Spokane coroner's
autopsy report after it arrived bundled into one of those
cheap accordion files. She'd always had a strong stomach
and barely winced at the photographs that accompanied such
files. But in the case of Mark, Peg, and Donovan Martin,
Emily fixed her attention on the coroner's schematics not
the photos of their battered, bruised, and bloodied bodies.
The schematics, the distillation of reality, were actually more telling. They were impersonal figures, no genitalia, no
hair to suggest a woman or man's body. Just delicate black
lines in the shape of a human form on a plain white sheet of
paper. There were three of them. Mark Martin's wounds
were the most severe. His limbs were absent from the schematics. An X drawn by the coroner indicated where he'd been
shot in the upper back, probably at relatively close range.
Peg Martin was next. Her wounds were beyond comprehension but it was there in black and white. She'd been shot in
the chest. There was extensive damage to her torso-postmortem, the coroner noted. Finally there was the youngest,
victim, Donovan Martin. Like his dad, Donny had suffered a
single gunshot to the back. A big black X marked the spot
where the bullet had entered, another where it had exited his
frame.