Forgotten (19 page)

“I set the phone to vibrate before we went to see Doug in the shop, and I forgot to turn the ringer back on.” She scrolled through several missed calls, then checked her voice mail. When she finished, she was scowling, prompting Jim to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Howard Heller, the state trooper who met me in Lancaster, called to let me know that they’d identified the boy whose body we found on Amos King’s farm. His name is Josh Winston. He was nine years old a week ago Sunday.” She drew her knees up to her chest.

“It really gets to you, doesn’t it?”

She nodded. “I’d be inhuman if it didn’t.”

“I thought all you law enforcement types developed a kind of shield against taking it to heart.”

“There is no shield. You cover up what you have to so that you can do your job, because if you think about it too much, you can’t take it. I never met a cop or an agent who could look at the body of a dead child and not have it tear his or her guts out. Regardless of what you say, or what kind of an act you put on, it rips you up inside.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her to lean solidly against his body. The smell of honeysuckle from a nearby hedge floated on a breeze and occasionally mixed with traces of the saltiness of the bay. She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the scents and the softness of the air, attempting to exorcise the image of Josh Winston lying in the makeshift grave, dirt filling his open eyes.

Jim’s phone rang and he drew it from his pocket to answer it. Portia took deep breaths and concentrated on the sound of his voice and his soft laughter as he ended the call.

“That was Dani,” Jim told Portia. “I should have called her to let her know I wasn’t going to make it to my nephew’s ball game, but I completely forgot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Finn’s okay with it. I promised him I’d make tomorrow’s game. I’m assuming we’ll be able to get off the island tomorrow, right?”

“Assuming there’s no hurricane or the ferry doesn’t sink on its way over, I think that’s a promise you’ll be able to keep.”

“Good. I told him I’d pick him up at his summer camp. I’d hate to disappoint him.”

“You’re very close to him, aren’t you? And to your sister?”

“It’s just the two of us now. Well, the two of us and Finn.”

“Since your parents passed away?”

“And my brother.”

“You had a brother?”

He nodded.

“Older? Younger?”

“Older.”

“How did he die?”

For a moment, she was uncertain that he’d answer, and was beginning to regret that she’d asked.

“Pete died in prison. He was beaten to death.”

“Oh, my God, Jim…” Portia all but choked on her own words. It was the last thing she’d have expected.

“My brother was brought to trial on a rape and first-degree murder charge. He was convicted and sentenced to sixty years. He was killed the first month he was inside.” He spoke in a flat tone, as if by rote. “Eight months later, there was another rape in the same neighborhood. This woman also died as a result of the assault. When the cops arrested the guy who’d done it and searched his apartment, they found articles of clothing belonging to the woman my brother had allegedly murdered. The guy confessed to raping and killing both women.”

“Jim, I don’t know what to say…”

He shrugged. “What’s to say?”

“How was he convicted in the first place? What evidence did they have?”

“The only thing they had was a witness—a friend of the victim’s—who was in the bar where Pete was drinking that night. She said that Pete came on to the victim, and that she blew him off. She claimed that Pete left the bar right behind them, that she saw him get into a little blue sedan. Pete drove a blue Honda.”

“What did Pete say?”

“He said yeah, it was true. He’d tried to pick the girl up but she wasn’t interested so he dropped it. He said he didn’t notice when the two women left that night, so it could have been around the same time that he headed home.” He stared out toward the bay. “He was very open with the cops. They used what he told them to build a case against him.”

“She told him to get lost and it pissed him off. He waited until she left, then followed her home.” Portia knew how the scenario would have been spun.

“That’s pretty much it. There was no DNA to match up, no physical evidence to implicate him, but this witness was real convincing. She just
knew
that Pete had raped and killed her best friend.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s what influenced your decision to become a criminal defense attorney.” His commitment suddenly made sense to her.

“If we’d been able to afford a better lawyer than we had, he might have been able to prove reasonable doubt. But the guy we had…looking back, I think the witness even had
him
convinced that Pete was guilty. I went to law school with the thought that I couldn’t make it right for him, but maybe I could make a difference for someone else.”

“How old were you when this happened?”

“Seventeen. Peter had just turned twenty-one the week before he was arrested. It was his first night out alone in a bar. He usually went out with his buddies but no one was around that night, so he took off on his own.” His thumb idly traced small circles on the top of her arm. That slight touch raised her awareness of just how close they were. “I was in the courtroom for every minute of that trial. There were times when it was all I could do to keep from yelling at Pete’s attorney, the judge, the DA, the jury, the witness. I wanted them all to know Pete the way I did. I wanted his lawyer to put me on the witness stand so I could tell the jury. He said it wouldn’t do any good.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t understand how anyone could fail to see what a gentle guy he was.”

“It must have been really hard on your parents.”

“My mom was already gone. But I do think that’s what killed my father. He never got over what happened—the trial, his son going to prison as a convicted murderer, then Pete’s own murder. It was hard for my dad to stay in town after my brother went to prison, but he never considered moving away. He said he knew his boy was innocent no matter what had happened in that courtroom.”

“He must have felt vindicated after the real killer confessed.”

“All the friends who’d turned away from my dad tried to approach him, but it was too late. He just couldn’t take it, couldn’t deal with all the what-ifs. What if my brother hadn’t gone into that bar that night? What if the witness hadn’t been so adamant, so convincing? What if that gangbanger in prison hadn’t killed Pete? My dad had a heart attack and died two weeks after the real killer was arrested.”

His protectiveness toward Danielle made perfect sense. She’d been in a relationship with a violent man, and Jim had to stand up for her, because there was no one else she could rely on. And maybe there was a bit of guilt on his part as well: he hadn’t been able to save his brother, but he would not let his sister down. A seventeen-year-old boy would hold himself accountable, would assume a responsibility that maybe wasn’t really his, and that feeling of being responsible would stay with him for a long time.

“Is your sister upset that you aren’t coming home?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded and in the last light of the setting sun, she saw the first trace of a smile touch his lips. “She’s convinced that you’re out to seduce me. Actually, Dani thinks every woman I meet is out to seduce me.”

“Are they?”

“Sadly, no.” He smiled down at her. “Which doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give it your best effort.”

“And if I did?”

“I’d have to fight you off, of course. Give it
my
best effort, to counteract yours.”

She turned in his arms, her face turned up to his.

“Well, then. Perhaps we should see whose effort is, in fact, the best.”

“I’m always up for a challenge.”

He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, softly at first, then more demanding, his tongue teasing the corners of her mouth. She held his face in her hands for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him even closer. He eased her back onto the ground and lowered himself next to her. With his mouth he traced the softest part of her neck to the top of her cotton shirt and back again.

Portia felt like she was falling, slowly drifting downward, like a leaf on a summer breeze, unable to catch herself and not wanting to try. Warmth spread through her, head to toe, and she welcomed it. It had been a very long time since she had wanted a man in this way, and suddenly, she wanted Jim very much. Wanted his mouth and his hands on her skin, wanted to feel his body on her and in her. When his mouth closed on her breast over her shirt, her head fell back and she ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, urging him on. Her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to rip her shirt off with both hands. His fingers slid beneath her clothing, and the need that swept through her was unbearable. She wanted him, and wanted him now, right there. She tugged on his shirt until it came free from his khakis and ran her hand up his chest. He slid her breast free from her shirt and bra, and when his mouth captured it, she arched her back and moaned, offering him more, begging him to take more. She pulled on her skirt, forcing it up, and his hand followed, slipping under the silky fabric there and finding her core. She closed her eyes when his fingers slid inside her and let the rhythm begin.

“Just ride it out,” he whispered, his breath jagged, and she did, until the stars behind her eyes exploded.

She reached for his belt to undo it and he caught her hand. “I think now might be a good time to head on back to the cabin,” he said. “Anyone could come along right about now and see more of me than they might like to.”

“Everyone’s down at the church,” she reminded him. “Playing bunco.”

“What is bunco?” He smoothed her skirt and straightened her shirt, then stood and pulled her up. “Is it a card game?”

“I think it has something to do with throwing dice. Someone in the office plays every week with a bunch of friends.”

She started to tuck her shirt back into the waistband of her skirt, then decided against it. Her body felt soft and spent, but she knew it would take very little for the edge to return. She took his hand, and together they walked up the slope in the darkness and found their way back to the cabin. Jim un locked the door and started to turn on the light.

“Don’t,” she said as she drew back the curtains. “We have moonlight. I’ve never made love in the moonlight before.”

“Well, then, moonlight it is.”

She backed up to the bed, leading him with one hand. With the other, she unbuttoned first her shirt, then her skirt. Soon her clothes were in a heap on the floor along with his. She lay back against the pillow and he followed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and without a word, drew him in side her. He groaned when she lifted her hips to meet his and he sank into her, the fullness of him taking her breath away. The sweet tension filled her and mounted, higher and higher, and she sought his mouth, wanting to feel his tongue on hers when their tension crested.

“You win,” Jim gasped after release had shaken them back to earth.

She pulled back to look into his face. “What?”

“Your best. Better than mine.”

Portia smiled in the dark. “Hell of a fight you put up, though.”

TWENTY

H
e held his head in his hands and tried to stop the sound of blood pounding in his ears. He’d spent days searching the news for even a hint that his story was out there. But there’d been nothing. He’d gone so far as to drive to Lancaster every other day to buy copies of the
Intelligencer Journal
and he’d checked the Lancaster
New Era
online about three times a day. But nothing. Not a word.

Oh, they could report on the opening of a new restaurant in downtown Lancaster, and the softball playoffs between two rival summer leagues. The morning paper carried the story of a buggy accident on Route 30 that tied up traffic for four hours one day, and on the opening of the newest outlet stores. But the murder of a young boy whose body was found in the grave of a serial killer’s victim from ten years ago…
you’d think they’d find a little room for that one, wouldn’t you?

He fumed as he paced from one room to the other and back again.

Back in the day, they’d covered every move Woods had made. Every damned move. Every victim, every suspected kidnapping. Every fucking thing he’d done. You couldn’t turn on the TV or pick up a magazine or newspaper back then with out reading about Sheldon Woods’s latest victim.

So why were they ignoring his?

Intellectually he knew the authorities could be suppressing the story for a reason, like maybe trying to figure out how to release it without causing a panic. Maybe they didn’t want rumors of a crazed child-killer loose in Lancaster at the height of the tourist season.
Yeah. Yeah. That had to be it.

He contemplated the possibilities presented by the thousands of visitors who came into the area every summer to go to the outlet malls. And then there were all those kitschy attractions. The amusement parks. The Strasburg Railroad. The Amish Village.
What the hell?
He snorted. He’d never known the Amish to live in a village.

The more tourists the merrier. The more to wit ness his cleverness, to fear him, to watch in horror as he had his way with them all. With the press. With the police. With that pretty FBI agent. Oh, yes, above all, he wanted her to notice. She really thought she had it all together, that one did. So dedicated to her work. So sure of herself.

How best to get her to sit up and take notice? He poured himself a glass of water and sipped it, pondering the situation. Perhaps if he knew her better, the answer would be more obvious. He’d have to work on that. Knowledge was, after all, power.

For now, he had to wonder how many dead boys would it take before she—before all of them—started paying attention to him. Two? Three?

There was only one way to find out.

TWENTY-ONE

“D
id you folks sleep well?” Ida went from table to table in the small courtyard, serving coffee to her guests and offering fruit and freshly baked muffins. “We made these this morning,” she told everyone. “My grandson picked the berries himself late yesterday afternoon.”

“And how ’bout you folks?” She smiled at Portia and Jim. “Everything satisfactory?”

“Perfect.” Portia smiled.

“Absolutely,” Jim assured her. “I can’t remember when I had a better night.”

“Good, honey. I’m glad to hear that.” She patted him on the shoulder and moved on to the next table.

“A perfect night followed by a perfect morning.” He rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

“Please, Counselor,” Portia feigned protest. “We have a ferry to catch.”

“There’s another this afternoon.”

She laughed, knowing that he had to get back to his life as surely as she had to return to hers. As if on cue, her phone rang, causing the others in the courtyard to shoot her dirty looks. She glanced at the number of the incoming call.

“Hey, Will. How’s it going?”

“Great, good. Listen, I only have a second. I’m late for a meeting.” Portia could have guessed that. Will was always the last to arrive. “I found the woman you were looking for. The one in Vegas.”

“You found Rhona Davey?” she whispered excitedly.

“It’s Rhona Naylor now. She left Mr. Davey in the dust a long time ago. Along with Mr. Fogarty. But yes, I found her. Write this down.”

“Hold on, let me find a pen.” She opened her bag and began to search. A second later, she said, “Shoot.” She wrote down the address and the phone number.

“You are the best, buddy,” she said sincerely. “You are the absolute, positive best.”

“Truer words were never spoken. Let me know if you need anything else. Gotta go.”

“I take it that was your soon-to-be brother-in law,” Jim said after she ended the call. “And that he found Rhona.”

“Rhona is two husbands past Mr. Davey,” she told him. “No grass growing under her feet.”

“She must be some woman.”

“I’m going to call John and make arrangements to fly to Vegas today before she runs off to one of those wedding chapels and changes her name yet again.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to tag along. I’m sure it will be…interesting.”

“Yes. I’m thinking it will be.”

“Well, if you’re finished, let’s head to the dock to wait for the ferry. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re eager to get on with it.”

“I am, yes.” She touched her napkin to the corners of her mouth and pushed her chair back. “I’ll make my call to John on my way to the dock. And I guess I should try Annie again, find out what she thinks about this latest twist.”

“You mean the second killer.”

She nodded. “My gut is telling me he isn’t finished.”

“You think he’ll kill again?”

“I think he’s just getting started.”

T
he ride back to Miranda’s house was quiet, the mood quite different from the drive to the ferry. The previous tension between Portia and Jim had been broken. Their new relationship was fraught with uncertainty and a new tension all its own. Portia had never been into one-night stands, but she was hesitant to read too much into what had happened between them on Dufree Island. Better to let it take its course, she told herself as the Jag buzzed along the interstate, better to go where it leads and not try to force it. She sighed, thinking of how awkward intimacy could be between people who were just starting to really know each other.

“What?” Jim asked.

“What what?” she replied.

“What’s making you so pensive?”

“Oh, just thinking about things.”

“What things?” He reached for her hand. “Tell me what things so I can think along with you.”

Portia smiled. “Actually, I was thinking about…”

Her phone rang. She checked the number before answering. “Hey, John.”

“Sorry I missed you earlier. I just heard from Lisa Williams. Her mother is in the hospital, so they’ve had to postpone Christopher’s memorial service for a few days. She said she’d get back to me and let me know when they’ll be having it.”

“Will Mrs. Williams be able to attend?”

“We’re all hoping. It would be a damned shame, after all these years, if she wasn’t able to see her son laid to rest.” He cleared his throat. “So how’d it go with the brother?”

“All right. I can’t say that he shed any real light on Woods, but I did find out who all the fathers and stepfathers were. At least, I think I did.” She shifted in the car seat and gazed out the window. “I need to go to Las Vegas. I’d like to make the trip as soon as possible.”

“I’ll see what we can do. You may have to fly business class, and you may have to wait until tomorrow.”

“As long as I get there.”

“What’s in Vegas?”

“Sheldon Woods’s mother. Nicholson says he doesn’t know anything about Sheldon having been abused. I couldn’t get a good enough read on him to know if he was lying or not. But he seemed…” She searched for the word she wanted. “Smirky whenever he spoke about her. Whether that was because he was embarrassed by the number of times she’s been married, I don’t know. I think we know of six or seven husbands and a couple of live-ins.”

“What’s the point of this trip, Portia?”

She frowned, put off by his question. “For one thing, I want to find out if she knows who was abusing her son. I think his abuse was what started him down this path. For another, I think we need to know her if we want to know him.”

“We do know him,” John told her. “I’ve known him for years.”

“You don’t know who he confides in. Who knows his secrets. Who knows where he buried the bodies,” she reminded him. “But someone does, and that’s the person we need to find.”

“You think his mother can point you to that person?”

“No. I don’t think there’s been any contact between them for years. Her name doesn’t appear on the visitor’s log, so we know she hasn’t been to see him since he was incarcerated.” She hesitated. “I just have this feeling that somehow she’s at the bottom of it all.”

“You might want to talk to Annie after you’ve met with the mother.”

“I’d planned on doing that.”

“This most recent victim…what do we know?” he asked.

“All I know right now is that the boy’s been identified as nine-year-old Josh Winston and the state is handling the case. They’ll get back to me with their findings.”

“And the other remains there in Lancaster—were we able to determine whose they were?”

“Just as Woods said, it’s Joseph Miller. That’s been confirmed by his parents. They were able to identify him from some old leg fractures.”

“Good. That’s good.” He sighed. “Now, about the other boy—the second boy from the grave where you found Christopher Williams…”

“Nothing on him yet. But I haven’t given up. I will find out who he is. I want to send him home.”

“Well, let’s see how many more we can send home.”

“That’s my goal, John. That, and maybe nailing Woods for a murder he doesn’t have immunity for.”

“Give Eileen a call in about an hour or so. By then she should have flight arrangements made for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll call her when I get back to Miranda’s.”

She kept the phone in her hand even after the call had ended, thinking about how she’d approach Rhona and what she’d say to her, when she realized the car had stopped. She looked up and found they were parked in front of Miranda’s house.

“Oh. We’re here already,” she said.

“Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I was having fun, thank you.”

“For the past ten miles, you’ve been far, far away.”

“Vegas. Arrowhead Prison. Swell places like that.”

“I wish I could go with you to meet Woods’s mother.” He turned toward her in his seat and took her hands. “As a matter of fact, I wish I didn’t have to leave you at all.”

“But you have that tee-ball game today,” she reminded him.

“Oh, yeah.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I have just enough time to pick up Finn and get him to the field. Thanks for the reminder.”

“You would have remembered. It’s important to you.”

“So is this.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. “Call me when you get back from Vegas.”

“I will. Thanks for going with me yesterday.”

“You have to admit, I was of no use at all to you with Doug Nicholson. You could have gotten to him on your own. But I wouldn’t have missed it. Not for anything.”

“Me either.” She opened the car door and got out before she said anything else.
Best to just let it be for now.
“I’ll call you.”

She walked around the car and crossed the street, turning and waving to Jim before hurrying up the walk and unlocking the door. She waved again when he passed by and entered the house, thinking how she couldn’t wait to change her clothes, since she’d been wearing them since the previous morning.

She closed the door behind her, oblivious to the old brown coupe that pulled from its parking space across the street and faded into the line of traffic behind Jim’s Jag.