Gingerbread Man (14 page)

Why the hell would she drive out there? What
earthly good did she think it would do? A woman like Holly
shouldn't put herself within a hundred miles of scum like Welles.
Shaking his head in frustration, he got an idea, yanked out his
cell phone, and dialed Jerry's cell number. He needed another
favor. He just hoped he wasn't pushing too far—but he didn't think
so. Jerry was his partner, and Vince would do the same for him, if
their situations were reversed. Or at least he thought he
would.

***

HOLLY'S HANDS WERE trembling, her stomach
rebelling at the thought of seeing the man who had murdered her
little sister. Of looking into his eyes. It would be horrible. A
nightmare.

She drove, and she remembered. But this time
she was determined to stay in control. The memory wouldn't suck her
in like a whirlpool and drown her in emotions. She would simply
pick through the dusty recesses of her mind, and find the facts she
needed.

The van had come around the corner so slowly
that Holly hadn't even noticed it at first. Not until she caught
sight of it from the corner of her eye, creeping along the road
beside them at a snail's pace. She pinched the bridge of her nose,
and tried to remember. Details had always eluded her. They came
now, reluctantly, with great effort. The van had been primer gray.
She almost saw it, and then the curtain of mist drew over her
memory again.

All right, she had a color if nothing else.
She forced herself to remember more.

The van had stopped, and the man got out. He
wore a knit ski cap pulled over his face, with holes for the eyes.
He was tall. He was not lean. He swung his arms like whips. One
hand clutched tight around Holly's upper arm. The other held her
little sister.

Holly had looked up right into his eyes. She
remembered it clearly, as if it were yesterday. She'd screamed. He
shouted at her to shut up, but for the life of her she couldn't
recall the sound of his voice. The eyes, though. There was
something about his eyes....

She had twisted and fallen to the ground,
forcing him to let go. He looked at her. Just looked at her. As if
to say, fine, if that's the way you want it. Then he hurled Ivy
roughly into the van, and clambered in behind her. He sped away.
Holly ran after him, screaming her sister's name.

"Ivy," she whispered. Tears were hot in her
eyes, on her cheeks. "Ivy ..."

A horn blasted. Holly blinked out of the
memory and she jerked her wheel to correct the car. She'd lost
control over the memories for just a moment. The past had nearly
pulled her in again. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin. "I'm not
a little girl any more. He can't hurt me now."

But in her mind, she kept feeling his cold
hands on her arm, and hearing her sister crying her name.

The howl of a siren made its way into her
awareness, and she glanced up into the rearview mirror, saw the
police car with its flashing lights behind her, and muttered a
string of cuss words under her breath. She slowed down, moved to
the side so he could go around. He didn't. He pulled off behind
her. Great. A ticket would just put the topper on her day.

She stopped the car, rolled her window down,
and waited. The cop took his sweet time about getting out. Didn't
they always? She fished in her wallet for her license, popped open
the glove compartment and rummaged inside it for the registration,
then sat waiting with them in her hand.

Finally, the officer, a solid-looking man,
came striding up to her car, sunglasses stereotypically mirroring
her own reflection back at her as he stopped and leaned down. "Ms.
Newman?"

Obviously he'd already run her plates. He
knew her name. "Yes, officer?" She held up her license and
registration. “I wasn't speeding. I'm sure I wasn't"

"No ma'am."

"Well, then, why did you stop me?"

He took the papers from her hand, and paused
to look them over, then handed them back to her. "I'm going to have
to ask you to wait here a moment."

Sighing, Holly leaned forward until her
forehead touched the steering wheel. He turned to walk back to his
car, and she sat up straight as an idea came to her. "Wait a
minute. Don't I know you? I mean, I've probably seen you on
business, being that I work at the Dilmun Police Department." She
waited for his reaction. Hell, her mother was always telling her to
use her connections to greater advantage. It was supposed to work.
He stood there, looking at her, not responding. "You know, Dilmun?"
she went on. "That little town about twenty miles back that
way?"

"You're a police officer, ma'am?" he asked,
monotone.

"No. No, I work at the department, but I'm
not a cop. I'm ... well, I'm the chief's right hand, to be honest.
Why don't you call him and verify—?"

"That won't be necessary, ma'am. Just wait
right there, a moment, all right?"

He turned and walked the rest of the way to
his patrol car, lights still flashing. Other traffic blew by, and
she sat there, waiting for the cop to finish writing her a ticket
for whatever she'd done. Mentioning her ties to the Dilmun police
hadn't seemed to faze him in the least. Wasn't he supposed to give
her a smile, a wink, and send her on her way?

He didn't come back, and minutes ticked by.
Five, then ten. She drummed her fingers and waited. What on earth
was taking him so long?

A red Jeep Wrangler pulled up behind the
police cruiser and came to a stop. A man got out, waved to the cop.
The cop waved back, got into his car, and then drove away.

Blinking in disbelief, she looked again.

Vince. Vince O'Mally.
He'd
been behind
this.

She opened her car door, got out and slammed
it shut again. Traffic buzzed past, sending her hair blowing in its
wake as she strode toward him. "What are you doing here,
Vince?"

"What, you thought I was going to let you go
to Auburn alone?"

"How did you know where I was going?"

He shrugged. "Did you really think I wouldn't
guess?"

"And you had that cop pull me over?"

"How else was I going to catch up?"

"Will you stop answering questions with
questions?"

"Will you stop giving me a hard time?"

She pursed her lips and glared at him. He met
her glare with one of his own. "Look, in the first place, Welles is
a lowlife bastard. You shouldn't be anywhere near him, much less
alone."

"He'll be behind bars."

"He'll screw you up anyway. I've seen his
kind do it before."

She frowned, searching his face a little more
closely. Was he going all protective on her now, like everyone else
in her life?

He shrugged, looking away. "In the second
place, you'll never get in to see him alone. There's a process to
visiting murderers in prison, you know? You just don't show up and
knock."

She bit her lip in chagrin. "I guess I
thought they might make an exception for the sister of one of his
victims," she said softly.

He reached out, clasping her upper arms.
"Listen to me. This is a bad idea. Drop this. Come back to Dilmun
with me.

She looked into his eyes. A sensation washed
over her, very briefly—that magnetic pull that had her body swaying
closer to his. It was becoming familiar to her, this draw, this
urgency to be just a little closer to him, to touch. But she caught
herself in time, stopped herself, looked away. "I'm going to try to
see him, with you or without you. I have to."

"You don't need to put yourself through
this."

"You're the one who told me I hadn't dealt
with it. That I was keeping it inside, letting it eat me alive. I'm
trying to exorcize my demons, Vince. I have to do this."

The wind was blowing dust from the roadside
into eddies and swirls around their legs. He held her gaze with
steady eyes and she felt him looking straight to her soul. Finally,
he sighed, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punched in a
number. "Chief Mallory? It's Vince O'Mally. Do me a favor and drive
one of the boys out here to pick up Holly Newman's car. You'll find
it on the side of route thirty-four, about twenty miles north of
town. Keys are in the ashtray. And do me a favor—tell Doris that
Holly's fine, and spending the day with me." He paused. "Thanks,
Chief."

He tucked the phone back into his pocket when
he was finished. "Now, there's the small matter of the gun."

She turned her face away from him quickly.
"Gun?"

"Your mother's gun, Holly. What were you
thinking? That you could smuggle it inside and blow Hubey Welles
away? It might be a great way to vent your rage, Red, but he's not
worth it. Trust me on this."

She still didn't look at him. "I wasn't
thinking anything like that. Even I'm not naive enough to think I
could get into a prison with a gun. I just wanted to have it
nearby. In case of trouble from whoever broke into your place, or
maybe whoever killed those kids."

"You ever shoot a gun in your life?"

Finally meeting his eyes, she shook her
head.

"Do you mind if I hold on to the gun for you,
then? It might be safer that way."

"Fine."

"Good. Go get it, and your purse. Drop the
car keys in the ashtray. We'll take my car to Auburn."

Holly nodded slowly. Part of her wanted to
tell him he was overstepping. To mind his own business and to stop
butting in. But most of her was relieved. She'd been terrified of
facing that monster alone. Now she wouldn't have to. Vince would be
beside her. And somehow that made it better.

VINCE WATCHED HER. She was nervous,
fidgeting, talking about anything that popped into her head.
Superficial stuff. The weather, the scenery along the roadside. The
drive took under an hour, and in that time he didn't think she'd
said anything real, or-showed him anything true about herself. Not
once. But he saw it all the same.

She was scared. More so with every passing
mile. He half expected her to change her mind. Tell him to pull
over, turn the car around, take her back to Dilmun. The fact that
she didn't spoke volumes. His initial guess had been right. The
woman was stronger than she seemed.

He phoned ahead to make the arrangements to
visit Hubey Welles. No one gave him too much trouble about it, and
that didn't surprise him. No one at the prison was overly concerned
with protecting the rights of a convicted child killer.

He had to leave all weapons outside, of
course, and a guard checked his I.D. before they even passed
through the metal detectors. Holly seemed to fade a little bit with
every step through the dull, cold facility. Like a ghost losing its
substance. She jumped at every electronic buzzer, every unexpected
sound. But she never stopped. She kept moving forward—slowly,
determinedly forward. Like Joan of Arc walking to the stake. He
found himself closing his hand around hers, in spite of
himself.

Finally, they were escorted into the visiting
area. A long line of straight-backed chairs sat one by one, facing
unbreakable windows. Every one of those chairs was empty. Small
speakers were mounted on either side for talking back and forth.
There was no privacy. Guards stood on either end of the room, their
eyes sharp and alert.

Holly closed her hand tighter around Vince's
as they stood there, waiting for Hubey Welles to appear on the
other side of the glass. Her hand was cold. Her grip firm, but
shaking. She was reliving her worst nightmare, he knew that.

With a buzz and the sound of locks clanging
open, a sturdily built man with crew cut gray hair, and a boxer's
face was led to the window on the other side. He looked at Holly
with a sneer, then shifted his gaze to Vince, but only briefly. He
focused on Holly again, ignoring Vince as if he weren't there.

"They told me I had a visitor. A cop and a
lady, they said. I take it you're not the cop."

The way he licked his lips and stared at
Holly just to intimidate her made Vince want to smash through the
glass and grab the bastard by his throat. He thought he kept the
fact concealed. When he spoke he sounded cool, he thought.
Official. "I'm Detective Vince O'Mally. This is Holly Newman. She
has some questions and I want you to answer them."

Welles shrugged. "I got nothing better to
do." Then he sat down in the chair on his side of the glass.

Vince nodded to Holly. She just looked at him
for a moment. He held her eyes, tried to send silent encouragement
to her without words. They were here now. She might as well go
through with this. After a brief hesitation, she sat down in the
chair, clearly thrown by Welles's behavior.

"So what did you bring me,
Detective?
Mm? A little treat for good behavior?"

"Just shut up and listen to what the lady has
to say," Vince snapped.

"Yeah, I'll listen. Come on in here, little
girl, and I'll give you something to remember me by."

She stiffened. Vince thought she would surge
to her feet and run from the room. Instead, her face hardened by
degrees. She raised her chin, met his eyes. "I'm a little bit old
for your tastes, Mr. Welles. By about twenty years or so."

The convict spit with laughter, his head
tipping back with it. His teeth were even and white. "That's a good
one," he said. "She's good, your girlfriend. She this quick in bed,
Detective?"

"Shut up, Welles." It was Holly who said it,
jumping in before Vince could say a word. And her voice had taken
on a harshness that surprised Vince. "I'm the one you're here to
talk to, so pay attention. Eighteen years ago you confessed to the
abduction and murder of my sister. Ivy Newman."

"So what?" His gaze kept jumping from Holly
to Vince and back again.

"So, I want to know if you really killed
her."

Now the man seemed shaken. He tried to cover
it, but Vince saw through that. The man was nervous. "Hey, I said I
did, right?"