Only Ever You (16 page)

“People don’t just vanish; this doesn’t make any sense,” Elaine Lassiter said for the third time, repeating it to anyone who would listen. She paced from the dining room to the living room and back, while Jill tried to ignore her, until her father-in-law finally took his wife by the hand and led her to an available armchair.

David came back into the living room looking slightly more animated. “That was Andrew,” he said, coming to stand next to Jill at the window. “He’s on his way.”

“Why did you call him?”

“I texted him earlier about the adoption attorney; the number I have for him is out of service. He said he’d track him down. Andrew’s the one who suggested Antkowiak, remember?”

Ever since adopting Sophia, Jill had dreaded the day that she’d be confronted by her child’s blood mother. She and David had decided on a closed adoption hoping if not to avoid then at least to delay a meeting with birth parents. In the era of social media, it seemed impossible to hide from anyone. Just the month before, Jill had read an article about birth parents connecting with their biological children through Facebook. She’d always assumed the day would come, but sometime in the future, not now. And she’d always assumed that the primary emotion when that day arrived would be anxiety, not hope.

“I want the birth mother to have taken her, isn’t that strange?” she said to David. “What if she’s the one who was driving the car they stopped.”

“I don’t care who it is—I just want them to find Sophia.” David’s cell phone pinged. He frowned as he read the text.

“Is that Andrew?” Jill tried to look at his phone, but David turned it off and slipped it back in his pocket before she could see. “Was that him?”

“No, just someone else from work.”

She was about to ask why they were calling since he’d contacted the office hours ago to say he wouldn’t be coming in, but another cell phone’s distinct ringing distracted her. She heard the detective growl “Ottilo,” and she started toward him, but Detective Finley stepped in front of her, holding a legal pad and a pen. “I’d like you to make a list of everybody who’s been in this house in the last month and anybody who’s been in contact with Sophia in the same time frame.”

Jill wanted to know what was being said on that phone call, but she took the pad of paper. At least it was something tangible to do. She took a seat as the female detective handed paper and pen to David, repeating the same instructions. Apparently they were going to compare lists.

Elaine Lassiter came to stand near David, reading his list over his shoulder. “Has anyone checked the cleaning people?” she said to the room at large. “The company says they do background checks, but those aren’t reliable. Just look at that case out West—”

“Why don’t you make some coffee, Mom,” David said. Elaine looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to feel annoyed at being interrupted or flattered that they needed her help. Watching her, Jill was reminded of Sophia’s shifting moods, and she felt a terrible ache, a yearning for her daughter so strong that she felt nauseous. She forced her concentration back to the names she’d scribbled down, trying to believe that this list would do any good. She wrote Tania’s name, then hesitated. Should she add Leo? Tania’s boyfriend hadn’t met Sophia as far as Jill knew, but there had been an afternoon weeks ago when she’d had to ask Tania to watch Sophia when Jill had an unexpected scheduling conflict. She’d dropped Sophia off at Tania’s apartment; who was to say that Leo hadn’t been there with her or that he’d hadn’t come over after Jill left? She thought of him having sex in the office with Tania, thought of how everything in the office seemed to have been rifled through. Had he been searching for drug money? Would he take a child if he thought he could get money for her?

She mentioned it to the female detective when she handed her the list. Finley immediately circled his name. “Do you have a last name or a phone number?”

Jill shook her head. “But Tania will know. I can call her—”

“No.” The detective held up a hand. “We’ll take care of that, Mrs. Lassiter.” She took David’s list as well and walked off with them. Jill returned to her vigil at the window. A woman wearing red slacks and a black, puffy down coat was leaning back against one of the news trucks smoking a cigarette. A man sat in the door of the cab, camera equipment between his feet. As Jill watched, the woman laughed at something he said and then glanced at her watch. Time was dragging for them, they looked bored, while for Jill time was hurtling along like a train switched to the wrong track, unable to avoid the disaster looming ahead.

“You’ve only lived in this house a few years, is that right?”

Startled, Jill turned to see Detective Finley behind her. The woman was stealthy; Jill hadn’t heard her coming. “Yes, we moved right after—” she caught herself. “I mean, before Sophia was born.”

Jill wondered how the detective knew how long they’d been in the suburbs, then caught a glimpse of her mother-in-law chatting with a police officer in the other room. Elaine Lassiter didn’t understand boundaries and thought that any news was hers to tell.

“So you don’t know many of the neighbors?”

“No. Are you sure that they checked all of their houses and yards?”

Finley nodded. “No sign of your daughter, but we’ve got officers canvassing other streets, farther out.” She looked out the window, then said casually, “Before moving out here you lived in the city?”

Jill nodded. She didn’t want to make idle chitchat. “How often will they repeat the Amber Alert?”

“It will keep up at regular intervals until we call it off,” Finley said. “What made you leave the city?”

David answered for her. “The same thing that makes lots of people move—starting a family, lower housing costs, better schools.”

Finley turned back toward him. “Privacy?”

“That was one factor,” David said. “We were also tired of apartment living.”

“It seemed like a safe place to raise a child,” Jill added. She hadn’t directed it at him, but David looked distressed and she remembered how much he’d pushed for the move, extolling the virtues of the suburbs.

Ottilo came back into the living room and David immediately said, “Was that call about the car that was stopped?”

“It was a single eyewitness report—” he began, but Jill interrupted him.

“But they stopped a car, you said there was a child in it.” She dug her nails into her palms. It had to be Sophia in that car, please let it be Sophia.

Ottilo looked at Finley, then sighed, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry. There are always false leads in cases like this. The child in the car wasn’t your daughter.”

The breath Jill hadn’t realized she was holding came out in a whoosh like a door closing. She stood there, disappointment acid in her mouth. David staggered back to the sofa, rocking slightly, his head in his hands.

Fifteen minutes later, the young police officer at the door announced Andrew’s arrival, saying “It’s Senator Graham’s son” in an awed tone that drew a reproving look from Detective Ottilo.

Andrew had obviously come straight from the office, this was clearly an interruption in his day, but he acted like a man with all the time in the world, brushing a few drops of rain off his wool topcoat before he took it off and draped it over a chairback. His charcoal suit was immaculate, the sheen in his peacock-blue tie catching the light. “I got here as soon as I could,” he said to both Jill and David.

David stood up slowly, as if his body hurt, and went to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it. What did you find out?”

Jill couldn’t make herself move. She didn’t realize that she’d crossed her arms protectively over her chest until Andrew crossed the room to embrace her.

“How are you holding up?” he said in a low voice, his expression grave. Gratitude for his kindness overwhelmed Jill; she choked back a sudden wave of tears as hope rose inside her like a swimmer coming up from deep water. She had to clear her throat before she could ask, “Have you found—”

“The birth mother?” Elaine Lassiter talked right over her. “She’s the one who’s got Sophia, right?” Jill’s mother-in-law stood in front of Andrew barking up at him like a small dog. “I knew it was the birth mother, I knew it. It happens all the time with adoptions. The minute I heard Sophia was gone I said to Bill, ‘I’ll bet it’s the birth mother.’ Where is she?”

Andrew looked nonplussed. “She’s dead.”

chapter nineteen

DAY ONE

“It’s nothing,” Bea said to the cop, panicked, but his light moved away and instead of the car door being yanked open, the officer abruptly walked off, and Bea realized he’d been talking to the road crew, not her.

Seconds later, he waved Bea through and she drove past as quickly as she dared, terrified that the cop would follow. The car bounced and rattled up cratered Fernwood Road, so loud she feared it would wake neighbors she’d never seen. It was even noisier when she turned onto the pea-gravel driveway at 115. Bea slowed to a crawl, inching the car between the trees that seemed to squeeze it on either side. She jumped when a branch scraped the roof like a ghostly claw. It was a relief when the headlights finally shone on the house.

“Home sweet home,” Bea muttered and hit the garage opener.

The door rose with a quiet whir and she pulled the car inside. She didn’t move until the door was completely closed; then she rushed the bag into the house. It wasn’t moving anymore. She set it on the concrete floor and pulled down the zipper and the child’s head emerged, downy hair first, like a chick peeking out of its shell.

The toddler’s skin felt damp, but that was a common side effect of the drug. Bea brushed fine strands of blonde hair back from the flushed cheeks and leaned down to listen, reaching into the bag to find a wrist and take the child’s pulse. Blue eyes shot open, startling her.

“Oh!” Bea cleared her throat. “Hello.” She looked down at Avery, and the little girl looked up at her. There was silence for a long moment as they appraised each other. Then the child opened her mouth and wailed.

“Ssh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Bea kept up a soothing mantra as she slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and spread a sheet on the floor. She lifted the child from the bag onto the sheet and quickly stripped her, setting aside the nightgown and tiny panties. The child was still too dopey to do more than cry in protest, her head listing to one side, then the other, when Bea cut her hair, cropping it short all the way around, careful to catch the fine blonde strands in a plastic bag.

She clutched the stuffed dog that she’d been holding when Bea took her, floundering dopily as Bea forced her into a new pair of pajamas. At last they were on and Bea hoisted the child into her arms, groaning at the weight, as she carried her upstairs. She put her down on the old velvet sofa and covered her with a blanket. The child’s eyes fluttered open and closed. It would take time for the effects of the drug to wear off.

Bea dropped down on the couch next to her, completely exhausted. Adrenaline forced her up again fifteen minutes later, pushing her back downstairs where she slipped on another pair of latex gloves, carrying the duffel bag into the utility room and setting it on top of the washer. Unzipping the side slot, she took out the used syringe and dumped it in a small trash bag to dispose of later in some city bin. A second syringe went back into her medical kit. Benzodiazepines were effective tranquilizers. It had been easy enough to put on her nursing scrubs and slip unnoticed into area hospitals. Harder had been getting the various drugs, which were always locked up. Or supposed to be. People were careless and she took advantage of that, being sure never to take too much from any one place to avoid provoking an investigation. The trickiest part was mixing the drugs and monitoring the dosage. Bea wasn’t sure how much Avery weighed, but she’d made a conservative guess and clearly it hadn’t been quite enough. She would have to use more next time.

The duffel bag went into the trash and she stripped off all her clothes and divided them into two other trash bags. It was a pity to get rid of perfectly good clothes, but simply not worth the risk to save them. She changed into clean clothes she’d left in the laundry room for that purpose and picked up a small, brand-new white pillow, pulling it free of its plastic wrapper which declared it to be extra firm, and placing it on the washer. She stretched the child’s nightgown around it and went to fetch the knife. She practiced for a moment, just as she had every day for weeks, before thrusting the knife hard through the nightgown and into the pillow, feeling the blade quiver as it cut through cloth and sank into the polyester fluff. She jerked it out and repeated the thrust, slightly lower this time, then again and still once more. The blade was coated with bits of white fiber when she was finished, the nightgown shredded down the front.

She hustled back upstairs to the kitchen, where she collected the glass test tubes she had taken from the freezer and placed in the fridge to thaw overnight. She took one of the vials from the plastic rack holding them and held it up to the light, swinging it gently side to side. The dark red liquid moved with it and she smiled.

She’d done thousands of blood draws over the years, so that day in the park had been quick. The child had struggled, of course, but chloroform on a cloth worked fast and Bea had been able to retrieve three vials and get the child lucid again in pretty short order. A quick peek at the child, who hadn’t stirred, and then back to the basement, where she examined the child’s nightgown again before pouring the blood across the knife holes, soaking the front of the little cloth. It poured easily, just as if it were fresh and hadn’t been frozen for three months.

The old clock radio she’d found in the basement showed almost seven a.m. Time was ticking away. Had they discovered the child missing? Had the police been called? She placed some of the hairs she’d collected in different places on the nightgown, some of them on the cloth, some with the blood. It was good to give the police plenty of DNA to work with. She wondered if the story was on the news yet. The very idea excited her and she couldn’t wait any longer, turning on the radio with the sound turned down very low. She didn’t want Avery to hear it.