Picture Perfect (16 page)

“Simpson, get in there with Delaney and help him,” Jackowsky ordered. “We don't want any marks on the body made by our department.”

Simpson sneezed. “Jesus! What's that smell?”

“It's mothballs!” Delaney lifted up a shovelful of dirt containing several of the white balls. “Suppose this is somebody's idea of how to preserve a body.”

Jackowsky didn't laugh.

“Okay, so it's not funny. What we got here is a white male, twenty-five to twenty-eight years old. Hey, his eyes are open!”

“Cover his face,” Jackowsky said, offering a used handkerchief. “This ain't no funeral parlor, you know,” he grumbled. “Lift him out while I call this in.”

Minutes later, Jackowsky returned. “The chief is on the way with the coroner, and if you're one of those guys that's gonna puke, do it somewhere else. What's that you got, Simpson?”

“Looks like the guy's wallet. Hell, I picked it up and now my prints are on it.”

“Then throw it back in.” Jackowsky sighed as if to say how tired he was of dealing with rookies like Simpson and Delaney.

Lorrie whispered a prayer of thanks. It wasn't Davey. Thank God, it wasn't Davey.

“Now, ma'am,” Jackowsky said. “You'd best be getting back to your RV and taking a pill or something. Or you won't be able to sleep tonight.”

“Officer, I appreciate your concern, but I'm a doctor. I've seen dead bodies before. Who is he?”

“I don't know, but we intend to find out. Ma'am, why don't you go back to the camp and we'll get back to you as soon as we clear this up.”

Lorrie looked around and counted a total of seven policemen and troopers. “I know this is going to sound ungrateful, but there are seven of you here. Why do you need seven people to dig up one body? Why aren't at least four or five of these men out looking for my nephew? I'm sorry that the man is dead, but nothing can be done for him. Davey is just a little boy, and he needs all the help he can get, and you aren't doing anything.”

Lorrie felt herself bordering on hysteria. She decided to leave the gravesite before she said something she was sure to regret. Behind her, the seven men were silent.

Lorrie shivered. As soon as she got back to camp, she would make herself a cup of coffee—no, a pot of coffee—and build a campfire. A big campfire, one that could be seen from a long distance. It would warm the searchers as they came back with their reports, and it would serve as a beacon for Davey, a way for him to find his way back through the dark of night.

Today had been the kind of day you prayed would never happen, the kind of day that always seemed to happen to other people. Tomorrow had to be better. But, unless Davey was found, tomorrow would be worse, and every day after that would be worse than the one before. And then there was Sara. Oh, God, Sara. Sara would arrive and . . . She didn't want to think about it.

Lorrie imagined her sister receiving the news. Of course, she would take the next plane out of Miami. Lorrie shivered again, not with cold but with fear of Sara and how she would react—or rather, retaliate. Because that's what Sara would do. Lorrie felt guilty thinking that of her sister, but she knew her well enough after all these years. It would be Sara against Lorrie and the police; Sara would stay on the sidelines, yet somehow she would manage to control everything and everyone. There would be no closeness, no weeping together, no hoping together. Sara never shared her emotions with anyone but Andrew. She would be the judge and the jury, and Lorrie would never get an acquittal. Sara would find her guilty and judge her accordingly.

Lorrie turned her thoughts to building the fire. She piled up the kindling and set more rocks around the firepit. When everything was ready, she set a match to the construction and watched the flames spread through it.

She wished Stuart Sanders would call again and reassure her, like he had earlier. This was one of those times when she really needed a good man to lean on. Someone she could share her fears with. Someone who would hold her while she cried her eyes out. When this was all over, and Davey was safe and sound, she was going to think seriously about pursuing a relationship with the man.

Lorrie looked up to see three patrol cars coming her way. Their lights were flashing but their sirens were silent. Must be the coroner and his entourage, she thought. A short while later, Officer Delaney came over to speak to her. “We still have men combing the woods.”

Lorrie nodded.

“The coroner says that the man we found in the grave died of massive head injuries. Either he hit something or something hit him. We're pretty certain it was the latter. As you know, there was a wallet in the grave. The description on his driver's license seems to indicate that the deceased is Leonard Lombardi of Newark, New Jersey. Do you know him?”

“No, I don't. It was murder, wasn't it?”

“It's looking that way. Right now, there's an all-points bulletin out for the two other campers who were here last night. According to the manager here, one was an older, retired couple. The other couple, they were a lot younger, real lowlifes from what the manager's wife says. Seems they were camped in the vicinity of the grave. Both couples left early this morning. We're checking it all out.”

“What about Davey?” Lorrie asked anxiously. It seemed to her that the excitement of finding the body was taking precedence over the search for her nephew.

Delaney became defensive. “We're working on that, Dr. Ryan. There's always the possibility that your nephew's disappearance is linked with the dead man. I'm not saying that's the case, ma'am, only that it's a possibility.”

Lorrie's voice was low and controlled when she questioned the young officer. “Did the manager say if he knew where the other couples were heading? Campers, as a rule, usually make inquiries about where their next stop is going to be.”

“The older couple, the Kovals, said they were going to Virginia Beach. They should be setting up camp there around about now. We have a call in to the local police and we're waiting for them to get back to us. The young couple is another story. They paid in advance and didn't stop on their way out. The guy didn't even have a hookup, so we don't know when he left or where he was heading.” Delaney looked up as someone boomed his name. “Hold it, looks like something just came in. Stay here and I'll be right back, ma'am.”

“I'll wait, officer,” Lorrie said quietly. “I won't get in your way.”

She dug a trail in the powdery dirt at her feet, fighting to keep her emotions in check. Delaney returned shortly.

“What did you find out?” Lorrie asked, hoping, praying.

“The young couple I was telling you about—well, the pickup is registered to an Edmund Balog of Newark. Yesterday he was stopped on the turnpike by a state police officer. Seems there was some uneasiness on the part of the trooper. He was checking Balog's license when an emergency call came in. There was an accident further down on the pike and he had to cover it. We have a call in to the officer now. He'll be going off duty soon and will call in. I'm afraid that's all I have to report for now. Why don't you go back to your RV? I give you my word that as soon as I hear something, I'll report to you. The other teams will be checking in, and the new crew will be coming on duty. We may need you later. What do you say?” he asked hopefully.

“Did you get an address for the couple in Newark?” Lorrie asked.

Officer Delaney looked pained. “Yes, ma'am, and right now there's a team of officers on the way. I don't know if you know anything about Newark, but the address is in the Ironbound section. Tough neighborhood, if you know what I mean.”

“I know the area. I worked at a free clinic there for six months.” Lorrie assumed the officer suspected Edmund Balog of kidnapping Davey or he wouldn't have brought him up. “Officer, if this goes out to the media, you need to let them know about Davey's medical condition.”

“When was he supposed to have his shot?”

“Noon.”

Delaney looked at his watch. “It's five-thirty now.”

“I guess all I can do is pray that nothing happens to Davey to cause him to bleed. I don't have to tell you that, without the proper medical care, he could bleed to death in a very short time.”

“We're doing everything we can, ma'am. I wish we could do more, but we can't. Things like this take time.”

“Thank you, Officer Delaney. I appreciate you keeping me posted.” Lorrie began to go back inside the motor home, then turned to the officer. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”

Delaney nodded. “Make it hot and strong. The manager's wife thinks coffee is colored water.” He gave Lorrie a conspiratorial wink, then excused himself a moment and hurried back to the police car where Jackowsky was gesturing to him.

“She okay?” Jackowsky nodded toward the motor home.

“As good as can be expected,” Delaney replied. “Shouldn't we have something on the kid by now? Too many hours have gone by for him to have simply wandered off.”

Lorrie fixed herself and Officer Delaney a cup of coffee. She stood in the doorway of the van, waiting for him to return with whatever news he had just been given. Over and over she pleated the hem of her cotton shirt, her long, tapered fingers creasing the material, smoothing it out, and pleating it again.

“I used to love this time of year,” she said when Delaney returned. “Now I hate it. It's starting to get chilly. It was downright cold last night. Davey had only that windbreaker on; it just has a thin flannel lining. I wonder if he's hungry.”

“Nothing much new to report,” Delaney said as he took the cup of coffee from her hands.

“Whatever it is, please tell me.”

“That older couple that was going to Virginia Beach—they turned out to be duds. Zero. They didn't see your nephew. They had some thoughts about the young couple, but that's all they were. Mrs. Koval says she heard a lot of yelling and screaming, sounded like they were having a verbal altercation. Mr. Koval said he was sleeping, and his wife always hears yelling and screaming. He blames it on all the soap operas she used to watch and something about a fish tank. Sometimes this happens. People don't want to get involved and they mind their own business. The Kovals are a mind-your-own-business couple—and those are the words of Detective First-Grade Harry Thatcher. They checked out fine. Sorry.”

“Thanks for coming back to tell me, Officer Delaney. You'll let me know about any further developments, right?”

“I'm going off duty shortly. One of the other men will check in with you. We've set up temporary offices next to the manager's quarters. If you need us, or if the boy comes back on his own, you'll know where to find us. Try not to worry.”

 

Sanders's ulcer was beginning to act up, and he had the two-and-a-half-hour plane ride back to New Jersey to look forward to. And an airline dinner. He popped two Rolaids into his mouth, hoping to ward off what he knew would be an acute case of indigestion. The thought of sitting beside Sara Taylor for the entire trip played hell with his whole body chemistry. Perhaps she would sleep, or he would. Although the latter was out of the question—he'd have to remain awake to play bodyguard. Ridiculous. It was like playing nursemaid to a barracuda in open water.

He wanted this case to be over and done with. He wanted Davey back home, safe and sound. He yearned to take Lorrie Ryan into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right, but he didn't know if it would be. It had to be, dammit. It just had to be. Davey Taylor was one hell of a special little boy and Sanders couldn't bear the thought of anything bad happening to him.

His footsteps were silent in the thickly carpeted hallway which led to the Taylors' hotel suite. Could it have been only half an hour ago that he'd presented them with the facts about Davey, carefully omitting any mention of the possibility of foul play? He'd intentionally reinforced their suppositions that Davey was lost or had wandered off. Whatever it was that he'd expected, it hadn't happened. Sanders knew that he had wanted to be the one to tell them because he'd wanted to see Sara Taylor go to pieces. He should have known better, he told himself, and wondered when he'd become so vicious in his thinking. If it had been any other woman, he would have dreaded telling her that her son was missing. But not Sara Taylor. For once he wanted to see her rattled, confused, and desperate. Out of control.

Andrew Taylor was the one Sanders pitied. The man kept running a frantic hand through his hair, his features drawn and pained. Sara had been the strong one, comforting her husband, telling him that she agreed with Sanders and was certain Davey had wandered off.

For a long moment, Sara's eyes had commanded Sanders's attention. Was he wrong, or had he seen an accusation in their depths, even while her hand tenderly stroked Andrew's arm? A thought came to him. Andrew Taylor's witnessing of that scene in the university library had upset the order of Sara's household. Things were beyond her control and she blamed Andrew.

Matthews stood outside the Taylor suite, arms crossed over his chest. “They wanted to be alone,” he explained.

Sanders nodded and rapped on the door. Andrew opened it, the anguished lines of half an hour ago gone from his face. Sara had worked her magic with him once again. But how, Sanders wondered, did you get a man to forget that his son might be in grave danger?

“Mrs. Taylor, our plane leaves at six ten. A car will pick us up. The airport is only a few minutes from here. Can you be ready?”

Sara's eyebrows shot up. “Mr. Sanders, I won't be leaving with you after all. My husband and I talked it over, and I'm going to remain here with him.”

Sanders was incredulous. Wild horses wouldn't have kept his sister away if one of her kids had been in trouble.

“And Mr. Sanders,” Sara continued in her cool voice, “tell my sister I'll be calling her shortly.” The words held a threat; Sanders pitied Lorrie Ryan, and Davey too. Every child needed a loving, tender mother figure in his life. Somehow he just knew that if Sara had anything to say about it, and she would, Lorrie Ryan might as well forget she'd ever known and loved little Davey Taylor.