Terrified (29 page)
Megan patted her arm. “I’ve known that, hon.”
Candy worked up a smile, but she had tears in her eyes. “
Hon
, that’s what you always used to call me.”
Hon
, that’s what you always used to call me.”
“You were like a kid sister to me. If I hadn’t had you to pal around with during that awful time, I might have gone crazy or killed myself.”
“But you did kill yourself, remember?” Candy pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry, but I still think when Glenn’s case went to trial, you should have come forward. It was all over the newspapers. You must have read about it. But you didn’t do anything.”
“I couldn’t risk letting Glenn into my life again,” Megan admitted. “After I disappeared and moved here, I realized I was pregnant. I wasn’t just protecting myself anymore. I had to protect my son, too.”
Candy gaped at her. “You had a baby? Was it Glenn’s?”
Megan nodded. “And how do you think he would have been as a father? How do you think he would have handled a baby with colic, or a little boy going through the terrible twos? He was such a
loving, devoted husband
. How do you think he would have been with a kid who tested the limits of his patience day and night? I couldn’t even risk giving Glenn
partial
custody.” She let out a long, unsteady sigh. “And the irony of it is—now he’s taken him. He has
custody
of Josh now. That’s my son, Josh. He’s fourteen. Someone broke into my home on Saturday night. They beat me up and drove away with Josh… .”
loving, devoted husband
. How do you think he would have been with a kid who tested the limits of his patience day and night? I couldn’t even risk giving Glenn
partial
custody.” She let out a long, unsteady sigh. “And the irony of it is—now he’s taken him. He has
custody
of Josh now. That’s my son, Josh. He’s fourteen. Someone broke into my home on Saturday night. They beat me up and drove away with Josh… .”
Candy shook her head. “Not Glenn, he—he wouldn’t… .”
“Look at me! Are you
still
blind to it? Can’t you see the bruises on my face?” Megan waved her bandaged hand in front of her. “You haven’t even asked me about this, Candy! He cut off my finger, for God’s sake. They had to sew it back on at the hospital. He did this to me—or he hired someone to do it. He’s stolen my son, and he made it very clear if I go to the police or tell anyone, he’ll kill Josh. I’m putting my son’s life at risk just by talking to you. I know Glenn has someone working with him, watching me. Did Glenn indicate during his phone call or in any of his texts that he was meeting with anybody?”
still
blind to it? Can’t you see the bruises on my face?” Megan waved her bandaged hand in front of her. “You haven’t even asked me about this, Candy! He cut off my finger, for God’s sake. They had to sew it back on at the hospital. He did this to me—or he hired someone to do it. He’s stolen my son, and he made it very clear if I go to the police or tell anyone, he’ll kill Josh. I’m putting my son’s life at risk just by talking to you. I know Glenn has someone working with him, watching me. Did Glenn indicate during his phone call or in any of his texts that he was meeting with anybody?”
Candy shrugged helplessly. “No, I’m sorry. He—he didn’t mention on the phone why he was coming to town. In his text yesterday, he said he knew the police were looking for him, but he’d clear everything up soon. Then he reminded me again not to tell anyone he was here.”
“Have you been able to call him or text him back?”
“I’ve texted him. But I haven’t called. To tell you the truth, I really don’t want to talk with him.”
“But you’re communicating with him,” Megan said.
“Yes, but I’ve told you the extent of it.” She rubbed her eyes. “I seriously had no idea any of this was going on. I still can’t wrap my head around it. It’s totally crazy… .”
Megan took hold of her arm. “Listen, Candy, I need you to help—”
“Jesus, no, I don’t want to get involved.”
“Please, help me find Glenn—and my son. No one else can get to him. You’re the only one.”
“Aunt Lisa, if it’s as dangerous as you say—”
“All I’m asking is that you make one phone call to him,” she explained. “We—we just have to set it up so that he’ll agree to meet with you someplace. You don’t even have to show up. I’ll be there to follow him back wherever he’s staying. I need to find out where he has my son.”
Candy was shaking her head. “What makes you so sure Glenn took him? I mean, are you absolutely positive he’s the one behind this kidnapping thing?”
“Here,” Megan said, handing Candy her purse. “Could you hold this open for me? It’s kind of awkward with my hand here.”
Candy complied. Megan searched through her purse until she found the envelope she’d put the photograph in. “You said that Glenn wrote to you while he was in prison. Do you remember his handwriting?” She handed the photo to Candy—with Glenn’s message on the back.
“Yeah, that’s his writing,” she murmured, clearly puzzled by the message. Then she turned the photo to the image side: Josh, shirtless, looking exhausted and terrified—with a knife to his throat. Candy gasped.
“That’s my son, that’s Josh,” Megan said. “Please, hon. Please, won’t you help me?”
Candy still didn’t want to talk to Glenn. “I’ll get nervous and tongue-tied, and I’ll screw up the whole thing,” she said. “Let me text him instead. Another thing, I know you said I don’t have to show up, Aunt Lisa, but I’d rather not ask to meet him. Can’t you think of some other plan?”
They sat in the employee break room, which was more like a closet. It had a built-in desk with a phone and shelves that held big, brown boxes with such labels as:
X-Mas Decorations, Receipts,
and
Office Supplies.
The hot, windowless room was off the annex where they were blowing glass—and next door to the employee bathroom. There was an old safe and a mini-refrigerator under the desk; two chairs, which they now occupied; and a row of hooks on the wall for coats, jackets, and purses. A small box fan on one end of the desk provided only a modicum of relief from the stagnant heat—thanks to the ovens in the next room. Along with a calendar, there were some
New Yorker
cartoons someone had clipped and taped to the brick wall.
X-Mas Decorations, Receipts,
and
Office Supplies.
The hot, windowless room was off the annex where they were blowing glass—and next door to the employee bathroom. There was an old safe and a mini-refrigerator under the desk; two chairs, which they now occupied; and a row of hooks on the wall for coats, jackets, and purses. A small box fan on one end of the desk provided only a modicum of relief from the stagnant heat—thanks to the ovens in the next room. Along with a calendar, there were some
New Yorker
cartoons someone had clipped and taped to the brick wall.
They had a pen, some paper, and Candy’s cell phone on the desk in front of them. Megan wrote down the message for her, and Candy translated it into text on her phone:
uncL G: A mn came N2 d stoR, asking bout U. He sez Aunt Lisa S alive. He hs seen her n sez he’s seen thngs d police myt fnd interesting. He wnts 2 mEt w/u. No contct info. He will 911 me @ 11:30 w/ mre Dtails if U OK w/mtg. If not, he’ll talk 2 police 2day. W@ ths about? W@ do I do? CanD
Candy sent the text, and then they waited for Glenn’s response. Candy’s cell phone remained on the desk in front of them.
Megan wasn’t adept at texting, and barely understood the shorthand Candy used. She wondered how Glenn, after fourteen years behind bars, could be up to speed on such things. But Candy insisted the texts he’d sent had been written by someone who seemed to know the language.
She and Candy discovered they had very little to talk about after fifteen years. But then, they were both tense, just waiting for her cell phone to ring. Candy said her parents had moved to Scottsdale shortly after the trial to avoid all the notoriety and backlash. She’d gone to art school in Denver, and been married to another glassblower, Chad Blanco, for six years before an amicable split. She’d moved to Seattle two years ago. She lived alone in a rented roomy loft in the Fremont neighborhood—about three miles from where Megan and Josh lived off Eastlake. They figured they must have crossed paths several times without recognizing each other.
Megan had a hard time concentrating on their conversation. She kept glancing at Candy’s cell phone, hoping it would ring. She was also thinking that except for an ancient mini-canister of pepper spray in her purse, she had nothing she could use to defend herself. Even one of her hands was out of commission.
“This is a nice shop,” Megan said. “But in this neighborhood, they must worry about hold-ups. They don’t—they don’t happen to have a gun behind the counter or anything, do they?”
Candy frowned. “What are you getting at?”
Megan’s eyes wrestled with hers. “I’m asking if they have a gun here that I could borrow.”
“Have you ever even fired a gun?”
“No, but I don’t want to go there empty-handed,” Megan said. “I’d feel a lot better if I had one with me today.”
Candy shook her head. “Well, we don’t have a gun in the store. Even if we did, I wouldn’t give it to you—only to have you use it on my uncle. ”
Megan glanced down at the desktop. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I was—”
Candy’s cell phone rang, cutting her off. Megan checked her wristwatch. It was 11:15, forty minutes after Candy had sent the message to Glenn.
The cell phone gave one last abbreviated ring, and then went to text. Megan looked at the phone’s screen, and tried to decipher it:
CanD: W@ did dis mn l%k lk? It’s impt I gt a descrip. f he fons or txtz u, gt his *. Tel him Ill mEt him. Whr r u? Txt or 911 ASAP u hear frm him. Thx. UncL G.
“I’m text-challenged,” Megan finally admitted. “What does he say?”
“He wants to know what the man looked like,” Candy said. “He needs a description. And he wants the man’s phone number if he calls. He asks where I am. Then he said to call or text him as soon as I hear back from this guy. What do I tell him?”
Megan glanced over at the wall calendar—from a glassblowing studio in England. The photo for September showed a handsome, brawny black man of thirty as he shaped a gorgeous deep blue bowl.
“Tell Glenn the man was black and about thirty—with no facial hair and a strong build,” Megan said. “When you saw him, he was wearing a knit cap. Say the guy just called you minutes ago and his number’s blocked. Tell him the man wants to meet him at one o’clock by the donut sculpture in front of the Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park on Capitol Hill. If he doesn’t show up or if he sends someone else in his place, the man will go to the police.”
Biting her lip, Candy worked her thumbs over the small keypad attached to her phone. “What do I say about where I am?” she asked.
“Say you’re here at the glass studio and can’t get away. You should be safe here—as long as there are other people around.” She rested her hand on Candy’s arm. “Ask him again what this is all about. I want it drummed into his head that you’re not involved in this in any way. You’re just relaying messages. The dumber you act about this, the better.”
“I’m all for that,” Candy muttered, her thumbs working furiously on the keypad once more. She finished up and handed Megan the phone. “Is this okay?”
It looked like gibberish to Megan, but the important thing was Candy had written out the meeting place in regular English:
1
PM
by donut sculpture @ the Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park, Capitol Hill.
1
PM
by donut sculpture @ the Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park, Capitol Hill.
Megan nodded, patted her shoulder. “Thanks. Send it.”
Megan wrote down Glenn’s cell phone number. Then she and Candy exchanged numbers. Megan stood up. “I’ll check in with you again in about two hours.”
Candy looked up at her. “So you’re going there to wait for him… .”
Nodding, Megan grabbed her purse. “Wish me luck.”
“Wait,” Candy said. She pulled her chair out, and then crouched down in front of the old safe under the desk. Her mouth pinched over to one side as she worked the combination for a few moments. Then she tugged at the handle and pulled open the door. She took a revolver out of the safe and handed it to Megan. “You’re right. You better take this.” She pointed to a little switch near the trigger. “That’s the safety. It’s on. And it’s loaded. I don’t think anyone has ever cleaned or fired this thing. It’s been in the safe since I started working here.”
Megan studied the gun. She felt a knot tightening in her stomach. “I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can,” she whispered. She stashed the revolver in the pocket of her sweatshirt. She gave her niece a hug. “Thank you, hon.”
Candy kissed her on the cheek. “I hope to meet my cousin Josh real soon.”
Ten minutes later, Megan was climbing back into the driver’s seat of the Ford Taurus. There were no Destination Rent-a-Car stickers on it, and the plates were Washington state. The car wouldn’t stick out among the other vehicles parked along the road in front of the Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park.
The digital clock on the dashboard read 11:44. It would take her about fifteen minutes to get to the park from here—allowing for normal traffic. That gave her an hour to sit and wait, which was fine. She wanted to be early for this date with her estranged husband.
Megan carefully took the gun out of her sweatshirt pocket, and hid it under the car seat.
Then she started up the car.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
HAPTER
T
WENTY
C
andy kicked the rubber doorstop in place. She left the back door open a crack while she had another cigarette in the alley. She was still a bit shaky over everything that had transpired during the last hour—starting with her Aunt Lisa’s return from the dead. She wondered if Glenn had actually fallen for their ploy to bring him out of hiding. But Candy had gotten a text response twenty minutes ago:
andy kicked the rubber doorstop in place. She left the back door open a crack while she had another cigarette in the alley. She was still a bit shaky over everything that had transpired during the last hour—starting with her Aunt Lisa’s return from the dead. She wondered if Glenn had actually fallen for their ploy to bring him out of hiding. But Candy had gotten a text response twenty minutes ago:
f dis guy clls bac tll him IL mEt him whr he z. I’m nt sure w@ ll dis bout itha. We’ll C. U avent tld ne1 dat I’m n Seattle, av u? Thx 4 yr hlp. IL cll u l8r. G.
In answer to his question, she’d sent a reply saying no, she hadn’t told anyone he was in Seattle, and she would talk to him soon.
Candy secretly hoped she would talk to Lisa first—and her Uncle Glenn would be in police custody again before their next correspondence. She’d been on edge ever since he’d first called her out of the blue last Wednesday. The secrecy of it—and the texts that had followed saying he’d meet with her soon—had only made her more nervous. She’d wanted to believe his sermonizing about family loyalty and sticking together no matter what. Part of her had wanted his forgiveness. But part of her also didn’t trust the wife-beating son of a bitch—family or no family.
Then Lisa had shown her the photo of her son with Glenn’s message on the back, and Candy knew all her apprehension about seeing her uncle again had been justified. She didn’t want his forgiveness anymore. She just wanted him out of her life. He belonged back in jail.
She lit her cigarette and leaned against the brick wall of the doorway alcove. She didn’t want to miss her aunt if she called, so Candy had her cell phone with her. It was inside her big, cloth purse, hanging from her shoulder. She usually didn’t bring her purse out to the alley when she had a cigarette break. There were too many hard-up homeless guys around. Most of them were harmless, but when they saw the purse, they’d come by and hit her up for spare change. Sticking her head out of the alcove, she glanced up and down the alley. It had stopped raining—at least, temporarily. She didn’t see anyone in the alleyway, just a silver SUV blocking one end—about two stores down.
Candy puffed on her cigarette and checked her wristwatch. It was almost a quarter after twelve. Her aunt was probably already hiding somewhere in Volunteer Park, waiting for him.
The door behind her squeaked open, and Candy swiveled around. She gaped at her coworker, Ethan, a painfully skinny, tattooed, twenty-something guy who looked like a wannabe punk rock star. He held the door open for her. “Hey, Candy, you got a phone call.”
She’d only had two puffs of her cigarette. Reluctantly, she tossed it into a puddle on the pavement, and then she followed Ethan back inside. “Did they say who it was?” she asked.
Ethan just shook his head.
Nervously fussing with her ponytail, Candy headed into the break room. Except for a few calls after the TV news broadcast last week, she hardly ever had people phoning her at the store. Aunt Lisa had taken down her cell phone number, not her work number. The phone on the break room desk was off the hook with the extension light on. Closing the break room door, she stepped over to the desk and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
There was no response.
“Hello?” Candy repeated.
Still nothing.
“Aunt—?” she cut herself off. Candy listened to the silence on the other end of the line.
Then she heard a click.
She felt the skin prickling on the back of her neck. She pressed down on the phone cradle lever to disconnect, and then she tried star sixty-nine. After one ring tone, a recorded voice came on:
“The last incoming call number was blocked… .”
“The last incoming call number was blocked… .”
Biting her lip, Candy hung up the phone. She headed out of the break room and spotted Ethan, working over by the smaller kiln. “Hey, that person who called for me just now,” she said, speaking loudly over the roar of the furnaces. “Was it a man or a woman?”
He maneuvered a pole, heating his latest creation over the fire. “What happened? Did he hang up?”
“Yeah,” Candy answered. “So then it was a guy who called?”
Without taking his eyes off his work, Ethan nodded. “Don’t worry, he’ll probably call back. I’ll bet you it’s some guy who saw you on TV last week.”
Candy didn’t say anything for a few moments. The furnace started to make a loud knocking sound, which it did every once in a while. It could go on like that for minutes at a time. Candy figured one of these days it would blow up and take out the shop and everyone in it.
“Listen, I’m going back out for a cigarette,” she told Ethan, raising her voice over the din. “I only got like two drags off that last one. If the guy calls again, get his name, okay?”
Ethan nodded distractedly, and went back to his kilning.
Candy retreated to the alley again, but when she tried to wedge the doorstop in place, it slipped past the threshold and the door shut. They kept that door on an automatic catch-lock. “Shit,” Candy muttered.
She started searching for the keys in her purse, but she found her Winstons first. She decided she’d look for her keys after finishing her smoke. With her back to the alley, she hovered in the alcove to light her cigarette. She dragged in that first satisfying puff, and breathed out the smoke. Suddenly a shadow swept over her. Candy spun around, almost dropping her cigarette.
A crazy-looking homeless man with a filthy gray-brown beard and a bloody scrape across his bulbous nose stared at her. He blocked the alcove. He wore a knit cap and a tattered army fatigue jacket. “Hey, girlie, do you got another one of those?” he asked, with his dirty, callused hand out.
Candy quickly shook her head. “I’m sorry, this is my last one,” she lied. “And I don’t have any money with me, either.”
He nodded. “God bless you,” he muttered, wandering off.
Candy hated it when homeless people or street urchins begging for money said “Bless you,” or “Have a nice day,” after she refused to give them money. Was that supposed to make her feel guilty? It was so manipulative. She wished they just wouldn’t say anything at all.
Turning toward the door again, Candy stuck the cigarette in her mouth, and started to search through her purse for the keys. The propped-open door always gave her a quick escape route if someone creepy approached her in that alley. Right now, she could pound and pound on the door and none of her coworkers would hear her past that stupid, noisy furnace. She wished she could find the damn keys.
Once again, a dark shadow moved across the tiny alcove, and she could feel someone lurking behind her. She couldn’t believe the homeless guy was back to bother her again.
Exasperated, Candy took the cigarette out of her mouth and swiveled around. “Look, I told you this is my last—”
She fell silent. It wasn’t the homeless man from before. The cigarette dropped out from between her fingers.
There was no time to react, no time to scream. All at once, he grabbed her throat.
He gave her a forceful shove. Helpless, Candy thought her neck might snap. She felt him lifting her up off her feet. He threw her into the door. She bashed the back of her head against it.
His grip tightened around her neck. Candy couldn’t breathe. She clawed and scratched at his hand, but then she lost all feeling in her arms. They fell to her side. Helpless, she saw him raising his other hand. He held something that looked like a small baseball bat.
“Say uncle,” he whispered.
That was the last thing Candy heard—except for the loud pop when he slammed that thing against her skull.
With the hood of her sweatshirt over the top of her head, Megan slouched in the front seat of the Ford Taurus. She’d found a spot along a row of cars just north of the donut sculpture, in Volunteer Park. It was where Glenn was supposed to meet this anonymous—and quite fictitious—man. The ebony-hued donut sculpture was actually named
Black Sun.
Megan had read up on it when she’d briefly climbed out of the car to stretch her legs about an hour before. The information was on a plaque on the sculpture’s long stone pedestal. A few kids were running around on top of the stone base, and despite the light rain, a couple sat on the edge of it in deep conversation. The donut was about halfway between the stately, sprawling art deco Asian Art Museum and a gated reservoir. Beyond the reservoir was a beautiful view of the Seattle skyline, with the Olympic Mountains, Elliott Bay—and the Space Needle as a centerpiece.
Black Sun.
Megan had read up on it when she’d briefly climbed out of the car to stretch her legs about an hour before. The information was on a plaque on the sculpture’s long stone pedestal. A few kids were running around on top of the stone base, and despite the light rain, a couple sat on the edge of it in deep conversation. The donut was about halfway between the stately, sprawling art deco Asian Art Museum and a gated reservoir. Beyond the reservoir was a beautiful view of the Seattle skyline, with the Olympic Mountains, Elliott Bay—and the Space Needle as a centerpiece.
Megan had walked around for only a few minutes. She couldn’t risk having Glenn show up early and spot her. She’d just needed to refamiliarize herself with the general layout, the locale, the best hiding spots and various ways out of the park.
There were enough people and cars in the area so she could easily blend in. Clumps of trees on either side of the sculpture gardens would provide camouflage in case she needed to step out of the car for a better look at Glenn.
Back behind the wheel, Megan studied the rearview mirror to gauge the steady traffic flow on the park road behind her. Glenn probably wouldn’t notice her following him out of the park—especially if she stayed one or two vehicles behind him.
One o’clock came and went. She kept looking for a silver SUV among the other cars. Twice she reached under her car seat to make sure the revolver was still there. She remained slouched down behind the wheel, afraid he’d spot her if she stepped out of the car again. Maybe he was hiding, too. If Glenn had taken Candy’s message seriously, he would have made every effort to get there on time.
At 1:15, Megan spotted a man emerging from a black Honda Accord. He wore sunglasses and a dark blue rain slicker with the hood up—just like her. Was he trying to be anonymous, too? She couldn’t get a good look at his face. He might have been Glenn. She wasn’t sure. With his hands in his pockets, he strolled over to the donut statue and waited for ten minutes. Megan watched the time tick away on her wristwatch. She wished she was close enough to see his face. And it would have helped to get the license plate number off that Honda Accord. She figured she’d get a better look at the plate as soon as she started following him out of the park.
Megan felt knots tightening in her stomach. She planned to stay behind the Accord until he returned to his “base.” She’d scope the place out, and try to determine if Josh was being held there. Once she established that, she’d call the police. Even with the gun, she didn’t want to put Josh at risk by charging in there. The police would know how to handle it better. Bringing in the authorities meant admitting she’d let her estranged husband rot in jail all this time. She would be in a hell of a lot of trouble. But she didn’t care—as long as she could save Josh.
She glanced at her wristwatch again—a little past 1:30. The man was still waiting. He hadn’t given up. Megan was about to climb out of the car so she could see his face. But then she noticed a stocky, balding man approaching him. The two of them talked for a few minutes. She wasn’t sure if they were friends or if it was a business thing or some sort of pickup. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with her—or Glenn. The two of them climbed into the Honda Accord together and drove off.
“Damn it,” she muttered. She stepped out of the car and desperately glanced around to make sure she hadn’t missed Glenn. At forty-five minutes after the meeting time, it was official. He wasn’t showing up. Megan took out her work cell and phoned her niece. Maybe Glenn had sent Candy another text.
With the cell to her ear, Megan anxiously counted two ringtones, and then her heart sank as the voice mail greeting came on: “Hi, this is Candy. If you’ve reached this recording, I’m busy either blowing glass or blowing off some steam! Leave me a message, and please, no jokes about ‘blowing,’ okay?” She giggled, and then the beep sounded.
“Candy, it’s Lisa,” she said. “Give me a call as soon as you get this. I’m in the park, and he’s forty-five minutes late. He isn’t coming. I don’t think he went for the bait. Did he call or text you? I really wish you’d picked up, because now I’m worried about you. Don’t leave the studio, okay? I’m heading over there now. Call me.”
Megan clicked off, took one last look toward the
Black Sun
, and then climbed back inside the car. On her way out of the park and all the way back to Pioneer Square, she kept checking her rearview mirror to make sure no one was following her. If Glenn was wise to her ruse, he might have turned the tables and decided to tail her. She didn’t notice any one car that stayed behind her. She didn’t see a silver SUV, either. Traffic became slower and more congested as she got closer to downtown and Pioneer Square. With Megan feeling so frustrated, it was all she could do to keep from leaning on the horn most of the time. She checked the cell phone to make sure it was on.
Black Sun
, and then climbed back inside the car. On her way out of the park and all the way back to Pioneer Square, she kept checking her rearview mirror to make sure no one was following her. If Glenn was wise to her ruse, he might have turned the tables and decided to tail her. She didn’t notice any one car that stayed behind her. She didn’t see a silver SUV, either. Traffic became slower and more congested as she got closer to downtown and Pioneer Square. With Megan feeling so frustrated, it was all she could do to keep from leaning on the horn most of the time. She checked the cell phone to make sure it was on.
Something was wrong, she could tell. She’d phoned Candy over a half hour ago, and she still hadn’t heard back from her.
At last, Megan reached Pioneer Square, and she parked in the same lot across from the Smith Tower. She thought about bringing the gun, but decided to leave it under the front seat. Scooting out from behind the wheel, she locked the door behind her and started searching through her purse for money to slip in the U-Pay box at the edge of the lot. She had the purse strap hanging over her left wrist. She still wasn’t used to working with just one hand.
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