The Wreck (17 page)

Mid-July
in Manhattan was not for the faint of heart, Brian decided as he walked the
short distance from court back to his office. Once there, he was surprised to
find messages from his mother on both his office voicemail and his cell phone,
which he’d forgotten to bring with him to court. Since it was unlike her to
call him twice in a week, let alone twice in an hour, his stomach twisted with
nerves as he waited for her to answer her cell.

“Mom? Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh hi, honey. I’m sorry to bother you at
work. I know how busy you are.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. What’s
the matter?”

“I’m worried about Dad, and I needed
someone to talk to.”

Loosening his tie and opening the top
button of his shirt, Brian sat behind his desk. “Is he sick?”

“No, it’s the investigation,” she said.
“He’s working fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, and he’s not sleeping
well at all. I suspect he thinks it’s up to him to single-handedly protect
Granville from this guy. I don’t know how much more he can take.”

“It’s not just about protecting the town.
He’s out to clear Sam’s name, too. This is personal to him.”

“I know, but I’ve never seen him like
this, Bri. He’s completely obsessed.”

“I’m not sure if it’ll help, but I’ll
give him a call.”

“It would help a lot. He listens to you.
So how are you? Back to your crazy schedule?”

“Of course,” he said with a chuckle.

“What does Saul have you working on now?”

“A couple of drug cases, a B&E, and
two gang-related things. Nothing that’ll land me on TV.”

“Ugh, I hate the idea of you dealing with
druggies and gang bangers.”

Brian laughed. “What the heck do you know
about gang bangers?”

“More than you think,” she said
indignantly. “I watch
Law & Order
.”

“I’ve told you not to watch those shows. It’s
a lot more boring and mundane than they make it out to be.”

“Have you gotten any more job offers?”

“A few.”

“Maybe you ought to think about taking
one of them.”

“And give up my druggies and gang
bangers? I’d die of boredom.”

“Now you’re just being fresh.”

“God,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t
heard that word in years.” It took him right back to getting in trouble with
Sam in the back seat of her station wagon. “Hey, Mom? Dad’s still keeping tabs
on Carly, right?”

“He’s got her using text messages to keep
him and her parents apprised of her whereabouts.”

“Great idea.”

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your
time, honey. I appreciate you checking in with Dad.”

“If you think I need to come home, Mom,
I’ll do it in a minute.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“Staying away has begun to seem foolish
lately. I’ll have to go home eventually. What will I do when you guys are
ninety? Hire someone to take care of you?”

She snorted with laughter. “How about we
cross that bridge in about thirty years?”

“Call me if you need me. Day or night,
okay?”

“I will. Love you, Bri.”

“You, too.” Brian ended the call and sat
back to think about what she’d said. The strain was taking a toll on his dad,
and despite the youthful image Brian had of him, Michael was pushing sixty.
With this case taking up all his father’s time, Brian realized it might be
months before his parents could get away for a weekend in New York. As Brian
dialed his dad’s cell, he imagined himself catching the shuttle from LaGuardia
to Providence. His mother would pick him up and drive him home to Granville. No
biggie, right?

Yeah, right
…

“Is this the famous prosecutor from the
great city of New York calling?” Michael asked.

Brian smiled, relieved by his father’s
joviality. “The one and only. How’s it going, Dad?”

“About the same. We’re waiting and
watching.”

“Mom’s worried about you.”

“Did she call and tell you that?” Michael
asked with annoyance. “She shouldn’t have bothered you with it.”

“Why not? You’re running yourself ragged,
and you’re not thirty anymore.”

“I’m not?”

“Don’t be fresh with me,” Brian joked.

Michael laughed. “You
have
been
talking to your mother.”

“What’s the latest?”

“Not a damned thing. We spent the Fourth
of July weekend watching your class reunion, but we got nothing—no lurkers, no
oddities, nada. It was completely uneventful. I did see a bunch of your old
friends, though, and they all asked for you. They said they’d followed the
Gooding trial.”

“That’s cool. It sounds like you’re doing
everything you can.”

“This town is crawling with cops and
feds. You wouldn’t recognize the place.”

“Well, it must be doing the trick.”

“I guess so,” Michael said in a weary
tone. “Part of me just wants to get through this year without any more trouble,
because I know I’m right about the five-year pattern. But I’d hate to have to
wait five more years for another opportunity to nail this bastard. Hang on a
sec, son.”

Brian heard muffled voices on the other
end of the line.

“I’ve got to go,” Michael said.

Brian could hear the tension in his
father’s voice. “What is it?”

“We just got a report from the south end
of town that a dog returned home without the teenaged girl who was walking it.”

“Oh no.”

“I’ll call you when I can,” Michael said
an instant before the phone went dead.

Michael’s
heart pounded from a burst of adrenaline as he raced through town with lights
flashing on top of his unmarked car. On the way, he tried to reach Matt
Collins, who was taking a few days off on Michael’s order. They’d been working
nonstop for weeks, and the strain had begun to take a toll on both of them.

“Goddamn it,” Michael uttered when he
realized Matt’s cell phone was turned off—another thing he’d ordered his deputy
to do. “Matt, it’s Mike. Call me the minute you get this message.”

Maybe the dog just got away from the kid
.
Maybe it’s nothing
. Even as he
thought it, though, he didn’t believe it. The affluent subdivision was in chaos
when he arrived just behind the FBI and several of his patrol officers. The
neighbors had poured out of their houses to watch the unfolding scene.

Agent Barclay stood in the driveway of
the missing girl’s home, attempting to get a statement from her hysterical
mother.

“He has her, doesn’t he?”
She clawed at Barclay’s shirt. “You have
to do something! Before he hurts her,
do something!”

“Ma’am, we’re doing everything we can,”
Barclay said in a calm, professional tone that Michael admired. Nathan grasped
the woman’s hand. “But we need your help. Can you get us a recent picture of
Alicia?”

She glanced at her teenaged son, and he
ran for the house.

“Does she have a cell phone?” Michael
asked.

The woman wiped the tears from her cheeks
and nodded. “She has it with her everywhere she goes, even to walk Chester.”

Hearing his name, a yellow lab bounded
over to her, still dragging a leash behind him.

She brushed him aside with the absent
wave of her hand. “But when I tried to call her, the phone was turned off.”
Breaking down again, she said, “That phone is
never
off.”

“The dog isn’t protective of her?”
Barclay asked.

“He’s still a puppy.” She sniffed. “He
loves everyone.”

Michael had to bite his tongue to keep
from asking how she could’ve let her fifteen-year-old daughter wander around
alone
—
with
a rapist on the loose
—with a dog that could be bought off with a pat on the
head or a treat. Just as he had feared, the initial shock had worn off, and
people had gotten complacent. His worst nightmare had come true.

A fancy sports car came to a screeching
stop at the curb. Dressed in a shirt and tie, Alicia’s father bolted from the
car and ran up the driveway to his wife. “Did you find her?” he asked
frantically.

“No,” she moaned. Her legs suddenly gave
out from under her, and she sank to the grass.

Her husband sat next to her and put his
arm around her.

“Is it possible she’s at a friend’s house
and forgot to check in with you?” Barclay asked.

“Alicia always tells us where she is,”
her father said. “Always. And she’d never let Chester run around unattended.
She’s raised him since he was two months old. She adores him.”

“How about her activities?” Michael
stopped short of asking the one specific question he and Barclay were both
dying to ask.

“Um, she plays soccer in a summer
league.”

“And during the school year?”

“She’s a junior varsity cheerleader.”

Michael’s blood ran cold as he exchanged
glances with Nathan Barclay.

Z
oë Murphy was inconsolable. Alicia Perry
had been a good friend of hers since preschool, and even though Alicia was a
year older than Zoë, the two had remained close over the years. As the
disappearance stretched into a second day, Zoë’s family rallied around her,
doing what they could to keep the girl’s spirits up.

Carly found her on a swing in the
backyard of Cate and Tom’s house. As Carly took the swing next to Zoë’s, she
noticed her niece’s cheeks were wet with tears. Carly reached for her hand.

Zoë wrapped her fingers around Carly’s.
“Thanks for coming by.”

As they sat in silence for several
minutes, holding hands and swinging slowly, Carly was filled with longing for
everything and everyone she’d lost in the accident. Being with Zoë, in good
times and bad, made her yearn for the things that were missing in her life,
especially the husband and children she should’ve had by now.

“My mom and I were talking earlier,” Zoë
said. “She told me what happened to you when you were a senior. I’m so sorry,
Auntie Carly. I never knew those crosses on Tucker Road were for your friends.
I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”

With a squeeze, Carly released Zoë’s hand
to pull a pad and pen from the back pocket of her jeans. “Alicia is going to be
fine.” She underlined the word fine several times.

“He’s hurting her,” Zoë said, breaking
down again.

“She’s strong,” Carly wrote.

Zoë nodded.

“You have to be strong, too.”

“I’m trying.”

Carly got up and reached for the girl.

Sobbing, Zoë fell into her aunt’s embrace
and held on tight.

By
the third day, Alicia’s disappearance had brought the town to its knees in a
way that reminded long-time residents of the week that followed the Tucker Road
wreck. Other than a candlelight vigil for Alicia on the second night, people
kept their kids inside and limited their outings to essential trips only. The
local churches held daily services, and counselors were available for students
at the high school.

Miss Molly’s was as quiet as Carly had
ever seen it. The few customers they did have were members of the local and
national media that had lined the town common with their satellite trucks. The
story had been carried by most of the national news channels, and one show had
devoted an entire hour to Alicia and the case, including an interview with
Chief Westbury.

“If you want to take off early, feel
free,” Molly offered.

Embarrassed to be caught staring out the
window when she was supposed to be working, Carly shrugged. There was nothing
she particularly felt like doing. Worrying about what that poor girl was going
through had left Carly feeling drained and listless.

“Suit yourself, honey,” Molly said,
patting Carly’s shoulder.

“Hey, Carly,” Debby said. “Chief Westbury
called. He wants you to meet him by the willow at the lake when your shift
ends. He said he’s got something he wants to show you.”

Carly’s cheeks grew hot at the idea of
meeting the chief in the place where she used to make love with his son.
What
could he possibly want to show me there?
Her stomach knotted with anxiety.
The willow was the one place from her old life she had never returned to. The
memories were just too painful. But if the chief needed her for something, she
would go.

Since there wasn’t much cleaning up to do
at Miss Molly’s, she left at the stroke of two and set out for the lake. With
the police on a desperate search to find Alicia, Carly noticed with uneasiness
the absence of officers on Main Street that afternoon. She reached into her
pocket and wrapped her fingers around the ever-present can of pepper spray.