Until Dark (28 page)

Chapter
Twenty-four

While Kendra slept, Adam made phone calls. The first was to her stepfather, Philip Norton. The second was to John Mancini.

Philip Norton had been the first to arrive. Adam sat with him in the lounge and drank several cups of terrible coffee from the vending machine while he related to the widower of Senator Elisa Smith-Norton what Kendra had told him about her mother’s death.

“Yes.” The tall man with the New England accent had nodded his graying head, and wept openly. “Yes. It would have had to have been like that. My wife would not have left her daughter in such a way . . . wouldn’t have left me. Kendra and I have never believed for one second that Elisa had taken her own life, regardless of the evidence, of the official reports.”

“I’ve already spoken with the Bureau and requested a copy of the files on the senator’s case. I want to see what they had, how they could have missed that someone else had pulled the trigger.”

“I’ve seen the file.” Norton raised his head and looked Adam in the eye. “There’s nothing there to suggest that anyone else was in the house. He must have been very clever.”

“How were you able to—?” Adam started to inquire, then remembered that the man who sat before him was Philip D. Norton, Ph.D., a former White House press secretary with connections that reached all the way to the Bureau’s director, a man to whom many favors might be owed. No doubt, where his wife’s death had been concerned, he’d called in every one. “Never mind.”

“Did he, Zachary Smith, tell Kendra exactly how he’d managed to . . .” Even now, almost four years later, Norton could not say the words.

“I don’t know how much detail he gave her. But since he’s in custody, I expect that sooner or later we’ll get the whole story.”

“In custody, eh?” Dr. Philip Norton’s eyebrows raised with interest. “Your custody, Agent Stark?”

“Right now he’s in the custody of the New Jersey State Police. That’s subject to change, once the jurisdictional issues are ironed out,” Adam told him. “New Jersey isn’t the only state that will want a piece of Mr. Smith. I suspect that Washington, California, and Arizona will want to chat with him, after Pennsylvania and New Jersey, of course. And God knows who else. There are federal issues to be dealt with, as well. The killing of a United States senator . . .”

“Do we know what happened to Ian Smith?” Norton cut him off.

Adam brought him up to date on what had been found in a cave in the southern Arizona hills.

“What a terrible, terrible way to die.” Dr. Norton shook his head sadly. “And this fellow was, what, not even in his teens when he permitted his own cousin to go to a certain death? A pitiful start to what’s obviously been a pitiful life.”

“Kendra alluded that the ‘accidental’ death of Zach’s mother may not have been an accident, after all.”

“Good Lord,” Norton muttered. “His own mother. His cousin. His aunt.”

“And we’ve yet to tally up how many women he killed while trying to attract Kendra’s attention. Seven out here, and several . . . I’m not sure if anyone knows for certain how many out on the West Coast.”

“Trying to get Kendra’s attention? He told you that?” Norton appeared horrified.

“He told her that; I’ve yet to speak with him about it.” Adam nodded. “But apparently it was all part of some game he was playing with her.”

“To what end?”

“Does it matter? Regardless of whatever twisted explanation he gives, whatever excuse he offers, could what he did ever make sense, ever be justified?”

“Of course not.” Dr. Norton appeared surprised at the question. “Evil, like beauty, is its own excuse for being.”

The hospital corridors were quiet when John Mancini, head of the FBI’s special task force on abductions, stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor. One hand held a huge file tucked under his arm, the other hand held a worn brown leather briefcase that was bursting at the seams. He located the room he sought, nodded a silent greeting to the agent who sat outside, and stood in the doorway, his handsome face creased with concern as he stared at the young woman who lay on the bed with IVs in both arms and casts on her hands.

In the course of his career, he’d seen more than his share of violence. Its victims never failed to affect him.

The woman in the bed turned to the door and raised one casted hand.

“John,” she called to him in a low, raspy voice, “you looking for Adam?”

“No.” He forced a smile as he stepped into the room. “I was looking for you.”

“I got your flowers,” she said, pointing in the direction of a large spray of pink roses and blue hydrangeas that sat on the window ledge. “Thank you. That was so sweet.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let
that
get out.” He smiled again, genuinely this time. “And thank Genna when you see her. The flowers are her thing.”

“Well, then, I hope I do see her again so I can thank her in person,” Kendra said, fondly recalling her acquaintance with Genna Snow, an agent with whom she’d worked her first case, who just happened to be John Mancini’s fiancée. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and get my name on that guest list for the wedding.”

“I’ve seen that guest list, and I believe your name is on it.”

“Hopefully by the time your wedding rolls around, I’ll have use of my hands again.”

“What are the doctors saying?”

“Four weeks in the splints, then therapy,” she told him. “Not so bad, when you consider that he could have killed me. He almost did kill me,” she said, recalling those moments right before she’d lost consciousness, when, her head held underwater, she’d fought for breath. “I’m not sure why he didn’t, unless he wasn’t finished bragging about all he’d done.”

“I’m going to want to talk to you about that, as soon as you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” she rasped.

“I don’t think so.” He patted her foot. “We’ll give you at least until tomorrow.”

“You’ll be speaking with Zach, though, won’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

John nodded.

“Then you should speak with me first,” she told him. “I can give you information so your people will know what to ask him about. He’s not going to volunteer anything, so you need to know what to ask. There are so many families who need to know.”

“Kendra, your voice is almost gone.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted. “If my voice goes, I’ll whisper. There are things you need to know about this man.”

Adam returned to Kendra’s room shortly after Mancini began to record her recollection of the events of the past twenty-four hours. He offered to assist in the interview, but John was already into it, and he waved off Adam’s offer.

“But if you wouldn’t mind,” Kendra’s voice was noticeably weaker than it had been earlier that morning, “could you check on my house for me? Chief Logan says the damage is all to one side, but I’d feel better if you went out and actually looked things over for me.”

“If you know who your insurance agent is, I can call him for you. I think you’re going to need to report this as soon as possible.”

“Jess Webb is my agent. He’s also one of the volunteer firemen, so I’m guessing the report has already gone in.”

“I’ll just run out, and take a look then,” Adam said, though he made no sign of moving. He seemed almost reluctant to leave her, even in the company of his own boss.

“Were you planning on doing that today, Stark?” John asked without turning around.

“Ah, yes sir, I was.” Adam still stood at the foot of Kendra’s bed. “You’re okay? You don’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk about what happened?”

She shook her head no. “I want to do it now.”

“She’s in good hands, Stark.” This time John did turn to face him. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise. And she’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Sure.” Adam nodded, backing toward the door. “Sure. I knew that.”

Not happy at having been dismissed, but understanding that John might want someone other than Adam, whose interest in Kendra was clearly more than professional, to conduct the initial interview, Adam drove back to Smith’s Forge.

He could smell the remains of the house long before it came into view. From the moment he’d turned onto Kendra’s road, the odor of charred wet wood hung in the still midday air. He drove slowly down the dirt road, almost fearing his arrival at Smith House. The house was all Kendra had left of her family, her connection to them and to her past. Her sanctuary. If the house had been destroyed, what might that do to her?

Three cars were already parked in the drive. One was Kendra’s, the other Selena’s. The third was an unknown.

“Hey,” Selena called to him as he got out of his car.

Adam waved as he walked toward her, wondering where the driver of the third car might be.

“How’s Kendra?” Selena asked, her eyes dark with concern.

“She’s going to be fine,” Adam nodded.

“I thought I’d stop back again this afternoon, after I finished up here with Jess.”

“Jess?”

“Jess Webb. He’s making a report for the insurance company. His dad, Oliver, was an old friend of the Smiths. He left a message on my answering machine, telling me what happened, and when Jess would be here. He thought someone should be here for Kendra, since she clearly wasn’t going to make it.” Selena’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s just all so terrible, so terrible.”

Adam put an arm around her shoulder and let her cry.

“As terrible as it’s been—and yes, Kendra had a really bad time and I suspect she’ll tell you all about that—there’s been good come of it.”

“What good could come from this?” Selena scoffed, gesturing toward the old house, with its roof caved in over the kitchen and God knew what damage inside.

“As despicable as Zach Smith is—and I suspect we have a long way to go before we discover just how despicable he is—he gave Kendra something that no one else could have given her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Zach told Kendra that he killed her mother.”

Selena’s jaw dropped.

“He . . . killed . . .”

“Yes.”

“That means, she didn’t commit . . .”

Adam nodded.

“Kendra was always so certain, and I’d always felt she was right.” Weak in the knees, Selena leaned back against her car. “Oh, God, this must have lifted such a weight from her soul. . . .”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, my.” Selena shook her head, pondering this news, and what it might mean for her friend, as the insurance agent came around one side of the house, a clipboard in his hand.

Selena waved to him, then introduced him to Adam.

“Is it safe to go inside?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, the floors are soaked, but they’ll hold you. I wouldn’t recommend going in before the adjuster gets here, though.”

“How bad is the damage?”

“It’s mostly contained to the kitchen area,” he shook his head, “though how the rest of the house remained untouched, I’ll never understand. That was some nasty fire.”

“Well, if the kitchen’s the worst of it, I guess it’s not so bad,” Selena said. “Kendra’s been saying for months that she wanted a new kitchen. Guess now she’ll be getting one.”

“What about the contents? The furniture, books, carpets, that sort of thing?” Adam asked.

“Water and smoke to the upholstered pieces in the front room, seems to be the worst. Then there’s smoke damage upstairs, some water there, too. But as I said, the kitchen took the worst of it,” the agent explained. “I called this in first thing this morning to the company and asked for an adjuster to be sent out right away. I expect someone along any time now, I just came out a little early to see for myself what we needed to concentrate on.”

He turned to Selena. “You let Kendra know that it’s being taken care of.”

“I’ll do that.” She smiled at him, and the young man blushed. “And maybe I’ll call Karen Hill over at Antiquities to see what needs to be done to restore any of the antique pieces that may be damaged. I know just about everything Kendra owned was passed down through her family.”

“I already called Karen to give her a heads up,” Webb told her. “She’ll be here at two to meet with the adjuster.”

“Well, then, I’d say you thought of pretty much everything,” Adam said. “Kendra’s lucky to have someone looking out for her interests right now.”

Jess Webb blushed again and muttered something about the responsibilities of a good agent.

Minutes later, the adjuster arrived, and Selena and Adam prepared to leave.

“I feel so responsible for all this.” Selena stood next to her car, the driver’s door open, one foot already inside the vehicle. “If I had paid more attention, if I hadn’t been so willing to slough it all off.”

“Selena, that’s ridiculous. No one could have known.”

“I did.” She looked up at him, eyes blazing now. “For weeks I’ve been sensing that something was not right. For days I’ve seen the clouds gathering around her, and I didn’t stop it.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could have warned her.” Selena’s eyes filled with tears again. “I saw the clouds, and I saw the flames and I saw her in the water.”

“While it was happening?”

Selena nodded.

“Then how could you have stopped it?”

“If I hadn’t tried so hard to block it out, if I’d let myself be more receptive instead of ignoring what I felt.” She sighed deeply. “When I was a little girl, I used to get these . . . feelings, I guess, is the best way to describe it. I could sense what people would say, or what they would do. I could see things in dreams, and then they’d happen. I’d tell my mother, and she’d flip out. ‘Don’t talk crazy,’ she’d say, ‘Don’t ever, ever tell anyone. People will think you’re crazy like your grandmother Brennan.’ So I didn’t tell people. Just a few. Kendra knew.”

“Did Kendra think it was crazy?”

“No. She always believed. She thought it would be fun, you know, to know what people thought, what they were going to say before they’d say it.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t always fun. Sometimes the visions, the dreams, scared me. Sometimes it was terrible to hear the thoughts other people had in their heads.”

She pressed her hands to the sides of her head.

“Sometimes it just hurt too much to hear. To see.” She closed her eyes. “So I just refused to let it in, as much as I could refuse. As much as I could block it from my consciousness, I did. But sometimes something got past me. This man—Peter, he called himself at the shelter—got past me. I knew there was someone at Father Tim’s who was bringing all the darkness, but I’d blocked out the ability to see and to hear for so long, I couldn’t trust what I saw.”