Vanished (15 page)

Evelyn shook her head, planning to keep her promise to Noreen unless she had something real on Frank. “I might have a reason to suspect Frank. I need to check into some things first.”

“What about Darnell and Walter?”

“They’re still our focus.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped as he gestured at the case files on the table. “I’ve been going over this shit for two hours. I thought maybe looking through it again would tell me something new. You know, time and distance and all that.”

He looked at his watch, then slumped even more. “But I’m not seeing anything I didn’t see eighteen years ago. And Brittany’s been gone for sixty-six hours, Evelyn.”

“I know, Jack.”

“What the hell can we do that we’re not already doing?” When he gazed up at her, his eyes held dejection and exhaustion and just enough hope that she knew he’d never give up.

“We’re doing everything right—”

“Bullshit. If that was true, we’d have brought Brittany and Lauren home by now.”

He left unspoken that he thought it was her fault, but the words hung in the air, anyway. Or maybe that was just how she felt.

Evelyn tried to sound confident. “We have to keep at it until we find something that doesn’t seem right and then dig and dig.” Jack frowned and went back to his case files.

Evelyn took that as her cue to go call the field office in Houston, where she’d first been assigned out of the FBI Academy. Walking into the quiet of the parking lot, Evelyn phoned her old supervisor. He was still there, and luckily, he was fond of her since she’d practically lived at the office in her determination to fill her file with a record impressive enough to get into BAU. When she asked if he could look for a twenty-year-old accident report, he promised to get back to her within the hour.

Slapping her phone shut, she turned to go back inside when someone shouted, “Evelyn!”

She knew that voice. Evelyn felt herself grinning. “Greg?”

Dan had actually sent Greg? One part of her was shocked, but another part realized Dan probably knew Greg was his best chance of keeping her in line.

Greg Ibsen strode up to the station doors in dress pants and a short-sleeve button-up, no cartoon tie in sight. A laptop case was slung over his shoulder and he clutched a coffee cup. “How are you holding up?”

As he reached her side and looked, horrified, at her cheek, Evelyn shrugged. “Getting close to something someone doesn’t want me to know, obviously.”

Greg studied her more closely. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. How mad is Dan?”

“You’re going to be in for it once you’re home. There’s no getting around that.”

Nerves fluttered to life in her stomach. She’d hoped the fact that Dan was sending another profiler meant he’d forgiven her, but maybe it
was
as bad as she’d originally thought. Her voice was strangled when she asked, “Did I lose my spot in BAU?” She cringed. “In the Bureau?”

Greg shook his head and offered her a forced smile. “Are you kidding? The BAU’s star profiler?”

She crossed her arms. “Give it to me straight.”

“It’ll be fine. Worry about it later, okay? Just focus on the case for now.”

“Just tell me.”

“You’re really lucky the police chief here convinced the suspect not to press charges. And that Dan doesn’t want it known someone would dare be insubordinate. I only know about it because I happened to be in his office when that police officer called. I don’t think Dan’s going to put it in your file—at least not the details.”

“But?”

“Well, you’re at the top of Dan’s shit list.”

Evelyn knew what that meant. She wasn’t going to be asked to hand over her badge and gun and be physically escorted out of the BAU office when she returned. Instead, Dan would set her up to fail, meaning her days at BAU were numbered.

And without her job, what the hell would she do? Being a criminal investigative analyst for BAU had defined her for so long.

Without her job, maybe a better question was, who the hell would she be?

Fourteen

“S
he was playing at the park,” Evelyn’s former supervisor from the Houston field office said as soon as she picked up her phone.

“Wait,” Evelyn said. “Noreen Abbott told me her sister was the victim of a drunk driver.”

“She was. She was at the park with her mom and she ran into the street. Car came flying around the curb and hit her. The guy driving was way over the legal limit. He took off, too. But witnesses got a plate and the police grabbed him pretty quickly. The girl was dead on the scene.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Nineteen years ago, almost to the day.”

A year before the Nursery Rhyme abductions had started. A coincidence? Evelyn mulled it over. The timing was suspicious, but so was the murder of Darnell’s ex’s daughter. And since Noreen’s sister had been hit by a drunk driver, could Frank Abbott really claim parental neglect?

“She ran into the street?” Evelyn asked. “Was her mom not watching her?”

“It sounds like it happened pretty damn fast and at exactly the wrong time. Girl was playing soccer. Chased a ball right into the street. There was never any question of blaming the mother. Witnesses said she yelled at her daughter to stop before she got to the street, even before that car came around the curb. It’s definitely tragic, but it was one hundred percent the fault of the driver.”

“Tell me about him.” It was unlikely there was a connection, but it wouldn’t be uncommon for someone like that to blame the parent instead of himself.

“He got fifteen years, but he only made it ten. Apparently he picked a lot of fights in prison and one of the other inmates took him out.”

“Okay.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Hope it helps,” he said, then hung up.

Evelyn closed her phone slowly as Greg raised his eyebrows at her. If Noreen’s father was still alive, he might have been a good suspect, but an uncle?

If the Nursery Rhyme Killer was trying to make up for his own loss by blaming the parents of other young girls, it was more likely to be a father or significantly older brother. Someone who’d lived with the girl, who’d feel that void every day.

But she couldn’t rule Frank out.

She pulled up his address on her laptop, jotted it down, then told Greg, “We need to take a drive.”

Greg scooped up his own laptop from where he’d set it an hour ago as he’d made the rounds, being introduced to the agents and officers.

“Where are we going?” Greg asked.

Evelyn headed for the door. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

As she pushed the door open, someone pulled it from the other side, almost yanking her off her feet. Stumbling, she found herself staring at Brittany Douglas’s father. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin sallow, and he seemed as though he’d lost twenty pounds since the mob scene two days ago.

He didn’t appear to know her, because he just continued inside, but Evelyn followed and Greg trailed behind her. “Mr. Douglas?”

He spun back. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you about what happened with Walter Wiggins?”

Before he could answer, Tomas came out of his office. “Mark,” he said to Brittany’s dad. “Figured you’d show up here at some point.”

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to get out of being arrested—”

“We know,” Tomas cut in.

“But I’m turning myself in, okay? I don’t want you guys wasting resources looking for me. I want you focused on my daughter.” Mark Douglas let out a heavy sigh. “And Lauren.”

Tomas nodded. “I appreciate that, Mark, but Wiggins isn’t pressing charges. We’re all focusing on your daughter here.”

“Thank you,” he choked out.

Tomas leveled a warning look at him. “You need to leave this to us to do the right way.” His gaze moved to Evelyn. “Your actions could have compromised the whole investigation.”

Brittany’s dad went pale and he swayed. “I just wanted to find her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t bear it if you all were wrapped in legal tape and my daughter was in that freak’s house, being...being...”

“Mr. Douglas,” Evelyn cut in. “Was there something specific that made you go after Walter? Something besides his history?”

Mark blinked. “Rose Bay has always been safe. Walter Wiggins is the only creep in these parts. It just makes sense.”

Instead of correcting him on the number of convicted child molesters in and around Rose Bay, Evelyn asked, “Did you actually go inside his house?”

“You’re damn right I did!” Mark said, and suddenly all the cops in the room stepped closer and went silent.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

Mark glanced at Tomas. “Who is this?”

“She’s with the FBI. So is the man standing next to her. They’re both profilers, specially trained in cases like this one.” Tomas stepped closer and put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Tell them anything you remember, okay?”

“Sure.” Mark looked at all the silent cops around him and frowned, his tone somber. “I caught him when he went to get his paper. It was afternoon, but he probably hadn’t wanted to go outside earlier, because a crowd had been there yelling at him. I wasn’t there then, but that’s what his neighbor said. Anyway, I think he figured no one was watching anymore, the way he crept out the door. But I’d been waiting for a while.”

When he stopped talking, Greg prompted, “Keep going.”

“Well, I mean, you know I hit him.” Mark straightened his shoulders. “I don’t regret it, either. I don’t see how it could possibly have compromised anything. But if she’d been in there...”

“Did you search his house?” Evelyn asked.

“No. He kept saying he didn’t do it when I punched him, wouldn’t admit a damn thing, so when he hit the ground, I ran inside.” His eyes watery, Mark told them, “I called for my baby. Yelled and yelled, but the only person who answered was Walter’s dad. I think he called the cops, too, but before they arrived, Walter was back up and swinging an aluminum bat at me.”

“Where did you look in the house?”

“Part of the main floor. I was trying to get into the basement—the door was latched—when Walter ran in with that bat.” Mark flushed and stared down at his shoes. “He’s a small guy, but man, he wielded that bat like he knew how to use it. And he ran at me like a crazed man, swinging the bat around. I ran, tried to get away from him. And then I heard the sirens, and I took off.”

Toward the back of the crowd, Jack’s eyes locked on hers and she could read exactly what he was thinking. Mark hadn’t gotten into the basement. The apparently locked basement.

And racing at someone with a baseball bat, someone who’d just beaten him badly enough to land him in the hospital, was a bold move. Especially from a convicted child molester facing an enraged father.

What the hell was in Walter Wiggins’s basement?

Jack looked like he was going to jump in, but Tomas spoke first. “Is there anything else you can remember about the house, Mark?”

Mark watched the cops listening intently and shook his head. “It looked like it hadn’t changed in decades, but I didn’t see kids’ toys lying around or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“That’s it?” Mark asked as the cops returned to their tasks. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Mark, your daughter and Lauren are our only priorities right now,” Tomas said.

Mark seemed ready to argue, so Evelyn turned to Greg and whispered, “Let’s go.”

As they got into Greg’s rental car, he asked, “You want to tell me where we’re headed?”

“I want to talk to a guy named Frank Abbott.” Evelyn gave him the details as she directed him to the outskirts of town where Frank lived.

“Frank didn’t move in with his brother until after his niece was already gone, right?” Greg asked.

“That’s right.”

“Well, he’s worth investigating, but he’d be a more viable suspect if he’d ever lived with the girl.”

“I agree. But the CARD agents are putting pretty much everything they’ve got on Darnell and Walter, so I want to check this out. Turn here.” She pointed to a curving dirt road, overhung by hundred-year-old trees and lined with tall, overgrown grass. It wound lazily for a few miles until it finally dead-ended.

“This is still Rose Bay?”

“Yes. I know, it looks pretty different. This part is a lot more rural. Where I grew up had a suburban feel—lots of plantation-style houses, big manicured lawns. Very old-school South Carolina. This side of town is right on the edge of Rose Bay. Huge properties—they actually make the ones in town seem miniscule. We’re talking hundreds of acres, but I think some are abandoned now. Mostly the people who own land here have had it in their families for generations. Eventually, I’m sure it’ll all get developed.”

“It’s nice,” Greg said. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah.” Evelyn looked at the field stretching out to her right, nothing but knee-and waist-high grasses, the occasional flower peeking out. Once the whole area had been working fields connected to plantations, and in this part of Rose Bay, farms had struggled on until only a few decades ago.

She hadn’t spent any time here growing up, but seeing it now reminded her how segregated the town used to be. The town itself was for the wealthy white residents. Near the marshes were the poorer residents. Even though white people lived there, back then it had been thought of as the black part of town because of how completely white the main part had been. Except for her, of course.

And this little section where Frank lived had been a random assortment. There were a few recluses. Some of these places were second properties for families who lived in town; they’d had ancestors who’d owned so much of Rose Bay they still had bits and pieces of it all over the place. And there was the weird old guy who’d been one of the few Rose Bay residents who called her names.

“This it?” Greg asked as he pulled up a long, narrow dirt drive. A few birch trees dotted the property, but most of it was overgrown fields that extended for acres. The house at the end of the drive looked as if it had weathered a hundred years, and no one had bothered to give it a coat of paint in all that time. The dilapidated barn a hundred yards behind it didn’t look much better.

Evelyn checked the address on her phone. “I guess so.”
This
was the place Frank Abbott couldn’t wait to get back to when he’d lived with Earl and Noreen? It made Evelyn wonder what kind of shape Earl’s house had been in.

Greg turned off the engine and got out. “Let’s go, then.”

Evelyn followed more slowly. The barn was huge, the sort that might’ve existed on a working farm. But Frank Abbott was a handyman—he and his brother had been in business together for a long time and now he ran it himself. He’d never used this as a farm. Maybe the barn was for his work tools? It certainly wasn’t filled with equipment to care for his property, because only the front yard around the drive was mowed. The rest of it was overgrown with waist-high grass, making it impossible to tell where his property ended and the neighboring yard began.

As they walked up the steps, Evelyn saw that the shades on Frank’s house were all open, giving Evelyn a clear view inside. What she saw was clean and sparse, suggesting that Frank didn’t spend a lot of time at home.

Greg pounded on the door, and when it opened a crack, steely gray eyes peered out at them.

“What?” Frank demanded.

Acting unaffected by the rude response, Greg said, “Hi, Mr. Abbott. I’m Greg Ibsen, with the FBI. This is my colleague Evelyn Baine. We just have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”

The door opened the rest of the way, revealing a man with hard living etched in the lines of his face, and hard work evident in the ropy muscles of his arms. “Figured you’d get here eventually.” He turned and walked deeper into the house.

Evelyn and Greg glanced at each other, then went in behind him.

“Did Noreen call you?” Evelyn asked.

“Yep. Apologized for telling anyone about Margaret—although it wasn’t my choice to keep that secret—and said I fit some profile. That’s it.”

Evelyn tried not to grind her teeth. Noreen worked in a police station; she should’ve known better than to warn a potential suspect, even if he was family.

Frank kept walking, leading them past a small, bare kitchen that seemed rarely used, then into a den where he obviously spent most of his time. He settled down in a well-worn indentation on the couch. In front of the seat was a TV table, with a half-eaten sandwich and a drink on it.

Frank picked up his sandwich and took a bite, gesturing to the other chairs in the room, which looked practically new compared to the well-loved couch. “Sit.”

Greg took the armchair on one side while Evelyn scanned the room. A pile of nonfiction books on an end table, a few dog-eared hunting magazines stacked beside them. Garage-sale quality artwork on one wall, as if Frank had started to make an effort with decorating, then given up. A TV directly across from the couch, set on mute to a news channel. Images of Lauren and Brittany were flashing across the screen, and Evelyn looked back at Frank to see his reaction.

But he was watching her, not the TV. “Stop staring at my stuff and sit down. You think I’m a suspect? Fine. Ask me whatever you want to ask. Hell, search my house if you need to. Rule me out and go find who really did this.”

Evelyn sank into the other chair and exchanged a look with Greg. “Does that offer extend to your barn?”

Frank’s flat gaze moved between them. “The offer to search? Sure.”

Evelyn held in a sigh. If he was letting them check the place out this easily, either he hadn’t taken the girls or he was positive she and Greg would never find them.

Frank gestured toward the big picture window overlooking his backyard, which seemed to go on for miles, just overgrown fields. “A search party walked part of my property already, you know. Gave them permission to look wherever they wanted. There’s a lot of unused land out here.”

Greg leaned forward. “Are you saying someone might have been on your property, Mr. Abbott?”

“Hell, no, I’m not. I never saw anyone here. I’m just trying to cooperate.” He turned back to Evelyn. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”