Web of Lies (15 page)
K
elly and I rode in silence until we neared the edge of town. My mind spun with events of the day. Chelsea’s vision . . . the unknown face . . . the discovered skeleton . . . the threatening note. I hadn’t thought to ask Jenna if she’d checked Chetterling’s progress at the airstrip. Were he and Stanish and the others finished with their work?
Tiredness surged through me. I sighed, flexed my aching neck.
Kelly shot me a worried look. “You okay, Mom?”
“Yes, sure. Just worn out.”
She exhaled slowly. “Are you going to see Dave tonight?”
Dave.
From nowhere the guilt I couldn’t shake raised its ugly head.
Here we go again — Annie the troublemaker. Always bringing chaos into Dave’s life, when he so deserves some peace . . .
“I don’t know, it’s pretty late. Maybe I’ll just talk to him for a minute.”
Kelly made a noise of disapproval in her throat. I ignored it. She and Erin were the same — they wanted to push me toward Dave. But on some level Kelly seemed to sense that even though I wanted to be with him, some nagging
thing
held me back.
“Well, anyway, I want to stay over at Erin’s house.”
Couldn’t blame her. “Sure. I’ll walk you across the street. And I’ll talk to Dave then, okay?”
The promise sounded so placating, as if I would see Dave merely to please my daughter. Kelly surveyed me, mouth tight. “Are you going to marry him?” The question burst from her as if it had been bottled up for some time.
We stopped at a red light. I made a point of checking the rearview
mirror for Jenna and Officer Flagen. Anything to keep from looking my daughter in the eye. “Kelly, we’ve only been dating for a few months.”
“So? It’s not like you’re going to find anyone else like him. Besides, he loves you, you know that.”
Loves me.
Dave had never uttered the words. Nor could I be sure I wanted him to. “I love you” demands a response, like a lifeline thrown across a chasm. You either catch your end or it will fall. Could I do that to Dave? Watch him coil the rope back up, walk away alone?
The light turned green. We surged forward. “I’m not . . . I don’t know what to tell you. Marriage is a huge commitment and we haven’t even discussed it. You have to give us time.”
Kelly pushed back against her seat with a sigh. Crossed her arms. “Well, for the record, I want you to. So does Erin. We don’t see what you’re waiting for.”
My mental projector kicked on, the worn-out and caustic scene playing upon the walls of my head. Kelly’s father, in our bedroom four and a half years ago . . .
“It’s time I told you.” The words drop like ice cubes. He unknots his tie, slips it from his neck. I stare at it dangling in his hands, somehow knowing that it’s a metaphor, that he does not see this. “I’m leaving the marriage. Yes, there’s someone else. I’ll be moving in with her . . .”
My fingers stiffened against the steering wheel. In quick succession more fractured scenes flashed.
My father when I am eight years old: “You were supposed to be a boy . . .”
My mother, crying to me about Dad’s affairs. “He doesn’t love us!”
Dave’s grief-racked face the day after his beloved wife is killed . . .
I took a deep breath, struggling to yank out the splintered memories. Why did they still plague me? I was a Christian now. I
knew
God loved me; I should be able to rest in that. Still, deep inside me hulked this thing, this beast that roared my unworthiness. Hadn’t I gone through life feeling like I’d let people down? Truth be told, I hadn’t felt worthy since the day I was born. Not to my husband, not to my father before him. And certainly not to someone as wonderful as Dave.
Some time passed before I could answer Kelly. When I did, my voice sounded stripped, barren. “Let us handle it, okay? This isn’t for you to decide.” I glanced at her, registering the puzzlement etching her forehead. My mouth tried to smile, but it came out lopsided.
We spoke no more on the way home.
When we reached Grove Landing, I drove straight toward the house. I had no energy, emotional or otherwise, to check on progress at the airstrip. Most likely they were gone anyway, now that it was dark. Besides, Kelly shouldn’t be exposed to that. She had enough to deal with. Good thing she was going to Erin’s. Her best friend would be more comfort to her than anyone, including me.
At the house, Officer Flagen took up his post on Barrister Court, parking just before the curve of the cul-de-sac so he faced the length of the street. I did not envy him the job of sitting in his car for hours. Mind on hold, I showed Chelsea her upstairs guest bedroom and bath, and Jenna provided her with a pair of pajamas. The two women wore the same size of clothes. Next stop — the kitchen. We’d eaten little all day. Not that I possessed much appetite. Jenna, God bless her, said she’d throw some dinner together while I went to see Dave.
Kelly bundled up a few belongings, and together we marched across the street under the officer’s watchful eye. Kelly and Erin hugged as if they hadn’t seen each other in a year. Dave’s green eyes fixed upon me with palpable fear as he drew me inside. The girls headed down the hall to Erin’s bedroom. There they would face this new problem in their typical teenage way — with lots of talking and music. Within seconds Erin’s CD player kicked on to some hip-hop group.
Dave and I wandered into his family room and sank onto the couch. He put his arm around me and pulled me to his chest. The familiar rush swept over me, the warmth, the throat-tightening desire. I could hear his heart beating.
“Annie.” He cradled a hand around my head. “It drives me crazy that this is happening to you. I just want to make it all go away.”
Thump-thump,
went his heart. The feel of him, the very
life
of him soothed me. At that moment I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever want to push him away.
“It’s okay.” My voice half muffled into his shirt. “It’s not going to last long. Neese’s face is everywhere; they’ll find him soon.”
No reply. I knew he wanted to believe that as much as I did.
“Anyway.” I laid my head on his shoulder. “I promised I’d tell you about Chelsea.”
“Yes. I want to hear everything.”
While he stroked my hair, I told him. All about her vision, her reaction to the discovery of bones at the airstrip. About
her
.
“She’s amazing, really. She has real insight into people, and then she’ll
say
what she sees. Not like Jenna would; she’s not that blatant. But in this . . . empathetic way. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to go up against her. She’s crafty when she has to be. She played Tim Blanche like a fiddle.”
Dave chuckled at that. “Good for her.”
The cordless phone rang. Dave sighed, then leaned toward an end table to answer it. “Hello?” I watched his expression still. He held the phone out to me. “It’s Chetterling.”
Oh great.
After I’d purposely left my cell phone at home. Reluctantly I reached for the phone. “Hi, Ralph.”
“Hi. Sorry about tracking you down. Jenna gave me the number.”
“No problem.”
“I heard about the note. You all right?”
“Good news travels fast.” I leaned forward, focused on the carpet. Dave laid a hand on my back. “I’m okay. Not real happy but okay.”
“Yeah, understood.” He paused. “They’ll get him soon, Annie. Hang in there. The Sheriff’s Department is now helping too. Cars are out there everywhere, searching for him.”
Wonderful Chetterling — always looking out for me. Why couldn’t Blanche lay aside his dislike long enough to call and assure me like this? Too bad the Sheriff’s Department didn’t have full jurisdiction over the case. “Thanks, Ralph. I’m glad to know.”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I also wanted to tell you what’s happening with the other case. We recovered most of the skeleton and brought it back to the morgue. Larry Delching and Harry Fleck will be looking at it tomorrow morning. Once the gender and age of the deceased has been determined, we’ll look through missing persons reports for any possible fit. If we find one, of course, we’ll see if we can establish identity through dental charts, which could take a day or two. But if we don’t, we’ll need you. Probably by sometime in the afternoon we should be ready to turn things over to you.”
“Okay.” I fought to keep the tiredness from my voice.
Let’s just hope they don’t need me.
He hesitated. “Sure you can handle it, after this?”
I pulled in a long breath. “Sure. It’ll keep me busy and out of trouble.”
Ha-ha.
“Okay. Thanks, Annie; I know you have a lot on your mind. Somebody’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know what’s happening.” A pause. “I’ll let you go now. But sometime you really are going to have to tell me about your visit with Chelsea Adams.”
“Ralph, find Orwin Neese for me, and I’ll tell you every
word
that passed between us.”
He chuckled. “Deal.”
I clicked off the line and set the phone aside. Dave placed his hands on my cheeks, questions in his eyes.
“Guess what I might get to do tomorrow?” I laid my hands over his, reveling at the feel of his palms against my skin. “Bring home a skull.”
Sunday, September 25 – Monday, September 26
E
ight o’clock Sunday morning. We would stay home from church. Far safer not to go out any more than I had to. I descended our circular staircase, smelling the coffee Jenna had made. She always wakes up earlier than I do. “Good morning,” I called as I crossed the great room.
God, I do thank You for a good morning, despite everything. At least we’ve made it through the night, safe and sound.
I peeked through the front window toward the cul-de-sac. An officer I didn’t recognize sat dutifully in his vehicle. He was sipping coffee from a mug.
“Hi.” Jenna’s delayed response sounded grim. “You’d better come in here and look at the paper.”
Oh no, now what?
Heart skipping a beat, I headed for the kitchen.
She sat at the table, front page unfolded. At the sound of my footsteps she raised her head. Her features were taut. I slipped into the chair opposite her, my eyes questioning.
It had become as predictable as heat in a Redding summer — the local media’s crucial role during the hunt for a murderer. Almost as if we formed a triangle, I and law enforcement at one point, suspect at another, and reporters at the third. Of course the public needed to be informed; I understood that. And many times we’d used the media for our own purposes, as when a composite needed circulation. As for the reporters, their job was to get the story — first. Problem was, whatever information they tracked down, they’d report, whether it hurt the case or not. It never seemed to occur to them that out there somewhere a killer read the paper as well.
I took a breath. “How bad is it?”
Jenna’s expression mixed cold anger, shock, and . . . pity? I froze, not wanting to know. She turned the paper around and pushed it toward me. “I’m going to go see if our friendly policeman outside needs more coffee.” She rose and left the kitchen.
I drew the paper closer. My gaze fell upon the front page, then bounced from one headline to the next.
Skeleton Found at Grove Landing
The article was accompanied by a photo of Chelsea and me by the site, Chelsea’s eyes caught wide, creases in her forehead.
Neese Threatens Forensic Artist
Psychic Says Missing Woman Trapped with Spiders
I gasped.
How . . . What . . .
Hardly daring to breathe, I bent over the paper and read.
F
orensic artist Annie Kingston and friend Chelsea Adams, a nationally known Bay Area woman who sees “visions from God,” told police detective Tim Blanche Saturday afternoon that Adams had seen a vision of a woman and a second person imprisoned in a small, dark room stocked with spiders, some of them poisonous. Adams and Kingston surmised that the two people may be Amy Flyte, missing since Orwin Neese allegedly vowed to kill her, and a second as yet unknown man whose life Neese also allegedly threatened.
Adams claimed the vision included terrifying details of deadly spiders from Africa and Australia, and an exact layout of the prisonlike room — including built-in shelves in whose corners spiders could weave webs, and a dim red bulb.
According to sources within the Redding Police Department, Adams asked Kingston to draw a face associated with the vision. This face may be that of the missing man, the two women told Blanche. The source said Blanche, skeptical of their claims, had not decided if he would release the sketch to the media . . .
By the time I finished the article, my heart sat in my throat. I pressed back in my chair, palms flat on the table, questions and emotions sloshing within me like crosscurrents. A scene flashed in my head — the back of Luke Bremington’s crinkled white shirt as he disappeared into the police station yesterday afternoon. But
who
told him? Blanche was busy in the parking lot with the techs and the cars . . .
Still, in the end the blame rested with him.
