When All The Girls Have Gone (29 page)

“There were two of them in the car.” Max studied the photos on Ethel Deeping’s phone.

“Yep.” Ethel watched him anxiously. “I saw the other man when Charlotte opened the rear door to get into the backseat. One man at the wheel, one in the back. What’s more, I think the s.o.b. in back had a gun. Can’t be sure, but if you enlarge the photo you can see something in his hand.”

“It’s a gun,” Max said. “You got the license plate. Good work.”

“Figured you might need it. You’re a PI. You can run a license plate, right?”

He looked at her. “Don’t believe everything you see on television.”

“But you can find out who owns that car, can’t you?”

“There are ways, legal and illegal. But the fastest way is legal.” He took out his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“The Loring Police Department. There’s a detective there who has an interest in this case.”

Detective Walsh took the call.

“Trey Greenslade? Damn. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you absolutely certain we’re talking about a kidnapping?” Walsh said.

“I’m sure,” Max said. “If you can’t help me, say so.”

“And you’ll go find some illegal online outfit who can get you into the DMV database for a price, right?”

“Not necessary,” Max said. “I’ve got a few connections. If you can’t get me the plate, I’ll call someone I know who can get it.”

“Hang on,” Walsh said.

He came back on the line a short time later.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said.

“Just give me a name.”

“The vehicle is registered to Nolan Briggs. I told you about him. He’s the fucked-up son of Egan and Roxanne Briggs. How the hell is he involved in this thing?”

“You know junkies,” Max said. “They’ll do anything to get the cash they need for their next fix.”

He nodded a quick thanks to Ethel and went swiftly outside, still on the phone as he headed for Anson’s SUV parked at the curb. Anson was in the front seat, waiting.

“But junkies are unreliable,” Walsh said. “If you’re right about Greenslade, he’s a strategic planner. Why would he take the risk of employing an addict to help him kidnap a woman?”

“Maybe he thinks he has some leverage he can use to control Briggs,” Max said. “Maybe he has a reason to think that he can trust him, at least for the time being.”

“What reason?”

Max thought about the pictures on the mantel at the Briggs house. Then he thought about what Detective Atkins had said about Roxanne Briggs.
A fine-looking woman in her day. But she got pregnant the year after she graduated from high school. Never could figure out why she slept with Briggs. He was too old for her and with her looks, she could have done better.

“We can go over the details later,” Max said. “Right now we need to find Charlotte. At this point Greenslade doesn’t know we’ve ID’d him.”

“Unless Charlotte Sawyer told him.”

“Charlotte is smart. She’ll keep quiet. Obviously Greenslade took a few
precautions, though. He used Nolan Briggs’s car—probably hoping that would throw us off the trail if someone did get the license plate.”

He opened the driver’s-side door of the SUV and got behind the wheel.

“I’ve got to go, Walsh. I’m headed for Loring. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

“Wait, any idea where Greenslade might have taken Charlotte?”

Max fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb.

“Someplace where he feels secure,” he said. “A location where he thinks he can control the situation and the environment. He was a sales rep for years. He likes to know the territory.”

“Why would Nolan Briggs help him? Because Greenslade can supply him with an unlimited supply of drugs?”

“I’m sure that’s a factor, but there’s something else at work here,” Max said. “Pretty sure Nolan Briggs is Trey Greenslade’s half brother.”

“This had better work the first time,” Jocelyn said. “We won’t get a second chance.”

“It will work,” Charlotte said.

But she knew that Jocelyn was right. The plan, such as it was, absolutely had to work the first time.

“You know I’ve always admired your optimistic attitude,” Jocelyn said.

“Bullshit. You’ve always considered me naïve.”

They were standing in utter darkness because a short time before, Jocelyn had succeeded in smashing the low-watt bulb in the ceiling light fixture. It hadn’t been a simple task because she had been trying not to make any more noise than necessary in the process. By positioning herself halfway up the wooden stairs she had been able to use the handle of an old mop to shatter the bulb. The faint tinkle of broken glass had evidently been muffled by the heavy plank flooring overhead because their captors had not bothered to check on the situation.

They had taken up positions on either side of the old wooden steps, not daring to move because there was no way to know when the door would open and one of their captors would appear. They had to be in position and ready.

“I’ve never thought of you as naïve,” Jocelyn said. “Just, you know, maybe too inclined to look for the good in other people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I still can’t believe you hired a private investigator.”

“I thought I made it clear. I’m not a client,” Charlotte said. “Max and I are partners in this thing. His client is Louise’s cousin.”

“Still, I can’t believe you got involved with a private investigator,” Jocelyn said.

“It wasn’t like there were a lot of viable options. Your best friend was dead under what both her cousin and I considered mysterious circumstances and the police were not displaying any great interest in the death. And then I find out that you are not in that Caribbean convent learning to think tech-free metaphysical thoughts. What was I supposed to do?”

There was a short silence from the other side of the stairs.

“Louise was a very good friend, but she wasn’t my best friend,” Jocelyn said after a while.

“No?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“That’s very touching, but we both know it isn’t true.”

“What do you mean?” Jocelyn sounded hurt.

“If I was your best friend, you would have told me about the risks you were taking playing Lady Avenger with your pals in Madison Benson’s so-called investment club.”

“I didn’t tell you about the club’s activities because I didn’t want to put you at risk. I was trying to protect you.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t let you off the hook. Best friends don’t keep secrets like that.”

“I can’t believe we’re arguing about the definition of friendship,” Jocelyn said. “Not now, at any rate. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a few problems on our hands.”

“Max will sort things out.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in him, don’t you?”

“I trust him, yes,” Charlotte said. “But in addition, he’s very, very good at what he does.”

There was another deep silence from the other side of the stairs.

“Damn. You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?” Jocelyn asked after a while.

“I think so, yes.”

“You think so?”

“After the fiasco with Brian, I’m trying to be very cautious when it comes to relationships.”

“That’s my little stepsister, all right,” Jocelyn said. “Cautious.”

“We don’t all have your sense of adventure.”

“You can see where a sense of adventure got me. And it’s nice of you not to remind me that I’m the one who kept telling you that Brian Conroy was perfect for you.”

“Yes, it is nice of me not to point that out.”

A sudden flurry of heavy footsteps thudded on the floor overhead.

“Shit, it’s him. Cutler.” Trey’s muffled voice was strained with rage and panic. “How did he find this place?”

“Never mind that. You heard what he said, he’s got the evidence,” Nolan shouted. “He wants to see the women before he’ll make the trade. Get ’em. Bring ’em up here. Show him they’re both alive.”

“You get them,” Trey ordered. “I might get a shot at Cutler. Go on, hurry, you stupid junkie.”

Once again footsteps pounded on the floorboards overhead. A few seconds later the lock on the door at the top of the stairs rattled and clanged and the door slammed open. Nolan stopped short when he realized he was gazing down into an unlit basement.

He groped for the light switch and flipped it several times in a frenzied manner.

“They fucked with the light,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“It probably burned out,” Trey said. “Use the flashlight.”

Charlotte stood very still in the dense darkness under the stairs. She sensed Jocelyn doing the same thing. Each gripped an end of the length of fishing line they had found in the tackle box. The line stretched across a stair tread halfway down the steps.

A couple of beats later the brilliant beam of a flashlight speared the darkness.

“I can’t see ’em,” Nolan shouted, clearly starting to panic.

“Pruett, Sawyer, get up here,” Trey yelled. “Do it now. Cutler’s here to make the trade. You only get one chance. Move.”

Charlotte had to remind herself to breathe. Fear and adrenaline surged through her. She knew that Jocelyn was equally wired.

Neither of them moved in response to Trey’s orders.

“They’re gone,” Nolan said, voice shaking. “Somehow they got out.”

“There is no way out of that basement except the stairs,” Trey said. “They’re down there. Go get one of them.”

“I don’t see Jocelyn or Charlotte,” Max called from somewhere outside. “If either one of them is dead, the deal’s off.”

“No,” Trey roared. “They’re both here. Both alive. I’ll show you.”

Charlotte heard him cross the room to the top of the stairs.

“Get out of my way,” he snarled to Nolan.

There was some scrambling overhead as Nolan obeyed. And then Trey was coming down the stairs, flashlight in hand. The beam of light arced back and forth across the basement, but it could not reach the darkness under the stairs.

The fishing line was all but invisible in the shadows. Certainly Trey never saw it.

Charlotte tightened her grip on the fishing line. On the opposite side of the staircase, Jocelyn did the same. They had torn off strips of their shirts and wrapped them around their hands to protect them from the bite of the line.

She felt the sharp tug when the toe of Trey’s shoe caught on the fishing line. She heard a harsh gasp and a choked shout of raw panic. For a dizzying instant, she thought she was the one uttering the horrified cry.

But it was Trey whose scream ripped through the deep well of night in the basement. The flashlight flew from his hand, the beam spiraling wildly. Charlotte heard the gun clatter on the floor.

Trey tumbled down the steps, flailing wildly in a frantic effort to catch his balance. He landed on the concrete floor with a jarring thud, a sound that Charlotte knew she would hear in her nightmares for years to come.

Shivering, she unwound the fishing line from her hand.

Jocelyn rushed to the flashlight, grabbed it and swung it in wide,
sweeping arcs. Charlotte realized she was searching for the gun that Trey had dropped. The beam of the light passed over Trey, who lay very still. There was a dark pool forming under his head.

“Trey?” Nolan looked down from the top of the stairs. “What the fuck?”

Jocelyn switched off the flashlight.

Nolan freaked. He fired wildly into the basement.

“Stay back,” he shouted. “Don’t move. I’ll shoot anyone who tries to come up the stairs.”

He retreated and slammed the door shut. Charlotte heard his running footsteps overhead.

Jocelyn switched on the flashlight. “He’s going out the back door. Probably hoping to escape through the woods.”

“Charlotte.”
Max’s shout was somewhere between a desperate prayer and a command.

“Down here,” she called, raising her voice to be heard through the closed door. “The basement. We’re okay.”

Jocelyn finally pinned the gun in the beam of the flashlight.

“There it is,” she said.

She scooped up the weapon.

Charlotte heard muffled shouts. There were more thudding footsteps. The door at the top of the stairs slammed open. Max stood there, a gun in his hand.

“Charlotte,” he said again.

“I’m here,” she said. “So is Jocelyn. We’re both all right. But I think Trey Greenslade is dead.”

She ran up the stairs and straight into Max’s arms.

“Charlotte,” he said.

He spoke her name in a raw, grinding voice that was infused with some fierce emotion. He sounded like a man who had just had a narrow escape from hell. He wrapped her close and tight against him.

“I knew you’d find us,” she said into his chest.

“I’m glad one of us was sure of that. For God’s sake, woman, don’t ever scare me like that again. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Anson approached, a gun held alongside his leg. He looked every inch a lawman.

“You ladies okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Yes, we are.”

She was vaguely aware of other voices and people moving around inside the cabin. Someone was giving orders. She recognized Detective Walsh’s voice. He sounded buzzed on adrenaline.

“Get the damned aid car here,” he said to someone.

She heard Nolan Briggs whining earnestly in the background, explaining to an officer that he had been one of Greenslade’s hostages.

Incensed, Charlotte gave Walsh a fierce look. “Don’t believe a word that bastard says. He was working with Greenslade all along.”

“Yeah, we figured that out,” Max said.

He eased her out of the way so that Walsh and a uniformed officer could descend the basement steps.

Charlotte looked down and saw that Jocelyn was still standing over Trey Greenslade. Her hand was clenched around the grip of the gun.

Walsh went down the steps and gently took the gun from her.

“You’re Jocelyn Pruett?” he asked.

“Yes.” Jocelyn did not move. “Is he dead? I really hope he’s dead.”

The officer crouched beside Trey and checked for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” Walsh said.

“Too bad,” Jocelyn said.

She started to cry.

Charlotte freed herself from Max’s grasp and went down the steps. She took Jocelyn’s hand.

“It’s all right, Jocelyn,” she said. “Come with me. Let the police do their job.”

“We got him,” Jocelyn said. “Didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did,” Charlotte said. “It’s over. Finally.”

She tightened her grip on Jocelyn’s hand and drew her up out of the basement into the daylight.