Читать книгу Where the Road Ends - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 10

“Brad Dorchester.”

It was almost ten o’clock at night. Didn’t the man ever go off duty and just say hello? “It’s Amy.”

“I’ve been expecting your call.”

“Why?” They’d had no specific arrangement.

“Because it’s been three days.”

Dressed in the white flannel pajamas she’d bought the previous week, Amy methodically arranged the pillows against the nailed-down headboard and dropped to the mattress, clutching her cell phone.

“Do you have any news?” she asked.

“Nothing significant. I’d have called if I did.”

She nodded. Brad was very good at keeping her informed.

Forcing the desperate, grieving woman deep inside, Amy escaped into the nonchalant manner she’d developed somewhere between Kenosha and La Crosse, Wisconsin, the previous fall.

“I think I found Kathy today.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. She shouldn’t have bothered calling. She knew that Brad agreed with the police. They’d run a thorough investigation on Kathy, on her bank account, her habits, her home. Questioned her intensively. Administered two lie-detector tests. Watched her carefully. After which they’d absolved her of any suspicion of wrongdoing. That was the reason Amy was out on the road; she still suspected that Kathy had taken Charles. She believed the nanny was guilty because nothing else made sense. There’d been no ransom demands, no communiqués, no threats.

And if she didn’t look for Kathy, no one would, considering the official verdict that the nanny wasn’t involved.

She wouldn’t have called except that she wanted Brad armed with every possible piece of information, no matter how small, insignificant, inconsequential or unnecessary it might be. Regardless of what Brad believed about Kathy, Amy had all her hopes wrapped up in him.

If anyone could put seemingly random pieces together, it was Brad Dorchester. He wouldn’t be working for her otherwise.

“You’re out on the road again.” His no-nonsense tone was resigned, disapproving.

“Of course.”

“When did you leave Chicago?”

“Two days ago.”

“You were only home twenty-four hours this time.”

“I can’t just sit there and wait. You have no idea the toll it takes on me.”

“Traveling incognito from town to town is taking its toll, Amelia.”

“He’s got to be going to school somewhere, or having his teeth cleaned, visiting a doctor, playing a video game or eating a fast-food hamburger. Someplace, someone’s going to have seen him.”

“Every law officer in that part of the country is looking for those leads.”

“The abductors know that. They’ll be on guard. But they won’t be guarding against an unremarkable woman who’s just moving to town. There’s nothing threatening about that. And townspeople talk. All I have to do is be in the right place at the right time, get to know the right person, and I’m going to find my son.”

“Or make yourself ill.”

She wasn’t paying him to look out for her health. “I know it was Kathy I was following today.”

“Kathy was cleared of any suspicion months ago.”

“And afterward she buys a new car and leaves town.”

“Wouldn’t you have needed a new life after all that publicity? Being questioned in connection with kidnapping a child is a little hard on the reputation. Especially in her line of work.”

“She was unbalanced and had a motive.”

Charles had disappeared less then two weeks after Amy had let Kathy go. Kathy had tried to visit the boy twice during that time—without Amy’s approval—but Celeste and Clifford had denied her entrance to the Chicago Heights mansion.

“I followed her myself for those first weeks after the abduction,” Brad said. “She never left Chicago. She neither had Charles, nor made contact with anyone else who showed any evidence of having a newly acquired child. Her alibi was solid, Amelia.”

They’d had this conversation before. Countless times.

Kathy’s claim that she’d been at the mall shopping had been confirmed by two different sales clerks who remembered seeing her. Still, Amy wasn’t convinced. The clerks might have been mistaken. Or friends of Kathy’s. Or…

Amy rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to remember if she’d eaten anything that day.

“Your resources work very well in the big city. But if we’re going to turn over every stone, we need infiltration in the small towns, too.”

“Small towns have police departments, Amelia.”

“But they aren’t all that practiced at handling big cases. They give speeding tickets, sponsor the local baseball team and drink bad coffee.”

“You’ve been watching too much television.”

“Some of these towns don’t even have their own police departments.”

He didn’t answer. She’d scored.

“Why do you think Kathy would be moving from small town to small town, instead of trying to get lost in a big city?” he asked easily, as though doing nothing more than making conversation.

Brad Dorchester never just made conversation.

“I don’t, necessarily.” She studied the faux quilted stitching in the patterned bedspread. “You and your men are more effective in the big city. I’m more effective in small towns. And it seems to me that if I were on the run from negative publicity in a big city, I’d try to find a hole in a small town. One that’s mostly oblivious to the rest of the world so I could cuddle up, wait it out. And if I had a little boy to hide, I’d find some obscure place where his picture hadn’t been plastered all over every public building within miles.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“You already know that.”

“I also know that Kathy Stead does not have your son.”

The room’s earth tones—medium brown and a dark rusty orange—were suddenly cloying. They were everywhere she looked. The carpet, the bedding, the chair and walls. And when she closed her eyes—more earth tones. She couldn’t escape.

Her stomach churned with nausea.

“Then tell me why, if a perfect stranger took him, there’s been no ransom note,” she said when she could.

“Children are taken for any number of reasons,” Brad told her patiently. “Some crazy woman who can’t have a kid sees one standing alone and figures she can do a better job of keeping him safe than whoever left him standing there.”

“But if some sicko just wanted a child, why take one with such a high profile, one whose mother can afford to go to the ends of the earth looking for him?”

“It’s possible the abductors had no idea who they were taking that day. You and Johnny were pretty careful about keeping the press away from your son.”

Amy traced the pattern in the cheap bedspread with one finger. “Tell me something, Brad.”

A pause, then, “What?”

One part of her, perhaps the tiny part that was still completely rational, didn’t blame him for that hesitation.

“With all the publicity that’s been out about Charles’s disappearance, the abductors surely know his identity by now.”

“One would assume so.”

“So how’s that knowledge going to affect them if they really hadn’t known who he was before they took him?”

It wasn’t a question she’d needed to ask before. Kathy had Charles; she was certain of it.

But there’d been no sign of a child in that car today….

“Scare the shit out of them, I’d imagine.”

“Beyond that.”

“Make them nervous.”

“And more apt to do something drastic?”

“Kidnapping a child’s pretty damn drastic.”

Sweat gathered between her palm and the little black cell phone.

“But if they thought they were taking just any kid, a kid whose parents couldn’t afford to hire private help, who had to rely solely on the limited resources of public law enforcement, their risk of getting caught was much smaller. Now that they know who they’ve got, they must realize that their chances of getting caught have become greater—and that the repercussions will be greater, too, because I have clout and the case has been so publicized. Suddenly the game is much more dangerous.”

“Yes.”

His bedside manner left a lot to be desired. Yet, while he might resent her insistence on joining the search, he always gave her straight answers. Over the past months, that fact alone had earned him her respect.

“At this point, even if the kidnappers wanted to give him back, they’d be afraid to because they know I have the money to overturn every stone until I find them and bring them to justice.”

“Yes.”

“And after this long on the run, they have to be getting desperate.”

“If they are on the run.”

She ignored that and continued with her thought. “Desperate people do desperate things.”

“Yes, Amelia, they do.”

She was suffocating. She laid her head back against the thin pillows. “They might be driven to…get rid of the evidence.”

“There’s always been that possibility.”

And others, as well. Charles might have been taken by another kind of crazy. The kind that liked little boy’s bodies. Her son’s body might be nothing more than decaying bones in a ditch somewhere.

Hand over her mouth, Amy choked back bile.

“He’s alive and well, Brad,” she managed to whisper.

“We have no reason to believe otherwise.”

Except possibly the fact that, in five long months, they’d found no concrete evidence to support that belief.

“He is, isn’t he?” Her voice broke.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Amelia. You have no business being there in some motel room by yourself. You should be home with Cara, seeing your counselor regularly.”

“I don’t need a counselor. I need my son.”

“You’ve been all over the state of Wisconsin chasing inconsequential leads. Don’t spend the next few months getting to know Michigan the same way. Go home. Let me do my job.”

“If you’d done your job, I’d be home—with my son.”

No one knew more than she how dedicated Brad was to this case—how many hours he put in, how frustrated and disturbed he felt at times when the clock kept ticking and leads turned up nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, all too aware that her apology was inadequate.

“Tell me about today.”

“A woman in a gas station recognized Kathy’s picture lat night,” Amy said softly. “She said Kathy was staying at a motel down the road. There was no sign of her, but when I went by this afternoon for another look at the parking lot, a green Grand Am with a brunette at the wheel pulled out in front of me. Her shoulders were slight, like Kathy’s. She seemed the same height. I’m sure it was her.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

“It was a Michigan plate, not the Illinois one we knew about, but that doesn’t mean anything. If she’s capable of taking a child, she certainly wouldn’t have a problem switching plates.”

“If she’d taken a child, I’d agree with you.”

She gave him the plate number, then said, “I followed her all afternoon, Brad. She led me to this little town, Lawrence. You know where it is?”

“Vaguely. Is that where you are?”

“Yes.”

“I take it you lost the car you were following?”

“She turned off onto a series of old roads that looked like they hadn’t been used in years. There were no streetlights, no houses around to light the area. It got dark and all I had to go by were her taillights.”

“Which, if she knew she was being followed, she could have turned off.”

“She’d still have had brake lights.”

“Not if she slowed down enough not to need her brakes.”

“I went back and took every turnoff,” Amy told him, frustrated and confused all over again. “Even private drives. I don’t know how she could’ve disappeared into thin air like that.”

“You drove, by yourself, in the dark, on deserted private roads.”

“Of course. I didn’t want to lose her.”

“What about losing yourself?” he asked, real anger in his voice. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? Who knows what might’ve happened to you?”

“I’d have handled it,” Amy said. “I had my cell phone.”

“Which you didn’t use.”

“I was looking for Charles. Nothing else mattered.”

“And what if you’d found him and ended up getting abducted yourself?”

Then at least she’d be spending this night with her son in her arms.

“If, and I’m not saying it’s so, but if these people are dangerous, Amelia, they wouldn’t be averse to hurting you in front of Charles just to get his cooperation.”

She was getting dizzy. Light-headed. Nauseous again.

“It would be so much easier if they’d just wanted money,” Brad continued, “but with no ransom requests, absolutely everything about this case is random.”

Another given that had been discussed too many times.

“I’m taking another look at some of your competitors, Amelia,” he said when she was thinking about disconnecting the call.

“Okay.”

“We might notice something—some big projects that have been awarded with you out of the picture, a sudden influx of cash…”

“Wainscoat hasn’t lost any work.”

“And you have your finger on the pulse of the construction business these days? You know what projects are up for bid and who they’re going to? You know what people in the industry are saying about Wainscoat? About you?”

Longing for the sleeping pills that had been prescribed for her the previous August—which she’d never used—Amy turned her head on the pillow.

“You think someone could be slowly sabotaging me, insinuating doubt about Wainscoat’s reliability, trying to undermine the years of trust we’ve built?”

“It’s possible.”

“Wouldn’t Cara know?”

“That depends on how talented the culprit is.”

God, she was tired. Too tired to care if she lost her business.

“How valid is your theory?” she asked.

“Valid enough to warrant a check, Amelia.”

“On a scale of one to ten.”

“Four to five.”

Amy hooked a pillow with one arm, hugging it to her. She took an odd and immediate comfort from the soft worn cotton and flattened foam. A feeling similar to the reassurance brought about by Brad Dorchester’s thoroughness.

“Can you please call me Amy?”

“If you’d prefer.”

“I would.”

“If you won’t go home, at least give me your word that, in the future, you’ll call me before taking off on a chase.”

“You won’t stop me.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then yes, I’ll call you.” She’d at least try.

“Good. Now get some rest…Amy.”

As if she could.

She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

The kid was crying again. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Never thought that a kid who was five years old would still cry.

But this one did. All the time—or so it seemed to her. He didn’t cry when she was pulling him along and he fell down and skinned his knee so bad there was blood all over. That she could’ve understood. Nor any of the times she’d slapped him. Not even when she’d made him throw his ice-cream cone away the day she’d seen a dress in a store window that she wanted to try on and there’d been a No Food Allowed sign posted at the front door.

She would’ve understood that, too. Probably would have yelled at him to shut up. But she’d have understood.

But no—she pulled one of her fluffy feather pillows over her head to drown out the pathetic sound before it pissed her off enough to make her get up and do something about it—this kid only cried for one reason.

The one reason she absolutely could not forgive.

The fucking kid was crying for his mother.

Needed ASAP, Blade, Loader & Scraper operators…

How did one operate a Scraper? For that matter, what was a Scraper?

Printing pressman, exp. only…

That left her out.

ADULT NEWSPAPER CARRIERS WANTED. Immediate openings. Must be 18 or older. Call…

Amy circled it.

Janitor needed, Lawrence Elementary School. No experience necessary. FT position. Salary commensurate w/exp. Apply M-F, 8-3, at Lawrence Elementary main office.

Perfect.

“Can I get you more coffee, ma’am?”

“What?” Amy looked up from the newspaper want ads. “Oh, no, thank you, I’ve had enough.”

“You sure I can’t get you something else to eat?”

“No thanks.” She smiled at the friendly girl dressed in an old-fashioned waitress uniform with big front pockets. “The toast was fine.”

“You hardly ate any of it.”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Amy glanced back at the paper. “Listen, you wouldn’t happen to know where the elementary school is, would you?”

“Sure, it’s just down this road.” She pointed out the window to the road Amy had taken into town the night before. “Go right at the corner. It’s about half a mile down the street. There’re some swings in the side yard. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” Amy smiled again.

Coffeepot in hand, the girl continued on to the next table, and Amy read the ad one more time. Infiltrating towns had become a way of life for her. Plans formed naturally, as though she’d been living this way forever.

Sometimes that was how it seemed.

She hardly gave a thought anymore to what her shareholders would think of their CEO cleaning toilets.

Or sitting here, dressed in a pair of cheap jeans, a polyester orange sweater and tennis shoes, in this sticky-tabled restaurant with black scuff marks all over the floor.

Remembering Brad’s theory that someone might be out to destroy her professional reputation, Amy still didn’t care. She’d sacrificed so much for Wainscoat Construction, and in the end, all that money hadn’t been enough to buy her the one thing that mattered. Her son’s safety.

Which was why she was sitting in a greasy spoon in a town that would never be able to afford the services of a nationally renowned group of builders. And it was why she belonged there.

Each of the small towns was a bit different, yet her goal was completely the same. Get into the schools, scour records. Of course, Charles wouldn’t be registered under his own name, but maybe, being the boy’s mother, she’d recognize some hint. Some clue, however slight. Maybe a new student who chose chocolate milk on the lunch plan…

And outside of school, her aim was to get to know the townspeople enough to win their trust—and their confidences. Be an ordinary woman getting to know other ordinary people. Put herself in the various places where she might hear talk of children. And maybe the mention of one child.

The goal was to find Charles.

But never had a plan fallen into her lap as easily as it had today. It must mean something.

The job was made for her. She had to get to the school, show Amy Wayne’s fake ID she’d found frighteningly easy to obtain using her own social security number, give Cara as her reference and secure the position before it was given to someone else.

She should have asked for the check.

Where was that girl?

Amy glanced around—and noticed a car pulling out of the gas station/convenience store across the street. A green Grand Am.

Throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the tabletop, she grabbed her purse and the cheap navy parka and ran—across four lanes of traffic. Glad of the tennis shoes that were a regular part of her wardrobe now, Amy was only vaguely aware of the honking horns.

Yanking her picture of Kathy out of the back pocket of her bag, Amy cut in front of a man wearing overalls, buying a pack of cigarettes at the counter.

“Have you seen this woman?” she asked addressing both the bearded customer and the middle-aged female clerk.

“Yeah, she was just in here,” the clerk said. “Wearing a pretty fancy white ski jacket and expensive-looking black pants.”

“She left in that green Pontiac,” the man added. “She was real nice-looking in a natural sort of way.” And then, “You know her?”

Amy didn’t bother to answer, just ran to the door.

Her car was across the street. She was losing valuable time.

Hand on the door, she stopped. “You didn’t happen to notice if she had a small boy with her, did you?”

“Nope, she was by herself,” the clerk said.

“She bought animal crackers, though,” the man, a friendly sort, told her. “And two ice-cream bars. I noticed mostly because she cut in front of me and then I couldn’t figure out why a woman all by herself needed two of ’em at once. It wasn’t like she could save one for later….”

The door closed behind Amy, who was already halfway across the parking lot. Animal crackers were Charles’s favorite—next to ice-cream bars. Johnny had bought both for him regularly. To go with the brie and filet mignon her little boy more commonly got at home.

Amy’s son might not have been at the store, but Kathy had to be going to him.

And he had to be close. That extra ice-cream bar wasn’t going to last long.

Holding up her hand to stop traffic, Amy ran back across the street, ignoring the angry honking. The Thunderbird purred instantly to life and Amy threw it in reverse, blinking away tears as she backed out of the parking space.

Kathy had at least five minutes on her.

They seemed like five years.