Cast into Doubt (33 page)

‘It’s a long story,’ said Glen. ‘It’s to do with the death of her daughter, Chloe—’

‘Chloe Kendricks?’ said Ortega.

Glen frowned at him as if he just fooled him with a three-card monte. ‘Yeah. How do you know that? What are you guys doing here anyway?’

‘We’re conducting a search,’ said Alex Ortega.

Glen held up Shelby’s car keys and shook them in front of the detective. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re searching for, but you better start searching for my sister. I found these on the floor of the garage beside her car. But she is not in her apartment and I’m worried that something has happened to her.’

Detective Ortega took the keys from Glen and frowned. ‘You found these beside her car.’

‘Yes. And look, her apartment keys are on them. She didn’t get inside her building. Something bad is going down here. She would never just leave her keys on the ground and walk away.’

Ortega held the keys in the palm of his hand as if he might be estimating their weight. Then he nodded at Glen. ‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you might be right.’

Shelby heard the siren, and her heart leapt. Don’t pass me by, she thought. Don’t pass me by.

Her silent prayers were answered. She felt the car slowing down and pulling over. It bumped to a halt. The sirens stopped as well. For what seemed like a long time, there was nothing. Nothing at all. And then, she heard it. The sound of voices. Muffled. But definitely voices.

One of them had to be the cop. She strained to listen.

‘Your lights,’ she heard a man’s voice say.

Yes, she thought. Yes. He had seen the lights which she had pulled out, and given chase. She was saved.

And then, she realized. Not exactly. She was still locked in this trunk, and no one knew it. Now, it was time to pound. She had no weapon, but she had strength. Strength she never knew she possessed. For all she was worth, she began to smash her fists against the lid of the trunk and scream.

‘I’m just going to give you a warning this time. But you need to get those lights fixed,’ shouted Officer Terry Vanneman handing Harris back his license and registration. Traffic was whizzing by on the expressway, trucks thundering like stampeding elephants. A Flyers game had just let out, and fans were screaming out their windows as they flashed by.

‘I will,’ Harris promised. ‘I certainly will. All I can say is, they don’t make cars like they used to.’

‘What?’ the officer shouted.

Harris waved his registration. ‘Sorry. I will,’ he shouted.

‘You really shouldn’t be driving this car around in that condition.’

‘Of course not. My car must have been vandalized. That’s the city for you.’

‘Does happen,’ said the officer. He was looking warily around himself. Even though they were pulled all the way over, the expressway traffic was so fast and relentless that a person felt completely exposed to danger, even on the shoulder of the road. Only the week before a good Samaritan who was trying to help with a tire change got killed by a speeding truck.

‘Well, as I say,’ Harris proclaimed loudly. ‘I’m on my way to the hospital. After that, I will head home directly.’

Officer Vanneman slapped his palm against the roof of the car. ‘OK, Doc, steady as you go.’

‘Thank you, officer,’ said Harris. He fired up the engine with a roar.

Inside the trunk, Shelby felt the car start to move again. No, she cried out.

But no one heard.

THIRTY-EIGHT

T
he next time the car turned, and began to slow, Shelby had heard no sirens. All she could hear was the fearful thudding of her own heart. Ever since the car had pulled away from its police stop, her hope had faded to nothing. She did not know how it was possible that no one had heard her cries and frantic beating on the inside of the trunk lid. The thought that she had been so close to rescue, and not been saved, seemed like a sign that she was doomed. Shelby didn’t know what was coming, but she feared it. Harris was desperate, with everything to lose.

The car was moving slowly down a bumpy road or path, and Shelby knew, with a sickening certainty in the pit of her stomach, that they had entered some sort of desolate area. She was completely disoriented as to where she was, and where she was being taken, but she could tell by the car’s jerky motion that they were no longer on the highway, or even the paved streets of the city.

The car slowed, and came to a full stop. The engine was turned off. Oh Lord, she thought, where has he taken me? She waited in the darkness of the trunk, trying to prepare herself for the fight of her life, until, at last, she heard the click of the trunk’s lock. The lid opened a crack. Shelby felt almost crippled by having been cramped so long in the trunk, but she turned her legs so that she could try to rear up when the lid lifted.

Suddenly the trunk lid flew up and Shelby blinked, and tried to peer out. Harris was standing over her and in his hand he held the gun. Wherever they were, it was completely dark, and quiet except for the sound of crickets, the wind, and rushing water. ‘Get out,’ he said.

Shelby clambered to the edge of the trunk and tried, with shaking arms, to hoist herself up and over the top. Her first try failed.

‘Hurry up,’ he said, looking all around in the darkness.

Shelby was finally able to realign her weight and throw one leg over the raised edge, and then push herself up and over. She tumbled out and fell on to a bed of gravel which made her cry out as the rocks embedded themselves in the heels of her hands and her knees.

‘Quiet,’ he demanded. ‘Get up.’

Shelby crawled to her feet, balancing herself against the back of the car, and looked around. Now that she was out of the trunk she saw that it wasn’t completely dark. There were some widely spaced gaslights along a wooded path. She could hear the sound of water burbling nearby, but couldn’t see it.

‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Walk that way. And don’t cry out or I will crack this thing over your head, so help me.’

Shelby thought about defying him, but who would hear her? Wherever it was that he had taken her, it was the most desolate and heavily wooded of spots. The air smelled of honeysuckle and evergreens, but there was no one but themselves to inhale the heady scent.

Shelby began to walk on her cramped, shaky legs. The black night was growing cold. Harris prodded her in the back, but she did not need much prodding. Being out of the trunk at last was such a relief that she did not care, for one moment, where he might be pushing her. She was just glad to be walking, to be breathing, to be free of that miserable enclosure.

‘That way,’ he said. ‘Up that path.’

‘Harris, please,’ she pleaded.

‘No,’ he barked. ‘No more talking. Go.’

She walked in the direction he was pointing up a gravel path and, as she passed under one of the lights, she saw a printed wooden sign where the paths ahead diverged.

Forbidden Drive, said one of the signs. The Monastery. Lover’s Leap. The Devil’s Pool.

She recognized the names. The Wissahickon, she thought. It was a huge swath of wooded park that flanked the Wissahickon creek. The Monastery Stables were horse barns, open to the public for riding lessons, and located in a lovely clearing near the edge of the park. Automobiles were not allowed in the park. It was crisscrossed with paths for walking or running or just enjoying the sun-dappled beauty of it on a lovely day. It was not meant for night. Shelby could hear the water more clearly now. They were close to the creek.

‘That way,’ he said.

Shelby read the sign aloud. ‘The Devil’s Pool,’ she said.

‘You’re going for a dip,’ he said.

Shelby closed her eyes. She saw little reason to hope, and she was weary of the fight. She suddenly remembered being in her apartment and looking out at the river in the dark. She remembered thinking how each body of water emptied into the next body of water, on and on, all the way out to sea. She didn’t know if it was true or not, but it seemed true. All water is connected, she thought. And in that one, insane moment, she felt comforted. She almost felt ready. Ready to give in. Ready to join her lovely, lost daughter down on the floor of the sea.

Officer Terry Vanneman did not have long to wait for the next offender. A Toyota doing eighty-five mph. He fired up the blinking lights and siren, and gave chase, signaling for the driver to pull over. Almost immediately, the driver obeyed, and when he slowed and pulled on to the shoulder, Officer Vanneman nosed up behind him and parked by the edge of the road.

It’s like trying to pull somebody over on the track of the Indy 500, he thought.

It was a duty he particularly disliked. Too damn dangerous. He sat in the car for a while, making the guy sweat. He knew what people thought. They thought that cops just sat there listening to the radio and eating a doughnut while the driver stewed in his own juices. That was somewhat, but not precisely, true.

It was true that Officer Vanneman took longer than was absolutely necessary to get out and approach the offending driver, but before he did, he always checked the license plate to be sure it was not a stolen car. He wanted his drivers contrite, not desperate. He did not fancy walking up to the car and being met with the muzzle of a gun.

As he punched the numbers into his cruiser’s computer, his response was preempted by an urgent message, flashing for the attention of all officers.

They were to be on the lookout for a late-model Lexus, with doctor’s plates. The number of the plates flashed on the computer screen. The driver was Dr Harris Janssen. He might have a hostage with him, and he was considered to be armed and dangerous.

Terry Vanneman felt a prickling over his scalp as he read the words. Shit, he thought. How long ago had he stopped that car? It could be anywhere by now. Terry felt sweat pooling around his belt and under his arms. What a collar that would have been! What a fucking coup! How could he have missed it? All he had noticed was that the rear lights were out. Otherwise the guy seemed like the model citizen. He wasn’t even speeding.

Terry immediately radioed in and reported his position. He told the dispatcher that the car they were searching for was last seen heading west on the Schuylkill. He told them that the car’s taillights were not functioning. The dispatcher thanked him before going to the next call.

Terry looked up at the car stopped in front of him, and hesitated. The next exit was for Lincoln Drive and the Wissahickon. The guy had been stopped once. He probably wouldn’t chance being stopped again. He would probably get off the road as quickly as possible. Like, at the next exit.

Terry gave it a moment’s thought. He was the last man to have seen the car, and there could be a hostage involved. He had not yet even approached that driver in the Toyota. One thing was certain. Hostage trumped speeding ticket.

Officer Vanneman made his choice. He turned his flashing lights and siren back on, waited for an opening and shot back out into the traffic lane, roaring by the startled, grateful driver in the Toyota at the side of the road.

‘What are you up to?’ Harris asked.

Shelby sat on a rock beside the black-shining pond, and began to remove her shoes.

‘I didn’t tell you to take your shoes off,’ he said.

‘I know. I don’t know why I’m doing it,’ she said dully.

‘Maybe that’s what a person would do,’ Harris mused. ‘I need it to look like you took your own life. So go ahead. Take them off.’

‘They’re going to wonder how I got here,’ she said idly. ‘Without a vehicle.’

‘Let them wonder,’ Harris growled.

She stopped, holding one shoe in her hand, and looked up at him quizzically. By the light of the moon, she could just make out his face. ‘Why did the cop let you go?’ she asked. ‘I was making so much noise.’

‘We were on the Schuylkill. Between the trucks and the Flyers fans, you couldn’t hear yourself think,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ said Shelby with mild interest, as if they weren’t talking about the turning point of her very survival.

‘That was a neat trick,’ Harris admitted. ‘Pulling those wires out.’

Shelby shrugged. ‘For all the good it did me,’ said Shelby. They were like any two people under the moon by the side of a lake, making desultory conversation. Looking at him in the dark, with his round face and balding head, she was reminded of certain boys she knew in high school. The kind of shy, studious, unathletic boys who could make you laugh in homeroom or math class, but never met your eye in the hall or the cafeteria. And never got asked to parties.

Shelby continued removing her shoes. She put her socks in them and placed them neatly beside a rock. Then she stood up. She unzipped her jacket calmly, and removed that too, folding it and laying it atop the same rock.

‘Don’t you care?’ he said. ‘I mean, don’t misunderstand me. I’d prefer it if you didn’t. I have no desire whatsoever to see you suffer. I’ve made you suffer already and I’m sorry for it.’

Shelby stared at the glimmering surface of the Devil’s Pool. ‘I’m just very tired of fighting,’ she said. ‘I admit I would like to see you rot in jail. I would throw away the key myself. But I can’t do this alone. I guess this is what it feels like to give up. Just . . . empty inside. At least I know what happened to my daughter now. No one else seemed to care as much about that as I did.’

‘Not Rob,’ Harris said scornfully. ‘I never thought he was good enough for Chloe.’

Shelby let out a strangled laugh. ‘That’s almost funny, coming from you.’

‘I know. Look, when they find you, it will seem like it was a peaceful death. Believe it or not, Shelby, that’s what I want for you. You deserve that. I mean, of course I don’t want any evidence that I killed you, but the truth is, I want you to die peacefully.’

‘Fuck you,’ she said. ‘You ruined any peace I ever had.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Never mind. I have no right to even say it. Go. Go in.’