Darkness peering (33 page)

She sat on the edge of his bed and opened the drawer of his bedside
table. Inside were his reading glasses, a box of tissues and a small
jewelry box. She opened the jewelry box. Inside was a pair of plastic
windup teeth, a miniature Godzilla and a green plastic

turtle, the kind whose head bobbed when you touched it. Something
deep inside of her snapped. Goosebumps traveled from her scalp and
riffled down her arms. The room spun around for a dizzying instant,
then stilled. She examined the plastic turtle, which seemed identical
to Dinger's in every way. "Oh my God."

The means of obtaining evidence must be acceptable to the presiding
justice. You need enough circumstantial evidence to obtain a search
warrant. A request for a search warrant must be supported by a police
oath describing the specific place to be searched and specific items to
be seized. "Probable cause" means a reasonable ground for belief, less
than evidence justifying a conviction, but more than bare suspicion.

She put the turtle back in its box, a growing fury propelling her to
her feet. Her scalp burned, her ears itched. "Nicole?" The lonely,
frightened sound of her own voice in the huge, empty house chilled her
to the bone.

The attic was cold and dusty, a few flies sluggishly buzzing against
the window screen. "Hello?" she called out to the darkness. "Anybody
up here?" Her scalp tingled as she half anticipated some desperate
response. Billy had taken the train set from home and set it up in the
attic, miniature cars and buildings under a layer of dust as thick as
snow. She crawled beneath the attic eaves and pulled out boxes one by
one. "Hello? Is anybody here?" She found a collection of bird
feathers in a manila envelope, a set of daggers with ivory handles
couched in a red velvet case, books and more books, winter clothes
stored in mothballs. A space heater. A broken window fan.

Back downstairs in Billy's bedroom, she glanced around, hoping she
hadn't left any telltale signs of her illicit presence, then went
downstairs. The floorboards in the front hall were badly warped. Her
face burned. She hesitated at the basement door, doorknob slippery in
her hand.

The door creaked open. "Hello?" she called down the stairs. She
switched on the light and descended.

The basement was damp and musk-smelling. A water heater hummed in one
corner. He'd been refinishing a couple of eighteenth-century benches.
His power tools hung neatly from a cork board. Peering into all four
corners, she found no kidnap victims, no dead bodies, no gruesome
tableaus.

Outside, the wind ripped her coat open as she raced for her car. It
beat against her uncovered face and found the narrow band of exposed
skin at the back of her neck. She got in the car, slammed the door,
then turned on the heater and shivered for a good long while, hating
herself.

THAT NIGHT, Rachel. FOUND MCKISSACK IN HIS OFFICE, GAZing out the
window. She sought his reflection in the glass and gropingly recalled
the first time they'd made love, right here in his office, late one
night on the stained oak floor. The urgency of his need had been like
a secret thought grown too big to contain any longer. She'd been
energized by their furious lovemaking. Her body hummed, the thrill of
it buzzing in her ears. She'd never felt so brave or dangerous or
nakedly alive as on that night.

Now a strange new fear tightened its grip on her body. She had
betrayed her brother, and this knowledge spread with light speed to
every corner of her being, every cell. She could feel her own
self-loathing coursing through her bones like the cancer that had
claimed her mother's life. Certainly her father would never have
approved of her tactics. Perhaps that was why he'd committed
suicide--to avoid finding out the truth. That Billy had a secret life?
That his son might be a cold-blooded murderer?

"We got the lab results this afternoon," McKissack said. "No

presence of sperm inside the vagina or anus. No indications of forced
penetration."

"So she wasn't raped?"

"In all likelihood, no." He held her eye through the window's
reflection. "We spoke with Rudd's ex-wife. She corroborates his
story, and she has no reason to. The information hurts her, doesn't
help. Plus the bartender at the Hoary Toad ID'd Ozzie from a
photograph. Looks like he's clean."

"So this wasn't a sexual crime?"

"To the best of our knowledge, no."

"What about the drug screen?"

"Multiple drugs were found in her system. Four of these were
administered in the ER--epinephrine, methyl prednisolone magnesium
sulfate and ketamine. Epinephrine is commonly used in emergency rooms
for the treatment of asthma." Swiveling around in his chair, he held
her eye. "A high concentration of a fifth drug was also found.
Thorazine."

Rachel drew a blank. "An antipsychotic?"

"The injection site on the foot also tested positive for Thorazine."

"He injected her with an antipsychotic? But why?"

"Antipsychotics have potent blood-pressure-lowering properties. When
epinephrine is injected into an individual taking phenothiazine anti
psychotics the blood pressure can drop to critical levels."

"But I thought epinephrine was a cardiac stimulant?"

"According to the lab report, Thorazine is one of the few drugs that
can actually reverse the effects of epinephrine, making it a
potentially lethal combination."

Rachel's hands tingled, this new information opening up a realm of
terrifying possibilities. "You mean he injected her with Thorazine
knowing full well that the ER team would administer epinephrine? And
that the combination could kill her?"

"Looks that way." McKissack masked his frustration and rage beneath
layers of practiced restraint.

"I don't believe it." She shook her head. "Are you implying that the
UN SUB somehow knew the ER staff would respond to Claire's asthma
attack by pumping her full of epinephrine?"

"Not just any ER. Not just any doctor. One doctor in particular."

It took a moment for his words to register. She caught her breath,
incredulous. "You're telling me that the offender knew Claire's father
was scheduled to work in the ER that night?"

"I'm beginning to suspect it."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You're really scaring me,
McKissack."

"As in ... 'who the fuck are we dealing with here?"" He cracked a
bitter smile. "I know. I scare myself sometimes."

"So he knew Yale Castillo would be on duty that night? That Yale would
assume his daughter was having an asthma attack and administer
epinephrine? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes."

Rachel's head swam. She had to sit. "This is insane."

McKissack scowled. "She was alive when they brought her in. In good
health, Archie said. He'd been feeding her--they found fucking
macaroni-and-cheese in her stomach. No fractures, no contusions." He
let his fist slam down on the desktop. "He fixed it so her own father
killed her."

They locked eyes.

"Dinger Tedesco is failing all subjects but math and chemistry."

McKissack arched an eyebrow.

"Nicole was pregnant. Claire knew about it. She might've threatened
to tell their parents."

McKissack rubbed his chin with his thumb. "Still, he had to bring her
someplace secluded and keep her there for three weeks."

"I asked Dinger's mother if she knew of any such place. She
didn't."

"Three weeks is a long time. The kid's in high school. We're talking
about a very sophisticated crime here."

"Who, then?"

"Buck Folette. Thorazine is an antipsychotic."

"He's not smart enough."

"He's just crazy enough."

"What about his alibi?"

"The night Nicole and Dinger disappeared? Couldn't find anybody who
remembered him. He refuses to take a poly. His lawyers have already
contacted us. Fucking lawyers. I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts he's
our man."

"But it doesn't make sense. Nicole knew about Buck's history. She
would've screamed bloody murder if she saw him coming. She would've
run in the opposite direction. No way he could've dragged those two
off without a struggle. Dinger's a big kid."

"So maybe he drugged them?"

"How? He never would've gotten close enough."

"Then who the hell are we dealing with here?" McKissack barked.
"Who's got the fucking depravity to sew up a beautiful woman like that
and make sure she ends up in the hospital during her father's watch?
How do two teenagers disappear without a trace?"

"I don't know." She buried her face in her hands.

"What else you got for me, Storrow?"

She swallowed hard and looked at him. She couldn't withhold the truth
any longer. "Remember you warned me not to reopen the Melissa
D'Agostino case? You said you never know what you might find?"

He nodded, eyes tightly focused.

"Well, I think my brother might be a suspect."

McKissack gave no hint of surprise.

"I think Billy's involved," she repeated.

"I heard you. I'm trying to absorb this."

"Dinger's brother claims he overheard Dinger talking to a "Billy' on
the phone. Then he said, no, maybe it was "Bobby." But it got me
thinking. So I drove over to the head-injured department at Winfield
and interviewed Porter Powell."

"Porter who?"

"Billy's head-injured kid. His alibi the night Claire disappeared. He
drove Porter back to his dorm around nine-ten, which means he couldn't
have gotten downtown any sooner than nine-twenty, right? Well, what
was he doing at eight P.M.?"

"Shooting hoops with the kid."

"What if he's lying? What if Billy picked up Claire after she left the
diner with Porter Powell in the car?"

McKissack's eyes darted with acknowledgment. "Since this kid doesn't
have the capacity to relate the experience to anyone."

"I asked Porter if he remembered that night. He kept talking about a
girl. "We got girl' were his exact words," she said a little
breathlessly. "The Melissa D'Agostino case wasn't sexual, either. No
penetration, no abrasions."

McKissack nodded. "Whoever decapitated those cats is capable of great
cruelty."

"So I spoke to Boomer Blazo. He told me Billy and Gillian lied about
the evening Melissa died. It turns out Billy wasn't with Gillian from
five-thirty to six-thirty. He went back for Melissa after he dropped
Michelle off, at five-thirty, but he claimed Melissa was already gone.
Gillian covered for him."

McKissack squinted at her.

"And what about the lower-case, underlined 'b' in her organizer? She
was supposed to meet Billy the following night, Thursday night, and
there's an upper-case "B' in the calendar. "B' for Billy. Could the
lower-case 'b' also mean Billy?"

"That wouldn't make sense."

"But we've proven she's erratic with the initials. What if it does
mean Billy? Why is it underlined? Was she mad at him? Did they

have an argument? Did they get together to discuss it?" Rachel was
pacing now. "My brother sometimes rents a cabin in the woods up north.
He was physically abused as a child. He's in his mid-thirties, lives
alone in a big house in a remote part of town. He's obsessively neat.
Hasn't had any kind of solid relationship with a woman. McKissack,"
she said, "he fits the profile."

He ran his hands through his hair. "Slow down."

"And I found something else. During our interview, Dinger pulled out
this little green turtle. You know the kind? Those plastic turtles
whose heads bob up and down? Well ..." She took a deep breath. "I
found a turtle just like that inside Billy's house. Tucked away in a
drawer."

"You made an illegal search?" McKissack cried. "Rachel, this does not
leave my office! Do you understand? We never discussed it."

"I couldn't help it, I had to find out."

"Look at me point-blank and tell me you think your brother's capable of
something as fucked up as this." He stared at her hard. "Look at
me."

"I don't know." Her eyes welled with tears. "I think I understand
what my father was going through the night he killed himself. I think
he figured it out. God, he must've been so overwhelmed, so--"

"Rachel, don't do this to yourself." He stood up. "You're too close.
He's your brother, for chrissakes."

He put his arms around her. He smelled faintly of Old Spice. Nobody
wore Old Spice anymore. She slid her arms around his thickened waist
and held on tight.

"You're off the case," he said, breaking it to her as gently as he
could. "I'm sorry. We'll have a sneaker car follow Billy around. Once
he's cleared, if he's cleared, I'll reassign you."

She nodded, strength draining from her limbs.

"The search you made wasn't any good. Forget the turtle,

we've gotta find probable cause. See if anybody saw Billy and Dinger
together, hearsay's admissible in the affidavit."

"What about Gillian Dumont?"

"If she's a key witness but can't be located, the prosecutor's gonna
dismiss the charges. We arrest anybody on suspicion of kidnapping and
possibly murder, we'll need a great deal of corroborating evidence to
make the charges stick."

Rachel shook her head. "This is crazy. Billy isn't capable of
something so diabolical."

"I agree. You didn't find any dead bodies, did you?"

She shook her head. "But remember the cabin ..."

"If he goes anywhere, we'll know about it."

"My head is killing me."

"Shhh."

"I feel like I failed him," she confessed.

"Don't let it defeat you, sweetie."

"Hold me."

She felt his body stiffen.

"Rachel," he said, drawing back, but she wouldn't let him go.

"No, this isn't sexual, McKissack. It's not anything."