Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (113 page)

The realization hit Todd like Evander Holyfield the moment he realized Mike Tyson had, in fact, taken a bite out of crime.

In the midst of all this, Maddie entered the garage, sitting down behind a set of drums. With a drumstick in each hand, she looked at Todd and said, “You,” tap-tap “saw” tap-tap “something.”

I glanced at Todd, finishing the jingle. “And I’m here to find out what.”

Todd glanced at the door of the house like he wished he was behind it.

“I’m not here to get you in trouble,” I said. “I just need some information. Then I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again.”

Todd looked at his friends and then at the ground. “I—I don’t wanna talk about it.”

I faced Maddie, giving her the
I-need-to-get-him-alone
look.

She pointed her drumsticks at John and Paul. “So, boys—which one of you wants to show me how to really play this thing?”

They stepped up to the plate simultaneously. Todd walked into the house. I followed. Thankfully, no parents were in sight. It appeared to be a bachelor pad.

It took a moment for Todd to notice I was still in tow, but when he finally glanced back, he muttered something to himself and then shook his head. “You can’t just walk into my house,” he said without turning around.

I smiled.

“I just did,” I said.

“Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out or I’ll—”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Call the police. Then we can all hear about the secret you’ve been keeping.”

Todd rounded the corner and looked at me. His face had paled, turning a dull, ashen color. He leaned against the living room wall and then slid toward the ground like he was melting. He probably felt like he was. When his butt hit the carpeted floor, he crossed his arms over his knees, burying his head as far as it would go between them.

I walked over and knelt down in front of him. “Is it really that bad? I’m not here to judge you. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

His silence was a challenge, but not the hardest one I’d ever faced. He just needed a little encouragement.

“About six months ago, a toddler named Savannah Tate was kidnapped from a daycare in Jackson Hole,” I said. “And do you want to know something? She was only four years old. Olivia was six when she was taken, but you already know that. You were there that day.”

I waited a full minute, but he didn’t budge, and with his head buried in what he must have wished was sand, I couldn’t tell whether my words had any effect on him. All I could do was to keep talking until I struck a chord.

“When things like this happen, it’s not only the child who suffers, their parents do too. I’ve met Savannah’s father. He’s heartbroken, and her mother can’t even get out of bed. They’ve been so distraught over losing their daughter, neither one of them cares if they live or die. It’s hard enough for a parent to lose a child, but to take their own life—I can’t imagine what that kind of grief must feel like.”

His breathing quickened, and for a moment, I worried he’d hyperventilate. Then it slowed again, but he still wasn’t coming around.

“Do you want to know what I think?” I said. “I think the same kidnapper took both Olivia and Savannah. But in order to prove it, I need you to tell me what you saw. Will you help me?”

Todd lifted his head just enough to give me the hope I was looking for. “The girl you were just talking about—”

“Savannah?”

He nodded.

“Her parents—they didn’t kill themselves, did they?”

At last.

“Savannah’s father had the gun loaded with two bullets in the clip: one for his wife, the other for him.”

“But he didn’t go through with it, right?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But if I can’t help him find out what happened to his daughter, I’m afraid they might not make it next time.”

Todd sighed, looking away for a brief moment. Then he shifted his focus back to the carpet again. “If I tell you what I saw, I’ll get in trouble.”

“With who—the police?”

He nodded.

“I read about it—it’s called withholding evidence.”

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said.

He paused. I waited.

“I may have seen Olivia.”

“You ‘may have’ or you did?” I said.

“I saw her,” he said.

“Where? Did you see the person who was with her?”

His bottom lip trembled. “I saw them both in the parking lot. I watched the man take her. I watched him, and I didn’t do anything about it.”

CHAPTER TEN

Todd was sobbing, his tears dripping into his hands as he tried to sweep them out of his face. I wanted to give him time to recover before he revealed what he’d kept bottled up for the past two years, but with a couple teenagers outside being watched over by a less-than-competent babysitter, I couldn’t wait long.

“I know how hard it must be to relive what happened,” I said, “but I need to know what you saw.”

He glared at me like I was hard of hearing. “I just told you.”

“You haven’t given me anything I can use.”

Not yet
.

I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and handed it out to him. “Here.”

He waved it away. “I don’t want it.”

“You need it,” I said.

I held it out until he took it from my hand. He gulped it down in a matter of seconds.

“You said you watched the man take her. Didn’t the police question you or ask where you were when Olivia was taken?”

He nodded.

“I told them I didn’t see anything.”

He’d lied. Great. It seemed like the withholding-information virus was going around lately.

“Well, now I know that you did,” I said, “and I need all the details.”

He shrugged.

“Like what?”

“Pretend I’m someone who has never heard the story before,” I said. “How would you explain it to me?”

Todd looked up and to the right, an indicator that he was piecing together the visual images he remembered from the day of Olivia’s abduction.

“Let’s start with this,” I said. “Tell me what you were doing when you first saw Olivia.”

He nodded.

“I’d just finished helping a woman load some grocery bags in her trunk. After she left, I scanned the parking lot for shopping carts, loaded some up, and was getting ready to take them in. A grocery ad fell out of one of the carts. I bent down to pick it up, and that’s when I saw the little girl.”

“What was she doing?” I said.

“Walking. A man was holding her hand. At first I thought the guy was her dad because he kept smiling down at her, but she looked scared. She wouldn’t even look at him.”

“Describe the man to me.”

Todd shrugged.

“Tall.”

“How tall?” I said.

“Maybe a few inches taller than me.”

“You’re tall. Are you saying the man was around six foot six?”

“Guess so.”

“What else did you notice?”

“He wore a hat.”

“What kind?”

“A ball cap.”

“Color?”

“Red.”

“Did the ball cap have anything on it—was it for a sports team, maybe?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t think so. He had on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. You know, the kind you can see yourself in.”

“What about his clothes?” I said.

“Black T-shirt and jeans.”

“Shoes?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What was his hair like?” I said.

“Average, I guess.”

I tried again.

“Was it long or short? How much of it was coming out of the ball cap?”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Did he see you?” I said.

Todd shook his head.

“He was too busy talking to some old lady who’d followed him to his car.”

“What did the car look like?”

“It was silver.”

“What about a make and model?” I said.

“It was a Dodge Charger, I think. It had dark, tinted windows. I couldn’t see inside from where I was squatting.”

First Mr. Tate refuses to turn over the coloring page and now this.
What was wrong with these people?
Part of me had an urge to slap Todd across the face. The information he had would have given police a strong lead, one that could have saved a little girl’s life. Todd may have been a teenager, but he was also a coward.

I needed to keep going; I wasn’t finished with him yet.

“What happened between the man and the lady who stopped him?” I said.

“The lady said something to him, but he didn’t even look at her, he just kept walking.”

“Then what?”

“The man opened the back door of his car, put the little girl inside, and when he turned around he saw the lady was standing behind him. He said something to her and then the lady fell down. At first I thought it was an accident, but then the man didn’t bend down to help her.”

“What did you do?” I said.

“I—”

His voice was shaky.

“Tell me. It’s okay.”

He shook his head.

“No. It isn’t. I could have done something, but I didn’t. I just stayed there, crouched on the ground while he ran over the old lady’s body. I was confused. It happened so fast. When I went back into the store, I heard Olivia’s mother calling for her, and that’s when I knew what was really going on.”

I was too upset to say anything, which I was sure Todd gathered when he looked at my face.

“Don’t you understand? If they found out I was outside, they would have wanted to know why I didn’t do anything to stop the man from taking her. Everyone in town would have known.”

“You are the only witness, Todd. Don’t you think everyone would have been grateful to you for telling the truth?”

He shrugged.

“It’s too late now. They’ll all hate me for it.”

I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Aren’t you tired of carrying this around? Don’t you want to help Olivia’s parents? What if there’s a chance their daughter is still alive?”

He looked scared. “What are you saying?”

“Telling me isn’t the same thing as telling the authorities,” I said. “I’m glad you finally did the right thing, but they need to know everything. You
have
to tell them.”

“I can’t do it—I won’t! You know what happened now. Isn’t that enough?”

“It isn’t,” I said. I walked to the door, turning around slightly before opening it. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to talk to the police. After that, I’ll tell them where to find you. And do everyone a favor, don’t run. Then I’ll have to track you down, and I don’t have time for it right now.”

He tapped his Converse shoe on the ground. “This isn’t fair. You tricked me! I lied to the police. I could go to jail.”

“Olivia may have lost her life because of your silence. You need to make things right.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I dropped Maddie off at the hotel and unfolded a map of the town, spreading it out over the steering wheel in front of me. In months past, I’d thought about getting a GPS, or even using the map application I had on my iPhone. But ever since my grandfather had taught me how to use a printed map, I’d never been led astray. Besides, what people said about old habits was true—and most of mine were alive and well.

One sixty-eight Pinecone Avenue was the easiest house on the street to locate given the large green ribbons wrapped around a cluster of pine trees in the corner of the front yard. At the base of the trees photos, candles, and even a few weathered and worn teddy bears stood as a reminder that Olivia may have been gone, but she was not forgotten.

The shrine in Olivia’s yard reminded me of a trip I’d taken to Ground Zero a few months after nine eleven. Maybe I should have been scared to fly there, with the nation on high alert and all, but I wasn’t. I’d been afraid of few things in my life, and dying wasn’t one of them. The chain-link fence surrounding the area where the twin towers had once stood offered visitors a view of heaping dirt piles and broken concrete. The fence, an attraction of its own, had been covered with everything from flowers to poems written by compassionate people from all walks of life. But that wasn’t what I’d noticed most. It was the silence. The eerie, chilling silence—the kind of quiet hush that makes a person feel like they’re not alone in a room, even when they are.