Hard Silence (22 page)

“Hey there, squirt.”

“Abby’s in jail,” the little boy whispered through his tears. “She has to be cold in there, and she doesn’t like the dark. Can you take her a light?”

“We’ll ask Chief Roberts to take her one,” Jeff murmured, fighting the knot in his throat. “Are you okay?”

“I miss her. Can you bring her home?”

He wanted to say yes more than anything, but he wouldn’t lie to the boy. Abby would hate that. “I’ll try,” he said, now fighting to stay upright as the dogs bounded against him.

“Toby,” Evan commanded in his little voice. “Down. Stay.”

The collie went to the floor, and Ned gasped as he thumped into the nearest chair. The man had reached his limit, and Jeff needed to give him something good to hang on to.

“Evan, this is Ned. He’s an old friend of Abby’s from when she lived in Kentucky.”

“She said her grandma lived there,” Evan chirped as only a child could.

Ned’s nod was shaky. “She still does.”

“Oh, and she had a horse named Berry who slept next to her bed. Did she really?”

Tears streaked down the older man’s face as he nodded.

Evan looked up at Jeff. “Can I come with you?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure which of them needed the comfort more. “But you have to do exactly what I tell you.”

Gray walked them out. “Hold up a second, Crandall.”

“Evan, go get in the backseat. I’ll be right there.” Once the boy was out of earshot, Jeff looked at Gray. “Yeah?”

“This ties to your case, doesn’t it?”

Jeff nodded, and Gray’s mouth thinned into a grim line.

“I’m her lawyer. You don’t talk to her without me.” He blew out a long deep breath. “This sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” Jeff spun on his heel and strode to Glen’s patrol car. He wanted a bottle of whiskey and a good sleep in a warm bed, but he needed answers.

As they left the Harpers behind, Evan crawled into his lap and Toby rested his head on the seat. Both stared up at him with desperate eyes. Even Tug seemed to plead. Ned turned around to watch them.

He needed everyone to quit expecting him to fix the pile of shit his life had become overnight. Some things couldn’t be fixed.

One thing he could do. Wrestling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Colonel Freeman with the ISP.

“Eric? It’s Jeff Crandall. Any chance you’re investigating the disappearance of Hale and Wallis Riker?”

“I’m on the task force. What can you add?”

“I think they’re tied to a case I’m investigating.” He closed his eyes and prayed he was wrong, that the feeling in his bones was weariness and not fear. “I’m fairly certain Wallis isn’t a victim. I’d appreciate it if you could add an APB for her.”

“I can try. Can you give me anything else to make my point?”

Jeff surveyed his audience, each member of which was paying far too much attention to him. “I’ll call you back.”

“Mrs. Riker?” Evan asked. “From the party?”

“You remember her?” Jeff asked.

He nodded. “When Abby was outside with you, I went to get a drink. Mrs. Riker asked me to tell her about Abby’s pictures. She was nice. She wanted to know all about the farm.”

Alarm bells clanged. “Did Abby see you with her?”

“Uh-huh. When she came back in.”

So that’s why she’d left him with Gray, an ex-agent who would protect the boy like a hawk. Solving one mystery gave Jeff a bit of equilibrium.

“Did I do something wrong?” Evan whispered.

And just like that, Jeff was floundering again. “No, buddy. Abby’s trying to keep you safe.” Just saying it gave him a steadier footing. Her goal all summer had been Evan’s safety. And it was normal thinking, normal behavior. Anyone faced with a murderer would protect the people they loved.

They parked at the top of the hill. Below them, the valley was peaceful. The horses grazed in the paddock. Jeff trudged up the steps, his entourage in his wake. Cassie opened the door and swept him and Evan into a hug.

“She didn’t do this,” she whispered.

“Cassie.” He swung his arm behind him. “This is Ned Quinn. Abby’s father.”

“Ohmigod,” she gasped as she moved aside and let them in.

Glen stayed on the threshold. “I’m going back to the station. I’ll send Chet up here to...” He looked down at Evan.

“Watch us?” Evan asked. The boy was getting way too familiar with bodyguards for Jeff’s taste.

“Yep,” Jeff said as they walked into the house. Now it was his job to keep them safe. “Chet’s going to watch you and Cass and Ned while I work.”

* * *

As soon as Chet arrived, Jeff drove to Abby’s home, cursing as he crept over her rutted driveway. Why the hell didn’t she fix this? It took him twice as long to get—

He slowed and stared out the windshield as his headlights bobbed and swayed against the trees. As he drew closer, the lights careened off the house’s windows, and then the porch. Damn. It was an early warning system. She would’ve seen anyone coming and had enough time to run.

He parked in front of the house and stood next to the car, looking at the security lights with a new perspective. He’d always considered the overly bright yard a symptom of her fear of the dark. Maybe she had another reason to be afraid.

The horses were still out in the paddock. As he approached, the motion-sensitive light over the stable doors blared to life.

“I’ll bet you guys are confused,” he whispered as he led them to their stalls. Butcher was last.

Jeff ran his fingers along the horse’s coat. It was still thin, but it was shiny. The visible skin was healthy. His eyes were bright. Abby loved this horse, had virtually willed it back to life. Just like she’d done with Evan. So animals and children were safe, but adult men were fair game? Could she compartmentalize that much? For her whole life? And how did that explain
him
?

He fed the horses and then walked up the hill to put the cow in the barn and feed the cat, now expecting the security light to awaken as he approached. He got the eggs and put the chickens in their coop. And then he broke the window in her back door, let himself in, and disarmed the security system.

The house was a spotless shell without her and Evan in it, but without their distraction Jeff saw the space in a new way. Every room was arranged so she could see the door, every desk and bed was near a window. Even the mirror over the sink meant she could see if anyone was behind her. And her shower curtains were clear liners.

Everything she’d decorated with spoke to her personality, to her preferences for soft, warm fabrics and bright colors, but nothing was personal. He’d seen it as OCD, but maybe it was another way to hide. No one could see what was important to her. And she wasn’t attached to anything, just like a kid who’d been on the run through their adolescence. On the other hand, Evan’s room was a shrine to everything he loved. Toys for his dog, his baseball glove, his favorite books.

One by one, he searched every cabinet and drawer in her office until he sat back on his heels and stared at a new piece of the puzzle. In a box was a neat collection of envelopes, paper, and stamps just like his mother kept on her desk for paying bills and sending birthday cards. Except in Abby’s kit, everything was sealed in plastic bags. And she’d added rubber gloves, bottled water and sponges. Everything she’d need to eliminate trace evidence from her mail.

He walked into her bedroom and sat on her side of the bed—the side nearest the door. It smelled like her in here. No one who smelled this sweet could be a monster. Could they?

The darkness and quiet settled around him as he closed his eyes and let his thoughts sift and stack. She’d been hiding down here in fear for years.

And she was making it easy to leave it behind. His fingers twitched with the memory of the scar on her thigh. Would she—No. She’d told him she’d never thought about it again. But she’d leave. Everything
not
here told him she wasn’t expecting to stay. Whether she left or went to prison for the rest of her life, she didn’t consider this her home.

Grabbing her pillow, he hurled it against the wall. She’d slept here, cuddled naked against him, cried his name as she came, and told him
nothing.
The down barrage continued, thudding against the wall and sliding to the floor, until he saw the envelope on the bed. His name was written across it in her precise, neat handwriting.

Great. Not only was she making a fool of him, now he was breaking in to houses and contaminating crime scenes. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he took a picture of the note where it lay, held the envelope on the edges and shook the paper free, and touched it as little as possible to pry it open. He took another photo before he read it.

I’m sorry. Everything you need to know is in the attic.

She’d known that he’d be driving himself crazy, and she was still leaving an enigmatic trail. Why couldn’t she just fucking tell him?

How could she have done something so monumentally stupid?

The entrance to the attic was in her closet ceiling. Taking photos with each step, he reached for the handle and stopped. What the hell was waiting on him up here?

Jeff went up the ladder anyway, and wasn’t surprised to find it totally empty except for a plastic crate sitting in easy reach. After more photos, he pulled it down the ladder, thumping it rung by rung, and sat it on the bench at the end of the bed.

It was full of journals. Year after year, page after page, painstakingly dated and kept in order. Early, cheap notebooks were full of cramped writing clearly meant to make the most of space, as if paper was scarce, later ones were nicer—colorful spiral ones, some covered in soft leather that was now shiny with use.

In the back, shoved and buried under the others, was a pink book covered with rainbows and unicorns. Loose pages were askew. The pages were dry, dark, and crinkled.

He sat next to the box. It was a little girl’s diary, minus the lock. The thoughts of someone who wasn’t allowed to have secrets. The finish on the cover was rubbed off in spots. He checked some of the others. All the early ones had the same wear patterns. She’d shoved them somewhere tight and narrow to hide them.

Inside the front cover, she’d printed her full name in precise block print with pink ink.
Abigail Marian Quinn.

The corner of a picture peeked out from behind the loose faceplate. Jeff pulled it free. A redhead with a gapped-tooth smile and skinned knees had her arm around the shoulder of another child. A somber, thin little girl staring into the camera, her eyes wide. He could almost see her pulling away. The braids identified her as the same girl in Ned’s photo, at least genetically. Emotionally, she was as far from that child as he could imagine.

He hesitated to turn the page. He’d tormented his sisters by reading their diaries. They had thrown a fit about him invading their private thoughts, as if there was anything private about what they wore to school or ate for lunch, or who they sat with.

The first page of Abigail Marian Quinn’s first diary squeezed the breath from him. A stick person made of thick black lines had black hair that looked like thorns. Its mouth was open to reveal sharp teeth, red eyes were slanted into an angry glare. Yelling—no, screaming. The head was larger than the body. Leaning in to scream.

The hands were red. So was the page under its feet, obscuring another figure with fountains of red spurting upward from its head. More precise handwriting lined the top margin.

My mommy is a monster
.

* * *

Hours later, he sat in his office chair, the journals spread out on the table behind him as he alternately studied the profiles of his suspect and the woman he loved. Every time he turned his head, the world spun on its axis and the coffee churned in his gut. He’d quit counting the cups at midnight.

Toby dropped to the floor at his feet with a sigh.

“Tell me about it,” Jeff grumbled. “And don’t look at me that way. I
am
trying.”

“Are you talking to the dog?” Cass asked from the doorway.

He spun and faced her. “Why are you still up?”

“‘Cause you are.” She pointed at the stale sandwich and greasy potato chips and glared at him. “You didn’t eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“Not tired either?” she sighed when he ignored her. “Jeff, you have to sleep. You’ll make yourself nuts.”

He was already nuts. He dropped his head into his hands and forked his fingers into his hair. “Cassie, she was a happy kid. She was a little girl with braids and a puppy. She had a family.” He waved at the line of victims. “And that monster made her live with this.” He leapt from the chair and pointed at Abby’s profile. “Do you know what hyperthymesia is?”

She shook her head, tears already in her eyes.

“She remembers every day of her life. Every day, just like it’s happening in real time. She carries—” he pointed at the grisly photos “—that around with her. And she’d rather be in fucking prison than ask me for help, and for the life of me I don’t know why.”

“You have to help her.”

“I don’t help people.” He gritted the words between his teeth. “I convict them.”

“You know, one of the meanings of conviction is convincing someone.”

Jeff blinked at her. “Of what?” He crossed the room in two quick strides, and put his hand on his suspect profile. “She fits this. Do you understand that? What if she—”

She walked to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “This is Abby. Vegetarian, animal-rescuing, foster mother Abby. She argued with you about Evan having a rabbit’s foot on his keychain.”

“Hale Riker is dead,” he said. “I got a text from the ISP an hour ago. They found him in the foothills outside Boise. Abby and her mother end up in the same room, and another husband dies. That cannot be a coincidence.” He wrenched away from her and prowled the room. “She showed up at their hotel, insisting they check on him, and twenty-four hours later he’s dead.”

“She didn’t do this,” Cass repeated.

“It is my
job
to look at the evidence without skewing it, Cassidy. I have to consider every shitty angle.” He ran his hands through his hair, resisting the urge to pull it out. “Why didn’t she trust me to help her? One word, all it would’ve taken is one four-letter word. One syllable. And she couldn’t fucking say it.”