The Fourth Victim (24 page)

“The D.A.'s already said he's going for the death penalty.”

Ezekial Greene on death row? I felt no compassion for the man at all.

But still needed to cry.

T
hey made it through dinner, such as it was. Kelly ate. Clay wouldn't discuss anything further until she did. They both knew the score. Her kidnapper was still unknown. And at large.

She needed her strength. And he needed his.

After the plates were cleared away, he sat down with her at the table. His home workspace. Because the only connection Kelly Chapman had to his life was through his job.

She was a job.

“I made another run out to the bike path this morning and then again on the way home.” He started with what he thought would be the least threatening piece of information he had for her. “Doesn't look like anyone's been there. The branches are just as we left them. It's been three days. Most people can't survive more than four days without water.”

“So whoever took me was planning to leave me there to die?”

“It appears that way.”

“Then as long as I stay dead, I'm safe.”

“Potentially.”

“I could go away. Start a new life…”

“You wouldn't be able to take your name, your credentials, your degree, your money….”

“I'd have to leave Maggie.”

“And if David Abrams is behind this, you'd be leaving her in his hands.”

Judging by the resolute and steely look on her face, that option was not acceptable to Kelly Chapman.

“But if the guy's left me for dead, he could be long gone by now. You say there've been no hits in your search for the cart or the city worker's uniform. So how do we find him?”

“That's what we have to figure out. What I have to figure out. I've got to lure this guy to us
somehow.
”

“By letting him know I'm alive?”

Clay ignored the question.

“I had a call from Washington.” Her life was at stake. He couldn't protect her from the truth. “I can't disclose a lot about the conversation and, frankly, don't know all that much, but we still can't rule out the possibility that your kidnapping was connected to your interview with Rick Thomas.”

Her only visible reaction to his announcement was thinned lips. And while Clay admired her composure, her strength, he was also bothered by it. Because he didn't know how to handle that kind of reaction. Why didn't she just fall apart as his mother would have done?
That
he would've expected.

“There was an explosion at Rick's home. A problem with the furnace. Rick and Erin and Rick's brother, Steve, all perished.”

When her mouth fell open and tears filled her eyes, Clay did something he'd never done before.

He betrayed his security clearance.

“I heard that a new family settled someplace. A man, a woman and a mentally handicapped adult. The woman
will have law school credentials and will need to pass the bar exam but she'll be able to practice again.”

Kelly's tremulous smile, her silent nod, meant enough to Clay to put him in danger.

He cleared his throat. Took a sip of the beer that was growing warm. He pulled his files toward him. The explosion had been carefully rigged by government agents. Rick Thomas and Erin qualified for the witness protection program. Rick could get a new identity. A missing Kelly Chapman could not.

And if Clay came forward with the information that he'd found her, she'd become part of the system. Subject to protocols. And out of his hands.

“Agents in Washington are following up on all leads in the Thomas case,” he said.

“But with Thomas gone, I wouldn't be of much use to either his enemies or our government, would I? Any testimony I have would be hearsay.”

“Unless you're alive and can somehow identify your kidnapper. Which seems unlikely. Or unless Rick gave you something that could prove his theory. He didn't, did he?”

Her whispered “No” was his answer.

“My team and I are continuing to look at what we have here,” he continued. “There've been hundreds of calls on the help line and the FBI has offered reward money for information.”

The notebook he'd given Kelly slid into his line of vision. As did her slender fingers. He couldn't see the scabs that had formed on the backs of her wrists and on her palms, but he knew they were there.

“I made notes on some of my cases,” she said. She'd also ripped out quite a few pages. The tablet she'd just presented to him was much slimmer than when he'd first given it to her.

What was on those missing pages? He wanted to know. Didn't like not knowing.

“I'm concerned about Marc Snyder.” Kelly flipped a couple of the pages in front of him. The returned soldier's name was at the top of the sheet. He read her notes on the young man. Kelly's handwriting was like her—quick, darting, confident. But not neat. After three days of investigating her, he recognized the scrawl.

And as he read her theories about the reasons Snyder might have for kidnapping her, he could've become convinced he was their man. There was only one problem.

“We've been watching Snyder since your disappearance. You're spot-on about his resenting how hard you're pushing him. He's not upset that you're missing, but we don't think he's guilty of anything more than resenting you. He claims he was working out at the Y when you disappeared. His mother verifies that he left the house in his workout clothes and carrying his gym bag at the appropriate time.”

“Doesn't mean he went to the Y.”

“His membership badge was scanned ten minutes after he left his home.”

“Does anyone know how long he was there?”

“Not for sure. The place was busy and Marc keeps to himself. A couple of people remember seeing him there Friday morning. One, a trainer, didn't remember exactly when. The other, a woman about Marc's age, said she saw him there about an hour after you went skating.”

“So he could've gone to the Y and left. Maybe even gone back.” Possible. But chances were slim. JoAnne and Barry had both spoken with Snyder and both were certain that he had nothing to do with the kidnapping.

And if Snyder
had
been at the gym, how had he known Kelly would go skating? Unless he was on the take and working for someone else…

Like Abrams?

“We searched his home. And his car. There was no sign of any kidnapping. No key to a utility cart. No city-worker uniform. Not even a smudge of dirt or a twig from a tree in his car. And the vehicle hadn't been cleaned. Apparently, Marc's a heavy smoker.”

“What about black boots?” Kelly asked. “I saw the toe of a black boot.”

“He does have boots like that. They're with forensics now.” Clay studied her. “Let me ask you this. If Snyder
had
taken you, do you think he's stable enough to calmly profess his innocence again and again? Or would there be some crack in his armor? Some hint of desperation? A change in his story?”

“Marc…when he starts to feel trapped, he bolts.”

“He's not bolting. In fact, he's cooperating fully.”

“Then if he did take me, he feels justified in the action and there's no guilt associated with it. Remember, Clay, this young man was trained to kill.”

Clay glanced down. He'd just read something….

“You say that he wasn't able to accept the inevitable.”

“When it came to injustice. To innocent people being hurt.”

“And he wouldn't see you as innocent?”

“Right. I believe that in his mind, I'm part of the war.”

Clay still didn't think Snyder was their man, but… “I'll have Barry continue to keep an eye on him.”

 

“Tell me about your mother.”

They'd been going over Kelly's notebook. Discus sing each of her clients, the notes she'd made, her impressions.

“Leave my mother out of this.”

Her eyes narrowed and he could feel her assessing him. He didn't need assessing. There was nothing wrong
with him. And to prove it, he muttered, “She has multiple sclerosis.”

She nodded. Said nothing. What, now she was humoring him?

“She was diagnosed when I was two.”

“That must have been hard.”

“I don't need a shrink.”

“Are we done here?” She stood.

“Where are you going?” He was being an idiot. And blamed…himself.

“To my room,” she said, not taking her notebook.

“Look.” Clay didn't stand. He didn't even meet her gaze. He flipped his pen against the edge of the table. “I'm sorry, okay? Please sit down.”

He was relieved when she did as he asked. And yet, he didn't like feeling that way. What the hell was the matter with him?

“My mom,” he started, stopped and began again. “I… How much do you know about MS?”

“I know it's chronic, but generally patients live normal life spans. There's a large range of symptoms, ranging from blurred vision to certain types of paralysis, depending on the part of the central nervous system it attacks. Those symptoms can be continuous or go into remission between occurrences. They're often exacerbated by stress, fever or exposure to sunlight.”

She knew a lot. “Depression is also a side effect.”

“It is with a lot of crippling and chronic diseases.”

“Have you ever treated someone with a chronic disease?” Lynn had seen her share of counselors over the years. Mostly to no long-standing effect. “Of course.”

“Then you know about the paranoia.”

She nodded. “It can be debilitating to the patient—and to the patient's family.”

“From the moment Mom was diagnosed, she was afraid to be alone. Afraid she'd have a spell and wouldn't be able to take care of herself. Personally, I think she's terrified of dying alone.”

“A lot of people are. Most of us are able to manage our fears. Some people aren't.”

“My mom's one of them. From what I hear, she used to be quite independent, but once she got sick, everything changed. It's like she lost confidence in herself. She clung to my father. He was her sole source of security. As long as he was around, she did pretty well—so mostly he stayed around.”

“Which enabled her fear.”

“My father loved her. He was concerned. Frankly, I think he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted him there.” Though he'd never actually framed that thought until right then.

“It's like that sometimes. Especially with spouses who are close. What happens to one happens to the other.”

Clay considered that. “As I got older, she seemed to feel safe with me, too.”

“She would. You're her son. And your father's son.”

“She lives with my aunt now, her younger sister. That's the arrangement they both wanted after my father died. My aunt's a widow, as well. And dotes on Mom. But Mom still has moments….”

“Depression isn't necessarily just a side effect of the MS,” Kelly said. “It can be a separate condition. The disease affects the parts of the brain that control emotional equilibrium. Just like she could have a flare-up that temporarily numbs her legs, she could have one that sends her into depression.”

He'd heard it all before, of course. So why, tonight, did the facts sound different?

“I can't desert her,” Clay said. “Which is why I gave
her a key to my place. I want her to know I'm always here if she needs me.”

And otherwise he had his freedom. Unlike his father, who'd lost most of his life when Lynn had gotten sick. Lost it to the point of living out the rest of his years vicariously through his son.

“You're good to her.”

Right. He resented the hell out of his only living parent for having a disease—not that she could help it. No, he resented her for not being stronger in dealing with the situation. For being so damned needy…

“Your mother trusts you. She comes to you because you're there for her.”

What else could he do? Lynn was his mother. He loved her.

“Has she ever seen a counselor?”

“Yes.”

“Have you?”

He didn't need one.

“I was just wondering…you know…because, based on what you've told me and what I've observed, I thought you might have problems with commitment.”

“I don't have…problems.”

“I couldn't help overhearing the other night when your agent…JoAnne, I think you said…was here. Obviously the two of you had something together at some point.”

“Yeah, it didn't work out. I sure don't need a shrink for that.”

“Of course not. But…you're what—thirty-five or so?”

“Thirty-seven.” Not that it was any of her damned business.

So why was he allowing this? Why wasn't he shutting her up? Like he did any other woman who dared to get too close to parts of him he reserved for himself.

“Thirty-seven and you've never been married, correct?”

Had he told her that?

“Yeah.”

“I can tell you've been here awhile,” she said, waving her arm around the room. “The paint's faded around the key hook you've got there by the door. And around your microwave, too. But there are no feminine touches in here. No
personal
touches. None. Except the wallpaper in the en suite next to my room.”

“We thought Mom was going to live here. That was going to be her room. She chose the paper. I had it hung.”

“There are no mementos of life here. No pictures. No hints of interests or hobbies or vacations.”

“My job takes most of my time.”

“Most people need relationships, too. Unless they're running from something.”

“I'm not most people.” And they were going to leave this conversation at that.

“I just want to help if I can, Clay. You saved my life.” Kelly Chapman's voice had changed, softened, getting his attention.

“Don't make me wish I hadn't,” he said half to himself, but loudly enough for her to hear.

“I'll let it go, but if you ever want to talk…”