The Lost Years (38 page)

Simon crouched down to examine the droplets closely. “I don’t know what the hell she was doing here, but it looks like she was grabbed when she was getting out of the car. Rita, we’ve got to get that composite right away.”

“The guys picking up Wally Gruber should be on their way back now,” Rita said quickly. “I’ll call and tell them to turn on the flashers and be there as soon as they can.”

Almost beside himself with frustration, Simon barked, “Do it. I’ll get the tech unit to come here and go over the car for prints.” He paused. “And I’ll have to let Lloyd Scott know what’s going on.”

Three missing women in five days, he thought grimly. All of them connected to Jonathan Lyons. And probably connected to that parchment.

His introspection was interrupted by Rita. “The guys with Gruber are already over the bridge. They’ll be waiting for us at the office.”

H
er head hurt so much. Mariah tried to touch it but could not raise her hand that high. She opened her eyes. The light was dim, but she could see that she was in some kind of strange place. She lifted her head and looked around.

She was in a museum.

I’m dreaming. It has to be a nightmare. This can’t be.

Then she remembered Lillian’s call. I went rushing to meet her. He was waiting for me. He slammed my head against the car. Then I was in a car trunk and Lillian was there.

Bits and pieces about the ride came back to her. It was so bumpy. My head kept hitting against the floor. Lillian was next to me. She was tied up too.

Mariah recalled hearing the sound of a door opening, like a garage door going up. Then he opened the trunk and dragged Lillian out. She kept pleading, “Please don’t hurt me. Please let me go.”

Then he came back for me, she remembered. He picked me up and carried me to a lift. And then it went up. And then we were here in the museum. He took me into a bathroom and untied my hands. He said, “I’ll let you have a few minutes in here.” I tried to lock the door behind him, but there was no lock. I heard him laughing. He knew I was going to try to lock it. I tried to wash the crusted blood
from my head and face, but then I started bleeding again. I pressed a towel against the gash and then he came back.

Mariah remembered how helpless she had felt when he retied her hands and legs and dragged her into this room and threw her down on a mattress on the floor. He didn’t care at all that I was still bleeding, she thought. He wanted to hurt me.

Her head was throbbing but her thoughts were starting to come more clearly. He had held up what looked to be a large antique silver jewelry case and opened the lid. He reached inside and took something out. He held it over my head, she thought. It looked like one of those rolled-up scrolls that she had seen in her father’s study.

“Look at it, Mariah,” he demanded. “It is so unfortunate that your father would not sell this to me. If he had, he would be alive today and so would Rory. And neither would Lillian be here with us. But that was not meant to be. Now I want to honor what I know would be your father’s fondest wish: that you touch it before you join him. I know how much you have missed him.”

He brushed the parchment against her neck, taking care that it did not come into contact with any of the blood that was still oozing from her forehead.

And then he had laid it back into the silver chest, which he placed on the marble table next to her.

I don’t remember what happened after that, Mariah thought. I must have passed out again. Why didn’t he kill me right away? What is he waiting for?

She strained to raise her wrists and look at her watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. When I was in the bathroom it was almost five o’clock, she thought. I’ve been unconscious for more than six hours. Is he still here? I don’t see him.

Where is Lillian?

“Lillian,” she called out, “Lillian.”

For a moment there was no answer, but then a sudden terrified wail from near the center of the room made her cringe. “Mariah, he’s going to kill us!” Lillian screamed. “He only held off killing me so that he could use me to trick you into coming to the motel. When he comes back, I know what’s going to happen. I know what’s going to happen.”

The sound of Lillian’s gasping sobs became a crescendo of terror that echoed throughout the cavernous room.

W
ally Gruber did not know why the detective who was driving him to the New Jersey prosecutor’s office suddenly stepped on the gas and turned on the flashers. “I’m in no hurry,” he chided them. “I’m enjoying the ride. In fact I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stop for coffee on the way.”

He was sitting in the backseat of the van, shackles covering his wrists and legs, and separated from the front area by a locked grille. There were two other detectives escorting him, one in the front passenger seat and the other sitting next to him in the secured section.

None of the three detectives answered him. Wally shrugged his shoulders. They’re not too sociable today, he thought. So what? He closed his eyes, concentrating again on the face that might get him back on the street much sooner. He had made bets with some of his fellow inmates. In fact they had a pool going. The odds were up to four to one that he wasn’t bluffing about seeing the killer of that professor.

They weren’t in the parking lot of the courthouse long enough for him to get a decent breath of fresh air before he was in the elevator going up to the prosecutor’s office. He was taken straight to a room where there was a guy sitting at a computer who stood up as they entered. “Mr. Gruber,” he said, “I am Detective Howard Washington. I will be working with you to formulate the composite.”

“Call me Wally, Howie,” Gruber replied cheerfully.

Washington ignored the invitation. “Please sit down, Mr. Gruber. I will explain to you exactly how we’re going to do this. I am informing you that this process will be videotaped. I will first take a detailed description from you of the person whom you have indicated you saw, then I will be using the computer to show you images of various head and facial parts, such as the forehead, eyes, nose, and chin, as well as head and facial hair.”

“Don’t stress over any facial hair, Howie. He didn’t have any.” Wally sat down next to Washington and leaned back in the chair. “I wouldn’t mind a nice hot cup of coffee,” he said. “No milk. Two sugars.”

Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez had just come into the room. Simon felt his blood boil as he listened to Wally’s nonchalant comments. He felt Rita put a restraining hand on his arm. I’d love to deck this guy, he thought.

“I’m going to start with some very specific questions with regard to the person’s physical appearance. I will be taking notes as you speak. I’m going to start with our initial checklist.”

The questions began. “Male or female… color of skin… approximate age… approximate height and weight…”

When Detective Washington had completed the preliminary questions, he started putting up multiple images on the screen.

Wally began shaking his head, then said, “Hold it. That’s the way the hair looked when he pulled the scarf down. You’re hitting the nail on the head.”

Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez looked at each other. From Wally’s description they already knew how the composite would come out. The question burning in both of their minds was, where and when had Gruber seen this face? Was it the night Jonathan Lyons was shot or was it from a picture in a newspaper after Lyons had died?

They waited until Wally Gruber, looking at the current composite on the screen, said to Detective Washington, “You did a good job, Howie. That’s him.”

Simon and Rita stared at the screen.

“It’s as though Greg Pearson sat for the picture,” Rita said as Simon nodded in agreement.

A
fter she called Lloyd to tell him that Mariah might be missing, Alvirah rushed to shower and dress, leaving the half-eaten Danish on her plate. Her heart pounding with anxiety, she dressed in her lightweight running suit, swallowed her vitamins, and hastily put on some light makeup. Just as she was finishing, Lloyd phoned to say that Mariah’s car had been found.

“I’m on my way to the prosecutor’s office,” he said tersely. “That guy Gruber should be there by now. If he’s on the level, saving Mariah’s life may depend on the description he gives to them.”

“Lloyd, I have had my suspicions,” Alvirah said. “And since yesterday I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’m right. Albert West told the prosecutor’s office that Charles Michaelson was trying to sell the parchment, but then I made Albert call his source, who admitted that the so-called tip came from an anonymous phone call. I think the person who made that phone call was trying to set Michaelson up. I just don’t believe Michaelson or West is involved.”

Warming up to her theory, Alvirah paced back and forth across the bedroom as she spoke. “That leaves Richard Callahan and Greg Pearson. My gut tells me Richard is not a killer. I knew he was holding back on something, and then I realized it’s as plain as the nose on your face. He’s so in love with Mariah that he’s been willing to spend most of his own money to try to get that parchment back.”

Hoping she was getting through to Lloyd, Alvirah said, “Lloyd, I can’t be one hundred percent positive until we see that composite, but that leaves only Greg Pearson.”

“Alvirah, hold on. I’m Kathleen’s attorney. With the exception of Mariah, there’s nobody who wants to get the real killer more than I do. So even if everything you surmise is true, I can tell you right now that no jury would ever convict Greg Pearson on evidence that consists primarily of Wally Gruber’s identification. Pearson’s attorney would annihilate him on cross-examination.”

“I agree with you. I understand what you’re saying. But he has to have a place where he’s kept the parchment. He’d never be dumb enough to hide it in his apartment or office or a safe-deposit box. But if he thought that Gruber had identified somebody else and he was out of the woods, he might feel comfortable going to wherever that parchment is hidden.”

Pleading her case to Lloyd, Alvirah tried to keep her voice from rising too much. “And you know, I think even the detectives are pretty convinced that Lillian had the parchment under her arm when she got on the subway. She had to be going somewhere to meet someone. I think it was Greg. Think about it. Rory could have let him in the house that night. She knew where Jonathan kept the gun. Rory could have easily left it out somewhere for him. She’s an ex-con who skipped parole. Maybe Greg found out about her secret past and threatened to expose her if she didn’t cooperate. And then he had to get rid of Rory because she was a danger to him.”