Valley of the Lost (25 page)

Which there had been. The scheduled nurse had called to say she had a dentist appointment and was running about half an hour late.

Jamie, red-eyed and weeping into a torn tissue as she was being questioned, said that Richard Junior had been sleeping, and she’d assumed Katie could handle the old man in the nurse’s absence. So she went for her walk.

Katie, of course, couldn’t tell them anything.

Jamie said she saw a woman running from the house, carrying something she thought was a parcel, when she returned from her walk. Whereupon she ran into the kitchen, found Katie dead on the floor, Richard Junior missing, and called the police.

The police found prints of a woman’s shoes on the kitchen floor, and running down the driveway to the road. They were very small, almost child sized.

They searched, hard, for the small woman, without luck. But they were sure that it was Jennifer, Katie’s sister, who was very short.

Jacobi threw his wrappings toward Ferguson’s trash. They joined the coffee cup under her desk, and Jacobi sauntered back to his own desk. Ferguson swung her chair around to face the computer and scanned her new e-mail.

“Al, get over here. Fast.”

Not only Jacobi but several others gathered to peer over her shoulder.

“Police in some town in British Columbia are trying to identify a baby boy. The age is right. I think this might be it. Wait, there’s more.”

She finished reading, and lifted her head to look at Jacobi. “Baby was found beside the body of a murdered woman.”

Chapter Thirty

There wasn’t a sliver of light from moon or stars. The wind had picked up. A branch brushed against the roof. A dog, maybe a wolf, barked once.

Burke had followed Blacklock out, switching off the light as she went. It was as dark inside the suite as out.

Smith couldn’t see Miller, lying at the foot of the bed where he’d been tossed, but his breathing was deep, ragged with crying, so she knew he was still alive.

How long could a baby go without being fed? She tried to determine when Lucky had last given Miller a bottle. She’d probably fed him before taking him out for his walk. Two o’clock maybe? Three? It was after ten now. So eight hours, at least, since the last feeding. Molly Smith knew nothing about babies, but when she’d been doing her practicum toward her BA in Social Work, she’d heard mothers bragging that their babies slept through the night at three months—Miller’s age. She’d also heard mothers bragging that their child talked in full sentences before their first birthday and were potty trained before they could sit up. And, no one knew better than she, Miller was nowhere near sleeping though the night.

She worked at the tape securing her hands to the bed frame. If she could loosen it, just a bit, she might be able to pull her hands free. They hadn’t tied her feet—if Steve or Burke got close enough she could kick out. And then do what? Hope they’d drop dead of a heart attack?

Steve had secured the tape very loosely. His heart not fully in it, Smith guessed. There was some pretty weird stuff going on between brother and sister—if they really were brother and sister. Steve obviously spent his life squashed under Burke’s thumb. He was doing what she ordered, but reluctantly. Was he reluctant enough to balk when it came to murder?

Perhaps. He seemed to need reassurance from Burke that Smith wouldn’t come to any harm. And he was gullible enough to believe her.

Or he wanted to convince himself that he believed her.

Smith needed to puncture his delusion. If Burke would leave them alone long enough.

Which, she guessed, was highly unlikely.

And what about Miller, now sleeping the sleep of the exhausted?

Burke thought he was worth something, a great deal of something, in ransom. To whom, didn’t matter.

A sliver of pale light crept in the window, as a cloud slipped to one side, allowing the moon to give the world a flirtatious peek. At Burke’s orders, Blacklock had drawn the silver blinds across the windows, but not all the way. There was enough light for Smith’s eyes to gradually start getting accustomed to the dark.

She worked at the tape. It could stretch, a little. A bit more and she might be able to slide her hands out. Her hands were bound together by the rope, but she could at least run like that.

She couldn’t carry Miller, but she could go for help.

How far she could get, trussed up like the Christmas turkey, in the woods, at night, before being overpowered, was another matter.

She felt a soft swell of optimism as she remembered that she’d grown up running through woods exactly like these. Before he’d allow Moonlight and Sam to lead camping and kayaking parties, her father made them spend time, at night, alone in the forest. Molly Smith would bet her life—literally—that Jody Burke and her brother had never done so.

She returned her attention to her hands.

***

She hadn’t planned it that way, but Meredith found herself sitting across from the Smith’s big kitchen window. Pots filled with fragrant green herbs lined the windowsill, and a dangling construction of colored glass strung along a thin rope hung from the top of the frame. It was too late for the sun catcher to catch any sun.

She had a clear view to the driveway where it rounded the house toward the garage.

Sergeant Winters was talking to Adam Tocek, the cute Mountie. Tocek climbed into his car. Winters spoke to Paul Keller, waving his hands to indicate the woods behind the Smith property. The mountains had disappeared into the night. Black upon black. Too dark to continue with the search. The search Meredith suspected was coming up empty anyway.

In one part of her heart Meredith hoped that Molly had gone on a bender. All this fuss and bother, and they’d find her passed out behind some low-life bar. Maybe with her pants around her ankles and her face buried in dirt and her own vomit. That would end her career. But for some reason Meredith hoped that wouldn’t happen.

“Andy,” Lucky said suddenly. “I have to call Andy. I can’t let him come home and find all this.” She grabbed the phone, resting beside her hand. Her fingers hesitated over the buttons. Some of the life returned to her face, and Meredith knew that the feisty old Lucky was coming back. “This is a private matter, Meredith.”

She hadn’t opened up. Not even a little bit. She was a smart one, Lucky Smith. She’d been fooled once by a journalist’s pretend sympathy. She wouldn’t let it happen again. She held the phone in the air and regarded Meredith pointedly. “You can let yourself out.”

Meredith stood up. She’d been told to leave. If she stayed, it would compromise any story she’d want to file.

She let herself out, as ordered.

Winters was climbing into the RCMP car. Tocek at the wheel. Tocek threw the vehicle into gear and it pulled away, spitting gravel, before Winters had his seatbelt fastened. The police dog watched Meredith out the back window.

She followed at a run, heading for her own car.

***

Her hands were almost free. They hurt like hell, but she’d worry about that later. The duct tape was stretching. Just a bit more wiggle room, and she’d be free of the bed post, at least. This building was a resort show house; it wouldn’t be outfitted like a jail. She should be able to simply unlock the door and walk out.

The moonlight had faded again as more clouds moved across the sky. She couldn’t turn on any lights—that would be a sure sign that she’d gotten free. The model suite was a good distance from the construction trailer, and the forest between was heavy, thick with summer foliage. But in this deep dark any sliver of light would show through the trees like a search light at a Hollywood opening. She couldn’t chance that.

Could she leave Miller behind? She’d have to, although it would hurt to do it. She wouldn’t get far carrying him if she couldn’t get the rope off her wrists. Even if she managed to bring him, the woods would give her no protection if he cried. He was Burke’s ticket to the good life—she wouldn’t harm him. Would she? But Burke’s original intention had been to kill the baby. She might be so enraged by Smith’s escape that she’d turn her anger on Miller.

Could Smith chance that?

She was getting way ahead of herself. She wasn’t going anywhere if she didn’t get her hands loose.

The bedroom was at the back of the cabin, so she hadn’t heard anyone coming. The door opened. A thin beam of light danced into the bedroom. Smith tried to settle into the pillows.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” Burke said, “that even my fool of a brother can shop.” She held up a baby’s bottle. “Happy?”

“Yes,” Smith said, meaning it. No point in escaping if Miller starved to death. “You want me to feed him?”

Burke laughed. Smith didn’t care for that laugh. It was ugly and mean. Smith imagined that as a child Jamie used that laugh when she pulled the legs off flies.

She picked Miller up. Roughly. His head flopped, and he let out a cry. She stuffed the bottle into his mouth. It was probably unsanitary, and not warm enough. But it was nourishment. He fussed for a moment, before settling into the rhythm of sucking.

“Miserable thing.” Burke carried the feeding baby to the window and looked out into the night.

“So what’s your real name?” Smith asked. “Your brother calls you Jamie.”

“You don’t need to know my name, cop.”

“Okay. What do you have in mind now? For us, I mean, me and Miller?”

Burke turned from the window. She looked at the baby in her arms. Her face shuddered, as if she’d found herself suckling a giant slug. “Hideous creature isn’t he? But this bundle of joy is worth more than your miserable little town and everyone in it.”

“His mother didn’t seem to have two nickels to rub together.”

“His mother was a whore. She served no purpose in this life other than as an incubator. And, like an incubator, no one much cared whether she kept working or not. There’s always another. But I assume you’re thinking of Jennifer. Or Ashley or whatever she wanted to call herself. She, by the way, was not Miller’s mother. She was a thief and a junkie. Once a junkie always a junkie. They never get over it, do they?”

“Some do.”

“To answer your question, Miller here, his real name is Richard by the way, Richard George Andrew Allenhart Junior, is the goose who lays the golden egg. And thus he gets to live. But you, cop, are worth nothing to me. And so you will die.”

Smith had known Burke’s intention. But to hear someone announce her imminent death, so calmly, so efficiently, so lacking emotion, made her heart close.

When she’d sat in the alley in Vancouver, where Graham had died, she’d wanted to join him. If, during that long vigil, Jody Burke had stepped out of the shadows and handed her a gun, she might well have used it.

The light from the other room threw a thin beam into the bedroom. It shone into Burke’s eyes but no light was reflected back. They were like black holes, sucking energy, returning nothing.

She cradled a feeding baby in her arms.

The devil’s version of Madonna and Child.

Molly Smith looked at Miller. His face was in shadow, but she guessed that his own eyes were closed as he fed, doing what he had to do to live.

She might see Graham again some day.

But not today.

Burke pulled the bottle out of Miller’s mouth. “That’s enough.”

“He needs more.”

“I said that’s enough. He’ll live for a while longer. Christ, he stinks.”

“He needs his diaper changed.”

“Well I’m not going to do it. And you’re in no position to. Let him stink.” She threw the child back onto the bed.

“I made a couple of calls. Good thing this place is on the river. A floatplane’s going to land, pick us up. It won’t have a lot of range, but it’ll take us to where we can get a bigger ride. And then South America, here we come. You’ll not be coming along for the ride, of course.”

“So why am I still here?”

“When that plane hits the water, you’re one dead cop. Until then, you might be of some use. I plan for every eventuality.”

“If Ashley isn’t Miller’s mother who is? And why did you have to kill her?”

“Innocent little me? I didn’t kill her. My brother dearest got carried away. She was a junkie, right? It was his idea to give her a shot of the stuff, make her willing to see things our way. He bought some in Vancouver for the purpose. I guess he gave her too much. No loss. But I have no interest in explaining myself to you. Sweet dreams.”

She left, taking the light with her.

Weak it might have been, but the light had ruined Smith’s night vision. But she could still feel. She worked at her hands, as Miller whimpered at her feet.

***

“No lights, no siren. Come to a stop at the turn off, and we’ll go in on foot. Can the dog stay quiet?”

“For the most part. Until he finds the person he’s looking for.”

“Then he can come with us.”

Winters could barely remember the days before cell phones, and sometimes he wondered how they’d managed. The Trafalgar City Police had Frank Clemmins’ number on file, because of the incident involving the death of Clemmins’ partner, and had contacted him driving home after a movie. He’d given them the address of the house Blacklock was renting. Brad Noseworthy paid a visit.

Mrs. Blacklock, Noseworthy reported, was happily riding the train to alcoholic oblivion. Where her husband might be, she’d told the officer, she neither knew nor cared. He’d been instructed to ask about a baby. Whereupon Nancy Blacklock had burst into tears, and confessed that she’d had three miscarriages as a young woman before her first husband left her to find more robust breeding stock. She and Steve hadn’t tried to have children. Too late in life, she’d said, but it didn’t matter much because Steve needed almost as much care as a child. She smiled at Noseworthy, tripped over her shoelace, and invited him in for a drink. He declined and radioed Winters.

The RCMP SUV pulled to the shoulder and slid to a stop. Cars passed them on the highway. Away from the beam of headlights, the woods were black, the mountains invisible.

“We might need backup,” Winters said. The clasp of his seatbelt unfastening was loud. “Put them on stand-by.”

“You think Molly`s here?” Tocek asked.

“I think nothing. Blacklock was observed buying baby stuff. He isn’t at the place he’s supposed to live in, with the wife he’s supposed to be with. For all I know he might be cuddled up in a house in the country with his bigamous wife and their ten children.

“But, until that’s proved to me, we’re going to act under the assumption that, for some unknown reason, Blacklock has brought Smith and the baby here. If it’s for a party, we’ll leave. Embarrassed, but with our balls still intact. Let’s go.”

Winters had his hand on the door when the radio crackled to life.

Ray Lopez. “I’ve just had a call from Seattle. They’re missing a baby boy. And it’s one heck of a big story.” Lopez quickly explained what he’d learned from an excited Rachel Ferguson.

“Start working on a search warrant for the offices of the Grizzly resort. Remind them that we have an officer missing. And get everyone looking for Steve Blacklock. Send Brad back to the wife to question her again, this time with an eye to finding out what she knows about the business in Seattle and the Ashley Doe case.” Winters thought for a moment, then turned to Tocek. “This is no longer just a guess. From now on I’m operating under the assumption that Steve Blacklock murdered Ashley Doe, sounds like there’s a big inheritance involved. Somehow he lost the kid and it ended up with Molly, so he had to grab Molly. Who Burke is, I don’t know, but Blacklock’s sister is a suspect in the murder of the mother of a missing baby boy and is currently unaccounted for. Might be the same woman.