Jeffery Deaver - Twisted - The Collected Stories of Jeffery Deaver

Amelia Sachs and Carly Thompson had just returned to the lab in Rhyme’s town house when Anthony Dalton arrived. Thom led him inside and he stopped abruptly, looking at his daughter. “Hello, honey.”

“Dad! I’m so glad you came!”

With both affection and concern in his eyes, he stepped toward the girl and hugged her hard.

Dalton was a fit man in his late forties with a boyish flop of salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a complicated ski jacket, straps and flaps going every which way. He reminded Rhyme of the college professors he sometimes shared the podium with when he was lecturing on forensics at criminal justice colleges.

“Do they know anything?” he asked, apparently only now realizing that Rhyme was in a wheelchair — and finding the fact unremarkable. Like his daughter, Anthony Dalton earned serious points with Rhyme for this.

The criminalist explained exactly what had happened and what they knew.

Dalton shook his head. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s been kidnapped,” he said quickly.

“No, no, not at all,” Sellitto said. “We’re just not taking any chances.”

Rhyme asked, “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen Susan in a year. But when we were together? No, everybody liked her. Even when some of her PR clients had done some pretty shady things, nobody had a problem with her personally. And she always seemed to have the particularly nasty clients.”

Rhyme was troubled — for reasons beyond the danger to Susan Thompson. The problem was that this wasn’t a real case. They’d backed into it, doing a favor for someone; it was a Christmas present, as Sellitto had said. He needed more facts; he needed serious forensics. He’d always felt you run a case 110 percent or you don’t run it at all.

Thom brought more coffee in and replenished the plate of ugly cookies. Dalton nodded at the aide and thanked him. Then the businessman poured coffee from the pot for himself. “You want some?” he asked Carly.

“Sure, I guess.”

He poured it and asked, “Anyone else?”

No one else wanted anything. But Rhyme’s eyes flipped to the Macallan on the shelf and, lo and behold, without a syllable of protest, Thom took the bottle and walked to Rhyme’s Storm Arrow. He opened the tumbler, then frowned. He sniffed it. “Odd, I thought I washed this out last night. I guess I forgot,” he added wryly.

“We can’t all be perfect, now,” Rhyme said.

Thom poured a few fingers into the tumbler and replaced it in the holder.

“Thank you, Balthazar. You can keep your job for now — despite the weeds on the back of my chair.”

“You don’t like them? I told you I was going to decorate for the holidays.”

“The house. Not me.”

“What do we do now?” Dalton asked.

“We wait,” Sellitto said. “DMV’s running all the Malibus with that fragment of a tag number. Or, if we’re real lucky, some officer on the street’ll notice it.” He pulled his coat off a chair. “I gotta go down to the Big Building for a while. Call me if anything happens.”

Dalton thanked him, then he looked at his watch, took out his mobile phone and called his office to say he’d have to miss his office Christmas party. He explained that the police were looking into his ex-wife’s disappearance and he was with his daughter at the moment. He wasn’t going to leave the girl alone.

Carly hugged him. “Thanks, Dad.” Her eyes lifted to the window, staring at the swirling snow. A long moment passed. Carly glanced at the others in the room and turned toward her father. In a soft voice she said, “I always wondered what would have happened if you and Mom hadn’t broken up.”

Dalton laughed, ran his hand through his hair, mussing it further. “I’ve thought about that too.”

Sachs glanced at Rhyme and they turned away, letting the father and daughter continue talking in relative privacy.

“The guys Mom’s dated? They were okay. But nobody special. None of them lasted very long.”

“It’s tough to meet the right person,” Dalton said.

“I guess... ”

“What?”

“I guess I’ve always wished you’d get back together.”

Dalton seemed at a loss for words. “I tried. You know that. But your mom was in a different place.”

“But you stopped trying a couple of years ago.”

“I could read the writing on the wall. People have to move on.”

“But she misses you. I know she does.”

Dalton laughed, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“No, no, really. When I ask her about you, she tells me what a cool guy you were. You were funny. She said you made her laugh.”

“We had some good times.”

Carly said, “When I asked Mom what happened between you, she said it wasn’t anything totally terrible.”

“True,” Dalton said, sipping his coffee. “We just didn’t know how to be husband and wife back then. We got married too young.”

“Well, you’re not young anymore...” Carly blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Dalton said, “No, you’re right. I’ve grown up a lot since then.”

“And Mom’s really changed. She used to be so quiet, you know. Just no fun. But she’s into all kinds of things now. Camping and hiking, rafting, all that out-of-doors stuff.”

“Really?” Dalton asked. “I never pictured her going in for that kind of thing.”

Carly looked off for a moment. “Remember those business trips you’d take when I was a kid? You’d go to Hong Kong or Japan?”

“Setting up our overseas offices, sure.”

“I wanted all of us to go. You, Mom and me...” She played with her coffee cup. “But she was always like, ‘Oh, there’s too much to do at home.’ Or, ‘Oh, we’ll get sick if we drink the water,’ or whatever. We never did take a family vacation. Not a real one.”

“I always wanted that too.” Dalton shook his head sadly. “And I’d get mad when she didn’t want to come along and bring you. But she’s your mother; it’s her job to look out for you. All she wanted was for you to be safe.” He smiled. “I remember once when I was in Tokyo and calling home. And—”

His words were interrupted when Rhyme’s phone rang. He spoke into the microphone on his chair, “Command, answer phone.”

“Detective Rhyme?” the voice clattered through the speaker.

The rank was out of date — a “Ret.” belonged with it — but he said, “Go ahead.”

“This’s Trooper Bronson, New York State Police.”

“Go ahead.”

“We had an emergency vehicle locator request regarding a burgundy Malibu and understand you’re involved in the case.”

“That’s right.”

“We’ve found the vehicle, sir.”

Rhyme heard Carly gasp. Dalton stepped beside the girl and put his arm around her shoulder. What would they hear? That Sue Thompson was dead?

“Go ahead.”

“The car’s moving west, looks like it’s headed for the George Washington Bridge.”

“Occupants?”

“Two. Man and a woman. Can’t tell anything more.”

“Thank God. She’s alive.” Dalton sighed.

Heading toward Jersey, Rhyme reflected. The flats were among the most popular places for dumping bodies in the metro area.

“Registered to a Richard Musgrave, Queens. No warrants.”

Rhyme glanced at Carly, who shook her head, meaning she had no clue who he was.

Sachs leaned forward toward the speaker and identified herself. “Are you near the car?”

“About two hundred feet behind.”

“You in a marked vehicle?”

“That’s right.”

“How far from the bridge?”

“A mile or two east.”

Rhyme glanced at Sachs. “You want to join the party? You can stay right on their tail in the Camaro.”