Chris Mooney - The Missing

Darby didn't answer.

'Tell me,' Rachel's mother said. 'Please. I have to know.'

'I don't know what happened to her. Mrs Swanson, I know this is a difficult time for you. And I wouldn't be calling you if this wasn't important. I need to ask you some questions about your daughter. The questions may sound odd, so please try and bear with me.'

'Ask anything you want.'

'Was Rachel ever in an abusive relationship?'

'No.'

'Would she have told you if she was?'

'My daughter and I were very close. I knew all about Chad's background, but he never hit her – he never even raised his voice. Rachel wouldn't have put up with any of that. She had nothing but positive things to say about Chad. I think his ex-wife was a bit of a nut.'

'Was Rachel ever assaulted by anyone?'

'No.'

'Did she ever tell you about being stalked? Was someone following her?'

'No. If something like that ever happened, she would have told me. Rachel and Chad had a great relationship. They were going to get married. Rachel was… She was so smart, so hardworking. She paid her own way through college. She was taking out loans to go to law school. She never asked for anything, never got into any trouble. She was just a solid, well-grounded person.'

Wendy Swanson broke down. She spoke through her tears. 'The police told me that when someone goes missing, if they're not found in the first forty-eight hours that usually means they're dead. After the first year, I started to accept the fact that Rachel wasn't coming home, and that I may never find out what had happened to her. And then early this morning I get a phone call from a friend who works at the state lab and she says that Rachel was found in Massachusetts – was found alive. Alive. After five years. I got down on my knees and thanked God. And then I call to find out what hospital Rachel is in only to be told she's dead. Rachel was alive all this time and I find out and now she's dead and I didn't… I didn't get to talk to her. I didn't even get a chance to hold my baby's hand and tell much I love her and how sorry I am for giving up on her. I didn't even get to say good-bye.'

'Mrs Swanson, I'm -'

'I can't talk now, I have to go.'

'I'm very sorry for your loss.'

Wendy Swanson hung up. Darby squeezed the phone and, without realizing it, looked up at her mother's bedroom window.

Darby stared out at puddles in what used to be her mother's garden, where Sheila spent her time before she got sick. As she smoked, she thought about Traveler's victims. Evan Manning said Traveler had selected them at random. If that was true, then it would be difficult to catch him. It was going to be difficult to catch him anyway, Traveler having thought through all the options, going to great lengths so he wouldn't be found. Maybe he had already killed Carol and the others. Maybe he was driving away right now. No, don't think about that.

A copy of every work email was automatically forwarded to her Hotmail account so she could access information from the road. Darby put out her cigarette and went inside, heading upstairs to check her computer. There was a message from Mary Beth regarding the crime scene photographs.

Mary Beth always took two sets of photographs – one using film, the other digital. Digital pictures were not admissible as evidence because they could be doctored. Mary Beth always took them so investigators had copies for their files.

Darby was in the process of reviewing them when she heard coughing. She poked her head out into the hallway and saw the thin crack of light at the bottom of her mother's bedroom door. Sheila was awake, watching TV.

When Darby eased open her mother's door, she could see pictures of the blast site reflected in her glasses.

'What happened to your face?'

'I slipped and fell. It looks worse than it is,' Darby said. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better, now that you're here.' Sheila turned down the volume on the TV. 'Thank you for leaving the note.'

Darby sat down on the bed. 'I tried calling, but the phone lines were down. I'm so sorry you had to go through that.'

Sheila waved it off, but Darby could see where the worry still ate at her. Even in the soft light, her face looked haggard, leached of color. Any day now.

Darby laid down next to her mother and hugged her.

'You know what I kept thinking about today? The time you got caught in an undertow and almost drowned. You were eight.'

Darby remembered the feeling of tumbling across the ocean floor, the water getting colder. When she finally resurfaced, she coughed up water for the next hour.

But it was the chill she felt while trapped underneath the water that refused to leave, even while she sat in the sun. The chill was still with her later when she was tucked in her bed underneath layers ofwarm blankets. The chill was a reminder that there were things in this world she couldn't always see, waiting to strike out when you least expected it.

'You didn't cry – your father was more shook up about it than you were,' Sheila said. 'He took you to get an ice cream, and you said – I'll never forget this – you said to him, "Dad, you don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself"'

Darby closed her eyes and saw the three of them packed in the car, on their way home, the car smelling of the ocean and Coppertone. The three of them together. Healthy and safe. A good memory there. She had lots of them.

'Coop stopped by,' Sheila said. 'He wanted me to know you were okay.'

'That was nice of him.'

'He's very nice – and funny.'

'That's what he keeps trying to tell me.'

'He looks like that basketball player, what's his name, Brady.'

'Tom Brady. He plays football. He's a quarterback for the Patriots.'

'Is he single?'

'He is.'

'I think you two should go on a date. You're well suited for each other.'

I've tried, but sadly, Tom Brady won't return my phone calls.'

'I was referring to Coop. He reminds me of your father, has that same quiet, confident way about him. Is he dating anyone?'

'Coop isn't the dating type.'

'He said he's looking to settle down.'

'Probably with one of his underwear models,' Darby said.

'He thinks very highly of you. Told me how smart you are, how hardworking and dedicated you are to your job. He said you're the most trustworthy person he has ever met -'

Darby was asleep.

Carol had spent the first few minutes after the door shut covering her ears to block out the god-awful screaming – and not just from one woman. Several women were somewhere outside her door and they were screaming.

What scared Carol even more were the banging sounds. Bang, scream, bang-bang-bang- scream, BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG, the frightening sounds growing louder and closer.

Carol had frantically searched her room again, trying to find something to use as a weapon, something she might have missed. Everything was bolted down, even the toilet seat. There wasn't anything she could use. The only thing in here was the blanket and pillow.

Hours had passed since that moment. Her door never opened, but that didn't mean the man with the mask wasn't coming back for her.

Standing alone in the dark room, Carol hadn't wasted her time feeding her fear. She had used that time to think of a plan.

Men, she knew, were vulnerable in one key area – their balls. One time Mario Densen put his meaty hand on her ass and gave it a tight squeeze. Mario was twice her height and almost triple her weight; but, wouldn't you know, the fat jerk crumbled like a deck of cards when her shin connected squarely with his crotch.

Carol had removed her sweats and, using the pillow, formed a ball underneath the blanket. This was her plan: