Chris Mooney - The Missing

'You're putting me in an awkward position. I can't tell you what -'

You're going to tell me what happened, right now, or I'm hanging up again.'

Evan didn't answer.

'Good-bye, Special Agent Manning.'

'What I'm about to say is completely off the record. If it ever gets back to me, I'll deny it.'

'Don't worry, I'm well acquainted with how you federal guys operate.'

'The man we took down was Earl Slavick, a former informant we had working inside a white supremacist group with suspected ties to the Oklahoma City bombing. While Slavick was feeding us information about his group, he had started his own racial cleansing agenda and abducted women from the area. I was called in to help out local authorities. By the time I figured out what was going on, Slavick had packed up and disappeared. We've been looking for him ever since.'

'So you knew right away Slavick was involved in Carol Cranmore's abduction because of the boot prints I found.'

'Yes, I told you that.'

'But you didn't tell me Slavick's DNA profile was loaded into CODIS. You didn't tell me it was classified. That way, when a match was found, the FBI would know, and then you guys could come in and clean up your mess quietly. You didn't want anyone to know that the man making all these women disappear was a former FBI informant. The remains we found in the woods, she was one of Slavick's victims, wasn't she?'

'Congratulations,' Evan said in a cold tone. You've connected all the dots.'

'One last question,' Darby said. 'How did you find out where Traveler – excuse me, Earl Slavick – was hiding?'

Evan didn't answer.

'Let me guess,' Darby said. 'It was the map I found. The URL was printed on the bottom. You tracked Slavick through his IP address, didn't you?'

'We've traded information. Now it's your turn.'

'We found a shed in the back of a house equipped with the same prison cells we saw in the pictures with Carol Cranmore. The house belongs to Daniel Boyle. I'm willing to bet he set up Slavick to take the fall.'

Evan didn't answer.

'Sounds like you guys are going to have a real PR disaster on your hands,' Darby said. 'I hope it doesn't make the news. They'll drag the story out all year, don't you think? No, probably not. You guys will find a way to bury it. When it comes to hiding the truth, nobody does it better than the federal government.'

'Where's Boyle?'

'He's dead.'

'You killed him?'

'Banville did.' She gave Evan the address. 'Don't forget to bring the chopper.'

Darby hung up. She closed her eyes and pressed the ice pack against her face. The skin was cold and numb.

The Black Hawk made two runs over the woods and failed to find a heat signature. Either Boyle had killed Carol several days ago or her body was buried too deep.

The search for the graves would resume tomorrow morning at eight, when the New Hampshire state police showed up with cadaver-sniffing dogs. It was their case now.

Forensic technicians from the state lab had arrived shortly before midnight and divided themselves into two teams – one to process the house, and the other to work the crime scene in the woods.

Evan wasn't allowed access to either the woods or the house. He spent most of his time on the phone, pacing near the far end of the lawn, under the oak trees. Darby spent her time going over her statement with two of Holloway's detectives.

Banville trotted out of the woods, looking drained. 'Holloway found Boyle's wallet, phone and keys – lots of keys,' he said. 'How much youwant to bet one of those keys belongs to Slavick's house?'

'I doubt the feds will let us anywhere near it until we allow them access to Boyle's house.'

'What's Manning been up to?'

'He's been working the phone. I'm sure Zimmerman and his band of merry elves will be here any moment trying to weasel their way in. They've got to be real nervous now that they know they killed the wrong man.'

'Boyle had one of those BlackBerry phones in his pocket,' Banville said. 'Holloway took a look at it. He didn't find any email, but the phone keeps a log of all incoming and outgoing calls. Boyle called someone at nine-eighteen tonight.'

'Who was he calling?'

'Don't know yet. The call lasted roughly forty-six seconds. Holloway said it's a Massachusetts area code. He's tracking down the number now. Have you talked with Manning?'

'No. He hasn't said anything to me.'

'Good. Keep it that way. Let the asshole sweat for a change.'

Banville's phone rang. His face changed.

'Dianne Cranmore,' he said. 'I've got to take this. Then I'll see if I can get someone to drive you home – don't fight me on this, Darby. I don't want you here when the feds arrive. I'll take the heat for this. If anyone asks, I ordered you to come along.'

Darby was watching two men from the coroner's office carrying out a body bag on a stretcher when Evan stepped up next to her.

'The swelling on your face still looks pretty bad. You should put some more ice on it.'

'I'll grab some on the way home.'

'Are you heading out?'

'As soon as Banville finds me a ride,' Darby said.

'I can drive you.'

'You're not sticking around?'

'I'm not too popular right now.'

'I can't imagine why.'

'How about we call a truce and you let me drive you home? Better yet, why don't you let me drive you to a hospital?'

'I don't need to go to the hospital.'

'Then I'll take you home.'

Darby glanced at her watch. It was well after midnight. If Banville couldn't get someone here to give her a ride, she'd have to call Coop or wait for one of Banville's men to come up here. Either way, she wouldn't be back in Belham until at least three a.m. But if she left now, with Evan, she could get home at a reasonable hour, get some sleep and arrive here well rested for tomorrow morning's search.

'Let me tell Banville,' Darby said.

Inside the car, Darby watched the passenger's side rearview mirror and stared at the blinking pulse of blue and white lights grow smaller and dimmer. Some part of her felt as though she were abandoning Carol.

When the glow of lights finally disappeared, the road in front of her dark except for the headlights, Darby found it difficult to breathe. The inside of the car felt too close. She needed air. She needed to move.

'Stop the car.'

'What's wrong?'

'Just stop the car.'

Evan pulled over. Darby threw the door open and stumbled out onto the dirt road. Dark woods surrounded her; all she could see was Carol locked inside that cold, gray prison cell, alone and scared, away from her mother.

Darby knew that kind of fear. She had felt it when she was hiding under the bed, when she was locked inside her mother's room and later, when Melanie was downstairs crying out for help.

The car's engine shut off. A door opened and shut behind her. A moment later, Darby heard Evan's footsteps crunching over the gravel.

'You've done everything you could to help find her,' he said in a gentle voice.

Darby didn't answer. She kept staring at the dark woods. Carol was buried somewhere out there.

Darby turned her attention to the tiny throb of blue and white lights blinking in the distance. She thought about Boyle standing up in one of the bedroom windows, watching as the surveillance van pulled into his driveway and then -

'He made a phone call,' Darby said out loud.

'Excuse me?'

'Boyle made a phone call after we pulled into his driveway – there was a record of it on his BlackBerry. Boyle called someone at nine-eighteen. We pulled into his driveway a little after nine – I remember seeing the time on the surveillance monitor.'

Darby saw it clearly in her mind's eye – Boyle standing behind the window and seeing the telephone repair van pulling into his driveway. How did he know the police were in there? He didn't. Banville was standing in the driveway. Had Boyle spotted him? Maybe.