Jeffery Deaver - The Bodies Left Behind

“I’m this frontier scout. I lead people over the mountains.”

“It’s not about the Donner party, is it?” Anna asked.

“What’s that?” Joey wondered aloud. “Like the Democrats?”

“In a way.”

“Mother,” Brynn scoffed.

Hobbling into the doorway Anna said, “Turn around… My, look at that. You look like Alan Ladd.”

“Who?”

“A famous actor.”

“Like Johnny Depp?” the boy asked.

“Heaven help us.”

Joey wrinkled his face. “I don’t want to put that makeup on. It’s all greasy.”

Brynn said, “You have to wear it onstage. People can see you better. Besides, it makes you look so handsome.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh.

Anna said, “Honey, I think Graham might like to go.”

“Yeah,” the boy said fast. “Mom, can he?”

“I don’t know,” Brynn said uncertainly, angry that her mother had-tactically, it seemed-asked this in front of Joey.

Her mother held her eye and gave her one of her patented ironclad smiles. “Oh, give him a call. What can it hurt?”

Brynn didn’t know the answer to that. And therefore she didn’t want to ask him.

“He’d like the show, Mom. Come on.”

“It’s short notice.”

“In which case he’ll say he has other plans, thank you very much for the invitation. Or he’ll say yes.”

She glanced back. Anna had been supportive emotionally after the breakup, but hadn’t offered any opinion about it. Brynn assumed she was being her typical uninvolved self. But she wondered now if the pleasant smile-the smile of a spokeswoman for AARP on a television ad-hid a carefully planned strategy about her daughter’s life.

“I’d rather not,” Brynn said evenly.

“Ah.” The smile faltered.

“Mom,” Joey said. He was angry.

Her mother’s eyes slipped, for a split second, to her grandson. And she said nothing else.

Joey muttered, “I don’t know why he moved out. All the way over to Hendricks Hills.”

“How’d you know he was there?” Graham had just moved into a new rental yesterday.

“He told me.”

“You talked to him?”

“He called.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“He called me, ” the boy said defiantly. “To say hi, you know.”

Brynn wasn’t sure how to react to this. “He didn’t leave a message?”

“Naw.” He tugged at his costume. “Why’d he move there?”

“It’s a nice neighborhood.”

“I mean why’d he move at all?”

“I told you. We had a different way of seeing things.”

Joey didn’t know what that meant but neither did Brynn. “Well, can’t he come to the play?”

“No, honey.” She smiled. “Not this time. Maybe later.”

The boy walked to the window and gazed outside. He seemed disappointed. Brynn frowned. “What’s that?”

“I thought maybe he was here.”

“Why?”

“You know, he comes by sometimes.”

“He does? To see you?”

“No. He just sits outside for a while then drives off. I saw him at school too. He was parked outside after class.”

Brynn kept her voice steady as she asked, “You’re sure it was Graham?”

“I guess. I couldn’t see him real good. He had sunglasses on. But it had to be him. Who else would it be?”

Looking at her mother, who was clearly surprised at this news. “But it might not have been him.”

Joey shrugged. “He had dark hair. And he was big like Graham.”

“What kind of car was he in?”

“I don’t know. Something kind of blue. Looked neat. Like a sports car. Dark blue. I couldn’t see too good. When he called he told me they never found his truck so he got a new one. I figured that was it. What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Nothing.” She smiled.

“Come on. Can’t you call him?”

“Not today, honey. I’ll call him later.” Brynn scanned the empty road for a moment. Then turned and, smiling again-one of her mother’s stoic smiles-said, “Hey, Mom, you are looking better. Maybe you should come to the play after all.”

Anna was going to scold-she’d been after Brynn to let her come to the play all along-but she caught on. “Love to.”

Brynn continued, “We’ll go to T.G.I. Friday’s after. I’ll help you throw something on. I’ll be there in a minute.” She walked to the front door, locked it and went upstairs.

She opened the lockbox and clipped her holster containing the Glock to the back of her skirt waistband, pulled on a jacket.

Staring out the window at the empty road in front of the house, she called Tom Dahl.

“Need a favor. Fast.”

“Sure, Brynn. You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go on.”

“Graham. I need to know what cars are registered in his name. Everything. Even the company cars.”

“He causing you trouble?”

“No, no. It’s not him I’m worried about.”

“Just hold on a minute. I’ll get into the DMV database.”

Less than sixty seconds later the sheriff’s easy voice came back on the line. “Rolling Hills Landscaping’s got three forty-foot flatbeds, two F150 pickups and an F250. Graham himself has a Taurus he’s leasing through his insurance company-’causa that woman stealing his pickup last month, I’d imagine.”

“The Taurus? It’s dark blue?”

“White.”

“Okay…”

She was thinking back to that night.

You should have… You should’ve killed me.

“Tom, I need somebody to watch the house again.”

“What’s going on, Brynn?”

“Somebody was outside, parked. Checking out the place. Joey saw him. You know kids, might’ve been nothing. But I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Sure we can do that, Brynn. Anything.”

ON THURSDAY, MAY 7, Brynn was sitting in her cubicle clutching a cup of hot chocolate, really hot. This had become a recent addiction, though she’d given up her much-loved saltines and Brie sandwiches in compensation. She could drink three cups of cocoa a day. She wondered if this was because she’d been so chilled on that night. Probably not. Swiss Miss made a really good product.

She reflected that she and Graham had sipped hot chocolate at the Humboldt Diner at the end of their first date. The beverages had started out near 212 degrees when they’d begun talking, and the cups had been cold when they’d finished.

She was reading through her notes-hundreds of jottings, setting out the conversations she’d had after her meeting with Stanley Mankewitz. She’d never worked so hard in her life.

Looking for the wrong who…

Her office phone rang. She took a last sip and set the cup down. “Deputy McKenzie.”

“Hello?” asked a Latina voice with the reserve most people displayed when calling the police. The caller explained she was the manager of the Harborside Inn in Milwaukee.

“How can I help you?” Hearing “Milwaukee,” Brynn sat forward quickly, tense. The most likely reason for someone from that city to call was the Feldman murder case.

That was indeed the purpose and Brynn grew more and more interested as she listened.

The hotel manager said she’d seen on TV a composite picture of the man wanted in connection with the killings at Lake Mondac, a man possibly going by the name or nickname of Hart or Harte. Someone looking very similar had checked into the inn there on April 16. The manager had called the local police and they referred her to the Kennesha County Sheriff’s Department.

The name of the guest was William Harding.

Harding…Hart…

“Is it true he’s a killer?” the woman asked uneasily.

“That’s our understanding… What was the address on the register?” Brynn snapped her fingers at Todd Jackson, who appeared instantly at her cubicle.