Tess Gerritsen - Body Double

He sighed. “Okay. Maybe I should start off by telling you where she’s living.”

“Go on.”

“Amalthea Lank-the woman who gave you up for adoption-is incarcerated at the Massachusetts Department of Corrections facility in Framingham.”

Her legs suddenly unsteady, Maura sank into a chair across from him. Felt her arm smear across spilled butter that had congealed on the tabletop. Evidence of the cheerful meal they’d shared less than an hour ago, before her universe had tilted.

“My mother is in prison?”

“Yes.”

Maura stared at him, and could not bring herself to ask the next obvious question, because she was afraid of the answer. But she had already taken the first step down this road, and even though she didn’t know where it might take her, she couldn’t turn back now.

“What did she do?” Maura asked. “Why is she in prison?”

“She’s serving a life term,” he said. “For a double homicide.”

“That’s what I didn’t want you to know,” said Ballard. “I saw what it did to Anna, knowing what her mother was guilty of. Knowing whose blood she had in her veins. That’s a pedigree no one wants to have-a killer in the family. Naturally, she didn’t want to believe it. She thought it had to be a mistake, that maybe her mother was innocent. And after she saw her-”

“Wait. Anna saw our mother?”

“Yes. She and I drove out together, to MCI-Framingham. The women’s prison. It was another mistake, because that visit only made her more confused about her mother’s guilt. She just couldn’t accept the fact her mother was a monst-” He stopped.

A monster. My mother is a monster .

The rainfall had slowed to a gentle tap-tap on the roof. Though the thunderstorm had passed, she could still hear its fading rumble as it swept out to sea. But inside the kitchen, all was silent. They sat facing each other across the table, Rick watching her with quiet concern, as though afraid she would shatter. He doesn’t know me, she thought. I’m not Anna. I won’t fall apart. And I don’t need a goddamn keeper.

“Tell me the rest,” she said.

“The rest?”

“You said Amalthea Lank was convicted of double homicide. When was this?”

“It was about five years ago.”

“Who were the victims?”

“It’s not an easy thing to tell you. Or an easy thing for you to hear.”

“So far you’ve told me my mother is a murderer. I think I’m taking it pretty well.”

“Better than Anna did,” he admitted.

“So tell me who the victims were, and don’t leave a goddamn thing out. It’s the one thing I can’t deal with, Rick, when people hide the truth from me. I was married to a man who kept too many secrets from me. That’s what ended our marriage. I won’t put up with it again, not from anyone. ”

“Okay.” He leaned forward, looking her in the eye. “You want the details, then I’ll be brutally honest about it. Because the details are brutal. The victims were two sisters, Theresa and Nikki Wells, ages thirty-five and twenty-eight, from Fitchburg, Massachusetts. They were stranded at the side of the road with a flat tire. It was late November, and there was a surprise snowstorm blowing. They must’ve felt pretty lucky when a car pulled over to give them a lift. Two days later, their bodies were found about thirty miles away, in a burned-down shed. A week after that, police in Virginia stopped Amalthea Lank for a traffic violation. Found out her car had stolen plates. Then they noticed smears of blood on the rear bumper. When police searched the car, they found the victims’ wallets were in the trunk, as well as a tire iron with Amalthea’s fingerprints. Later tests turned up traces of blood on it. Nikki’s and Theresa’s blood. The final piece of evidence was recorded on a gas station security camera up in Massachusetts. Amalthea Lank is seen on that recording filling a plastic container with gasoline. The gasoline she used to burn the victims’ bodies.” His gaze met hers. “There. I’ve been brutal. Is that what you wanted?”

“What was the cause of death?” she asked. Her voice strangely, chillingly calm. “You said the bodies were burned, but how were the women killed?”

He stared at her for a moment, as though not quite accepting her composure. “X-rays of the burned remains showed that the skulls of both women were fractured, most likely by that tire iron. The younger sister, Nikki, was struck so hard in the face that it caved in the facial bones, leaving nothing but a crater. That’s how vicious a crime it was.”

She thought about the scenario he had just presented. Thought about a snowy roadside and two stranded sisters. When a woman stops to help, they’d have every reason to trust their good samaritan, especially if she is older. Grayer. Women helping women.

She looked at Ballard. “You said Anna didn’t believe she was guilty.”

“I just told you what they presented at trial. The tire iron, the gas station video. The stolen wallets. Any jury would have convicted her.”

“This happened five years ago. How old was Amalthea?”

“I don’t remember. Sixty-something.”

“And she managed to subdue and kill two women who are decades younger than she is?”

“Jesus, you’re doing the same thing Anna did. Doubting the obvious.”

“Because the obvious isn’t always true. Any able-bodied person would fight back or run. Why didn’t Theresa and Nikki?”

“They must have been taken by surprise.”

“But two of them? Why didn’t the other one run?”

“One of them wasn’t exactly able-bodied.”

“What do you mean?”

“The younger sister, Nikki. She was nine months pregnant.”

MATTIE PURVIS DID NOT KNOW if it was day or night. She had no watch, so she could not keep track of the passing hours or days. That was the hardest part of all, not knowing how long she had been in this box. How many heartbeats, how many breaths she had spent all alone with her fear. She’d tried counting the seconds, then the minutes, but gave up after only five. It was a useless exercise, even if it served as a distraction from despair.

She’d already explored every square inch of her prison. Had found no weaknesses, no cracks she could dig into or widen. She had spread the blanket beneath her, a welcome padding on that hard wood. Had learned to use the plastic bedpan without too much splashing. Even while trapped in a box, life settles into a routine. Sleep. Sip water. Pee. All she really had to help her keep track of the passing time was her supply of food. How many Hershey bars she’d eaten, and how many were left.

There were still a dozen in the sack.

She slipped a fragment of chocolate into her mouth, but did not chew it. She let it melt to musky sweetness on her tongue. She had always loved chocolate, had never been able to walk past a candy store without stopping to admire the truffles displayed like dark jewels in their paper nests. She thought of bitter cocoa dust and tart cherry fillings and rum syrup oozing down her chin-a far cry from this simple candy bar. But chocolate was chocolate, and she savored what she had.

It would not last forever.

She looked down at the crumpled wrappings that littered her prison, dismayed that she had already consumed so much of the food. When it was gone, what happened next? Surely there was more coming. Why would her kidnapper supply her with food and water, only to let her starve to death days later?

No, no, no. I’m supposed to live, not die.

She lifted her face toward the air grate and sucked in deep breaths. I’m meant to live, she kept repeating to herself. Meant to live.

Why?

She sank back against the wall, that one word echoing in her head. The only answer she could come up with was: ransom . Oh, what a stupid kidnapper. You fell for Dwayne’s illusion. The BMWs, the Breitling watch, the designer ties. When you drive a machine like this, you’re upholding an image . She began to laugh hysterically. I’ve been kidnapped because of an image built on borrowed money. Dwayne can’t afford to pay any ransom.