Lisa Gardner - Say Goodbye

“They found his truck three days later, tucked back on an old dirt road. Tommy was slumped over the wheel, dead from a double-tap to the forehead.”

Sal arched a brow. “Someone’s been watching The Sopranos . Any evidence the kid was into drugs? Using, dealing? Maybe the landscape changed while he was outta town, and the new kingpin didn’t like him coming back.”

“Coach Urey didn’t think so, but he believes the sun rose and set on Tommy’s shoulders, so I’d take his opinion with a grain of salt. Alpharetta PD handled the investigation. According to Urey, they never developed any major leads or made an arrest. The parents are still pretty torn up about it, losing their son at Christmas like that.”

“So now we got one missing parent and one dead classmate, both linked to Ginny Jones. Any other tragedies at Alpharetta I should know about?”

Kimberly shrugged. “Hell, it’s a big town. We’re probably only beginning. That’s why you should talk to the Alpharetta police.”

“Me?”

“They’ll take your call before mine. Besides, technically speaking, I’m not even on the case. I did all this out of the kindness of my heart.”

Sal appeared wary again. Kimberly didn’t blame him. What overworked fed ever did anything out of the kindness of her heart? Still, she thought a thank-you would be nice.

No such luck.

“I want the ring,” Sal declared. “My case, my evidence.”

“It’s secured in the evidence vault,” she assured him. “I’ll arrange for the transfer.”

“Anything else you haven’t told me?”

Kimberly started to say no, then realized she’d left out one other rather salient fact, and sighed. “Ummm, possibly Delilah Rose mentioned that Ginny Jones was last seen with a customer going by the alias Mr. Dinchara.”

“Mr. Dinchara?”

“An anagram for ‘arachnid.’ Apparently, Dinchara likes to bring his pets along. You know, nothing like a night out with your favorite tarantula.”

Sal appeared positively mesmerized. “No shit?”

“Not in the least. Guess no one else has mentioned him yet?”

“I think I would remember a story like that. What does he do with his spiders?”

“Oh, have them roam various body parts of the girls. Or, if he paid extra, watch.”

“Watch?”

“Ever get the feeling the world is becoming a freakier and freakier place?”

“Only every time I watch a reality TV show. So, a Mr. Dinchara with a pet tarantula. Hell, shouldn’t be too hard to get a bead on a customer that unique. What was his involvement with Jones?”

“He was a client. Guess the spiders didn’t bother Ginny; as you can guess they didn’t worry Ms. Rose-apparently she has a soft spot for all things with eight legs. However, in addition to last seeing Ginny with Mr. Dinchara, Delilah claims she found Tommy’s class ring on the floor of Dinchara’s SUV. Ginny used to wear the ring around her neck on a chain, like a talisman. Delilah implied there was no way Ginny would’ve willingly left the ring behind.”

Sal was back to frowning. “If Ginny wore Tommy’s ring around her neck, wouldn’t that imply to you that they were more than classmates?”

“Generally, the wearing of a fellow’s ring is a sign of more than friends.”

“So clearly there is more to Tommy Mark Evans than Coach Urey suspects.”

“There always is. But if Ginny and Tommy were so tight, why did Ginny take off? Last I knew, landing a hunky, varsity quarterback boyfriend would give any teenage girl reason to stay. I mean, the bragging rights alone…”

“We’re talking ourselves in circles,” Sal said with a sigh.

“Lack of information will do that to you.”

“Bottom line, we now have ten missing females, one dead high school quarterback, one class ring connecting Missing Female A with Dead Male B, and one creepy-crawly mystery man. Anything I missed?”

“Ten dead bodies.”

He scowled. “Anything else?”

She shrugged, more serious this time. “The only real lead we have.”

“Which is?”

“Delilah Rose.”

IT WAS AFTER SIX WHEN KIMBERLY LEFT THE OFFICE. Traffic was piling up, the highway one long tangled snarl. She thought of heading back to work, waiting out the worst of the congestion. God knew she had a million calls she could make, 302s to process, reports to review. She didn’t, though.

She drove to Alpharetta.

She didn’t know the area well. Atlanta was so large she could spend decades here and still not make a dent in the explosion of sprawling townships that marked the city’s phenomenal rate of growth. The city felt like a web to her, one that was constantly being spun larger and larger, gobbling up chicken farms and country lanes until a scenic drive one year became the location of the latest mall the next. And yet the state absorbed the booming developments relatively easily, peace still two hours away in the northern mountains, or three hours away on the southern beaches. Mac claimed there was no place else on earth he’d rather live.

She was still considering the matter herself.

She was armed with a map, a cell phone, and a nearly photographic memory. How lost could she get?

The drive to Ginny Jones’s house wasn’t bad. The abandoned residence formed a small, gray mound against the darkening sky. Windows boarded up. Yard desperately overgrown. Yet it wasn’t the most neglected-looking property on the block.

Kimberly worked her way through side streets, as lots became larger, houses more sprawling, lawns more perfectly manicured. It took her half a dozen wrong turns and about twenty minutes, then she found the next address on her list: Tommy Mark Evans’s home.

It was a stately brick Colonial situated atop half an acre of emerald-green lawn. A silver BMW SUV was parked in the driveway. Expertly shaped corkscrew hedges lined the drive. That told her enough.

So Ginny was the poor, fatherless girl; Tommy the rich football hero. Now, was the situation more like Cinderella meets Prince Charming, or Lady and the Tramp, with the genders reversed?

Kimberly started to see the possibilities. Such as Tommy dating Ginny Jones, but feeling pressure from his peer group/parents to keep it quiet. Perhaps Ginny was feeling a little tender on the subject. All the more reason to run, once Mommy stopped coming home at night?

Kimberly had a final stop to make. It was now completely dark, making it difficult for her to read the map and drive her car. She took it in half-mile batches, looping through a maze of side streets, office parks, and residential areas until she nearly lost herself. She thought she was closer to Ginny’s neighborhood than Tommy’s, but could no longer be certain. A left at the oak tree, a right by the large birch.

Tires left pavement. She bumped along on the dirt. One of the last few rural roads in the area. Probably be developed by this time next year. Then there’d be nothing left to indicate where a young man had died.

She found the exact spot without difficulty. A white cross stood gleaming in the dark, a Christmas wreath drying out at the base, red bow flapping lightly in the wind.

Kimberly pulled over twenty yards back. She grabbed her jacket and walked the final distance to the memorial.