Lisa Gardner - Say Goodbye

Kimberly could see a faint glow straight ahead. Headlights from a running car. One car, two cars, she couldn’t be sure. It occurred to her that Delilah might be meeting someone at this spot, and the most likely person would be the subject who had shot Tommy Mark Evans. If that was the case, they should assume the UNSUB was armed and dangerous, the type of person who wouldn’t take the unexpected arrival of two special agents particularly well.

What had she told Mac just last night? She wasn’t throwing herself into any shoot-outs, she had voluntarily removed herself from serving high-risk warrants. He should trust her to keep herself safe as she’d done for the past four years.

It came to her, the way the truth liked to come to people when it was ill-timed and unappreciated: She shouldn’t be doing this. She was an ass.

Her footsteps faltered but it was already too late. Sal was flying down the dirt road, trusting her to have his back.

Kimberly pulled out her gun and prayed for the best.

Fifty yards. Forty. Thirty. This close it became apparent it was only one car, twin headlights forming a singular spotlight on the white cross, much as Kimberly’s car had done last night.

Slowing to a half-jog, flashlights off, they slid along the edge of the road, moving nearly shoulder to shoulder so they could communicate by touch, feel.

Twenty yards. Ten.

Delilah Rose finally came into view, her back illuminated by the headlights. She was standing in front of the cross. Her hands appeared to be clutched in front of her. Her shoulders were heaving.

Sal’s touch on Kimberly’s arm. Pointing to the other side of the road. She nodded, then dashed across the open road to the relative cover of the bush-shrouded side. Keeping even with Sal as they homed in, closer, closer. Two bird dogs on the scent.

At the last minute, Kimberly looked up. Nothing.

Gazed side to side. All was clear.

A last glance behind her.

The road formed a long black tunnel of night, swallowing up civilization, a lonely place to die.

Sal counted down on his fingers. Five, four, three, two, one.

He stepped into the puddle of light, gun still down at his side, but finger on the trigger.

Delilah gasped, turned. Her hands flew to her tear-stained face.

“Delilah,” Sal said evenly.

The girl started crying. And in those heartfelt sobs, Kimberly finally understood.

“Hey, Sal,” she said. “Meet Ginny Jones.”

“You don’t understand,” the girl was saying. “You can’t call me by that name. I’m Delilah Rose. It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

Sal and Kimberly had loaded Delilah back into her car, this time with Kimberly at the wheel. They had returned to the main road, where Sal picked up his vehicle, then continued on to a late-night pharmacy where they could easily blend in with other parked cars. Now they had Delilah sitting in the backseat of Sal’s Crown Vic, while both of them homed in on her from the front. The cramped quarters were even tighter than the usual interrogation room, and much more effective.

“Why’d you tell us Ginny Jones was missing?” Kimberly asked the girl. “If we’re not supposed to know that name, why bring it to our attention?”

Delilah/Ginny wouldn’t look at Kimberly. She was staring down at her lap, twisting the hem of her jacket over and over again.

“I’m the only one left alive,” she whispered. “One by one, bit by bit…” Her head finally came up. “I wasn’t lying before. I do want better for my baby. I want this…I need this to end. I thought, if I could just get someone to pay attention. To care about us. I’m just so tired.”

“What is this?” Sal pressed gently. “Start at the beginning, Delilah. Tell us what happened, and maybe we can help.”

“It’s my fault,” the girl rambled. “He pulled over. I accepted the ride. I had no idea. Some guys get violent, you know. Gotta slap a girl around to get their rocks off. But this guy…He doesn’t want to hit a girl. He wants to own her. Destroy her. And then he kills her. That’s what makes him happy. Breaking you.”

Sal and Kimberly exchanged glances. Sal got his mini-recorder going. Kimberly took the lead.

“When did you accept his ride?”

“Lifetime ago,” Delilah replied dully.

“Winter, spring, summer, fall?”

“Winter. February. My mom had locked me out, least I thought so, and I was cold. He appeared in his fancy SUV. I thought I’d gotten lucky.”

“What year, Delilah?”

The girl frowned, seemed to have to think about it. “Long time. One, two…two years ago. Before graduation. I was going to go to beauty school. Everyone thought I was a loser, but I had plans. I was gonna be a hairstylist.”

“So it’s February 2006,” Kimberly supplied. “It’s late at night…”

“After eleven.”

“You’re…”

“Couple blocks from my house. Walking. On the main road, you know.”

“Your mother locked you out?”

The girl’s lips twisted. “I was with Tommy. Missed curfew. The jackass.” Her mouth trembled, she looked as if she was going to cry again, but caught herself, pulled it together. “Mom said if I messed up again, she was gonna teach me a lesson. I got home, things were locked up tight. I thought she’d finally gone and done it. So I hit the road.”

“So you’re walking, it’s cold, and a vehicle appears. What kind of vehicle?”

“I already told you. A black Toyota FourRunner with silver trim. Limited Edition.”

“And the driver?”

“Dinchara, like I said. Red hat, Eddie Bauer clothes, fancy SUV. Why does everyone assume that just because I’m a hooker, I can’t tell the truth?”

Kimberly decided to ignore for a moment that, in fact, Ginny had lied several times. “So you first met him two years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“When he picked you up.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened next, Ginny?”

The girl’s eyes glazed over. She shivered, looking at pictures only she could see. “He played a tape.”

“A tape?”

“Yeah, in his car. It was a recording…of my mom, dying. He made me listen to it again and again. Her screaming and screaming and screaming. And giving him my name. Goddamn bitch. Right up until the bitter end, she couldn’t do nothin’ right. Goddamn, pathetic, miserable, sorry bitch.”

Ginny sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She curved her other hand around her belly, rubbing her thumb absently over her unborn child. Making silent promises to her baby? Wondering if she could do any better than her own mother had?

“What happened to your mother, Ginny?”

The girl frowned at Kimberly. “He killed her, I told you that.”

“Did you see anything? Where he did it? What about her body?”

“No, I just heard the tape. Trust me, that was enough.”

“And then?”

“Then he smiled. He said, ‘Your turn’s next.’ He said, ‘Welcome to the collection.’”

“What’d you do, Ginny?”

“I bargained, that’s what I did,” the girl said hotly. “I talked my sorry ass off. Promised him the best goddamn blow job of his life. But that made him laugh. ‘ ’Course you’re gonna do that, Ginny,’ he said. ‘You’re gonna make all my dreams come true. Then I’m gonna carve your skin from your scrawny white neck and feed you to my pets.’

“He brought out this knife like I’d never seen before. Long and thin and silver. A filleting knife he called it. And then, God help, I did do everything he asked of me, while he sliced up my arms and legs, all these bloody little cuts all over the place that hurt . Damn, they hurt. Then he pulled out a jar.

“Inside was a long-legged black spider with bright red markings. ‘Black widow,’ he told me. ‘Venom is fifteen times more powerful than rattlesnake venom. Bite itself doesn’t hurt. In fact, some people don’t feel a thing. At first. Then you get this sharp pain in your belly, I’m talking solid, double-you-right-over stomach cramps. And you start to sweat at the same time your mouth goes completely dry. Your eyes swell shut. The soles of your feet start to burn, your muscles catch on fire.’