Lisa Gardner - Gone

“That help you any?”

Candi could barely believe what she was seeing. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“But…”

“Big men don’t always start out as big men.” Laura gazed down at the photo. She looked like she could use a cigarette again. “He honestly loves that boy,” she murmured. “Stupid son of a bitch.”

Wednesday, 12:02 p.m. PST

FIFTY-EIGHT MINUTES BEFORE DEADLINE, Kimberly and Shelly screeched into the parking lot of the local credit union. Shelly dashed inside, flashed her badge, signed two forms in triplicate, then dumped seven thousand dollars in cash into a brand-new Wal-Mart duffel bag.

The manager stared at her, dumbfounded.

Shelly yelled, “Thanks” over her shoulder and bolted for the door. Abrupt about-face, grabbed two lollipops from the bowl next to the teller, then ran once more.

Back in the SUV, she jerked the vehicle into drive and pulled onto the road. Kimberly watched the rearview mirrors. One car behind them, then another, then the white surveillance van. Entourage was complete.

Shelly passed over a grape lollipop. Kimberly welcomed the sugar rush while cracking open the Tillamook County map.

“Okay, looks like we have five more miles, then we’ll come to an access road on the left. Leads out to the cliff and boom, we got a lighthouse.”

Kimberly folded up the map and went to work on the money. Mac had secured the original twenty thousand, dutifully recording each serial number as provided by the bank. Of course, there hadn’t been time to record the new deposit, not for the bank or for the officers. Instead, Kimberly mixed in the new twenties with the previously recorded bills. If the subject went to pull out a wad of cash, chances were at least some of the documented bills would wind up in circulation, helping them beat a path to the kidnapper’s door.

For the record, twenty thousand dollars in small bills was a fairly impressive sight. Broad. Tall. Heavy. The front cab of the SUV filled with the smell of printer’s ink. Kimberly ruffled the stacks with her thumb. They felt cold and silky to the touch.

“Time?” Shelly asked tersely.

“Forty-eight minutes till deadline.”

Shelly grunted. “We can do it. Ten-minute drive, five-minute walk, then we’re there.”

“Assume another ten minutes to find the precise spot for depositing the money…”

“We still have twenty-three minutes to spare.”

“I want to watch,” Kimberly said abruptly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Might even be better if it’s only one of us. But I want to find a hidey-hole. There’s gotta be someplace I can take up position.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“Not for a minute.”

“Of course, he might be watching,” Shelly mused. “He’s had more time to set this up. For all we know, he’s in place and if he sees you staying behind…”

Kimberly scowled, chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I’ll think of something. There’s always something.”

Radio crackled to life. Dispatch came on, requesting Sheriff Atkins. With a frown, Shelly answered the call.

Neither of them was quite prepared for the news they heard next. Reports of an unidentified female body, located on Hal Jenkins’s farm. Signs of blood in the man’s vehicle. Immediate request for the ME’s office.

Kimberly grabbed the dash. She didn’t know why. To support herself as the world took an unexpected turn? To brace herself for the news she’d always feared to hear? To simply hold on to something, because this couldn’t be happening? Not after how hard they had tried and all the steps they were taking. And dear God, hadn’t her father had enough bad luck in his life? Couldn’t he catch a break, just this once?

“We have to go back,” she whispered.

“No.”

“But my father…”

“Wouldn’t want us to jump to any assumptions.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, you’re the one who arranged the search of Jenkins’s property. You’re the one who suspected he might be involved!”

“I’m also the one who interviewed Hal at five p.m. yesterday. Around the same time Dougie Jones went missing.”

“Maybe he’s working with an accomplice.”

“Hal?” Shelly snorted. “He’s too greedy to share.”

“But if he didn’t do the kidnapping… He just randomly killed a woman around the same time two people were already missing?”

The expression on Shelly’s face grew sad. “I don’t think it was random.”

And then, Kimberly got it, too. “Detective Grove,” she whispered.

“He already knew about the ransom. Imagine him showing up at Wal-Mart, seeing a lone female officer, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. That kind of opportunity…”

“Ah, Jesus.” Kimberly turned toward the window. She stared at the passing miles of gray asphalt, the impenetrable mist of rain. “You know what’s worse than thinking Rainie is dead?” she asked brusquely.

“What?”

“Thinking it might be a fellow officer and feeling grateful.”

“Well, we’re going to have plenty of time to put bad news into perspective.”

“Why?”

“We just passed our access road-it’s closed.”

Shelly hurtled them into a U-turn, tires squealing on wet pavement. An oncoming car blared its horn. Kimberly had a glimpse of wide, panicked eyes. Then the vehicle rushed past as Shelly cranked their SUV around in the dirt. Minutes later, they were parked in front of a narrow asphalt road, barred shut by a heavy metal gate. The orange construction sign read: Closed for Repairs, September 1- December 15.

“Think the Parks Department could’ve mentioned this by phone,” Shelly muttered tightly.

She slid out of the SUV and rattled the gate. The padlock held, and there wasn’t enough room to go around. A hundred yards back, Mac and Deputy Mitchell pulled over in the white surveillance van, waiting to see what they would do.

“Looks like three miles,” Kimberly reported, eyeing the map.

“We can’t drive,” Shelly declared.

“And we don’t have time to walk.”

Which left only one option. Kimberly slid out of the van, hefting the duffel bag around her shoulders like a backpack. She staggered briefly under the weight of twenty grand, then found her footing.

“I got the first mile,” she said.

They slid around the steel gate and started to run.

Wednesday, 12:15 p.m. PST

CANDI CALLED THE COMMAND CENTER. With no one else around, Quincy answered the phone.

“You’re never gonna believe this,” Candi said.

“Try me.”

“Stanley Carpenter is Dougie’s biological father.”

Quincy paused. “You win.”

“I got the wife talking. According to Laura, she and Stanley have known each other since they were kids and are a genuine love match. No abuse, just the normal, run-of-the-mill marital discord. He doesn’t like her smoking. She’s a bit peeved to learn he cheated on her with a high school girl.”

“Dougie’s mother.” Quincy’s eyes grew wide. And all of a sudden, he could see the possibilities. “Who knew?”

“Well, Laura found out about it, obviously, though apparently not until after Dougie’s mother died. According to her, Stanley brought home Dougie’s picture, saying he wanted to adopt this boy, and Laura knew immediately. She showed me Stanley’s second-grade photo-honest to God, Dougie could be his twin.”

“Obviously Stanley’s growth spurt was late in life,” Quincy said drolly.

“Apparently. Naturally, Laura wasn’t so thrilled to learn that her husband had impregnated someone else. According to her, however, what really had her steamed was that Stanley hadn’t faced up to his responsibilities. If he’d fathered the child, then of course they would take care of him. To hear her talk, she was simply angry he hadn’t told her sooner.”