Lisa Gardner - Gone

“How very enlightened of her.”

“Not that she’s a big fan of Dougie’s. Frankly, she thinks the boy is trouble with a capital T. But she swears neither she nor Stanley have ever raised a hand to him. In fact, Stanley is positively guilt-stricken over everything Dougie’s been through and desperate to make amends.”

“What a noble guy.”

“Laura believes he may have supported Dougie financially.”

“Willingly or unwillingly?” Quincy murmured.

“That we may never know. But after Laura learned of Dougie’s existence, she went through the checkbooks. The year Dougie was born, a lot of cash withdrawals were made. Always small amounts, so she didn’t think much of it at the time. But lots of transactions. She figures Stanley’s been withdrawing an extra two grand a year, without explanation.”

“ Is withdrawing two thousand a year? Dougie’s mother died three years ago.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Laura didn’t have an answer. Maybe he’s been paying the foster families or supplying presents on the side. You’d think Laura could just ask about it, but then again, you can’t always talk to your love match.”

“Dougie has been in the foster system for three years,” Quincy considered out loud. “If Stanley is still paying money, then somebody has to be keeping him informed. Which means…”

“Someone else had to know of his interest in Dougie.”

“Which presumably means that person knows Stanley is the father.” Quincy sighed heavily. He could see only one explanation: “I believe Peggy Ann Boyd has been holding out on us.”

“Peggy Ann Boyd?”

“Dougie’s social worker. Who knew his mother, Gaby, and has taken a great deal of personal interest in his case.”

There was a moment of silence. “Call me cynical,” Candi said slowly.

“But what if the money wasn’t for Dougie?” Quincy provided. “What if it was for Peggy Ann? I believe I’m just as cynical as you.”

“Two thousand dollars would sure buy a lot of personal interest. And it’s a fairly cheap price to pay for a whole town not to learn that you-the respected football coach-had gotten an underage girl pregnant.”

Quincy continued that line of thinking: “The system has lasted for seven years. But now some things have changed. One, Stanley is trying to actually take care of his son, straining his marriage and no doubt his sanity. Two, Dougie has accused Stanley of abuse, inviting in an outside investigator.”

“She found out,” Candi said quietly. “Oh my God, Rainie figured out that Stanley is Dougie’s biological father. Did she mention anything to you?”

“No, but she wouldn’t. It would’ve violated the laws of confidentiality.” Quincy’s mind was already racing ahead. “But she might’ve spoken to Stanley. Or followed up directly with Peggy Ann.”

“Now they have a liability-someone knows. And it’s not just one career, it’s two. Stanley’s name will get dragged through the mud; Peggy Ann is guilty of corruption. They’re both on the hook.”

“On the other hand,” Quincy said quietly, “if something happened to Rainie…”

“Her husband, a former FBI profiler, would no doubt tear the town apart looking for answers,” Candi said bluntly. Then filled in the rest of the pieces: “So they gave you one: a stranger, kidnapping people for money. And they inverted things. Rainie isn’t kidnapped because of Dougie-Dougie is kidnapped because of Rainie.”

“Tying up two loose ends. The incorrigible boy who is proof of the liaison, and the court-appointed representative who made the connection.” Quincy closed his eyes, not liking what he was thinking, but thinking it nonetheless. “It would fill in the blanks. Why Rainie was kidnapped. How the subject knows so much about her. The persistent attempt to mislead us by stating the kidnapper isn’t local, doesn’t know Rainie, just wants money. It’s all part of a carefully crafted scenario, engineered to keep me-and everyone else-in the dark.”

Quincy glanced at his watch. Forty minutes until one o’clock. “We need to speak to Stanley Carpenter.”

“He’s not at home. Laura claims he’s still looking for Dougie in the woods. For the record, however, his truck’s not in the driveway. I looked on my way out.”

“We’ll pull Stanley’s records from the DMV, get an APB out on his license plate. That ought to round him up.”

“Hot damn!” Candi said, and Quincy could hear the sound of her hand slapping the steering wheel. “Now we’re cooking with gas. Okay, I’m coming in.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m not?”

“Forty minutes isn’t long enough to locate a truck in all of Tillamook County. If Stanley isn’t available, then we’re going straight to Peggy Ann. Unless, of course, you really want to wait quietly next to the phone.”

“Not in a million years.”

Quincy pawed through his notes, rattled off an address.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

Wednesday, 12:03 p.m. PST

RAINIE COULDN ’T FIND DOUGIE. She waded frantically into the cold, dark waters, calling his name, churning the depths with her arms. She shivered uncontrollably, shorn wet hair plastered to her skull, T-shirt glued to her body.

“Dougie! Dougie, Dougie, Dougie!”

Her leg bumped something hard. She dove down, discovered the leg of the workbench. She was moving in the wrong direction. He’d been to the left of the bottom of the stairs. At least that’s what she’d thought. It was hard to get her bearings down in the endless dark.

She heard a gasp, a gurgle. Dougie burst up from the water, gasping for air.

“No, no, no!” he cried, then sank down again.

“Dammit!” She pushed off from the workbench, water now so deep it was easier to swim. She felt a hand flail against her hip. She dove down, looped her bound arms around the boy’s waist, and dragged him to the surface.

“Let me go! I don’t want to live! I don’t want to live!” Dougie pushed against her shoulders, flailing at her head, scratching her face.

Rainie let him go. Then she drew back her hands, knotted them into a fist, and slugged Dougie across the jaw. The boy went limp. She dragged his unconscious form over to the steps.

She had to climb up seven steps to get out of the steadily growing flood. Then she collapsed next to Dougie, coughing uncontrollably, while chills raced up and down her body.

Her temples screamed with pain. She wanted to clutch her head, beat it against the wooden step. Instead, she staggered to the side of the stairs and vomited violently.

Her left leg wouldn’t stop shaking. Red-hot bolts of pain ebbed and flowed. Her leg shook against the steps. She kicked Dougie twice, not meaning to, and his eyes opened.

He looked at her, realized she had dragged him from the water, and scowled.

Rainie took a deep breath. “Dougie Jones,” she told him with all the force she could muster, “I have been angry at you, and I have been frustrated with you, but never, ever have I been disappointed in you! You weak, cowardly little boy, don’t you ever do that again! You hear me? Never!”

Dougie remained staring at her, jaw set stubbornly. “I got out of bed,” he said suddenly. “My mommy told me not to. But I got up. I undid all the locks, I opened the front door, which is a Very Bad Thing. ‘Dougie,’ my mommy said, ‘you can’t keep disappearing outside. Someone’s going to get hurt.’ But I did it. And she died. Now you’re trying to be like my mommy and you’re going to die, too.”

“Oh, Dougie. You did not kill your mother.”

“Yes, I did. I opened the front door. I did a Very Bad Thing. I killed her.” Dougie’s lower lip had started to tremble. His shoulders hunched, his chin folding into his chest, as if, by sheer force of will, he could cease to exist.