Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

She put her finger to her lips. “He said, ‘Shhh, Maya.’”

Letty gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. Her foot tapped nervously on the floor.

“Had you ever seen the man before?”

Maya nodded. “Uh-huh. I mean, yes. At the store Letty took me to. When we hided in the bathroom. I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers.”

“That’s right. If I showed you a picture of some strangers, could you tell me if one of them was the man you saw in the store?”

“Uh-huh.”

Joe held out his phone and scrolled through the photo lineup he’d hastily assembled. White males, age thirty-five to forty.

She studied each of the six photos, finally pointing at one. “That’s the bad man.”

“Okay.” He held the photo up to the video camera. “She’s identified a photo of Declan Rooney.

“Is this the same man who grabbed you this morning?”

“Yes.”

Letty hadn’t realized she was holding her breath, but now she exhaled.

“Good work,” Joe said. “What happened after the man picked you up? Where did you go?”

“We went to the cave.” She clamped her hand over her nose. “It was stinky in there. Like poo-poo.”

“By cave, do you mean the big concrete pipe? The culvert at the edge of the parking lot at the motel?”

“Yes. It was dark.”

“What happened next?”

Maya scrunched up her face as she thought back to the morning’s events. “He taked my picture with his phone.”

Letty leaned forward and exchanged a worried glance with Joe.

“What happened after that, Maya?”

“He said, ‘Say “Hi, Daddy.”’”

“Dear God,” Letty murmured.

Joe motioned for Shauna to stop recording.

“What happened to Rooney’s phone? Is it with his effects?”

“It’s in the trunk of my vehicle in an evidence bag,” Shauna said. “I’ll get it.” She rushed from the room and five minutes later handed the phone to DeCurtis.

He thumbed through the camera roll on the phone. The most recent photos were a series of three blurry photos of the little girl, wide-eyed with terror. One was a video. He tapped the arrow. “Hi Daddy,” Maya said, choking on the words.

“Look at this,” Joe said, handing the phone to Letty. He tapped the text button. A phone number appeared, along with the video of Maya. “Recognize that number?”

“That’s Evan’s number,” Letty whispered. She could hear the roar of blood in her ears. How many times had that number popped up in her own phone logs while she worked for Evan? Hundreds probably. “He was texting a video of Maya to Evan.”

Joe shook his head. “But it looks like the text didn’t transmit.” He displayed the text message to Letty and Shauna. “Maybe because he was still in that concrete culvert.”

“I don’t understand. How did Rooney know about Evan?” Letty asked.

Maya put her milkshake cup down on the table. “I wanna watch PAW Patrol. ”

“Okay,” Shauna said, her tone bright. She unclipped the video camera from the tripod and extended a hand to the child. “Can I watch with you?”

51

“VIKKI?”

Her eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep, but she was instantly on alert when DeCurtis called again.

“Yeah?”

“We might have a problem,” Joe said. “Looks like Rooney has been in touch with Wingfield.”

His announcement was like a splash of cold water to her face. “What makes you think that?”

“We just interviewed Maya, and she told us that while Rooney had her in that culvert, he took a video of her, saying ‘Hi, Daddy.’ Then he texted it to a number that turns out to be Wingfield’s. Or tried to. The video didn’t transmit, and right after that, Maya bit Rooney’s hand and took off running. But it was definitely Wingfield’s number.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Vikki peered out the window in the direction of the doors from baggage claim where a gaggle of tourists lugging car seats, strollers, and cranky toddlers had just emerged.

“Does Letty have any idea how Rooney could have been in contact with Wingfield?”

“No,” Joe said. “But I’m looking at the call history log in Rooney’s phone. I found two brief calls to Wingfield’s number. One was made four days after Tanya’s murder. The other was made Friday.”

Letty spoke up. “Right around the time I spotted Rooney stalking us at Publix.”

“This is not good,” Vikki said, moaning. “How long were those calls? Is there any way Rooney could have spilled the beans about Letty and Maya’s location?”

“I don’t see how he could have,” Joe said.

“Any way we can question Rooney about the calls?”

“Doubtful. Even if he was willing to talk, he couldn’t right now, not with his jaw and eye socket smashed all to hell. So what do you want to do?”

“I want to go lay on the beach in the sunshine and fall asleep with my face planted in a frozen margarita,” she said. “But instead, I think we just move forward. Garcia checked the Delta flight manifest. Wingfield boarded his flight at JFK, right on time. I think we proceed as planned.”

“Agreed,” DeCurtis said. “And in the meantime, I’ll send Shauna over to the ER. If Rooney wakes up and wants to talk, she knows the right questions.”

Vikki’s cell phone pinged to signal an incoming text. It was from Garcia.

Your man just deplaned. Headed your way.

Wingfield was dressed in an open-collared pale blue dress shirt with French cuffs, black designer jeans that probably cost more than Vikki Hill’s first car, and black suede loafers. Mirrored aviator glasses pushed up into his carefully coiffed hair. Like he was headed for a weekend in Palm Beach instead of paying off a hit man and picking up his kidnapped daughter. He had a leather carry-on bag on his shoulder. Gucci? Prada? Vikki had never been good with designer names.

She tapped the horn as he emerged from baggage claim. He looked around, spotted her, and headed for the rental.

Wingfield opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat.

“How was your trip?” she asked.

He kept the carry-on at his feet, which made Vikki tense.

“I’ve had worse. How’s Maya?”

“You wanna know the truth? She’s kinda whiny. I mean, I get that her mom and her aunt are gone, but it’s been a couple days now. You’d think she’d settle down, but not so much. You wanna put your carry-on in the back seat?”

He patted the bag like it was a dog. “I’m good. Back in New York, Maya was seeing some bullshit therapist Tanya insisted on. Before all this happened. Once I get her home, Juliette, that’s my fiancée, thinks she’ll adjust. We’ll put her in a good private school. Juliette has already put in applications at Brearley and Chapin. She can make some little friends. The kid just needs normal, you know? Her mom was a whack job, which was part of the problem. Always half drunk or hopped up on pills.”

Vikki had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that it was always the mother’s fault. She pulled the car into traffic and headed for the airport exit, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Garcia told her he’d be driving a silver Volvo sedan.

Wingfield kneaded his forehead with his right hand and looked moodily out the side window.

“Something wrong?” she asked, keeping her eye on the side rearview mirror. She felt a tiny spark of relief when she spotted the Volvo two cars back.

“Headache. That coffee they served on the flight was for shit. You’d think they could figure out how to brew a decent espresso for what they’re charging in first class. How about stopping at a Starbucks? My treat.”