Дэвид Балдаччи - Daylight

Lindsey Axilrod was in there, her face heavily bruised where Pine had walloped her, and she was holding up her bloody hand. They had found and rescued her.

The SUV turned off and was gone.

Thirty seconds later she ducked behind the garbage can once more as police cars shot past her and pulled in down the street at Vincenzo’s beach house. Pine jogged in that direction, but then broke off and went to the parking lot next to the beach, climbed into her car, and pulled out. She kept her headlights off and didn’t gun the engine until she was two streets away.

She looked down and saw Vincenzo’s blood on her. Everything had happened so fast. She had gone from searching the boxes in the attic to—

Shit.

She pulled into a convenience store, slid into a parking space, and put the car in park. She put her hand in her pocket and took out the photo. Her hand was trembling.

She clicked on the dome light and slowly turned the Polaroid over.

She first cast her eyes at the bottom, where in the white perimeter of the photo was written: “Len, Wanda, and Becky. July 1999.”

Slowly, a millimeter at a time, Pine lifted her gaze. Her body was trembling like she was in the throes of a terrible chill, her breaths were painful, she felt sick.

Then she stopped. There were three people lined up in front of what looked like a mobile trailer set up on cinder blocks.

The man was of medium height, reedy, and bald. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and held a cigarette. He was smiling at the camera. The older woman was rotund and short, wearing cutoff jean shorts and a sleeveless blouse. She was not smiling. She didn’t look like someone who had ever smiled.

And next to her, and towering over both of them, at what Pine calculated was nearly six feet, was a young woman. She wore an old-fashioned gingham dress that looked to be handmade and that hung limply down past her knees. She was barefoot, and her hair was a mess of tangles and cowlicks. Her exposed skin was dirty and full of scabs. She was not looking at the camera. She was staring straight down at the ground, her shoulders hunched, her entire body looking uncomfortable, contorted — perhaps seized in pain, Pine didn’t know. And even though Pine could not glimpse her face, she knew without a doubt that she was looking at her sister. It was mostly the height and the hair. The once beautiful hair that her mother had religiously brushed and endlessly braided into shapes and configurations that had made the tomboy Atlee giggle. But Mercy had loved it.

And now... this.

Pine started to quietly weep. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel as her body started to shudder and the sobs made her breathless.

The knocking on her window made her sit up and wipe at her eyes, her hand going to her holstered Glock. An old man in a baseball cap was peering in at her. He held a plastic bag full of things he’d presumably bought in the store. She hit the button and her window came down.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked in a worried voice.

She nodded, cleared her throat, and brushed more tears away.

“Yes, just... just some bad news.”

“Well, I’m real sorry about that. Is there anyone you can call to come be with you? Or is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

He touched her hand with his. “Life can throw us some curve-balls, can’t it? I lost my missus six months ago. Always thought I’d be the first to go.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Well, I’m real sorry for what you’re going through. But if it makes you feel any better, time does help. And you figure out you got other people who care about you.” He held up the bag. “My son and my grandson are visiting. I told them this place here has the best durn grilled hot dogs in the whole state of New Jersey. They’re excited to try ’em. I’m just happy I’m not alone tonight.”

“Thank you. I hope they enjoy the hot dogs.”

He gave her an encouraging smile, walked off, climbed into an old pickup truck, and slowly drove away.

Right when Pine had thought maybe there was nothing left that was good in the world, that old man had restored a little bit of hope to her.

She wiped her eyes again and put the car in gear.

I guess it really is all about timing.

She glanced down at the photo, at her beloved twin staring at the dirt, trapped in a life that was not hers.

“I’m going to find you, Mercy. Your little sister is coming for you. I promise.”

No answer.

As she sped north, Pine had called Blum four times and gotten no answer; it had gone straight to voice mail as though the phone was turned off. She then tried calling Robert Puller and got the exact same result.

Panicking, she called John Puller. She gasped in gratitude as he picked up.

“Atlee?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you. But I can’t reach either Carol or your brother. They both go straight to voice mail.”

“Carol texted me. Said she was doing surveillance work on Gorman and Franklin.”

“That’s right,” said Pine.

“I told Bobby about that. He was going to dig some stuff up on them.”

“You think he and Carol might be together somehow?”

“They should be. I contacted Bobby and asked him to check on Carol. I didn’t like it that she was tailing a guy like Gorman. And I really don’t like it that neither one of them are answering their phones.”

“I didn’t like using Carol for that, either. And maybe I shouldn’t have. But she doesn’t take unnecessary risks. Sometimes I forget she’s not a trained agent.”

“But something might have happened.”

“I’m going to have an APB put out on them both and have some agents go to the spot where Carol was doing her surveillance.”

“I think that’s a smart move, Atlee.”

“And I have a lot to fill you in on.” Pine proceeded to do that. She was only twenty minutes outside of the city when she had finished. She could hear Puller breathing heavily. It reminded her of Jack Lineberry. And for good reason. Both men had been shot.

“Puller, look, you just need to rest, okay? I can handle this. I shouldn’t have called you.”

She could hear him breathing fast for a few seconds and then came what sounded like him trying to sit up in bed.

“Puller, please, just lie still!”

“I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m still in the hospital.”

“You got shot, in case you forgot!”

Puller said, “Okay, okay. So, based on what you found out, what do you think is going on?”

“Let’s start with the drugs. Tony and his two cohorts, Cassidy and Danforth, were making the drugs and getting them distributed. Jeff Sands was lining up buyers.”

“And then there’s the penthouse,” said Puller.

“Sands was also involved in that, as was Axilrod. From what Tony told me that place could very well be a den of blackmail. He called them ‘fancy’ people, but they may be powerful people. And they could be buying drugs from them. Then they’re whisked to this place for underage sex and more drugs and God knows what, and it’s all captured on film.”

Puller said, “And with the underage sex, like what happened with Jewel Blake, that would not only kill someone’s reputation, it’s also a felony.”

“I just want to know how Nora Franklin fits into this. And Adam Gorman.”

“I spoke briefly with Bobby about Gorman. He mentioned something in his background had set off warning bells, he just didn’t tell me what.”

“Look, are you sure you’re feeling well enough to deal with this?”

“I’ll be thinking about it whether I’m doing it with you or not.”

“Then I’ll be at the hospital in about twenty minutes.”