MARY CLARK - Piece of My Heart

“That’s where Daniel Turner lives. What if he sees them coming?”

“We had the same operational concerns here, but the FBI assured us they know what they’re doing. The lots out there are several acres, and they say the area is wooded, near the state park. I’m told the address you’re looking for is an adjacent property, marked by a mailbox out front, then you turn left down a long dirt road. But hurry, Mrs. Buckley. They’re getting everything in place to move in. If everything goes smoothly, you’re going to have your son back real soon.”

Chapter 61

After hanging up the phone, Daniel Turner unlocked the wall safe that was hidden behind a painting of the Jefferson Memorial. He pulled out all of the bills inside—close to a quarter million dollars, his emergency cash in addition to the four million dollars he had from his lawsuit settlement, stocked away in an offshore account. Once the cash was loaded, he placed his handgun on top, zipped the duffel bag, and made his way downstairs.

He found Danny perched on the edge of his bed, pretending to be at ease, but Daniel could see the boy was nervous.

Why wouldn’t he be? He had finally gotten adjusted to his new home—with his real father—when Daniel had to ask the boy for his fake mother’s telephone number. “I just want to tell her that you’re safe and happy here, Danny, so she won’t be worried about you anymore. You want her to be able to sleep at night, don’t you?”

The boy had nodded and recited Marcy Buckley’s cell phone number from memory.

Daniel knew the name of the lead detective from the news reports covering Danny’s disappearance, so had claimed to be Detective Langland’s colleague. From there, Marcy had confirmed his worst fears. They knew he had the boy. Even worse, the police in New York were bringing in the FBI, which meant his brother, Charlie, couldn’t be the one to save him from jail like he did after that unfortunate incident with Roseanne.

“Did you call… Marcy?” Danny asked.

“I did. She was relieved to know you’re here and doing well. She has her two other children—her actual daughters—so I wouldn’t worry anymore about the Buckleys. They’ll be fine.”

Danny’s face scrunched up as he began to sniffle, and Daniel wondered if perhaps he had gone too far.

“Hey, remember how I told you that the more I trusted you, the more privileges you’d earn?”

Danny nodded, his eyes laced with a mix of hope and wariness.

“How do you feel about going for a car ride? The beaches here are beautiful.”

“Really?” His eyes widened, and Daniel’s heart swelled. It was the first time the child had seemed genuinely happy in his presence.

He still couldn’t figure out how the police had narrowed in on him. When he drove to New York, he had swapped his license plates for a set he stole off a car in D.C. And Michelle had been adamant that she never told anyone the identity of Danny’s real father.

He shook off his lingering curiosity. What mattered now was that they were looking for him, and he had no desire to be found.

Maybe he would even let Danny hug Marcy one final time to say good-bye. When the FBI arrived, they would find her body on the empty lot that Daniel owned behind this one. The discovery of a homicide would trigger a wide-scale police response that would include local and state police in addition to the FBI agents who were already on their way. The ensuing chaos would give him extra time to get out of the area. And he and his son would find another place to live under new names, never to be seen again. Roseanne had disappeared with Bella. There was no reason he and his son, Danny, couldn’t do the same.

Chapter 62

As Marcy Buckley took the right turn off Route 9, her GPS system advised that she was only three minutes from her destination.

Based on the map, she was fairly certain that the address she’d received from Detective Miller was about a quarter mile from the entrance to Daniel Turner’s property, which was located around the next turn, and before the state park. The FBI had been correct that the area felt more like the woods than the outskirts of a crowded beach vacation community.

She had just gotten off the phone with Andrew, who was still half an hour away. She pulled up Laurie’s number on her phone and hit the call button. As she listened to the unanswered rings, she passed a woman around her age working on a fence at the side of the road. Behind her, two miniature goats frolicked in the open field. Her heart hurt, imagining Johnny crying out from the passenger seat: “Mama, look at the baby goats. Can we stop and say hello? Please, please?”

Laurie’s outgoing message pulled her back to reality.

“Hey, Laurie. I’ve called a few times, and it kept going straight to voicemail. It’s ringing now, at least. Hopefully that means your plane has landed. A Detective Eddie Miller called me from East Hampton. He works with Detective Langland and told me where to meet the FBI. I assume you and Leo have the same info. I don’t want to jinx it, but it feels like this is actually going to work. Say a little prayer, okay?”

Marcy pulled her car to a stop at the sight of a rickety green mailbox with peeling paint, the house number she was looking for barely legible on the side of the box. Beyond the four-by-four holding up the mailbox, she made out tire tracks of dirt imprinted in what was otherwise an untended lot of overgrown grass and weeds.

She saw no sign of the FBI or other law enforcement, but recalled the assurances of Detective Miller: The lots out there are several acres, and they say the area is wooded, near the state park. I’m told the address you’re looking for is an adjacent lot, marked by a mailbox out front, then you turn left down a long dirt road.

This was no time to hesitate. Johnny had spent nine days in captivity. The least she could do was drive through unfamiliar land to be there for him, waiting, once he was free.

She took a deep breath as she made the turn, feeling truly hopeful for the first time since Johnny disappeared.

Chapter 63

Daniel Turner drove the quarter mile from his driveway to a dirt road leading into the seven-acre corner lot behind his own property. The main entrance, to which he had directed Marcy Buckley, corresponded to the street address on the town’s survey. He was taking the back road in, but eventually, he and Mrs. Buckley’s paths would intersect.

He had bought this parcel three years earlier from the Garney family, who had eight sons, only four of whom moved out of the family home after becoming adults. The remaining sons hosted parties four nights out of the week and raced dirt bikes around the property by day—the louder the better from all indications. Even when Daniel had been a Harley fan, he had never approved of bikers who intentionally made as much noise as possible. And after the settlement from the accident, his first priority had been to find a remote and quiet respite from society. When it became clear that the Garney boys were going to interfere with those plans, he struck a deal that the parents could not refuse, buying the property only to tear down the house and add to his vacant land.

He cut the engine next to a small pond on the property, before a cluster of trees he’d need to hike through to reach the cleared land where the ramshackle house had once stood. Next to him in the passenger seat, Johnny reached for the clasp of his seatbelt.

“You should stay here,” Daniel said.

“By myself?”

He sensed fear in his son’s voice. He never wanted his son to be afraid again. “Not to worry. This is an extra property I own. I just need to check on something real quick before we head for the beach.” He had decided that keeping Danny in the car was the safest plan. He had no idea how long it would be before the FBI arrived.