She looked up at Shali, her disbelieving eyes now full of even greater worry than she'd ever felt possible.
"I don't think she wrote this either," she said. "Who do you think did? Who do you think it came from?"
Sniffing for a second tissue, Shali nodded. She pulled her feet up to her chair and tucked them under. She looked small and scared.
"Batboy88," Emily answered for her. "Do you know who this is?"
"I think it's Nick Martin," she said. "He liked Jenna "
Emily started for the door. "Stay right here. Don't move a muscle." She hurried down the hallway, her heels clacking like gunfire on the linoleum. She held the paper like it was a telegram and she was rushing it to the recipient. But that wasn't true. Her daughter had been the recipient. The tone was scary. It was as if Nick Martin had a fixation on Jenna. Images of the Martins, Nick, the tornado debris ran through Emily mind. Now a twisted e-mail spoke of good and evil, of love and possessing another.
Why, .Jenna? Why were you nice to him? Didn't you see the danger? What happened to you? I want you home. Now! Jenna!
She turned in to Kiplinger's office and planted the note on his desk.
The sheriff slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose and set down a newspaper. He'd been scanning USA Today for mention of Cherrystone and the Martin murders or the tornado. But the town was no longer national news. So fast had the media dropped them from page one. A few days before, Diane Sawyer's people were banging down the door for an interview and now nothing. Zip. He looked at Emily. She was wound tighter than he'd ever seen. There was good reason for it, of course. But he knew that whatever Shali Patterson had told his best and only-detective it was going to be big. USA Today was merely a diversion as he waited. Emily's face was red and her eyes bulged. She panted for breath, not because of the hurried gait down the hall, but because of the heartbeat ramming inside her chest.
"A killer's got my daughter," she said.
Wednesday morning, exact time unknown, at the abandoned mine
Morning light came throuh the rusty slits in the roof, the same openings that had ensured that the indoor environment was acrid and damp. Jenna lay very still on the stinky sofa, her eyes scanning the ceiling for a clue as to the size of the room that had provided shelter. It had been a moonless night when he brought her there, after hours of walking and hiding. She repositioned herself and rubbed her right knee. She remembered how she'd hurt it from crouching in a weedy ditch as a car went by. Was it her mother?
At that moment things could have been different. She could have called out. She could have ended everything right then and there. But she didn't. She just crouched low and waited until the headlights became two red eyes fading into oblivion.
She felt a breeze blow through the drafty building and she pulled herself together. She was a potato bug. Curled up. Protected from whatever dangers might befall her. Was this a dream? She started to shake. What am I doing here? She saw a rat and let out a scream.
"Shhhhh! It's all right. I'm not going to let anything happen to you!"
It was him. It wasn't a dream.
"It's a rat!"
"Big mouse," he said, trying to calm her. "Think a very, very big mouse"
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday, 2:40 n.M., Cherrystone, Washington
The wind kicked up and blew just enough dust across the parking lot in front of the safety building so as to make the hairs stand up on the back of Emily Kenyon's neck. Jenna had been missing for thirty-two hours. Thirty-two hours is a lifetime. Life and death. Emily had cried until no more tears were left, but she also put on the kind of brave face that only a person who'd seen the worst humans can do to others can muster. It was a mask, she knew, but somehow it held her steady.
Sheriff Kiplinger was elated when KREM TV from Spokane called saying the network honchos might want to do a story on the missing detective's daughter. Emily was oddly ambivalent about the prospect. She'd been the first to jump at the chance when the media came-so concerned, so sincere-to profile a missing person. But not now. It felt more intrusive than helpful. She tried to explain herself to Kiplinger.
"I want to find her," she said, "not embarrass her to death"
He didn't get it. "That's flat-out stupid, Emily."
"Tell me how you'd handle it if it was your daughter?"
"I'd call out the cavalry," he said. "You know I would."
Emily put that out of her mind. The day had become one of those evidentiary roller coasters or maybe a merry-goround, as it seemed to go in circles with no end. She'd been on the phone with the bank card company. Nope, Jenna hadn't taken out a dime. She'd called every parent in the PTA phone book, grateful that it was still hard copy and not some goddamn online system. Old ways sometimes worked best. God knew if the Internet hadn't been invented, her daughter probably wouldn't be off who-knows-where with Batboy. She hoped, no she prayed, that Jenna had gone willingly.
Jenna wasn't Polly Klaas or Elizabeth Smart. No way. Emily hoped that there was some connection that was reckless and wrong, but ultimately less scary. She was living in a fool's paradise and deep down she knew it. Shali's printout from her computer was proof enough that something was terribly awry.
Do you think that a love could be so powerful as to be sick?
The words made Emily's skin crawl. She knew there was only one answer for such a question: "In your case, yes. Yes. Yes"
Jason Howard slipped into her office. He carried a pair of paper cups embedded in a cardboard tray.
"Latte?"
Emily barely nodded. "Thank you."
She pulled off the plastic lid and sipped.
"Any news?" he asked.
She shook her head, swinging her ponytail. It reminded her that she probably looked like garbage. Her hair was oily. Her makeup nonexistent. Looking good wasn't on her mind. Only Jenna.
"We'll find her," he said. "She'll be all right." "
Emily stayed mute. She felt so empty, so devoid of feeling. She never knew how it felt to lose someone in the night. Others had. She always comforted them. But just as no one really knows what it is like to be a mother until she holds her first child, no one who hadn't felt the sudden loss of a child could ever even approximate the stabbing ache that came with every breath.
I know you're not thinking about the Martin case right now," he started to say.
"Oh, but I am " Emily cut him off, summarily snapping herself out of the pity that had mired her, sucked her down, into the depths of despair.
"I know," he said, his bright eyes, now surprisingly compassionate for a young man who couldn't even begin to understand her pain. "I know ... if we find Nick, we might find Jenna"
"We'll find her," she corrected. She looked down at her latte, trying hard not to cry.
Jason spoke to fill the awkward silence. "Anything more off Shalimar Patterson's computer? Jenna's Mac?"
"Not a goddamn thing. Both girls use something to avoid spyware, viruses, and all the rotten stuff out there. I can't even tell what sites she visited. She must have cleaned it just before the chat with Batboy."
"Nick. Nick Martin."
"Right, Nick." Jason hesitated a moment. "I know I'm just a deputy around here," he said. "But I did call the Spokane ME about the Martin case. For an update. I know it isn't my job, but you and the sheriff were so busy with Jenna stuff. Are you mad?"
Emily sighed and leaned forward. She even managed a little smile. Despite all that was going on Jason Howard was still doing his job. That was good. She regretted how she'd chewed him out at the crime scene. It was like shooting the Easter Bunny.
"That's good, Jason. Did they have anything for us?"