“Anne knows what she’s doing,” Dixon said. “She’ll be very careful in how she goes about it. And of course no one would be convicted on the testimony of a child alone. There has to be evidence to back it up.”
“And then what will happen to her?”
“We’re trying to find relatives,” Mendez said.
“Milo has it in her head she should have the kid. She’s fretting about it constantly.”
“It’s best that the girl is where she is right now,” Dixon said.
“Do you think you could arrange a visit, Cal?” Bordain asked. “Milo is beside herself with everything that’s happened. It would cheer her up to see the girl. She’s the closest thing to a grandchild Milo is going to have any time soon. Darren is still happily playing the field.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dixon said, noncommittal.
“It would mean a lot,” Bordain said, getting up. “It could be worth, say, some new piece of equipment the sheriff’s office needs.”
He smiled again like the Cheshire Cat.
“I’ll give that some thought,” Dixon said.
“Let me know.”
He reached out and shook Dixon’s hand again, then turned to Mendez.
“Detective Mendez. Think about that golf game. I have a standing tee time at the Oaks country club. You should come.”
“At the Oaks,” Mendez said as Bordain disappeared down the hall. “I should come as what? His caddy?”
“I’m sure he pays well,” Dixon said.
“He just offered you a bribe.”
“Yes, he did.”
Mendez thought about it for a moment. “Do you think he’d spring for a thermographic camera?”
Dixon chuckled and waved him toward the door. “Don’t you have a murder to solve?”
57
You can’t pass out, G.
I know.
If you pass out, you’ll fall. If you fall back down, you’ll die in here.
I know. I’m not stupid.
I’m not so sure about that.
Very funny. I’ll remind you, you’re dead. I’m only half dead.
Shut up and climb. We can’t both be dead. You have to live. You’re the only one who knows the truth, G. You have to live to tell the truth. For Haley.
I’m so sorry I didn’t tell it already. I’m so sorry, M. I was so afraid. I’m still so afraid!
You have to be brave now, G. For me. For Haley.
Gina licked her cracked lips and looked up. She didn’t even like getting on a step stool to reach the highest shelf in her kitchen cupboards.
She put her stick in her left hand, reached up with her right and grabbed hold of the rusty iron rung. It was nothing more than a piece of bent rebar cemented into the wall. Who knew how long this well had been here or how long it had been abandoned and therefore not maintained in any way. Gina didn’t know if the rungs would even hold her.
She took a deep breath and pulled, got her good leg under her, and pushed herself upright. Colors burst before her eyes while black lace crept in on her vision. There were no words to describe the pain. Trying not to focus on it, she held on to the rung, hanging her full weight from her good arm as she lifted her good foot and placed it on the bottom rung of the ladder.
She had raised herself six inches off the bed of garbage. Her muscles twitched violently. Her stomach rolled with the bad food and bad water she had consumed. She had to fight hard to remain conscious.
Marissa shouted at her.
Way to go, G! Do it again!
I’m going to fall!
No, you’re not. You can do it! Do it again!
Gina looked up at the next rung. She would have to let go of the one she was holding in order to reach the next one. She would have to bring her foot up one, then spring upward to catch the next one with her hand.
She thought about what a miserable failure she had been in gym class. Marissa had been athletic enough to climb up the dreaded rope that hung from the gym ceiling. Gina could barely climb the stairs without tripping.
Holding tight she struggled to get her leg up where it needed to be. She panted a few breaths, then sucked one in, held it, and pushed herself upward, reaching for and grabbing the next rung up.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.
Gina hooked her arm through the rung and clung tight, her consciousness dimming again with the pain. If she got out of this alive, the first thing she would do would be to hire a personal trainer.
Of course, she would be destitute and homeless, but if she lived in her car, maybe she would be able to afford it.
Marissa’s laughter filled her head.
You are such a dork, Kemmer!
At least I keep you amused.
You’ll make it, G. You’ll make it, and you’ll train with that guy Lance at Ultimate Fitness.
Hot Lance with the washboard abs and round butt?
And the piercing blue eyes and tight workout shorts.
Will he fall in love with me and sweep me off my feet?
No, but he’ll screw your brains out!
Gina’s own laughter startled her.
What the hell did she have to laugh about?
She had twenty-three feet left to go.
58
There were years of friendship contained in the box Mendez had pulled out of Gina Kemmer’s house. Years and years.
Vince spread the contents of the box out on a table that ran along one wall of the war room. He had removed the boxes of files pertaining to the See-No-Evil cases and put them under the table. One crime at a time.
Gina’s box contained framed photos, photo albums, and packages of photographs that had never made it out of the envelope from the drugstore that had developed them. All of Gina Kemmer’s life condensed into three-by-five and five-by-seven rectangles.
Vince went through them, separating them into groups—as to his best guess, at least. Family, school, friends, vacations.
Gina came from a nice, normal-looking family. Dad wore a crew cut. Mom wore cat-eye glasses. There were three kids: two boys and a girl—the youngest. They lived in a brown ranch-style house in Reseda, according to the loopy handwriting on the back. Reseda September 1969.
They vacationed at Big Bear and Yellowstone. There was Gina with Minnie Mouse at Disneyland. Robbie, Dougie, and Daddy at a Dodgers game in June 1972.
Funny the things that built a life. All these little moments knitted together. Another Christmas, another Easter, another Halloween.
He thought of his own family, and how many of these photos his girls had packed away in boxes. Photos without him in them. A familiar hollow ache filled the center of his chest. He made a mental note to call them on the weekend. They were always home Sunday night.
He would be in the next set of family photos. Him and Anne and the children they would have together. He thought of last night, sitting with his arms wrapped around Anne and Haley both.
He thought of Zander Zahn, who probably had no photos from his childhood—nor would he want any reminders of that painful, horrible time. He wouldn’t want even the memories—which was why he kept them locked away in his strange compartmentalized brain.
He surrounded himself with things instead of memories. Tangible things he could touch and hold. Things that would never leave him. How telling that room of human prosthetics—no whole person in his life, just parts and pieces made of plastic. They couldn’t hurt him.