“It’s old. Just an old-fashioned park, like when I was a kid. A sandbox, a metal swing set, a merry-go-round-you know, the ones that look like a flat spaceship.”
“Yeah, I know.” He did. He’d seen that little park, Monday morning when he’d taken Olivia up in the bucket. She’d taken pictures. She’d have the layout. “Any specific features on this cabin?” He got in the passenger side of the car, and Tom was pulling into traffic before he’d shut his door. “The condo,” he told Tom.
“It has a green awning on the back,” Truman said, “but no house number. I’m sorry.”
“No, this is amazing. This is good.”
“Mary may not be there, but it’s a place she and Lincoln must have liked.”
“Have you seen Lincoln?”
“They let me visit him this afternoon, but he was too doped up to talk. The psychiatrist told me you were kind to him. I wanted to thank you.”
“It’s okay. If you find anything else out, please call me.”
“Wait,” Tom said. “Ask if he can scan those pictures in and send them to my e-mail.”
“Yes,” Truman said after David gave him Tom’s e-mail address. “I’ll do that right now. Good luck. God bless.”
“Thank you.” David closed his phone and closed his eyes, visualizing the scene. “It’s one of those cabins at the lake near the condo. I took Olivia up in the bucket to see the layout and I saw the park. From the bucket, it was at eleven o’clock. We won’t be able to see the awning from the road. We’ll have to come in from the back.”
“Do you have any weapons?” Tom asked.
“No. Hopefully Mary hasn’t improved her marksmanship in the last five hours.” He dialed Olivia and swore softly when he got her voice mail, again. “It’s David. I may know where they are. Check the photos you took from the bucket at the condo. It’s a cabin with a green awning. Call me.” He called the police department’s main number and gave them the same information, then he buckled his seat belt. “Drive faster, kid.”
Wednesday, September 22, 7:10 p.m.
The sun was setting and for the first time Phoebe wondered if David would be too late. Mary was growing more agitated, hugging herself as she paced the floor. Phoebe had seen the track marks on her arms and knew she was starting to withdraw. Mary had been unpredictable. She still held the gun, but carelessly by the barrel, not by the handle.
Mary had made her stop the car about a half mile from the cabin in which they now hid. She’d obviously been here before, going straight to an unlocked window and forcing Phoebe through. She’d then tied her to a chair with, ironically, the pull cords from the window blinds. If I ever get out of here, David and Glenn will laugh at that.
Mary was pacing, tapping the gun against her palm. Calm her down, if you can. “If you’ll untie me, I’ll make you some hot tea,” Phoebe said. “I see a kettle on the stove.”
Mary threw her a glare. “You’re crazy. I tie you up and you want to be nice to me?”
“Frankly, if I had that gun I would shoot you. I wouldn’t kill you, but I’d make it so you couldn’t chase me. But I don’t have the gun and you look like you need some tea.”
“You’re a strange woman, Phoebe.” Her mouth trembled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t want you to hurt me either. Mary, what are you planning to do with me? You haven’t made any calls, made any demands.”
Her laugh was brittle. “In the movies, they ask for passage to Mexico.”
“But you’d always be looking over your shoulder. No way to live.”
“Prison is no way to live either.”
“Then you’ve got a hard choice to make. But you need to make it, because I don’t like being forced around at gunpoint. You can’t hide here forever.”
Mary looked around the room longingly. “I wanted to. Live here forever, I mean.”
“When was this?” Phoebe asked gently.
“When I was little. My mom and dad-my real dad-would come up here and we’d have a normal family vacation.”
“How old were you?”
“Four. I was five when he died.” Her jaw tightened. “And then she married him.”
“Who, honey?”
“Crawford. He had a kid already. Andy was nice, but Crawford… We had to be perfect. Make the beds. Up at sunrise. Straight As. I hated Crawford the day I met him.”
“Your mother must have loved him.”
“My mother had no family and no job. When my real dad died, we were so poor. Food stamps. Government cheese. My mother couldn’t feed us. She needed a man.”
“My husband died when my youngest was still in school. It was hard.”
Mary was pacing again, gun in her hand. “How did he die?”
“Car accident. One of my sons was with him. He was paralyzed for a while.”
Mary’s face shadowed. “Like the firefighter will be. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t want to set the other two fires. Eric and Albert made me.”
She sounded like a wounded child, and Phoebe suspected that, deep down, she was. But the wounded child had killed so many and right now held a gun. The wounded child needed to be stopped, however possible. Phoebe had spoken the truth. If she had to, she would use the gun to stop Mary. If I have to, I’ll kill her.
For now, all Phoebe had was her quiet voice and her instinct that was screaming that this girl craved a mother. “I know, honey. But you did. There are consequences to your actions. The condo fire you set killed two people.”
Mary shook her head. “No. No. We didn’t know the girl was there. And somebody else killed the guard. That wasn’t me.”
“My son almost died that night. He almost fell four stories. David would have died.”
“He caught the ball,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”
“What did you think would happen when you set the fire, Mary? Did you think it would burn nicely and stop all by itself? You set fires, firefighters come. It’s what they do. You lit a match and put a dozen men and women in mortal danger.”
“Nothing happened to them.”
“Not Sunday night. What about last night? David almost died again, and his partner may never walk again. And don’t tell me you didn’t mean for that to happen, Mary,” she ordered sharply and saw the girl flinch. Satisfied she’d delivered her point, she softened her tone. “You have to run or turn yourself in. Those are the only choices I see here.”
“Eric was going to France. I should have kept him alive so he could take me, too.”
Phoebe didn’t think her blood could go much colder, but she was wrong. There was no remorse for the murder, only Mary’s regret that she hadn’t been more forward-thinking.
“Well, you didn’t. So, coming full circle, what do you plan to do with me?”
Mary tensed, then slapped the gun on the counter. “I’m going to shut you up.”
Phoebe watched, breath held, as Mary rummaged in the kitchen drawers. She came out of the kitchen with a pair of scissors and a large roll of duct tape. “Lincoln brought this with him the last time we came. He fixed the swing outside for me.” She slapped a piece of tape over Phoebe’s mouth, dragged the chair around the back of the sofa, and shoved it over on its side. “Now I don’t have to look at you or listen to you.”
Phoebe tried to ignore the pain jolting through her stiff joints. She’d pushed the girl as far as she dared. It was clear Mary didn’t want to hurt her now, but if the girl became more desperate, that could change.
There was a chill at her back. The sliding glass door was a few feet away. If Mary went to sleep, and if she could scoot close enough, and if she could manage to get the door open… It was damn frustrating to have an escape so close and so far away.
Okay, David, I’m ready for you to come get me now.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Wednesday, September 22, 7:15 p.m.