Down the Darkest Road (23 page)

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Authors: Tami Hoag

BOOK: Down the Darkest Road
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“You’re a known predator, Mr. Ballencoa,” Mendez pointed out. “You’ve got the record to prove it. We would be remiss in our duties to the citizens of Oak Knoll if we didn’t make it our business to know what you’re suddenly doing here.”
“I made some mistakes when I was a young man,” Ballencoa returned. “I paid my debt to society. I’m now a free man with a right to privacy.
“I’ve had to suffer this kind of treatment before, sheriff,” he said, turning back to Dixon. “I won’t stand for it. I want to file a formal complaint against this man,” he said, pointing at Mendez.
“That seems a little over the top, Mr. Ballencoa,” Dixon said. “I’m sorry if you were . . . inconvenienced . . . but I haven’t really heard anything here that warrants a formal complaint.”
Ballencoa picked up the cassette recorder and pressed the Play button. The voices that came out of the speaker seemed small and tinny, but there was no mistaking who they belonged to.
Dixon listened, his gaze hard on Mendez. Mendez wanted to turn and kick a hole in the wall. He was angry that Ballencoa had the balls to come in here and do this, but he was almost as angry with himself for not keeping a better handle on his temper. He couldn’t argue that he sounded threatening on the tape. He had
meant
to sound threatening. He had put his own dick in this wringer.
The tape ended. Ballencoa looked at the sheriff.
“That was a threat,” he said. “I won’t stand to be treated that way, Sheriff Dixon. I won’t hesitate to file suit against this department if this kind of thing continues.”
“Now who’s making threats?” Mendez grumbled.
Dixon cut him a hard look, then turned back to Ballencoa. “I apologize on behalf of my office if Detective Mendez came on too strong, Mr. Ballencoa. Your point is taken. I completely agree with you—it’s not our job to pry into the lives of law-abiding citizens.”
Ballencoa was beginning to look pleased with himself.
“On the other hand,” Dixon said, “you do have a record for a serious offense, and there is a . . .
unique
history involving Mrs. Lawton. I’m sure you can understand—”
“I understand my rights,” Ballencoa said firmly. “I would like to file my complaint and leave.”
There was no talking him out of it. Dixon escorted him out of the conference room. He would take Ballencoa to the desk sergeant to do the paperwork. Mendez watched them go down the hall, waiting for them to turn the corner. As soon as they disappeared, he stepped back into the conference room and shoved a chair on casters so hard across the room that when it hit the wall it sounded like a gun had gone off.
“Fuck! Fucking pervert, child predator, woman stalker has the balls to come in here and complain about
me
? Fuck that!”
Hicks shrugged and spread his hands, as if to say
This is what you get for being an asshole
. “He’s smart. He wants a short leash on you.”
Ballencoa’s complaint would go on Mendez’s record. He was building a paper trail for his lawsuit if he decided to file one. A single complaint wouldn’t get him far, but if he accumulated several, he would have established a pattern of behavior.
“He’s building himself a buffer,” Mendez said. “If he can make us back off and keep our distance, he’s got breathing room to do what he wants.”
“This ain’t his first rodeo,” Hicks said.
“No. He’s got his system down,” Mendez said, pacing the width of the room with his hands jammed at his waist. “What else was in that bag of his?”
“A sketch pad. A notebook. A couple of rolls of film. Some breath mints.”
“No photographs?”
Hicks shook his head.
“He had his eye on that bag like there was something in there he didn’t want us to get our hands on.”
“Then why did he bring it in here at all? He could have put that recorder in his pocket.”
“I should have shot the fucker and solved everyone’s problems,” Mendez grumbled. “I sure as hell thought he was going for a gun.”
“Me too.”
“Man, I seriously need a drink after this.”
“You’re buying.”
Dixon came back into the room then, his fury barely contained. He backed Mendez into the wall.
“I ought to beat your ass like a rented mule!” he shouted. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t have an excuse, sir,” Mendez said. “He made me angry and I lost my temper.”
“Well, I certainly know how that feels,” Dixon said sharply. He paced around in a little circle, shaking his head. “That temper is going to ruin you, detective.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“If you aren’t, you will be,” Dixon said ominously. “You’re suspended. Two days without pay, starting tomorrow. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want to hear
of
you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now put your ass in a chair and explain to me what the fuck is going on.”
27
 
Leah hadn’t slept well. She had pretended to. She had spent the whole evening pretending to be normal, and the whole night pretending to sleep. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed her time at the Leones’ house with Wendy. She had . . . and yet it hadn’t seemed real.
As she thought of it now, it was almost as if she split herself into two entirely separate beings—her body-being going through the motions while her mind-being stood off to the side and watched. She didn’t like that feeling. It frightened her. When she felt that way, a crazy panic gripped her that someone would notice there were two of her, and she would be revealed for the fraud and the freak that she was.
She had been terrified the whole evening that Anne Leone would see. Most people just didn’t look closely enough. They didn’t want to look beyond the surface. They didn’t really want to know what it was like to be her. They all treated her differently because of everything that had happened to her family, but at the same time wanted to think that she was normal because they wouldn’t know what to do with her if she wasn’t.
And even though Wendy had been through a lot too, Leah didn’t think Wendy saw what she was feeling. She didn’t think Wendy ever felt the way she felt. Not exactly. Leah didn’t try to tell her. Wendy was the only friend she had. If Wendy decided she was a freak, she wouldn’t have anybody.
Anne Leone was a different story. Anne paid close attention. Leah worried that Anne probably saw everything everybody was thinking or feeling. Leah had felt like she should hold her breath every time Anne looked at her, like she had as a child, when she believed if she held her breath and stood very still, she would become invisible to everyone around her. She didn’t want Anne to think she was a freak.
Anne was so nice. Wendy had told Leah about some of the terrible things Anne had been through, yet Anne was so open and so happy, and so cool. She loved her children so much it almost hurt Leah to watch. Haley and Antony were constantly running to her for a hug or a kiss, or a tickle and a giggle. It made Leah wish she could have gone back to being small, before she knew there was anything wrong with the world or the people in it.
Her mom had been like Anne then. She had loved to spend time with her daughters. They had done all kinds of fun things together. And there had been lots of smiles and hugs and kisses.
Leah missed that. She missed it so badly it hurt to watch Anne with her children. More than once during the evening, she had had to fight to keep the tears from flooding her eyes. She had felt so alone . . .
The tears rose up now in the remembering as she went about the job of grooming her horse. The barn was quiet. The full-time groom, Umberto Oliva, had gone for his lunch. Maria had gone to the house for the same. There were no lessons scheduled until three thirty. Leah was the only human in the barn.
She leaned into the task of polishing Bacchus’s coat until he gleamed like a wet seal, and when a shaft of sunlight struck the lighter parts of his coat, big dapples stood out. He watched her quietly from the corner of his eye—the wise, all-knowing Bacchus. He was like a creature from another world, his soul ages old.
Leah took him out of the grooming stall and back to his own box bedded deep with fresh white pinewood shavings. In the stall she put her arms around his thick neck and pressed her cheek against him, feeling his warmth and breathing in his scent. She wished he could have embraced her as well. She ached with the need to be held.
If bad things had happened just to her, she could have gone to her mother for comfort. But the bad things had happened to both of them. Now neither of them had anywhere to turn.
Leah felt the pressure starting to build inside her. She thought of the most recent cut she had made on her stomach. It itched to be scratched. Because it was healing? Or because she didn’t want it to heal?
When they had arrived at Anne’s house after a hot afternoon, all the kids had changed into swimming suits and jumped in the pool. Leah wore a one-piece suit so there was no chance of anyone seeing the scars she had drawn on her own body. Wendy had teased her about it.
“You look like you’re trying out for the swim team. Don’t you want to get a tan? You’ll have a fish belly if you wear any short tops.”
“I
am
going out for the swim team,” Leah said. “And I ride horses all day. Nobody can see if I have a tan belly or not.”
She panicked a little at the thought of going back to school and starting over with new kids and new teachers. At her old school, she had figured out how to get changed in the locker room without anyone being able to see. Everyone there had known her forever and didn’t pay attention. As a new kid in a new school, she imagined everyone would be staring at her all the time, wondering about her.
Why was she this way? Why did she do that? Isn’t she that girl with the kidnapped sister? She must be weird. Her whole family must be weird. Why else would something like that happen? Didn’t her father kill himself? He must have done something to her sister . . .
It would be like it was happening for the first time all over again.
Leah felt the pressure within her building again, like she was a balloon already too full of air. A part of her wanted to be able to tell someone about it, but she didn’t dare tell Wendy, and she didn’t dare tell her mom. Anne Leone had been a crime victim. She helped victims and troubled kids for a living. But what would happen if Leah told her about the things she felt and the things she did to make those feelings stop? Anne would for sure tell Leah’s mother. She couldn’t have that.
Knowing there was someone who might be able to help her but she didn’t dare go to was like being a starving person at a banquet but not being able to eat.
The pressure built some more.
Leah fought against the need to cry even as she slipped a hand inside her breeches and found the Band-Aid that covered the wound. She scratched it aside and raked her fingernails over the half-healed cut, the pain sharp and sweet.
Then came the relief.
Then came the shame.
Then came the tears.
Leah pressed a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to stop. Bacchus turned his head to look at her with a sad curiosity in his big dark eyes. Leah reached out and stroked trembling fingers down the slope of his Roman nose.
Outside, the delivery truck from the feed store rumbled into the stable yard, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Leah stepped away from her horse and wiped her eyes on the tail of her black polo shirt.
A man’s voice spoke just outside the stall, making her jump.
“Excuse me? Miss? Can you help me?”
She didn’t know him, had never seen him. He was older—like forty or something, but good-looking—tanned and tall with broad shoulders. His hair was blond and tousled like a surfer dude’s. He looked at her with a smile meant to win her over, but it didn’t touch his eyes. The smile faded as she looked up at him.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You’re crying.”
“My horse stepped on my foot,” Leah said, hoping Bacchus would forgive her the lie. “I’m fine.”
“I’m Mike” he said, reaching his hand in through the open yoke of the stall door.
Leah looked at his hand, thinking he must be some kind of salesman. They came by all the time trying to convince the Gracidas to change the feed they used or the supplements they gave their horses.
She started to raise her hand to meet his, then realized the ends of two fingers were smeared with blood. She pulled her hand back and wiped it on her shirt.
“And your name?” he asked.
“Leah,” she said reluctantly. She decided she didn’t like him. He was handsome, but his hazel eyes were narrow and hard-looking. If he had been an animal, she would have been nervous that he might bite her.
Bacchus stretched his neck to sniff at the man’s hand, his ears back.
“Hi, Leah,” the man said, still smiling. “Do you work here?”

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