No Safe Secret (16 page)

M
olly spent what was left of the night tossing and turning. Images of Sunday mornings spent in Pastor Royer's church had taken on a whole new meaning since reading her mother's obituary.

It was still early, but she couldn't sleep and didn't see any reason to stay in the hotel any longer than necessary. She packed up her laptop, dumped the water from the cooler into the tub, and stuffed her makeup kit and old clothes inside her luggage. She left her key card on the desk, following the instructions for those guests who wished to check out without stopping at the front desk. She checked the room, making sure she hadn't left anything behind. When she was satisfied, she hefted the cooler to a spot on top of her luggage, hung her purse around her neck, and slung the computer bag over her right shoulder.

Being up and out so early was to her advantage. No one saw her leave. She opened the trunk and placed her luggage inside, along with the cooler. She could've filled it with ice from the hotel's ice machine, but right now all she cared about was heading south.

As she was about to open the driver's door, she heard an odd sound, almost like a baby's crying. She leaned closer to the front of the car, where she thought the sound came from.

There it was again.

“Crap,” she muttered as she stooped down to look under the car. What she saw broke her heart. She opened the door and grabbed the bag of beef jerky. She opened it and squatted, holding out a piece to the little kitten huddled beneath the car. “Come here, baby. It's okay.” Not sure if the little fur ball was feral, lost, or abandoned, she patiently waited for the cat to take the piece of jerky. Slowly, the cat made its way to the jerky. Molly tore the food into bite-size pieces and watched as the cat devoured it. She repeated the process two more times. Hesitant at first, she gently rubbed the cat between the ears. “Did someone kick you out?”

The cat meowed and rubbed against her leg. Before she could change her mind, she scooped the cat up in her arms and set it down in the passenger seat. “We're going for a long ride,” she said, closing her door.

The cat meowed and settled against the seat as though he or she belonged there. Molly plugged the phone charger into the old cigarette lighter and put the charging cord into her phone. Again, she brought up Google. She typed in “pet store.” A Pet Supermarket was 2.3 miles from the hotel. Repeating last night's process, she hit the Google map and followed the directions. At this rate, she was never going to get out of Massachusetts. If Tanner sent someone searching for her, they would have no problem finding witnesses.

The cat was completely black except for its paws. They were white. She ran her finger beneath the pad of his or her paw. This cat had been declawed. Probably belonged to someone, but there was no collar. She knew some veterinarians could scan for a chip in lost pets, but she wasn't going to go that far. She fluffed the cat between the ears.

“Meow.”

She smiled. “I think you're my new best friend.” Kristen had always wanted a cat, but Tanner refused to allow an animal in their home. Bastard. If she were truly honest, and there was no reason not to be, she hated him.

Yes, she hated his guts with all of her heart and soul, and not only did she not care, but if she could, she would shout it to the world. If she were to cross his path again, and she was sure that she would, she planned to tell him exactly how much she hated him. Slowly but surely, she was becoming more gutsy in her thoughts and deeds. She'd been gone for more than twenty-four hours. Tanner was either planning to have her killed or telling some outrageous story about her disappearance.

She saw the sign for the Pet Supermarket and pulled into the parking lot. Knowing that most pets were welcome in pet stores, she scooped up the cat and carried him inside.

“Meow, meow.”

She grabbed a large shopping cart and headed for the sign hanging from the ceiling that read CATS. Having never had the pleasure of being a pet owner, she needed a bit of help. She wasn't too happy about bringing attention to herself, but she needed advice.

“Excuse me,” she said to a man who was unloading boxes. “I need some help with this cat.” She smiled, hoping she didn't sound too silly.

“Sure thing.” The man was about her age. His name tag read
GREGG, STORE MANAGER.
He scratched the cat between the ears.

“Meow.”

Gregg laughed. “Good cat. Now what can I help you with?”

Here goes yet another lie. “A friend couldn't keep this little . . .” she wasn't sure of its sex and didn't want him to know, so she said, “Fur ball. An apartment thing. I volunteered to give it a home, but stupid me forgot to bring the supplies. I need everything.”

“I can help you with that. Now, does this little guy like dry or wet food?” Again he fluffed the cat between the ears and received a hearty “meow” in response.

She had no clue, so she said, “Both.”

“Most cats do, so I can take care of that. He looks a bit on the thin side, so let's give him something to bulk him up a bit. That okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Twenty minutes later, Molly had a cart full of all the essentials. The cashier rang her up without any trouble, and before she knew it, she and Ace were in the car. She'd decided on the name when Gregg had commented that he was as black as an ace of spades. Continuing the ruse she said, “That's his name. Ace.”

“Good name,” he'd said.

Before leaving the parking lot, she put Ace's new bed on the seat next to her. On the floorboard was a small dish filled with dry food. She had a water dish, too, but he'd had plenty to drink before they left, so she hadn't refilled it. She'd placed a litter pan on the back floorboard, hoping he'd know what it was for when the time came. All in all, she was settled in for the long drive ahead, and her new companion seemed to be as well.

Once she was on the interstate, she thought about her mother's obituary. What did it mean,
Royer
? Were they related to Pastor Royer, and her mother had neglected to tell her, or was it something more? Molly decided that most likely it was something more. Her mother's family, what there was of it, lived in Texas—at least that's what she'd always been led to believe. If Pastor Royer had been a distant relative, she was sure her mother would've taken advantage of him. He had never mentioned they were related when she helped out on Sundays after the service. Surely, he would've said something to her. Molly had so many questions and, so far, very few answers.

Of course, by now she knew exactly who had called her yesterday, knew who it was that had almost scared the life out of her, but she had a plan, and she intended to see it through to the end. On her Internet search last night, she'd learned that the Florida statute of limitations specifically addressed the use of DNA to identify suspects. Specifically, it said prosecution for rape could be commenced within two years of the use of DNA evidence to establish or confirm the identity of the accused. And now she was putting her hopes on a twenty-one-year-old prom dress and someone else from her past.

Sarah Berkovitz-Fine, Boston's top assistant district attorney, who just so happened to specialize in sex crimes.

The crime had taken place in Florida, but Molly would bet her last nickel that her old roommate Sarah could advise her on how to achieve her goal of seeing as many of her attackers as could be identified by the DNA evidence and prosecuted. Molly had seen a picture of Sarah on the Web. She was stunning, and her bio said she was married and had one son. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. Molly was happy for her, and sorry she hadn't stayed in touch. As soon as she arrived in Florida, she planned to call her. She'd added her number to her cell phone last night.

She glanced down at the gas gauge. She still had half a tank. The Mustang did not get good gas mileage, but she didn't care. Unlike the trip she'd made all those years ago, money was the least of her concerns. She'd go another fifty miles or so, then stop to fill the tank. She needed some caffeine anyway. And Ace was probably getting thirsty, too.

She hadn't heard from Kristen, but with the time difference, she hadn't expected to. Right now she was probably pedaling away on some country road in France. Molly was happy her daughter was experiencing all the joys a girl her age should. Her one regret: Kristen had no idea of her past. Sadly, she would learn about it, and, most likely, it was not going to be pretty when she did. If not for Kristen, she wouldn't care. However, last night when she'd read about the low-life bastard—at least one of the low-life bastards—who'd ruined her life, a spark had ignited deep in her gut, and she wanted to do whatever it took to see to it that they were all punished. If she'd killed or maimed any of them that night, she would accept whatever punishment a court of law meted out to her.

Ace stretched, his back arching in a U shape. He circled his new bed a couple of times, then lay back down, curling himself up in a ball. Gregg from the pet store had guessed he was at least six months old when she'd asked. While an animal was not in her plans, she found she kind of liked having him with her. She would say something, and he would look at her and respond with a meow.

For the next hour, she listened to a talk-radio station based in Boston but then switched to a classical music station that also had news on the hour. She despised the news, but she thought there might be a chance that Tanner had reported her missing. She highly doubted he would, but in case he did, she wanted to know in order to prepare herself. She might need to adjust her plans. Not that he had a clue where she was headed, but one call to the taxi service and it wouldn't be too hard to follow her trail from there. The gym, the bus, the storage unit. Even though she'd been somewhat disguised, a good detective could find her.

She kept her fingers crossed that Tanner wouldn't call the police.

A
fter leaving Dr. McCann, Bryan Whitmore returned to the station, where he spent the rest of his shift investigating the dentist. He did not like what he learned. He almost feared for the current Mrs. McCann, but a quick call to airport security confirmed that her Mercedes had been there yesterday morning, just like the doctor said. He'd checked the flight manifest, and, sure enough a Kristen Renee McCann had boarded a flight to Paris. So where was the doctor's wife? Though he'd only walked down the hallway leading to the doctor's den, he hadn't seen any signs of a struggle. Of course, how much would he have been able to see in a long and dimly lit hall? He hadn't realized how dark the hall was, as he thought about it just now. Had the dentist been hiding something? Blood? Flesh? Evidence of a gunshot?

He didn't know, but he planned to find out. He'd spent the remainder of his shift reading the accident report on Elaine McCann, and he didn't like that either.

The officer who took the report had retired, but the medical examiner, Vikki Kearns, hadn't. He planned to visit her as soon as he'd collected all the evidence from that old case from storage. He'd called for it to be picked up an hour ago. Misty, the officer in charge, promised him she'd have it ready for pickup by eight o'clock. It was quarter till, and if he knew Misty, she would've trudged downstairs to the basement, where old evidence was stored, and brought it up right away. It didn't hurt that she had a thing for him, but he wasn't interested. She was way too young, and from what some of the guys said, she loved to party. At forty-three, he was way over his partying days. He'd never been much for parties in his youth. He didn't see this changing anytime in the near future.

He entered the evidence room and signed in.

“Hey, handsome,” Misty said. “I've got your box of goodies. What gives? This case was ruled an accident,” she said as she signed her name next to his.

“It was, and I'm probably wasting time, but it's just one of those gut-feeling things I need to check out. I appreciate your being so prompt, kiddo.” He added the last word in the hope, probably vain, that she would catch his drift.

“You're welcome, old man.” She grinned, revealing a mouthful of silver braces. Definitely too young. His own daughter, Marty, was ready for braces. He could see him introducing Misty to his daughter. He shook his head. “Old man, my ass,” he said, hoisting the banker's box onto his shoulder.

“See you, Bryan,” she called as he made his way upstairs. He waved in return.

What he wanted to do was take this stuff home, but with Mrs. McCann still unaccounted for, he'd work at the station.

He wasn't tired anyway. The night shift had been fairly quiet. The Goldenhills Police Department consisted of fourteen blue suits and six detectives, plus the crime-scene gang, as he referred to the group of four. Add the medical examiner and her two assistants—well, it wasn't Boston—but they had a good team, and Bryan respected the entire force, no matter what their position. It was a good group, and he'd never regretted joining the force. There wasn't much crime in the area, just enough to keep them on their toes.

He dropped the box on top of his desk and called Vikki, the medical examiner. “What?” she asked. “Don't you realize I'm busy?”

Bryan laughed into the phone. Vikki was a top-notch medical examiner, and a good friend. In her late fifties, she looked ten years younger, and if they weren't such good friends, at one time he might've considered asking her for a date. “You know why I'm calling. I just wanted to make sure you had time to chat. I've got an old case I want you to look at. It's simple, and before you ask, yes, I have the autopsy report. I'll be over in five,” he said.

The medical examiner's office was in a typical redbrick building with no parking, located directly across the street from the police department. He froze every time he entered the place. He walked down the hallway, then made a left and a right. He tapped on Vikki's door.

“Get your ass in here,” she said. She was seated at her desk, a grin as bright as the sun on her face. With her short blond hair and light blue eyes, and with the sensuous set of her lips, she was a very attractive woman. She motioned for him to sit down in the chair across from her.

“You're a shitload of grace, you know that?” He tossed the autopsy report on her desk. “You remember this?”

Vikki picked up the sheaf of papers and took her time flipping through them. She went back and forth between several pages before passing them back to him. “I remember this case. I hadn't been the medical examiner very long when it happened.”

“Tell me what you remember, and not what's in your report.”

She took a deep breath, clasping her hands together. “Her head injury was intense. I remember there were several lacerations on the back of her head, just as the report stated. Guys on the scene thought there was more blood than there should've been. Her body was found in a position that I felt was inconsistent with the fall she took. I remember the husband saying he'd moved her, tried to give her CPR, and there was blood evidence to prove it, but I've always suspected there was more to this. Why, you working a cold case or just nosing around?”

“No to the cold cases. I turned the position down. I like being out in the field too much. Maybe someday, but not now. Actually, the husband is remarried, and his new wife is currently missing. He's my dentist, do you believe that?” Bryan gave a wry laugh and shook his head.

“He called me last night, sort of as a favor. Said he and his wife had had a fight the night before, and he hadn't seen her since she spent the night in their daughter's bedroom. The daughter is on a high-school graduation trip in France, which checks out, and the boys, twins from his first marriage—well, let's just say he doesn't want me talking to them.”

“Were they at home when the argument took place?” Vikki asked.

“Yes, and according to the doctor, the argument was over the boys. I think they're around twenty-one or twenty-two now.”

“Go on,” Vikki prompted.

“The guy was all over the place. He even asked me if I'd be interested in investing in his dental clinics. I hate to say it, but he's a great dentist. I've seen him a few times. Not much patience with the hired help, but he might be one of those doctors who has a God complex. Talked about his first wife as though she were an idol he worshipped. His story was iffy, to say the least. I had Tom Riser at the airport look at the security tapes going in and out of the airport. Just like the doc said, she drove her daughter to the airport in her Mercedes, and he says no one has seen her since.”

“What did he tell you about the argument, the boys? I don't get it,” Vikki said.

“Apparently, and this is according to him, Molly—that's the wife—accused one of the boys of using drugs. Then he went on to say she hated the two of them. He said that she was drunk, and fell and slammed her face against the bed frame. He even had the audacity to tell me he knew proper police procedure. A real wacko.

“And he'd been drinking. When I asked again if I could talk to the sons, he got angry. Though he swore he'd talked to one of them earlier that night, when I asked to see his phone and the incoming call, again, he was a total jerk. Like I said, all over the place. So, given this”—he nodded at the sheaf of papers on her desk—“and now the other wife is nowhere to be found, I think it's suspicious.”

“Yes, it sounds that way. So, what can I do?”

He took a deep breath and raked his hand across his face. “I just wanted to hear your take on his first wife's death, that's all. Plus I wanted to see your beautiful face,” he said, laughing.

She rolled her eyes. “You and a dozen others. Seriously, though, I do remember the case and having misgivings at the time myself. You think it's worth reopening, taking a second look?”

“Maybe on the sly. I doubt the district attorney is going to open a case that was ruled an accident.”

“What about the missing wife? What if she turns up dead? Think the DA would reopen the case then?”

“Too little, too late, as the saying goes. I'm concerned.”

“So did the husband file a missing person report?”

“He tried, but I haven't officially decided if she's a missing person or not. You know me and my gut. It's telling me there's more going on with the good dentist and his wife than he told me. He was angry, and I would bet my last nickel he's violent. Maybe he hits her, who knows? To answer your question, I haven't formally filed the report, but I'm going to as soon as I go back to the office and make it official, so I can get a search warrant to check out that mansion he lives in on Riverbend Road.”

Vikki whistled. “Those houses carry a pretty high price tag. Maybe I should've gone to dental school instead.”

“Nah, your patients like you too much,” he teased.

“Actually that's why I decided to go into the field. The dead tell stories, as we all know. Sometimes, there's a story to tell
before
they die, and that's your job, to arrest the perps.”

Bryan noticed the change in Vikki's tone. “Something happen to you, Vik?” he asked, using the pet name he'd given her years ago.

“Not to me. To a kid in the neighborhood where I grew up. Four-year-old boy. He was the cutest kid ever. Silver-blond hair, and the bluest eyes.” Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped at them with the sleeve of her white jacket.

“And?”

“His stepmom found him dead in the living room. He'd sucked in some plastic from a dry-cleaning bag. Mom took him to the hospital, but it was too late.”

“Okay, I get the four-year-old kid was innocent, but why did his death affect you?”

“His sister was my best friend. Her mom had died when she was little, and her father remarried. She hated her stepmom and always swore that she'd killed Billy. That was his name.”

“And this is why you wanted to be a medical examiner?”

She nodded. “Twenty years later, I ruled Billy's death a homicide. The stepmom is serving a life sentence with no parole.”

“Whew! That is some story, but how did you become involved twenty years after the fact?”

“The stepmom murdered my friend's father, her husband, and a damned good investigator did his job. Twenty years later, Billy's body was exhumed, and I was the acting medical examiner. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Son of a bitch,” was all Bryan could say.