Shadows of Lancaster County (8 page)

I was so distracted by all I needed to do that I almost missed it. There in my list of incoming mail was an email from Bobby himself, sent to me at ten forty-two ET last night, with the subject line “Urgent.” I opened the note, holding my breath as I read:

Hey, Bobanna,

Remember a while back when you said that if you could do one thing over again using the knowledge you have now, you’d do it differently? I’m following your advice. Please communicate accordingly.

Bobby

I sat back, swallowing hard. “Bobanna” was his nickname for me. That much of the note I understood. As for the rest, I couldn’t have been more perplexed. One thing I could do over again? Knowledge I have now? I shook my head, trying to clear my brain.

Sadly, though he had sent me this urgent note and was counting on me to follow up with it, I didn’t know what he was talking about. I didn’t remember any such conversation. What did he mean?

I simply didn’t have a clue.

I spent the next two hours wrapping up pending cases while Norman took a closer look at the reservation Bobby had made for a flight to Las Vegas. My boss had connections I didn’t have—connections with transportation officials and airline employees that sometimes netted him information not available to the average skip tracer. I tried not to eavesdrop as he called in some favors on my behalf, but I couldn’t help but notice the triumphant gleam in his eye when he finally hung up the phone.

“All right, kid. Pull up a chair and I’ll explain my theory. You said it looked like Bobby was intentionally trying to disappear. Stands to reason, then, that most of what he did on the Internet last night was to create a big, confusing mess that would be difficult to track back out. Right?”

“Right.”

“All those account changes were for subterfuge and confusion, to buy time while he slipped out of town. Are you with me?”

“Yes.”

“To my mind, the flight reservation and the rental car were also part of that subterfuge. He booked that flight to make it look like he went to Vegas, but in fact I don’t believe he got on the plane.”

The stuff Norman was giving me was like Skip Tracing 101, the most basic steps of How to Disappear.

“That was my thought too, at first,” I replied. “But you’re leaving out one important element: the ATM withdrawal. If Bobby didn’t take that
flight, then how did he manage to withdraw a hundred dollars from his checking account at an ATM machine in the Las Vegas airport this morning, twenty minutes after the flight landed?”

Norman narrowed his eyes and studied my face.

“If this were a stranger you were tracking, Anna, you’d know the answer to that question.”

I sat and looked back at him for a long moment before realization dawned.

“Someone else is involved here,” I whispered.

“Yes, that’s my assumption. That other person was either on the flight and made the withdrawal on Bobby’s behalf when they got off the plane, or they were already out in Vegas and just came to the airport at the right time and did it then. Either way, I don’t think that withdrawal was made by your brother. I don’t think he ever got on that airplane. I heard you asking your sister-in-law about Vegas and gambling and all of that, but I think you’re wasting your time. He never went to Vegas.”

I sat back and thought about the implications of a second person. I wanted to give my brother the benefit of the doubt, but the more I was learning, the harder that was becoming.

“According to my source at the airline,” Norman continued, “your brother checked in the for the flight at the Philadelphia airport. That much is in the computer. What’s not in the computer is that second verification, the one that pops up when a boarding pass is scanned in at the gate as the passengers are getting on the plane.”

“So Bobby checked in at the departures desk but never made it onto the flight itself?”

“Exactly.”

“What about heightened airport security and all of that? Aren’t there rules now about airplanes not being able to take off if they’re carrying luggage that doesn’t directly correspond to a passenger?”

“That’s the procedure, yeah. But Bobby didn’t check any luggage. Apparently, he was carry-on only, so the flight was cleared for takeoff without him.”

I thanked Norman for his hard work, my brain spinning. Maybe he was
right. If this were a stranger I was tracking, I would have been thinking much more clearly and might have thought about things such as whether he had a girlfriend or if he was involved in illegal activity. But because it was Bobby, my much-needed on-the-job cynicism was missing from this pursuit. If you couldn’t think the worst of someone, how could you ever make the mental leaps necessary for following their trail?

Returning to my own desk, I shut down my computer and cleared off my desk, ready to head out of town. There was one task left to do, so with a heavy heart I pulled out the card the detective had given me this morning and dialed the number on it.

When I told Detective Hernandez who was calling, his voice sounded oddly strained this time, and I soon realized why.

“You weren’t on
Gimme a Break.
You weren’t on any sitcom, were you? In fact, the reason you looked familiar isn’t because you were a child star at all, but because you were notorious in a completely different way.”

“I never said the words ‘child star.’ I just said that I was famous when I was younger. You made that leap yourself.”

“Let’s see,” he continued, ignoring my protest, “we’ve got reckless endangerment…involuntary manslaughter…I’ve got your mug shot up on my screen right now. I seem to recall your face being all over the nightly news back then. I knew I had seen you before.”

“That’s not relevant to this.”

“Oh, I think it is. At the very least, you might have mentioned all of this to me this morning, Ms. Bailey. Or, excuse me, Ms. Jensen.”

“Why? That was in a different state, and it happened a long time ago.”

“Still, considering the situation, knowing you have a police record might have helped.”

Pulse surging, I felt a sudden rage build in my chest. When I spoke again, my words were even and firm.

“If you bothered to read that record, Detective Hernandez, you’d see that I was a juvenile when it happened. I got house arrest and probation. It’s not as though I went to prison.”

“Maybe not, but someone who tends to…omit…pertinent information and misrepresent themselves makes me nervous.”

I rested my forehead in my hands and took a deep breath, feeling that old familiar rush of despair and claustrophobia that always came upon me when yet another person wouldn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. It was hard enough to deal with the guilt I heaped upon myself, but I really didn’t need other people adding to it—especially when they filtered in the press’s ridiculous version of the events that occurred that fateful night so long ago.

“If you bothered to read any of the details of my arrest, you’d know I was not involved in a malicious criminal act. We were just a bunch of kids who were caught up in a terrible tragedy.” He didn’t reply, so I continued. “I was only seventeen when it all happened, but the minute I turned eighteen a month later and the press could legally reveal my name and image, I was done for. The press coverage was brutal and unrelenting. When that news van showed up at the house this morning, it felt like history was about to repeat itself. It’s just my poor fortune that some random intruder chose my house to invade. The present situation has nothing to do with the past, and I was in no way obligated to tell you I had a record. Keep in mind, Detective, that this time I’m the victim here, not the criminal.”

My face was burning hot by the time I finished my little speech, and I was surprised at the venom I heard in my own voice. I had worked hard to let the anger and resentment go, but now, when I was challenged, it was obvious there was still more angst buried deep inside. I wondered if I could ever rid myself of those old feelings entirely.

At least the detective backed off a bit after that, the tone of his voice growing less suspicious. Finally, I was able to get to the first reason I was calling, to find out where the situation stood with the intruder. Detective Hernandez said that the man had gone through surgery around noon and was currently resting. The doctors thought he would be kept there for a day or two, at which point, barring any medical complications, he would be released into police custody.

“Were you able to question him? Did you find out more about why he did it and what he wanted?”

“We ran his prints, but they didn’t tell us anything. As far as questioning him, we’ve asked the questions, yes, but he’s not answering. He knows he has the right to remain silent, and that’s exactly what he’s doing, for
now at least. We’ll be in a better position to interrogate him once he’s in our custody.”

“You should have talked to him when he was under anesthesia.”

“Yeah, right. Try taking that into a courtroom.”

I needed to go, and I wanted to end this call. For now I chose not to give Hernandez the news about my missing brother. Though Bobby’s disappearance and my intruder might somehow be connected, I wanted Detective Hernandez to concentrate on my break-in as a single, isolated crime without unnecessarily clouding the issue. Considering his attitude about my police record, as soon as he heard that Bobby may in some way be involved, I knew he would jump to all the wrong conclusions.

Instead of mentioning Bobby, I just asked if the house was still a crime scene or if I would be allowed to straighten up and pack.

“We’re all finished there—though you might see some yellow caution tape around the back porch because of the hole. You’ll need to get that taken care of before someone else gets hurt.”

“Will do.”

When our excruciating phone call was over, I hung up, got out my purse, and turned to Norman, who had also neatened his desk and looked as though he was ready to leave. He was insisting that I let him come home with me, for safety’s sake, and then also give me a ride to the airport. Knowing I needed help, I put up only a minor fuss but I didn’t refuse.

We headed out, my car leading the way, and were at the beach house within twenty minutes.

As we parked our cars and walked to the door, it struck me that once Kiki understood the details of the situation, she might ask me to move out. I couldn’t imagine what the impact of that would be for my life. Besides the fact that she was a great housemate—easygoing and fun and nonintrusive—I literally couldn’t afford to live anywhere else. Except for this house and a small pension from her late husband, Kiki was as poor as I was, but she rented me one of the spare bedrooms for a pittance, and I made up the difference by doing most of the cooking and cleaning—an arrangement that had worked out well for both of us. Without that deal, I would be sunk for sure.

Trying not to think about that for now, I unlocked the front door and we stepped inside, though Norman insisted on going first. His posture rigid and ready, he checked out every room in the house, including the pantry and all closets. At his age, I doubted he could fend off a criminal if one popped up, but it was very sweet of him to look, nonetheless. When he spotted the bullet hole in the wall in my room, he let out a low whistle. I wasn’t bothered by the bullet hole nearly as much as I was by the big bloodstain on the floor. Once Norman went downstairs, I quickly used bleach and rags to clean it as best I could.

I didn’t have any idea how long I would be in Pennsylvania, so I threw together one suitcase’s worth of clothes and shoes, toiletries, and a blow-dryer. I also packed up my laptop, taking the time to print a few pictures of Bobby first.

When I got downstairs, Norman was on the phone. After he hung up, he explained that his son would be here first thing Saturday to fix the back porch, fill in the bullet hole upstairs, and replace the wood flooring in my bedroom that had been ruined by Kiki’s blood. Before I could figure out how I was going to afford all that, Norman added that the labor would be free—though we could reimburse them for the supplies later, once Kiki’s insurance claim went through, if we wanted to.