Terrified (44 page)
Dan stood up and watched the twin headlights get brighter—closer. He couldn’t see the vehicle yet. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Suddenly, the headlights veered to one side—as if the car was taking a turn. Then just as suddenly, there were no headlights at all. It was like the car had vanished. Dan figured maybe there was a section of the road that wound behind some woods. He waited a few moments, but the headlights didn’t reappear.
With a sigh, he squatted down beside his car again. Earlier, he’d turned over his hubcap on the gravel so it was like a big, shallow bowl for holding the lug nuts. He started screwing them in by hand to secure the spare tire.
He thought he heard a motor purring in the distance, and wondered if the vanishing car had come back. He glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t see anything, just darkness. It was weird how the trees and gullies around there seemed to pick up noises from far away. This wasn’t his first false alarm. He went back to work, and finished screwing in the lug nuts as tight as he could.
Dan was about to reach for the tire iron, but froze at the sound of gravel crunching right behind him. It was so sudden.
He swiveled around in time to see the man looming over him with the small baseball bat raised in the air.
After that, Dan didn’t see anything.
A bit of blood was smeared in the top corner of the notebook paper on which Lisa’s boyfriend had scribbled down the license plate number of the SUV. The piece of paper was on the passenger seat of his car—along with a spiral notebook, a pen, a bottle of Bactine, and his cell phone.
The man was checking the phone’s last few calls when his own cell rang. He set Lahart’s phone on the hood of the disabled Honda Accord, and then glanced at his own caller ID. It was Monica again, her second call in ten minutes. He let it go to voice mail again. He didn’t have time to stand here and talk to her. Another car could come by at any minute.
She probably wanted him to pick up cigarettes for her. Monica had outlived her usefulness to him. He’d grown tired of her.
He shoved his cell back in his jacket, and reached for Lahart’s phone. He needed to know who Lisa’s boyfriend had been talking to. Among the incoming calls,
Lahart, Daniel
, had phoned fifteen minutes ago. Obviously, it had been Lisa calling from his houseboat on Portage Bay. She was there right now.
Lahart, Daniel
, had phoned fifteen minutes ago. Obviously, it had been Lisa calling from his houseboat on Portage Bay. She was there right now.
He knew that already. The tracking device had told him as much. She’d headed there from the Lamplighter Inn at about ten minutes after eight. That had been just a few minutes after he’d made an anonymous tip to the police about the corpse in room 127.
Lahart’s most recent outgoing call had been twenty minutes ago—to a
Det. Bracken, Charles
, obviously a cop. Was this Charles Bracken someone he knew from the force? He wondered what Lahart had told him.
Det. Bracken, Charles
, obviously a cop. Was this Charles Bracken someone he knew from the force? He wondered what Lahart had told him.
He redialed. Someone picked up after two rings. “Dan, is that you?”
“Hi, no, I’m a friend of Dan’s. My name’s Glenn. You’re the one Danny called a little while ago, aren’t you? Are you a cop?”
“Yes. Who’s this again?”
“Glenn, I’m a friend of Danny’s. I’d put Danny on, but he’s practically passed out, he’s so wasted… .”
“Really?” Bracken said. “Because when I talked with him about twenty minutes ago, he sounded okay.”
“Well, then he sure had you fooled, because he’s drunker than a skunk,” he laughed. “But don’t worry. I took the car keys away from him. Did I hear Danny trying to tell you some crazy kidnapping story?”
“No,” the cop answered, sounding a bit wary. “He told me that someone ran him off a rural road near Highway One sixty-nine in Maple Valley, and he asked me to look up a certain license plate on an SUV.”
“Yeah, the son of a bitch almost killed us,” he said. “He must have been even more shit-faced than Danny. I swear to Christ, he was going ninety. It was a white SUV, license plate number, EMK903… .”
“Dan told me it was a
silver
SUV, with a plate number, EMJ503,” the cop said.
silver
SUV, with a plate number, EMJ503,” the cop said.
“Well, that makes it official. He’s blind drunk. It’s a white SUV, EMK903, headed northbound on One sixty-nine, just outside of Renton. We’re nowhere near Maple Valley. Anyway, if you know someone on the Renton force, you might want to phone it in, save a life tonight. I’d put Danny on, but like I say, he’s passed out. I’m at the wheel, no problem. I’ll make sure Danny calls you when he comes to.”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you did that,” Bracken said. “And I’ll phone in about that white SUV. What did you say your name is again?”
“Glenn Davenport. I teach with Danny at the U,” he said. “Thanks a lot. And don’t worry about Danny. Rest assured I’ll take care of him.”
The man calling himself Glenn hung up.
With a smile, he turned and gazed down at Lisa’s boyfriend. He was sprawled facedown on the gravel, by the hubcap, tire iron, and flashlight.
“Yeah, I’ll take care of him,” he muttered.
“So let me get this straight,” Elisa Middleton said on the other end of the line. “You’re in Seattle and you write true crime—like Ann Rule?”
“That’s pretty much it,” Megan said, pacing around Dan’s houseboat living room with the cordless to her ear. J. Knoll’s cell phone was on the galley counter plugged into Dan’s recharger. “But this is more of a quickie paperback we’re putting together,” she lied. “They want it in the stores as soon as possible. That’s why I’m calling so late. I’m working on a deadline here.”
“Would you use my name in the book?”
“We’d like to,” Megan said. “That gives it more credibility. But if you’d rather stay anonymous, we’ll just call you ‘a close friend of Willow’s.’ Now, we have enough on her relationship with Glenn Swann from the trial. We’re more interested in whether or not Willow was seeing someone else shortly before she disappeared. I talked to one of the other nurses at Evanston-Northwest, and she indicated Willow was hoping to rekindle things with Swann while secretly involved with someone else.”
“Who told you that?” Elisa asked.
Melissa had told her that on the phone this morning.
Megan stopped pacing. She stood in front of Dan’s living room window and looked out at the dark lake. “Well, I can’t really say,” she replied. “The nurse I spoke with wants to be known as a ‘coworker of Willow’s. ’ Do you know anything about this mystery man?”
“I know Willow was intensely secretive about him, because she wouldn’t even tell me. She was worried about it getting out… .”
“Why? Was this man married?” Megan asked.
“Glenn was married. That didn’t stop Willow from talking about him. No, she gave me the impression if it ever got out about her and this other guy, she would have been in serious trouble. She didn’t even want people to know she was seeing somebody. I think this guy wanted it secret, too. Are you recording this?”
“No, I’m taking notes,” Megan said. “Do you know how long she was seeing him?”
“I think it was only for a month,” Elisa said. “I figured out she had a rebound guy shortly after she first split with Glenn. I asked her about it, and she was all tight-lipped. I’m pretty sure he lasted until a few weeks before she disappeared. I think he might have beaten her up or something. Whatever happened, it must have been really scary, because she wouldn’t talk about it. But I remember her crying to me at work, saying she hoped she never saw him again.”
“Did you tell the police any of this?” Megan asked.
“Yeah, I told them when they interviewed me Saturday morning—once they figured out the skull they found belonged to Willow.”
“I didn’t read about this man in any of the newspaper accounts.”
“None of the reporters asked me about him,” Elisa said. “They were more interested in her relationship with Glenn. I know she saw Glenn a few times before she disappeared. He used to knock her around, too. Poor Willow, she sure had shitty taste in boyfriends. But—don’t quote me saying that. I don’t want to sound mean.”
“Do you have any idea where she might have met this mystery man?” Megan pressed.
Turning away from the window, she started pacing again.
“I’m not sure, but I think they might have first met at the hospital.”
“Could he have been one of the other doctors?”
“No, if he was one of the doctors, they couldn’t have kept it secret. My guess is it was the relative of a patient or someone like that.”
Megan suddenly stopped pacing.
“Not to sound tacky, but will I get paid for this or anything?” Elisa asked.
“Ah, you—you’ll be listed in the acknowledgments, and we’ll send you two free copies of the book.”
“Well, that’s kind of chintzy,” Elisa grumbled.
“Yes, I’m sorry it’s not more, Ms. Middleton,” Megan said. “I think I have enough here for now. I’ll call you if I have any more questions. You’ll hear from the publisher later in the week. Thanks so much for all your help. Good-bye.”
Megan clicked off the phone, and returned it to the charger stand on Dan’s desk. She plopped down in the chair in front of his computer.
She had something to go on now—the silver SUV with the stolen plates. And Dan was right. There was a good chance they were holding Josh prisoner at some remote farm off Highway 169. She had found out something else tonight. Josh’s kidnapper must have hated Glenn as much as he hated her. He’d murdered Willow and set Glenn up to take the blame. And he’d killed five more women in Seattle, women who looked like her. Were these poor women mere substitutes until he could get to her—and Glenn? Was he waiting all this time for Glenn’s release from jail so he could initiate this revenge on them both?
She kept thinking about Willow meeting her mystery man—her potential killer—at the hospital. He wasn’t necessarily a married man or a doctor. But Willow had to keep their affair a secret. If it ever got out about her and this other guy, she would have been in serious trouble.
Was that because what they were doing had been against the law?
Megan wondered if Willow Dwyer had been seeing a seventeen-year-old boy who had just lost his sister.
Her purse was on one of the bar stools by the galley’s island counter. She got up and searched through it until she found the notes she’d scribbled down this morning. Despite the coffee stain, the writing was still legible:
Travis … (LAST NAME?) sick sister, bad crush
on u, seemed to hate Glenn … LAST
NAME??????
on u, seemed to hate Glenn … LAST
NAME??????
Melissa had told her his last name. Megan had jotted it down on the same piece of stationery from the Lamplighter Inn:
Travis McClaren … Cassie McClaren (RIP).
Travis McClaren … Cassie McClaren (RIP).
According to Melissa, Cassie had died at just about the time Mr. and Mrs. Glenn Swann had exchanged vows in the hospital chapel. How had Cassie’s brother felt about that? Only two weeks earlier, Travis had expressed his love for her—and he’d warned her that Glenn would hurt her. He’d been angry at his sister, Cassie, for getting sick.
What had Melissa said had been wrong with her?
She had—ah, a kidney problem that developed after an untreated injury. She fell down some stairs or something.…
Megan remembered coming to work on Sunday—after she’d been beaten and maimed by Josh’s abductor.
I fell down the stairs in front of the house last night.
That was the excuse she’d given Teresa for the way she looked. She’d told the same lie during so many emergency room visits after Glenn had beaten her.
I fell down the stairs in front of the house last night.
That was the excuse she’d given Teresa for the way she looked. She’d told the same lie during so many emergency room visits after Glenn had beaten her.
Travis had called Glenn a son of a bitch, and said that she’d be sorry she ever took up with him. Was that because Travis had seen what the good doctor had done to his sister?
Shaking her head, Megan plopped back down in the chair in front of Dan’s computer. “He’s dead,” she muttered to herself. “You heard Melissa, he’s dead… .”
She brought up Google, and then typed in:
Travis McClaren, death, boat accident.
She hit
Enter
, and the first result listed was a
Chicago Tribune
news story:
Travis McClaren, death, boat accident.
She hit
Enter
, and the first result listed was a
Chicago Tribune
news story:
Newlyweds Perish In Sailing
Accident
– The Chicago Tribune The victims,
Travis McClaren,
18, and his wife, Selena Cummings McClaren, 19, had been married three months … Their
boat,
a Catalina cruiser … Summer
death
toll on Lake Michigan …
www.thechicagotribune.com/news/063097/newlyweds-perish-sailing-accident.html
.
Accident
– The Chicago Tribune The victims,
Travis McClaren,
18, and his wife, Selena Cummings McClaren, 19, had been married three months … Their
boat,
a Catalina cruiser … Summer
death
toll on Lake Michigan …
www.thechicagotribune.com/news/063097/newlyweds-perish-sailing-accident.html
.
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