The Missing (5 page)

‘Oh my God.’

Darby opened the small door. The woman underneath the porch started to scream.

Chapter 8

Darby dropped her flashlight. She didn’t pick it up. She stood absolutely still, staring wide-eyed at the woman who was now pressing a garbage can against the doorway to prevent anyone from entering.

Patrolmen came running. One of them grabbed Darby roughly by the arm and yanked her away from the door. He reached inside to move the garbage can.

The woman’s teeth, what few of them remained, sunk deep into exposed skin of his wrist. She twisted her head ferociously from side to side like a mongrel dog trying to rip free the last piece of meat from a bone.

‘My hand! The goddamn bitch is biting my hand!’

Another patrolman moved in with a can of Mace. The woman saw it, let go of her bite and started knocking over the barrels and recycling containers as she screamed, scurrying back underneath the porch.

Darby pushed the patrolman away and slammed the porch door shut.

The patrolman holding the Mace said, ‘What the hell you doing?’

‘We’re going to give this woman some breathing
room to calm down,’ Darby said. The first patrolman, his eyes tearing, grabbed the dangling meat of his bleeding wrist with a shaking hand. ‘Go and help him.’

‘All due respect, hon, your job is to –’

‘Move everyone out of the driveway – and while you’re at it, make sure the ambulance doesn’t pull in with its sirens blaring.’

Darby turned and addressed the crowd of men who had gathered around her. ‘Back up, I want everyone to back up now.’

No one moved.

‘Do what she says.’ Banville’s voice. He emerged from the crowd, his black hair flattened by the rain.

The patrolmen moved out of the driveway. Banville stepped up next to her. Darby explained what she had seen.

‘She’s probably a crack addict,’ Banville said. There’s an abandoned house down the road where they all hang out.’

‘Let me try and talk her out of there.’

Banville stared at the porch door, water dripping over his lumpy face. With his hangdog expression, he bore a striking resemblance to the cartoon character Droopy Dog.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But under no circumstances are you to go underneath the porch.’

Darby put down her umbrella. Slowly, she opened the porch door. No screaming. She knelt in a
cold puddle. The flashlight was still on and gave her enough light to see.

During a college history course, Darby had seen grainy black-and-white footage taken of prisoners inside Hitler’s concentration camps. The woman underneath the porch had clearly been starved. Most of her hair had fallen out; what little remained was thin and stringy. Her face was incredibly gaunt, the cheeks sunken, the skin waxy and white. The only color came from the blood around her lips.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Darby said. ‘I just want to talk.’

The woman didn’t look at her so much as
through
her.
Vacant eyes,
Darby thought.

Then, incredibly, the vacant sign disappeared. The woman’s eyes came into focus, narrowing first in recognition, then widening in surprise mixed with, what, relief? Was that it?

‘Terry? Terry, is that you?’

Use it. Whatever it is, use it.

‘It’s me.’ Darby’s mouth was dry. ‘I’m here to –’

‘Lower your voice, he’s watching.’
The woman pointed with her chin at the porch ceiling.

There was nothing on the ceiling but spiderwebs and the dried-out husk of an old hornet’s nest.

‘I’ll shut off the flashlight,’ Darby said. ‘That way he won’t see us.’

‘Okay, good. That’s good. You were always smart, Terry.’

Darby turned off the flashlight. The flashing blue and whites blinked through the spaces between the latticework. The woman was still holding on to the barrel, still using it as a barrier.

Ask her name? No. She already believes I know her.
Darby didn’t want to risk breaking the connection. Better off going along with the delusion.

‘I thought you were dead,’ the woman said.

‘Why did you think that?’

‘You were screaming. You were screaming for me to come help you and I couldn’t reach you in time.’ The woman’s face crumbled. You weren’t moving, and you were bleeding. I tried to wake you up and you didn’t move.’

‘I fooled him.’

‘I did, too. I fooled him real good this time, Terry.’ The woman grinned and Darby had to look away. ‘I knew what he was going to do when he put me in the van, and I was ready.’

‘What color was his van?’

‘Black. He’s still out there, Terry.’

‘Did you see a license plate?’

‘He’s looking for me – for us.’

‘Who’s looking for us? What’s his name?’

‘We’ve got to hide until the screaming stops.’

‘I know a way out,’ Darby said. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

The woman didn’t move, didn’t answer. She continued her examination of the porch ceiling. She was
crouched behind the other side of an overturned barrel, holding it in a way to keep anyone from getting close to her.

Two choices: She could go in there and see if she could somehow guide the woman out, or she could let the patrolmen take care of it.

Darby moved the barrel blocking the door. When the woman didn’t scream, Darby slid underneath the porch.

Chapter 9

‘I’m going to come closer so we can talk,’ Darby said. ‘Okay?’

Darby crawled across the muddy ground of spilled trash, soda cans and newspapers. The most atrocious body odor she had ever smelled hit her. She dry-heaved, coughed.

‘You okay, Terry? Please tell me you’re okay.’

‘I’m fine.’ Darby was breathing through her mouth now. She leaned her back against the wall. She sat less than two feet away, on the other side of the barrel. The woman wasn’t wearing pants or shoes. Bones jutted out from underneath her skin.

‘Did you see Jimmy?’ the woman asked.

Darby had an idea. ‘I saw him, but I didn’t recognize him at first.’

‘You’ve been gone away for a long time. I bet he’s changed a lot.’

‘He has, but it’s… I’m having trouble remembering things. Small things, like my last name.’

‘It’s Mastrangelo. Terry Mastrangelo. Will you introduce me to Jimmy? After everything you’ve told me, I feel like I know him as much as you do.’

‘I’m sure he’d like that. But first, we have to get out of here.’

‘There’s no way out, only places to hide.’

‘I found a way out.’

‘You’ve got to stop that foolish thinking. I tried, remember? We both did.’

‘I came back for you, didn’t I?’ Darby took off her windbreaker and held it across the barrel. ‘Put this on. It will keep you warm.’

The woman went to grab the jacket, then pulled her hand away.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll disappear again,’ the woman said. ‘I don’t want you to disappear on me again.’

‘Go ahead and take it. I won’t disappear, I promise.’

It took several minutes of thinking, but finally, the woman touched the jacket. The terror, the pain and fear – all of it seemed to collapse. She hugged the jacket against her chest, burying her face in the fabric and rocking back and forth, back and forth.

The ambulance was here now. It had pulled up to the bottom of the driveway without the sirens or spinning red lights.
Thank God for small favors.

‘You really found a way out?’ the woman asked.

‘I did. And I’m going to take you out with me.’

Every part of Darby’s body screamed at her not to do it, but she ignored the warning and held out her hand.

The woman gripped it fiercely. Two of her fingers had been recently broken and had healed at sharp, painful angles. Splinters covered her arms.

The woman was watching the ceiling again.

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,’ Darby said. ‘You’re going to hold my hand and we’re going to walk out this door together. You’re safe.’

Chapter 10

Much to Darby’s surprise (and her considerable relief), the woman didn’t scream or put up a fight when she stepped out into the driveway of blinking lights. She squeezed Darby’s hand.

‘Nobody here is going to hurt you,’ Darby said, reaching for her umbrella. She didn’t want to risk having the rain wash away any potential evidence. ‘Nobody here is going to hurt you, I promise.’

The woman pressed the jacket against her face and started sobbing. Darby slipped an arm around the woman’s waist. Her bones felt as frail and as delicate as a bird’s.

Taking slow, careful steps, she guided the woman toward the waiting ambulance. Standing by the front doors were two EMTs. One of them was holding a syringe.

There was no way around this part. They had to sedate her. Best to do it out here, in the open, in case things turned nasty again. It would be harder to confine her inside the ambulance’s tight space.

Both EMTs circled behind the woman. Cops were hovering close by, ready to intervene, if necessary.

‘We’re almost there,’ Darby whispered. ‘Just keep holding my hand, and everything will be fine.’

The EMT sunk the needle into the woman’s buttock. Darby tensed, bracing herself for the worst. The woman didn’t flinch.

When the woman’s eyes fluttered, the EMTs took over.

‘Don’t strap her in yet,’ Darby said. I’m going to need her shirt and to take some pictures.’

Coop was already standing outside with his kit. There wasn’t much space to work in the ambulance. Darby, small and petite, got inside while Coop stood near the back doors. They wore masks to help with the odor. The woman’s sick, raspy breathing could be heard over the rain pelting the ambulance roof.

Mary Beth handed Darby the camera. She took pictures of the woman lying on her back, then closeups of the tear marks on the black T-shirt.

Using a pair of scissors, Darby cut a straight line up the T-shirt’s neckline, and then made two more cuts, one to each armpit. She slid the T-shirt off the woman’s body, exposing her chest. The pale skin, marred with thick scars and sores and cuts that hadn’t healed, had sunken far below the ribs.

‘It’s a miracle she didn’t die of heart arrhythmia,’ Mary Beth said.

Darby moved the woman onto her side. She folded the T-shirt and dropped it inside the evidence bag Coop was holding.

‘Let’s get fingernail scrapings,’ Darby said.

Darby did an oral swab on the insides of the woman’s cheeks. Coop used a wooden toothpick under the woman’s thumbnail. It tore in half and started to bleed.

‘What the hell happened to her?’ Coop asked.

I wish to God I knew.
‘Let’s get her fingerprinted,’ Darby said.

Chapter 11

The Serology Lab is a long and airy rectangular room of black-slab countertops often referred to as benches. The high windows overlook some green hills, twin basketball courts and, directly below them, a concrete promenade with picnic tables where people ate lunch in the nice weather.

Leland Pratt, the lab director, was waiting for Darby by the door. He smelled of shampoo and some citrus-scented cologne – a welcome relief from the atrocious body odor that was still lining her nose and clothes.

‘It’s all over the news,’ he said as he followed her to the bench in the back corner where Erin Walsh, the head of the DNA unit, was set up. ‘Who’s handling the investigation?’

‘Mathew Banville.’

‘Then the girl’s in good hands,’ Leland said. ‘What about the Jane Doe you found underneath the porch?’

‘That made the news?’

‘They’re playing video footage of you helping her to the ambulance. They didn’t mention her name.’

‘We don’t know who she is – we don’t know anything.’

Darby handed Erin four marked envelopes. ‘Blood from the kitchen doorway. Buccal swab for Jane Doe. These last two envelopes are the comparison samples, Carol Cranmore’s toothbrush and her comb. If you need me, I’ll be across the hall.’

‘Keep me updated on everything,’ Leland said.

‘I always do,’ Darby said and left Serology. She dropped off the envelope with the tan fiber to the Trace section and then went to assist Coop.

Because the shirt was biologically contaminated with blood and other bodily fluids, Darby suited up. Next she put on a mask, safety goggles and neoprene gloves.

The small, dark room was filled with the faint hum of the rain. The shirt had been placed inside a fume hood.

‘Take a look at this,’ Coop said, stepping away from the illuminated light magnifier.

A white sliver marked by dry blood was caught in the fabric. Using a pair of tweezers, Darby freed the sliver and turned it over under the magnified light.

‘Looks like a paint chip. This patch here is probably rust.’

Coop nodded. ‘The T-shirt is a mess,’ he said. ‘We’re going to be in here all day collecting samples.’

Half an hour later, they had collected two more slivers.

The secretary’s voice came over the speaker: ‘Darby, Mary Beth on line two.’

Darby collected the glassine envelopes. ‘I’ll run these down to Pappy.’

Mary Beth was seated in front of her computer, working the keyboard and mouse. Her blond hair was now a dark red.

A black footwear impression was on the monitor. Darby could make out the grooves in the soles and the cuts and gouges from stepping on such things as tacks and nails and glass. All of these individual marks, along with gait characteristics, made a boot impression as unique as a person’s fingerprint.

‘When did you color your hair?’ Darby asked as she sat down.

‘Yesterday. I needed a change.’

‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Coop, would it?’

‘Why would you ask me that?’

‘Because you were eating lunch with us when he announced he had a thing for redheads.’

‘Bear with me for a moment. I’m almost done.’

Darby leaned in closer. ‘Coop only dates women who can string no more than four words together at a time. It’s a policy with him.’

Mary Beth pointed to the monitor. Inside a circle were lines drawn to resemble a mountain top and, below it, what appeared to be the letter R.