Web of Lies (27 page)
He hesitated. “Is Jenna there? I should talk to her.”
“Ralph,
please
.”
“Okay, just — we got a tip that led some deputies to an address out on Boyle Road. Annie, you have to hang with me now. They found a shallow grave in the woods behind the house — it’s not Kelly. They think it’s Amy Flyte. But Neese started shooting. He’s holed up now. I’m on my way there, and so are plenty other officers and deputies.”
The news washed over me. Kelly, a hostage in a shootout . . . Amy already dead . . .
“What’s the house number, Ralph?”
“Annie, I do
not
want you going out there. Just sit by the phone — ”
“Don’t
tell
me what to do!” I didn’t care that I was yelling. “It’s my daughter’s
life
. If you don’t give me the address, I’ll call Milt Waking. He’s probably on his way there already.”
Chetterling argued, but he knew I’d hear the information one way or another. In the end he told me.
Within sixty seconds the four of us were racing to my SUV.
J
enna drove, with Dave in the front passenger seat, Chelsea and me in back. My sister and I had grabbed our purses, guns inside. A desperate prayer now repeated like a mantra in my head.
God, keep Kelly safe . . .
Following the auto’s navigation system, Jenna turned south on Old Oregon Trail, headed for Boyle Road. The house lay a number of miles to the east. Our bodies swayed as Jenna attacked the curves. Dave talked to Milt on his cell phone, relaying information to the rest of us. My own phone lay gripped in my hand in the wild hope that Kelly would call again. Milt, along with his cameraman, was already driving like a crazy man toward the site. As were dozens of police and sheriff’s deputy cars and a helicopter. Not to mention all the other reporters now on the story. The tip had come from someone who’d recognized my drawing of Neese on FOX News.
God, keep Kelly safe.
“Okay,” I heard Dave say. Then — “Hi, Stephen.”
Stephen?
Realization pushed through my prayers. My son was with Milt. Now he was headed toward a possible shoot-out with some soulless
animal
who was holding Kelly hostage. Dear God, wasn’t one child at risk enough? What if Stephen was hit by a stray bullet?
“No!” I gripped the back of Dave’s seat. “I don’t want Stephen with Milt; I don’t
want
him there.”
Dave half turned, nodded. He spoke into the phone, then handed it to me. Even as I accepted it, I knew it was too late. Stephen was already in Milt’s vehicle. “Mom, don’t panic.” Stephen’s voice rapid-fired. “I’m riding with Milt in his rental car. I’ll be okay. Milt’s cameraman and their rented news van are already there.”
“Why didn’t you stay away?” My words sounded thick. “You could get hurt — ”
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
My head swam. “Why are you with Milt anyway; what have you been doing?”
“He sweet-talked a woman at the Building Department into helping him. She remembered seeing some plans four or five years ago for a house with an oval basement window. She was looking for the file when we heard Neese had been found.”
“Oh.” I could formulate no further reply. Those plans wouldn’t matter now anyway.
“I’ll see you soon,” Stephen said and hung up.
God, please keep Kelly safe.
On the back roads off Boyle, we knew we were close. The
thwap-thwap
of a helicopter beat through the car windows. Four times Jenna yanked the SUV over to let police vehicles with blaring sirens and flashing lights whip past. My head spun at the noise, fear zinging my nerves.
Up ahead I spotted a gravel driveway splotched with official cars, more spread across a vast lawn. Officers and deputies with guns drawn hunkered behind the vehicles, all of them focused on a large two-story house with columned porch. Red and blue lights whirled. A deputy waved us over to the side of the road, about thirty feet from the driveway. “Stay back where you’ll be safe!” He pointed a finger at Dave, as if commandeering him to take charge of us women.
Stay back? That was my
daughter
in there.
I stumbled from the car, looking up. Two helicopters hovered, a close one from police, and one farther away, probably from the media. From the ground someone was speaking over a megaphone.
Tim Blanche.
A megaphone meant Neese wasn’t answering their calls to Kelly’s cell number. Behind me, news cameras whirred. I counted four, one of them from FOX. Blanche was getting what he’d wanted — national coverage. Good for him. He could be the next star of the universe, for all I cared.
Just bring my daughter out safely, Tim, or I will never forgive you.
Dave pulled me down behind the SUV, Chelsea and Jenna beside him.
“Orwin Neese, this is Detective Tim Blanche. We have a lot of cars out here. Come on out before somebody gets hurt.”
No response. The police helicopter beat bricks of air, the acrid smell of dirt biting my nostrils. Dave gripped my arm and Chelsea prayed. Jenna cursed at Neese.
“Mr. Neese! Come on, I’m here to help you.”
I held my breath, squinted at the house. The window shades were drawn. Where was Kelly?
Blanche kept talking, talking. Panic sprouted through my limbs. What if Neese had slipped away? What if he wasn’t here in the first place? Who had checked this out; did these people have any clue what they were
doing
?
Chetterling. I had to talk to Chetterling.
I pushed to my feet, scrambled toward the bumper. Dave caught the end of my shirt, pulled me back. “Annie, no, you can’t go over there.”
Frantically I fought him. “I have to get to Ralph! Let me go!” Three times Dave grabbed for my hands; three times they flew from his grasp. When he caught them for good, he held on so tightly, my skin burned.
“Annie!”
He pushed me down, stuck his sweating face in mine. “You. Are. Not. Going. Over. There.”
Air rattled in my throat. “Dave,
please
.”
“No.”
My face crumpled. I fell against him and wept.
H
e crouched on the floor in front of the TV, watching the live coverage. A wide pan of the house, its expansive yard, the police cars and officers and hovering helicopter. A man’s voice called through a megaphone. “Mr. Neese! Let’s talk.”
Fine way of talking, with all those guns pointed at the house.
Better stay away from the windows, man, even with the shades closed. You know they got a SWAT team just waiting for your shadow.
His mind whirled. What should he do? This had happened way too fast, before he’d had time to carry out his plans.
The old voices started whispering in his head.
No, no, no, chill, man. You can handle this. Think it through.
On the TV a camera shot panned over cars parked down the road. He saw sudden movement behind an SUV. The camera froze, zoomed in. It was a woman.
Annie Kingston. Scrabbling. Trying to do . . . something.
He watched, openmouthed. A man yanked her backward and she folded to the ground.
Annie Kingston — out there. Squinting, he leaned toward the screen. She was with at least three other people. Was one of them Chelsea Adams?
The camera panned back to the house.
Annie Kingston.
His brain scrambled for a Plan B. So many cops and deputies focused on the house, so much confusion. Talk about a diversion. He slitted his eyes at the TV, thinking . . .
“Mr. Neese!” The megaphoned voice called. “We want to talk to you.”
Yeah, yeah, keep on begging.
The longer they were held off, the better. He could do something. He had to think of another plan.
His eyes roved as he considered the beginnings of an idea . . .
Yeah. Okay. If it went sour, he might have to take down some people to get to the one he wanted.
But hey, nothing in life was easy.
I
slumped against the car, exhausted. Stephen had made his way over to us and now stood between me and Dave. Tim Blanche called Neese to no avail. I knew the officers and deputies wanted to move in. Would they have, if not for Kelly? One false move and my daughter could lose her life.
Please, God, just keep her safe.
If only they could spot Neese through a window, but all the shades remained closed. SWAT team members had positioned themselves around the property. If one of them could take Neese out, he would. Or if they could sneak inside the house through some back way and overpower the man . . .
Fifty yards down the road Milt yakked at the FOX News camera. “Mom — ” Stephen gestured toward him — “he’s going to be done filming soon. But he wanted me to tell you something important. This house was obviously built a long time ago.”
“So?” Jenna squatted on the ground, facing me.
“The building plans with the oval window that woman was looking for?” Stephen spoke rapidly. “That house wouldn’t be more than five years old.”
My breath hitched. I shifted to my knees, peeked at the house through the car windows. The others did the same. Was there a third level in the back like our home? The lot looked flat as far as I could tell. I sat down hard, my neck tingling. “Doesn’t look like there’s a lower level.”
“Maybe there is.” Dave kept his voice annoyingly calm. “The basement could be all underground, with a window in back and the dirt cut away from it, like Chelsea saw. We only assumed the part about the sloping lot.”
I focused on Milt. He was lowering his microphone. “This place is surrounded. If we could get to Chetterling, have him radio someone who’s positioned in back and ask if there’s a window — ”
“I’ll go ask.”
“Stephen, no!”
But he darted around the car, bent low, before I could stop him. The four of us pushed halfway erect, peering through the car windows as he crabwalked to the row of official vehicles lining the driveway. An officer ordered him back. Stephen ignored him. He neared Chetterling, called something. Ralph whipped around, took in my son’s wild gesticulations. With a glance at the house, he hurried, bent over, to Stephen. I watched them talk in a crouch, straining to hear their words when I knew it was impossible.
God, where is Kelly? Is she in there?
I couldn’t even decide which would be worse — knowing Neese held her hostage in a surrounded house, or having no idea where the spider room was located. Either way she could
die
.
God, please!
“Chelsea, do you think she’s here?”
She sank her fingers into my arm. “I don’t know, Annie. I wish I did.”
Ralph heard Stephen out, then spoke into his radio. A moment later he said something to Stephen.
Stephen scurried back to us. “No oval window,” he puffed. “They’re sure of it.”
“Oh, God, help; then she’s not there?” I sagged to my knees, Dave beside me. Jenna murmured something and ran down the road toward Milt. My brain turned vaporous, all oxygen sucked from my lungs. The next thing I knew, a stern-faced Tim Blanche had hunkered down to look me in the eye. “Annie, I
cannot
have your son running around here. He’s likely to get himself killed.”
“Hey!” Stephen shot back. “I was — ”
“I don’t care
what
you were doing. I don’t want you in the way.”
“We wouldn’t
be
here if you’d protected my sister in the first place!” Stephen crouched like a wildcat ready to spring at the detective’s throat. “You can’t even get Neese to talk, so what good are you?”
“Stephen,” I breathed, “don’t — ”
Blanche flapped a hand at me. His cheeks flushed scarlet as he glared at my son. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. Now all of you, go home. We’ll call you with any news.”
Anger tore through my veins. One more word from this man and I’d hit him. “
News
, Tim? You
told
me my daughter would be safe at school. Now she’s been kidnapped, and you want me to just leave and wait for you to call? Why should I listen to you? You never listened to
us
, and now one girl’s already dead!” Dave clamped a hand on my arm, but I took no heed. I only listed farther toward Tim, my anger smacking like waves against the brick wall of his pride. “We
told
you about that room and the spiders. Now my daughter’s trapped there, and you
want me to just go home
?”
Dave put his arm around me, drew me back. “Annie, stop.”
Blanche clenched his teeth. “I know this is hard for you. Maybe it’ll help if you hear what I think. I don’t believe there
is
a spider room. I think you two — ” he waved a finger between Chelsea and me — “started this thing, and Neese picked up on it after reading about it in the paper. So he leaves a jar of spiders at your house as a taunt. We still don’t have one iota of proof that the room exists.”
What? This
was supposed to
help
? My anger drained away, replaced by a ball of ice deep in my gut. I stared at Blanche, jaw unhinged, implications ricocheting through my brain. Was he actually refusing to admit the truth, just to save his own hide? What would that mean for my daughter? “Kelly called me, Tim. She
told
me she was in that room.”
His jaw flexed. “Maybe so. Or maybe it was just a teenage prank; we don’t know yet. We’ve tried and tried to call that number, and no one’s picked up, so we can’t even be sure Neese has the phone.” He shook his head. “Look, if he is trapped in there and Kelly’s really with him, he’ll use her as a hostage. We’ll hear about it.”
“Haven’t you already been treating this as a hostage situation?” Dave threw at him. “You haven’t gone storming in there.”
Blanche looked at him like he was an idiot. “We haven’t gone storming in there because he’s got a gun, and I don’t want any of my men killed. But he’d better start talking to us soon.” Blanche’s face flattened. “Annie, all I’m saying is, don’t be so sure you know everything. You were already wrong about that drawing you brought to me. Give us some credit. We’re doing the best we can. But you’re in the way. Go
home
.” He pushed to his feet with a final, hard look at Stephen and hurried off.
