XO (50 page)

Sally scoffed, “We had to play her music all the time. He talked about her every day. Mostly it was ‘poor Kayleigh this, poor Kayleigh that.’ Nobody understood her, her father sold the family house she loved, her mother died, the fans don’t treat her right, the label doesn’t record her right. He went on and on. I couldn’t take it. I just left one night. It was sort of okay for a month. He stalked me, yeah, but it wasn’t terrible. But then his mother died and he freaked out. I mean totally.”

The stressor event that had pushed him over the edge.

“He came over, crying and acting all weird, like his life was over with. I felt bad for him—and I was scared—so we got back together. But he just got stranger and stranger. He wouldn’t go out at all, he made me drop all my friends, he got jealous of men at work. He thought I was sleeping with every one of them there. As
if
… All he wanted was for me to be at home with him. Look at me and watch TV and have sex. He’d play her music when we did that. It was horrible! Finally …” Sally debated and pulled her sleeve up and displayed a scar on her wrist. “It was the only way I could get free. But he found me and got me to the emergency room. I think that convinced him to back off.”

“When was this?”

“December, last year.”

The second stressor event, the one that had initiated his stalking Kayleigh.

Dance made a decision. “He’s kidnapped her, Sally.”

“Who, Kayleigh Towne?” she whispered. And yet she didn’t seem too shocked.

“We’ll protect you and your family, Sally. I promise. And we’ll get him and put him in jail for the rest of his life—he’s also killed some people.”

“Oh, no. My God, no.”

“But we can only do that if you help us. Do you have any idea where he might go?”

Another debate raged within her.

She knows something. Come on, Dance thought. Come on….

“I …”

“We’ll get the police to your family, Sally. But you have to meet us halfway.”

“Well, he said he had this, like, religious experience, seeing Kayleigh sing for the first time. An outdoor concert, a couple years ago. He said if he could live anywhere, that’s where it would be. In a cabin in the woods near there.”

“Where?” Dance asked.

“Some town in California, on the ocean. Monterey. I don’t know exactly where it is.”

Dance finally looked away from the screen and caught Madigan’s eye. She looked back at the tearstained face of her subject. “That’s all right, Sally. I do.”

AS THEY DROVE
along, Edwin Sharp was singing, loud and more or less in key.

She gets gallons to the mile, not the other way round,

And the tailpipe, it really makes a pretty nasty sound,

The heater hardly works at all and forget about the air.

Duct tape’s been involved in most of her repairs.

But she’s big and fast and solid and I know I can depend

On her to always be there … unlike a lot of men.

She’s my red Cadillac … my red Cadillac.

She gets me where I’m going, and she always gets me back.

I love her like a sister, she’s my red Cadillac.

“We had to say good-bye to her,” he called into the back of the van. “My red Buick. Sorry.”

Kayleigh was concentrating on not crying. This was a survival, not an emotional, issue. Her nose was already perilously stuffed up and she was sure if she started sobbing she’d suffocate. The tape on her mouth was a tight seal. She wasn’t blindfolded but she was in the far back of the windowless van, on the floor. He’d pulled her boots off. Lovingly smelled the leather. Sick.

They were about an hour from Fresno, though she didn’t know which direction, probably in the foothills toward Yosemite or the Sierras because the road seemed to be at an incline. West or south, the landscape was flat. They stopped once, after Edwin had glanced into the rearview mirror at her and he’d frowned. He pulled off the road and climbed into the back; she’d shied away. He’d said, “No, no, made a mistake there.”
A thick strand of her hair had been imprisoned by the duct tape and Edwin had carefully loosened it and worked the hair free from the adhesive. “Can’t have that.” And he recited again how long it had been since she’d cut it. “Ten years, four months … You could write a song. That’d be a good title.”

Then to her horror he’d pulled a brush from his pocket and run it through her hair gently, meticulously. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d whispered.

Then the drive had resumed.

He now sang, “‘She gets me where I’m going and she always gets me back. She’s my red Cadillac.’ Love it, just positively love it.”

Kayleigh’s hands were cuffed in front of her. She’d hoped she could grab one of the rear door levers, open it and tumble out, taking her chances on the road and traffic.

But there were no door levers. He’d removed them. Edwin Sharp had planned this carefully.

As he continued to sing, she felt the van turn off the main road and drive for a time along a smaller highway, one in bad condition. Definitely going up. Ten minutes later the tires began to crunch over dirt and gravel. Then the surface got even rougher and the vehicle strained uphill for several miles. Finally the van leveled off and ten minutes later came to a stop.

Edwin climbed out. Then there was silence for a long moment.

This isn’t fair, she thought. It just isn’t goddamn fair.

You walk out onstage and sing folks your songs,

You make them all smile. What could go wrong?

“Hey there!” Edwin was opening the rear door, revealing a field surrounded by a pine forest. He helped her out and pulled the tape off her mouth—gently, though she was thoroughly repulsed once more by the touch of his skin on hers. She smelled his aftershave—yes, definitely her father’s—and his sweat.

She inhaled hard, shivering with relief. She felt like she’d been half drowned.

Edwin stepped back and stared at her adoringly but there was no artistic admiration in his gaze now; his eyes lingered on her breasts and crotch.

“My boots,” she said.

“Naw, I like you barefoot.” A glance down. “We’ll have to do something about that polish. It’s a little too red, you know.”

Then he was gesturing at a small single-wide trailer, covered with camouflage netting. It sat in the middle of the clearing. “Familiar?”

“Look, if you let me go, you can have a head start. Six hours, ten hours. And I’ll arrange to get you money. A million dollars.”

“Doesn’t it look familiar?” he repeated, irritated that she wasn’t understanding.

She gazed around. It did, yes. But what was—

Oh, my God …

Kayleigh realized, stunned, where she was standing. This was the property she’d grown up on! That her grandfather had cleared and where he’d built the family house. Edwin had put the trailer pretty much where the manse had been. There’d been a lot of clearing over the years but she could easily recognize landmarks from her childhood. She remembered that Edwin had been aware that she’d been upset Bishop had sold the property—just as he’d lost his own childhood house. How had he found the land? A deed search, she supposed.

Kayleigh knew too that because the company that had bought up all of the private property here had gone bankrupt, there wasn’t a soul around for twenty miles.

Edwin said with a sincere intensity, “I knew how much this meant. This property. I wanted to give it back to you. You’ll have to show me where you rode your pony and walked your dogs when you were a little girl. We can go for the same walks. That’ll be fun! Maybe we’ll do that before supper tonight.”

She supposed she should play along, pretend she was touched and then when his back was turned grab a rock and break his skull and run. But she couldn’t feign. Revulsion and anger swirled within her. “How the hell can you say you love me and do this?”

He grinned and gently stroked her hair. She jerked her head away. He hardly noticed. “Kayleigh … from the first time I heard your opening number at that concert in Monterey, I knew we were soul mates. It’ll take you a little longer but you’ll figure it out too. I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world. I’ll worship you.”

He covered the van with a camouflaged tarp, secured it with rocks and
slipped his arm around her shoulders, very firmly. He guided her toward the trailer.

“I don’t love you!”

He only laughed. But as they approached the trailer, his gaze morphed from adoring to chill. “He fucked you, didn’t he? Bobby. Don’t say he didn’t.” He eyed her carefully as if asking tacitly if it was true. And wanting to hear that it wasn’t.

“Edwin!”

“I have a right to know.”

“We were just friends.”

“Oh, I don’t know where it’s written friends don’t ever fuck. Do you know where that’s written?”

So, the sanitized language from earlier—in conversation and emails—had been phony, just another part of the innocent image he created. And she now knew that he
hadn’t
been simply tapping his leg in time to the music the other day.

They were at the trailer door now. He calmed and smiled again. “Sorry. I get my hackles up, thinking about him.”

“Edwin, look—”

“I should carry you over the threshold. The wedding night thing, you know.”

“Don’t touch me!”

He gazed at her with some pity, it seemed, then pushed the door open and swept her up into his arms like she weighed nothing at all. He carried her inside. Kayleigh didn’t resist; one of his massive hands firmly cradled her throat.

“WE’RE ON OUR
way,” Kathryn Dance said into her phone, speaking to Michael O’Neil.

She then gasped as Dennis Harutyun nearly demirrored his cruiser as the passenger side of the car came within inches of the truck he was passing. He skidded back into the lane and sped up.

“Are you okay?” O’Neil asked. “Are you there?”

“Yes. I’m … yes.” She closed her eyes as Harutyun took on another tractor-trailer.

O’Neil was at his desk in his own sheriff’s office. Dance opened her eyes briefly and asked, “What’s in place?”

“Two helicopters around Point Lobos—that’s where Edwin first saw Kayleigh at the concert two years ago. And another chopper’s covering the area from Moss Landing up to Santa Cruz. Concentrating on the deserted areas. CHP’s setting up roadblocks around Pacific Grove, Pebble Beach and Carmel. We’ve got about forty Monterey county and city uniforms involved.”

“Good.”

“And your boss is doing his thing.”

The head of the Monterey branch of the California Bureau of Investigation, Charles Overby, the consummate artist at press conferences, was enlisting the aid of the public to be on the lookout for Edwin Sharp and Kayleigh Towne.

The many fan sites too were abuzz and included pictures of the suspect and his victim, though Dance supposed that anyone with a TV or iTunes subscription knew what Kayleigh Towne looked like.

“How’re you doing?” O’Neil asked, echoing his earlier question.

A curious inquiry.

But not so curious in the context of where they’d left their personal lives just before he returned to Monterey.

But now was not the time for those considerations.

“Fine,” she said. Which didn’t mean fine at all but was like a fencer’s parry. She hoped O’Neil got it.

He seemed to. He asked. “What’s your ETA?”

She glanced at Harutyun and posed the question.

“Half hour,” he said.

Dance relayed this to O’Neil and added, “Better go, Michael. We’re doing about two hundred miles an hour here.”

Drawing a rare smile from the mustachioed deputy.

They disconnected. She leaned back against the headrest.

“You want me to slow down?” Harutyun asked.

“No, I want you to go faster,” Dance said.

He did and she closed her eyes once more.

“WHAT DO YOU
think?” Edwin asked cheerfully. He waved his arm around the trailer, which was perfectly neat and scrubbed. It was also stifflingly hot.

Standing in the kitchenette, still cuffed, Kayleigh didn’t answer.

“Look, a high-def TV and I’ve got about a hundred DVDs. And plenty of your favorite foods.” He opened cabinets to show her. “Whole Foods. Organic, of course. And your favorite soap too.”