Gingerbread Man Page 10

  This morning she did none of those things.

  Holly got out of bed, showered, and dressed immediately, even though it meant skipping several parts of the usual routine. It made her uneasy, gave her an insecure feeling, like walking on thin ice. But she had to see Vince before he left town. She had to get to the truth. Because if there was even the slightest chance that the man who'd murdered her baby sister was still free, then all the routines in the world were not going to do Holly one bit of good.

  She had to know it wasn't true. That it was impossible, just as she had insisted it was.

  She left her mom a hastily scrawled note on top of the coffee pot, and walked along the lakefront road to Vince's cabin. It was cool this morning. Only in the high forties, she guessed, as she hugged her jacket around her body, Vince's clasped in her arms, and gave thanks that she'd worn a woolly sweater underneath. She should have added a hat. But the sky was clear, promising a warmer day later on. A few leaves skittered over the gravel and the wind was sharp and biting. It felt good on her face. Woke her up with a smack of autumn.

  The lake was dancing again with whitecaps and froth, dark water looking as secretive and sullen as Vince O'Mally's eyes. She tromped up the porch steps, and thumped the door of Vince's cabin without hesitating. If she stopped to think about this, she would change her mind and go back home.

  Vince opened the door. He was wearing the same jeans he'd been wearing the night before, but with a black T-shirt and an unsnapped faded denim shirt over it He hadn't shaved. As she looked up at him and her eyes slid over the dark stubble on his face, she got a little hitch in her breathing. He opened the screen door for her. "C'mon in."

  "You don't even seem surprised to see me," she said, walking inside. She held out his jacket. He took it with a nod of thanks. The place was totally transformed from the last time she'd seen it. He had a laptop computer on the coffee table, a fax machine on the kitchen counter, what looked like a scanner on a spare kitchen chair, a portable copy machine on the floor, and stacks of papers and file folders everywhere. So many wires and cables connected the mess together it looked like a snake pit.

  He closed the door behind her. "I'm glad to see you. Not surprised though. I had a feeling you had more moxy than you were letting on."

  "I don't see what that has to do with my coming out here."

  "It has everything to do with your coming out here. You're ready to face this thing. Up to now, it's been in charge; but you're taking over, as of today. It's a big scary step, Red, but I had a feeling you were up for it."

  She turned toward the fireplace on the pretense of warming her hands. But in reality she was uncomfortable that he read her so easily and so well. "Don't be so sure I won't turn and run back home if this gets to me, Vince."

  He spoke from close beside her, making her jump. "I know it's hard." He handed her a mug filled with freshly made coffee.

  "Hard? You're talking about resurrecting my worst nightmares. It's more than hard." She took the mug, noticed that her hand was shaking.

  "And you're up to the task."

  "Maybe I am. I have a condition first."

  "Name it."

  "You need to give me one reason why Hubert H. Welles would have confessed to killing my sister if he didn't do it. And it needs to be a good one."

  He sipped his coffee. "I finished reading the files last night, and I think I can do that."

  She blinked up at him. "You can?"

  "Yeah, I've been poring over that bastard's case history all night long trying to give myself that very same answer. A reasonable doubt. Anything."

  "And you found one?"

  "Maybe. Hubey Welles was originally arrested in connection with the abduction of a fourteen-year-old boy. When they found him, the boy's body was still in the trunk of Welles's car. They had him dead to rights. There was no doubt of a conviction, and the death penalty had just been reinstated in New York State."

  "So?"

  "So why is he languishing in a prison cell instead of a cemetery? A death sentence should have been a given in a case like that. So why wasn't it?"

  She shrugged.

  "I'll tell you what I think. I think he made a deal. He provided information on some other cases of missing children in exchange for his life."

  Holly's jaw dropped when she realized where Vince was going. "Are you saying you think he made it up? Just to avoid the death penalty?"

  "I'm saying his confession might have saved his life. To my way of thinking, that gives him a pretty damn good motive for lying."

  "He gave them details of the crime. He led the police into the mountains to search for my sister's body." Holly's knees suddenly felt like jelly.

  "Yeah. But they never found it."

  Holly teetered and sank down onto the nearest chair. "Oh, my God."

  "Look don't take this as gospel, not yet. It's a theory. That's all. It could be nothing. The first thing we've got to do is talk to the D. A., see what kind of deal he made with Welles, and then—"

  "I have to see him."

  "Who? The D.A.?”

  "Welles. I have to see Welles."

  "No." He said it quickly and firmly. "No. Welles is a snake. I don't want you within a hundred miles of him."

  She tipped her head to one side, and searched his face. "I thought you said I was strong, deep down. That I could deal with this. This is me, dealing. I need to see him."

  He hesitated, his jaw tight as he studied her. Then he shook his head, as if reaching a decision once and for all. "No. No way. We can get all the information we need without—" He broke off there, cut off midsentence by the bleat of his cell phone. He took the call, called the chief by name, and spoke briefly. But before he hung up the fax had come to life, churning out documents, and then the cell phone rang again.

  Finally, he sighed. "We're not going to be able to talk in here."

  She shook her head distractedly. "It doesn't matter. I... I need to digest all of this."

  "Holly...

  "Just..." She bit her lip, and as the phone began shrilling again, turned, and left.

  ***

  A HALF HOUR later, Doris Newman called Vince, asking if he had seen her daughter.

  Vince frowned at the phone. "She was here a while ago, but she left. She didn't come home?"

  "She came home—but only for a few minutes. Vince, I— She would be furious with me for telling you this, but I'm worried about her."

  "Why?"

  She didn't answer right away. He could almost see her mulling it over. Then she continued. "She said she would probably be gone all day. But she wouldn't say where she was going. She took the car. She seemed agitated, Vince, and ... well, my gun is missing."

  Vince damn near dropped the phone. "You have a gun, Mrs. Newman?"

  "It's legal. I have a license. I bought it for... protection."

  "In a town where you don't even bother locking your doors?"

  "Oh, God, no. I bought it before we ever moved down here. To tell you the truth, it's been packed away in my closet for so long I'd nearly forgotten I had it. But after Holly left, I noticed the closet door ajar, and when I looked it was obvious someone had gone through it. The box I kept the gun in was empty."

  "All right. Listen, I don't want you to worry. I'm gonna go find Holly for you," he told Doris.

  "Do you have any idea where she's gone, Vince? What's going on with her?"

  He did. He had a solid idea, and he hoped he was wrong. But he couldn't burden her mother with his gut feeling. "I'm not sure. I'll call you when I know, okay?"

  "All right. Thank you, Vince. I... thanks."

  "You're welcome." He hung up, pushed a hand through his hair, and took a breath. He was ninety-nine percent sure Holly Newman was on her way to see a convicted murderer, a confessed pedophile. Hubey Welles. Vince entertained the thought that someone should have blown the bastard's head off years ago, and then he shook it off and got his ass in gear. It didn't take long to gather up the papers scattered arou
nd, the faxes that had come through, his file on Holly Newman, and his laptop. He took all those things with him to his Jeep and locked up the cabin. Then he started driving, while unfolding a road map on the passenger seat and following his finger to the maximum security correctional facility at Auburn, New York.

  Why the hell would she drive out there? What earthly good did she think it would do? A woman like Holly shouldn't put herself within a hundred miles of scum like Welles. Shaking his head in frustration, he got an idea, yanked out his cell phone, and dialed Jerry's cell number. He needed another favor. He just hoped he wasn't pushing too far—but he didn't think so. Jerry was his partner, and Vince would do the same for him, if their situations were reversed. Or at least he thought he would.

  ***

  HOLLY'S HANDS WERE trembling, her stomach rebelling at the thought of seeing the man who had murdered her little sister. Of looking into his eyes. It would be horrible. A nightmare.

  She drove, and she remembered. But this time she was determined to stay in control. The memory wouldn't suck her in like a whirlpool and drown her in emotions. She would simply pick through the dusty recesses of her mind, and find the facts she needed.

  The van had come around the corner so slowly that Holly hadn't even noticed it at first. Not until she caught sight of it from the corner of her eye, creeping along the road beside them at a snail's pace. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and tried to remember. Details had always eluded her. They came now, reluctantly, with great effort. The van had been primer gray. She almost saw it, and then the curtain of mist drew over her memory again.

  All right, she had a color if nothing else. She forced herself to remember more.

  The van had stopped, and the man got out. He wore a knit ski cap pulled over his face, with holes for the eyes. He was tall. He was not lean. He swung his arms like whips. One hand clutched tight around Holly's upper arm. The other held her little sister.

  Holly had looked up right into his eyes. She remembered it clearly, as if it were yesterday. She'd screamed. He shouted at her to shut up, but for the life of her she couldn't recall the sound of his voice. The eyes, though. There was something about his eyes....

  She had twisted and fallen to the ground, forcing him to let go. He looked at her. Just looked at her. As if to say, fine, if that's the way you want it. Then he hurled Ivy roughly into the van, and clambered in behind her. He sped away. Holly ran after him, screaming her sister's name.

  "Ivy," she whispered. Tears were hot in her eyes, on her cheeks. "Ivy ..."

  A horn blasted. Holly blinked out of the memory and she jerked her wheel to correct the car. She'd lost control over the memories for just a moment. The past had nearly pulled her in again. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin. "I'm not a little girl any more. He can't hurt me now."

  But in her mind, she kept feeling his cold hands on her arm, and hearing her sister crying her name.

  The howl of a siren made its way into her awareness, and she glanced up into the rearview mirror, saw the police car with its flashing lights behind her, and muttered a string of cuss words under her breath. She slowed down, moved to the side so he could go around. He didn't. He pulled off behind her. Great. A ticket would just put the topper on her day.

  She stopped the car, rolled her window down, and waited. The cop took his sweet time about getting out. Didn't they always? She fished in her wallet for her license, popped open the glove compartment and rummaged inside it for the registration, then sat waiting with them in her hand.

  Finally, the officer, a solid-looking man, came striding up to her car, sunglasses stereotypically mirroring her own reflection back at her as he stopped and leaned down. "Ms. Newman?"

  Obviously he'd already run her plates. He knew her name. "Yes, officer?" She held up her license and registration. “I wasn't speeding. I'm sure I wasn't"

  "No ma'am."

  "Well, then, why did you stop me?"

  He took the papers from her hand, and paused to look them over, then handed them back to her. "I'm going to have to ask you to wait here a moment."

  Sighing, Holly leaned forward until her forehead touched the steering wheel. He turned to walk back to his car, and she sat up straight as an idea came to her. "Wait a minute. Don't I know you? I mean, I've probably seen you on business, being that I work at the Dilmun Police Department." She waited for his reaction. Hell, her mother was always telling her to use her connections to greater advantage. It was supposed to work. He stood there, looking at her, not responding. "You know, Dilmun?" she went on. "That little town about twenty miles back that way?"

  "You're a police officer, ma'am?" he asked, monotone.

  "No. No, I work at the department, but I'm not a cop. I'm ... well, I'm the chief's right hand, to be honest. Why don't you call him and verify—?"

  "That won't be necessary, ma'am. Just wait right there, a moment, all right?"

  He turned and walked the rest of the way to his patrol car, lights still flashing. Other traffic blew by, and she sat there, waiting for the cop to finish writing her a ticket for whatever she'd done. Mentioning her ties to the Dilmun police hadn't seemed to faze him in the least. Wasn't he supposed to give her a smile, a wink, and send her on her way?

  He didn't come back, and minutes ticked by. Five, then ten. She drummed her fingers and waited. What on earth was taking him so long?

  A red Jeep Wrangler pulled up behind the police cruiser and came to a stop. A man got out, waved to the cop. The cop waved back, got into his car, and then drove away.

  Blinking in disbelief, she looked again.

  Vince. Vince O'Mally. He'd been behind this.

  She opened her car door, got out and slammed it shut again. Traffic buzzed past, sending her hair blowing in its wake as she strode toward him. "What are you doing here, Vince?"

  "What, you thought I was going to let you go to Auburn alone?"

  "How did you know where I was going?"

  He shrugged. "Did you really think I wouldn't guess?"

  "And you had that cop pull me over?"

  "How else was I going to catch up?"

  "Will you stop answering questions with questions?"

  "Will you stop giving me a hard time?"

  She pursed her lips and glared at him. He met her glare with one of his own. "Look, in the first place, Welles is a lowlife bastard. You shouldn't be anywhere near him, much less alone."

  "He'll be behind bars."

  "He'll screw you up anyway. I've seen his kind do it before."

  She frowned, searching his face a little more closely. Was he going all protective on her now, like everyone else in her life?

  He shrugged, looking away. "In the second place, you'll never get in to see him alone. There's a process to visiting murderers in prison, you know? You just don't show up and knock."

  She bit her lip in chagrin. "I guess I thought they might make an exception for the sister of one of his victims," she said softly.

  He reached out, clasping her upper arms. "Listen to me. This is a bad idea. Drop this. Come back to Dilmun with me.

  She looked into his eyes. A sensation washed over her, very briefly—that magnetic pull that had her body swaying closer to his. It was becoming familiar to her, this draw, this urgency to be just a little closer to him, to touch. But she caught herself in time, stopped herself, looked away. "I'm going to try to see him, with you or without you. I have to."

  "You don't need to put yourself through this."

  "You're the one who told me I hadn't dealt with it. That I was keeping it inside, letting it eat me alive. I'm trying to exorcize my demons, Vince. I have to do this."

  The wind was blowing dust from the roadside into eddies and swirls around their legs. He held her gaze with steady eyes and she felt him looking straight to her soul. Finally, he sighed, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punched in a number. "Chief Mallory? It's Vince O'Mally. Do me a favor and drive one of the boys out here to pick up Holly Newman's car. You'll find it on the side
of route thirty-four, about twenty miles north of town. Keys are in the ashtray. And do me a favor—tell Doris that Holly's fine, and spending the day with me." He paused. "Thanks, Chief."

  He tucked the phone back into his pocket when he was finished. "Now, there's the small matter of the gun."

  She turned her face away from him quickly. "Gun?"

  "Your mother's gun, Holly. What were you thinking? That you could smuggle it inside and blow Hubey Welles away? It might be a great way to vent your rage, Red, but he's not worth it. Trust me on this."

  She still didn't look at him. "I wasn't thinking anything like that. Even I'm not naive enough to think I could get into a prison with a gun. I just wanted to have it nearby. In case of trouble from whoever broke into your place, or maybe whoever killed those kids."

  "You ever shoot a gun in your life?"

  Finally meeting his eyes, she shook her head.

  "Do you mind if I hold on to the gun for you, then? It might be safer that way."

  "Fine."

  "Good. Go get it, and your purse. Drop the car keys in the ashtray. We'll take my car to Auburn."

  Holly nodded slowly. Part of her wanted to tell him he was overstepping. To mind his own business and to stop butting in. But most of her was relieved. She'd been terrified of facing that monster alone. Now she wouldn't have to. Vince would be beside her. And somehow that made it better.

  NINE

  VINCE WATCHED HER. She was nervous, fidgeting, talking about anything that popped into her head. Superficial stuff. The weather, the scenery along the roadside. The drive took under an hour, and in that time he didn't think she'd said anything real, or-showed him anything true about herself. Not once. But he saw it all the same.

  She was scared. More so with every passing mile. He half expected her to change her mind. Tell him to pull over, turn the car around, take her back to Dilmun. The fact that she didn't spoke volumes. His initial guess had been right. The woman was stronger than she seemed.