The Missing

Chapter 60

Daniel Boyle had lived most of his life out of suitcases. His army training had taught him to live only with the bare essentials. He didn't have much to pack.

The original plan was to leave Sunday, after he finished his business in the basement. That changed early this afternoon when Richard sent him a text message: 'Remains found in woods. Leave now.'

Boyle saw the breaking news report on NECN. Belham police had discovered a set of remains buried in the woods. The report didn't mention how the remains were found, or what had led police to the area. There was no video footage of the area, so he didn't know where, exactly, the remains had been found.

The women who had disappeared during the summer of eighty-four were buried out in those woods, but the police had never found the bodies. They couldn't find the bodies. The map he had left inside Grady's house had burned away in the fire.

The police had found a single set of remains. He wondered if they had found the remains of his mother/sister. If they had, if they managed to identify her, then the police would start asking questions, which would lead them here, to New Hampshire.

Rachel must have told the police something. But what could she have possibly said? She didn't know anything about the Belham woods or how many women he had buried there. Rachel didn't know his name or where he lived – she certainly didn't know about where he had buried his mother/sister. What could Rachel have told them? Had she found something in his office? In the filing cabinet? The questions kept turning over and over in his mind as he packed the envelopes and laptop.

The first envelope contained two sets of false IDs – passports, driver's licenses, birth certificates and Social Security cards. The last two held ten grand in case, his seed money to help get him started in another city. After that, he could use his laptop to wire money from the private bank he used in the Caymans.

Boyle zipped up the suitcase. He didn't know regret or sadness. The emotional concepts were as foreign to him as the terrain on the moon. Still, he would miss this house, his childhood home, with its big rooms and privacy, the magnificent view of the lake from the master bedroom. What he would miss most was the basement.

Boyle clicked off the bedroom light. There was only one item left to pack.

He walked into the finished room over the three-car garage. He didn't turn on the lights; he could see fine by the moonlight coming in through the windows and skylight.

He walked past the walk-in closets still holding his mother's clothes and knelt on the floor next to the window overlooking the driveway. He peeled back the carpet, removed the loose floorboard and grabbed the well-oiled Mossberg shotgun and shells. He had used it only once, to kill his grandparents.

Boyle glanced out the window, about to stand when he saw someone below him, looking inside his garage.

It was Banville, the detective from Belham.

Boyle froze.

Banville was talking into his jacket. The detective was wearing an earpiece. A surveillance kit. Banville was talking into a vest mike.

They found you, Daniel.

His mother's voice.

They're coming to take you away, just like I said they would.

This was a mistake. He had carefully built a trail of evidence that led back to Earl Slavick. The blood, the padded mailers and the navy blue fibers, the pictures he had taken of Carol – everything led to Slavick. Banville shouldn't be here.

Why hadn't Richard called him? He was watching Banville.

Had something happened to Richard?

Boyle took out his BlackBerry. He didn't want to send a text message and wait for an answer. He needed to know. Now. He called Richard's main number.

The phone kept ringing and ringing. Richard's voice mail picked up. Boyle left a message. 'Banville's at my house. Where are you?'

A telephone van pulled into his driveway. The dim interior light clicked on. Sitting behind the wheel was a man dressed in a brown jacket, a Verizon patch stitched on his breast pocket. He was studying a clipboard.

So this was how they were going to do it. Have a telephone repairman ring the doorbell and when he opened the door they'd take him down. They wouldn't risk breaking in because they were worried he would kill Carol.

There's no escape for you, Daniel.

He wouldn't answer the door. They'd go away if he didn't answer the door. He would wait until they left and then he would drive away.

It's too late. They know you're home. The lights are on downstairs and in the garage – Banville's seen the boxes you left by the car. The police know you're getting ready to leave. If you don't come out, they'll come in.

He could sneak through the back door and head into the woods. He had the keys for the shed. The Gator was in there. Head out on one of the trails to the main road, then find a car and hotwire it – no, the Gator would be too noisy. He'd have to follow one of the trails on foot.

Banville brought other cops with him, Daniel. They have the house surrounded. You won't get far.

Boyle looked around the dark woods, wondering how many SWAT officers were hiding out there.

It's over, Danny. You can't escape.

'No.'

They're going to lock you up on death row, in a place darker than the cellar.

'Shut up.'

They'll probably extradite you to a place where they have the death penalty. They'll strap you down to a table and give you the needle and the last voice you'll ever hear before you suffocate to death will be mine, Danny. You're going to die alone, just like I did.

He wouldn't let them take him in. He wasn't going to die alone in some goddamn cage. He had to get to his car or the surveillance van. He knew a spot where he could dump it, run and then hide out for awhile until he could figure out a plan to disappear again.

The driver stepped out of the van. Banville had drawn his sidearm.

Boyle threaded four Super Magnum shells into the shotgun. He dumped the rest of the shells in his pocket and headed for the stairs.