Hard Truth

15

“Is this powwow invitation only, or can anyone sit in?” Lorna asked from the doorway of her dining room. Mitch, Regan, and T.J. were seated around the table, obviously in the midst of a discussion.

“Hey, it’s your table.” Mitch waved her in.

T.J. pulled out the chair next to his, and she draped the strap of her shoulder bag over it.

“Sorry I didn’t make it back last night,” Lorna said to Regan. “I had dinner with a friend, and by the time we were finished…”

“No apology necessary. I told you when you called that I didn’t mind, and I thought you should stay there. A five-hour drive after a night out would have been too much. And besides,” Regan smiled, “you needed a night out to have fun. Things have been too intense around here practically since the day you arrived. I didn’t mind staying here by myself. And I wasn’t really alone, you know.”

Lorna glanced sideways at Mitch, wondering if perhaps he’d kept Regan company while Lorna was in Woodboro. It was obvious there was something between them.

Regan caught the quick glimpse and sidestepped it. “Your Uncle Will.”

“I hope he behaved himself.”

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Regan assured her.

“Uncle Will is the ghost?” T.J. looked from one woman to the other.

Lorna nodded. “Right.”

“And you saw him?” he asked Regan.

She shook her head. “No. I only heard him.”

“What did you hear? What did it sound like?” Mitch asked.

“It sounded like someone was pounding first on the wall, then the window, in the back bedroom.”

“Are you sure someone wasn’t pounding on the windows?” Mitch rose, alarmed. “Jesus, Regan, they’ve been digging up bodies right and left around here. And you hear someone pounding at night and you think it’s a ghost? You think this is Great Adventure?”

“I know when someone is trying to break in, Mitch.” Regan’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell the difference.”

“Let’s go take a look.” Mitch pushed back his chair. “Which bedroom is it?”

“The last one at the end of the hall on the right,” Lorna told him, amused.

“You coming, PI?” Mitch called over his shoulder to T.J.

“Sure. Why not?” T.J. followed him out the door and up the steps.

“I don’t believe in ghosts, Regan,” Mitch called down from the second floor, his footsteps echoing overhead.

“You haven’t met my uncle Will,” Lorna called back.

There was the sound of a window banging closed several times. A few minutes later, the two men returned.

“There’s no sign of the window being jimmied, and the lock seems real secure,” Mitch told them. He turned to Regan and added, “Maybe you were dreaming.”

“Maybe you ought to sleep in Uncle Will’s room one night,” she smiled sweetly, “and we’ll see who’s dreaming.”

He smiled in return. “Anytime.”

“Okay, so we’ve established that Mitch is a nonbeliever and Regan and Lorna believe. Truthfully, I’m still on the fence,” T.J. announced. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

“Where were we?” Regan shuffled the notebook pages that lay on the table in front of her.

“We were talking about the responses we’ve gotten to our request for information on missing persons-specifically young men-over the past thirty years,” Mitch said.

“From this area?” Lorna asked.

“Right. Southern New Jersey, the entire state of Delaware because it’s small, northeastern Maryland, and southeastern Pennsylvania, from Harrisburg to Philadelphia, including the southernmost area from Lancaster straight on over to the Delaware River.” Mitch held up a sheet of paper. “Guess how many responses so far?”

“I have no idea.” Lorna shook her head. “Three?”

“Nine.”

“Nine!” she exclaimed.

“Which tells me what the police have found is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“But they wouldn’t necessarily all be buried on my property, right?”

“Not necessarily, but I think there’s a damned good chance there may be more out there. He’d have felt confident here, he’d met with success here. He’d never been discovered here.” Mitch turned to T.J. “Which in itself should tell us something about him, right?”

“It tells me he’s probably local. Probably grew up here, may still be living here.”

“Why would he still be here?” Lorna asked. “Wouldn’t he be afraid that the remains would be found and he’d be caught?”

“No one’s come close to catching him. For twenty-five years, no one even caught on that the crimes were committed. He’s obviously in his comfort zone. He’s killed here, he’s buried his prey here, and he’s gotten away with it for a very long time. And as Mitch just pointed out, he feels secure here. I don’t see him having ever left. It probably gives him great comfort to have his kills close by.”

“Well, if we assume you’re right, and he’s still living around here, what do you suppose he’s thinking now?” Lorna asked.

“That’s absolutely the question to be asking.” T.J. turned to her. “And it’s the one question no one else has asked.”

Lorna felt her cheeks tinge pink. Nancy Drew, indeed.

“I think if he hasn’t already begun to panic over the last few days, he’s going to start very soon. I think he was okay when Jason’s body was found. Okay, maybe a little tense, watch and wait, but in the end, the police blamed Billie for that. So I doubt he had much of a reaction other than maybe to feel the loss, that something has been taken from him. But it wouldn’t really have affected him, I don’t think, because he knew there were others, and he probably thought they were safe.”

“But then the others were found,” Regan pointed out. “Maybe not all of them, as Mitch noted, but enough to turn the national spotlight on the farm.”

T.J. nodded. “Right. I think every day this week, things have gotten more and more tense for him. We don’t know how many bodies were buried here, so we don’t know if he’s anticipating more discoveries-hoping, I’m certain, that no more are found. He’s already upset, I believe, that four have been taken from him. He wants them here, nearby, needs to know they’re there, under the ground, right where he left them. It has to be a torment for him to watch them exposed and removed.”

“So what do you think he’s going to do?” Lorna asked.

“I think he’s going to be looking for replacements,” T.J. told her.

The four fell silent for a moment, then Lorna asked, “So unless you find him, he’ll start killing again?”

“If he’s ever stopped-and we don’t know for certain that he has-yes, I expect him to look for victims here. Remember that he could well have been killing elsewhere, but I think he needs to keep his victims close to him.”

“That would involve a lot of travel on his part, though, wouldn’t it? As large an area you’ve already canvassed for victims, and found nine, wouldn’t he go beyond that to find future victims?” Regan asked.

“Possibly. Of course, there’s always the chance that he stopped. The last victim we identified was reported missing in 1995.”

“Ten years ago.” Lorna looked pensive. “That means he was actively killing and burying his victims here for at least fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years that we know of. As I said earlier, don’t be surprised if there are still some surprises out there,” Mitch told her.

“God, I hope not.” Lorna shivered. “I’ve had enough surprises for one week.”

“So, what’s our game plan for today?” Regan stacked her notes neatly in front of her.

“Our game plan?” Mitch raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you don’t expect to exclude me.”

“Surely you don’t expect to tag along while I visit with the families of some of the victims.”

“The Bureau permitted me access to interviews on previous cases, as a consultant,” Regan reminded him.

“You had already shared information from your father’s files on a similar case,” he countered, “and you were permitted to accompany me to look over police files to see if you could spot similarities.”

“Well, you don’t know that I might not have some insights into this one as well.”

“I don’t know how welcome a civilian is going to be to a family whose long-missing son has just been identified.”

“How ’bout we let John decide?” Regan smiled. John had been a big fan of her father’s true crime series, and had authorized her involvement in cases in the past. She opened her bag and took out her cell phone. “That number again, Agent Peyton?”

Mitch recited the number and she dialed it, then got up and walked to the window.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” Mitch asked T.J.

“I’m going to meet Danielle Porter at three,” T.J. replied.

Lorna stood and collected the empty coffee cups.

“I was wondering if you’d come along, Lorna,” he said. “I think you could be helpful, maybe get her to talk a little more than she might to a stranger.”

“I’m pretty much a stranger, too, remember.”

“Yes, but you’re a local. And a woman. She might feel a little more comfortable talking to you.”

“Where is she living now” Lorna called from the kitchen, where she was rinsing the cups.

“She gave me the address, let me get it.” T.J. went through his briefcase and located the slip of paper on which he’d written the number and address. He took it into the kitchen to show Lorna.

“Hmm, 724 Old Anderson Road.” Lorna nodded. “That’s off State Road, about two, three miles past Callen. There’s no town there, per se, just a bunch of farms. I know the area. It should only take us about ten minutes to get there.”

She looked at the kitchen clock, the face of which was set into the body of a black cat, a relic from her grandmother’s day that Mary Beth had loved. It was just a little after one-thirty.

“Well, then, it looks as if we all have our work planned for us this afternoon.” Mitch stood in the doorway. “Regan’s been given the green light to come along with me-as a consultant,” he emphasized, apparently for Regan’s benefit. “And since we have appointments with three families today, I think we need to get going.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Regan told him from the dining room, where she was sliding her reading glasses into their case and hunting for her sunglasses.

“How about if we regroup later this afternoon?” T.J. suggested. “Lorna, do you mind if we use your home for our unofficial headquarters?”

“Not at all. I was going to suggest that Mitch feel free to use the dining room if he needs a place to work. If the weather cools off, we can clear some space from the table in the living room’s front window to give you a bit of privacy, Mitch.”

“Privacy’s not much of an issue right now,” he told her. “But thanks.”

“All set?” Regan touched Mitch on the arm as she came into the room.

“Yes.” He nodded. “We’ll catch up with you later,” he said to T.J. and Lorna.

“Good luck with Danielle,” Regan called over her shoulder.

“Thanks.” Lorna waved from the kitchen doorway.

After Mitch closed the door behind them, she turned to T.J. and said, “We have at least an hour before we have to leave. Is there anything else you need to do before we meet with Danielle?”

He shook his head. “No. Do you?”

“I have to check my computer, see if any of my clients have emailed me. Once I take care of that, though, I’m clear for the day.” She had finished rinsing the cups and dried her hands on a red-and-white towel, which she folded and placed on the counter.

“You go ahead, then. If you don’t mind, I’ll step outside and walk around for a while.”

“Just don’t wander too close to the yellow crime scene tape on the other side of the field and get yourself arrested.”

“I’ll try to behave myself.”

Lorna turned on her computer and pulled up that morning’s emails. She had questions from one client on some account payables, and an email from another client who wanted to arrange a meeting before the end of the month. She responded to both and turned off the laptop, then went outside and looked around for T.J. He was nowhere in sight.

She walked past the barn and stood on the edge of the field, one hand shielding her eyes from the bright early-afternoon sun. No T.J.

She called to him, but there was no response.

Lorna turned to go back to the house to search for her cell phone-she could always call and ask where he was-when she noticed the barn door was open. She went inside and called his name.

“Down here.” The voice was faint and far away.

“Down where?” She frowned, looking around. Then she remembered. “Are you in the wine cellar?”

“Yes. Come on down.”

“What are you doing down there?” she asked as she found the door to the steps ajar, and started down.

“Just looking around. Is it all right?”

“Sure. I don’t mind. It’s just a little creepy and dim.”

“It wouldn’t be if you replaced the lightbulbs once in a while,” he teased, pointing to the electric lamps set into the wall on either side of the long narrow room. “A few still have a little life in them. How long has it been since anyone was down here?”

“Melinda and I used to play here,” she told him. “The small room back there”-she pointed past him-“used to be our secret place. We would go there to get away from her brother and his friends. Sometimes she hid in here from her mother. Gran said Uncle Will had planned to use that as the tasting room for his winery, but of course he never got that far.”

She was following T.J. through the cavernous room, with its stone walls and low ceiling, past the empty oak barrels Uncle Will brought from France in anticipation of the first vintage. T.J.’s shadow disappeared through an arched doorway into the darkened room beyond.

“Is there a light in there?” she asked.

“I’m looking. Give me a second.”

A long minute later, a faint light began to glow. In the dim light a round table with four tall chairs were visible in the center of the room.

“I found a candle and some matches,” he told her. “I’d expect that the electric lines ran back here as well.”

“They did. But we used to prefer the candles.”

He turned to look back at her and she shrugged.

“Like I said, this used to be our secret place, mine and Melinda’s. Like a secret clubhouse. We came down here a lot. We’d talk or hide out, sometimes we’d bring snacks and spend a whole day. It was so nice and private. We always felt we could say anything down here.” She folded her arms across her chest and wandered into the room. When she got to the back corner, she stopped and knelt.

“Our blankets are still here,” she said. “We used to spread them out on the floor and lie on them to read or have picnics or whatever. Sometimes, in winter, it would be cold, so we’d wrap up in them to keep the chill off.”

She stood with her blanket in her hands, then opened it up.

“Hard to believe I was small enough to wrap this around me and still have plenty left to make a little bed out of it.” She held the blanket up for T.J. to see, then refolded it. “We would sneak matches and candles so that we didn’t have to use the electric lights. For some reason, we thought no one passing through the barn would see the candlelight, but the lightbulbs would shine like beacons.” She laughed. “So much for the logic of a couple of nine-year-olds.”

Lorna paused, then walked around the room, her eyes on the floor.

“What are you looking for?” T.J. asked.

“Melinda’s blanket. It doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Where should it be?”

“It should have been over there, with mine. We used to fold them up as small as we could, and hide them in the back corner, so no one would find them.”

“When was the last time you were down here?”

“When I was nine. I was never too keen on being down here alone, and we-Melinda and I-had sworn to never tell anyone else about our secret place. I never did. I guess I always thought someday she’d come back, and I didn’t want to have to tell her I’d shared our secret.”

“So no one else knows this place is here?”

“Oh, sure, my sister knows. My brother. Probably some of his friends knew it was here, though they all seemed to spend more time over at the home of one of the other boys, who had horses. They all liked to play cowboys when they were younger. So much more authentic when you had a horse to ride.”

“And your sister?”

“Wouldn’t have been caught dead down here.” Lorna laughed. “Spiders, other crawly things. Maybe some with fur and tails. Not Andrea’s cup of tea.”

“You didn’t mention it to the police? Or to your parents?”

“No. I didn’t,” she said somewhat sheepishly. “I should have. As an adult, I know that. But as a child, I couldn’t have broken that promise.”

She wandered around and peered in all the corners.

“Still looking for the blanket?” T.J. asked.

“Strange that it’s not here.”

“Maybe she took it,” he suggested.

“Took it where? It was here the day before she disappeared. We were down here, practicing lines for the school play. We had the blankets on the floor, right there.” She pointed to the middle of the room.

“If she needed a place to hide, would she have come here?”

“What are you getting at?” Lorna asked. “What are you thinking?”

“The theory all along seems to be that Melinda was abducted from the field that night. Maybe she wasn’t taken away by someone else. Maybe she ran away. What do you think?”

“I can’t imagine where she would have gone.” Lorna frowned.

“Maybe she came in here to hide, then left when the excitement died down out in the field.”

“But hide from what?”

“That’s a good question.” T.J. stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. “Would she have had any reason to hide from her mother that night?”

Lorna shook her head. “No. I already told you, my mother washed her dress so that no one could tell it had gotten dirty. She would have been able to smuggle it into the house, it wouldn’t have been difficult. She wasn’t afraid to go home.”

“Maybe something happened between your house and hers that night, something that made her want to hide.”

“Jason might have known. But of course, we can’t ask him.”

“Fritz didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary that night,” T.J. reminded her.

“I think we need to talk with the others who were there with him. Matt, Dustin… Fritz’s brother, Mike. He was around later.”

“Well, let’s go back into the house and look up some phone numbers, make a few calls,” he suggested. “I want to speak with all of them as soon as possible.”

Lorna looked at her watch.

“How about we grab the phone book and I make the calls from the car? We’re due at Danielle Porter’s in less than a half hour.”

“That will work.”

She walked through the arch and into the wine cellar. T.J. blew out the candle and left it on the floor inside the door.

“Next time we bring lightbulbs.”

Danielle Porter lived in a double-wide trailer on an acre lot surrounded by apple trees and a big flower garden. There was a two-car garage and a child’s playhouse in the backyard, and a mailbox surrounded by weeds at the foot of the driveway. T.J. parked the Crossfire in front of the garage, and he and Lorna walked across new macadam to the worn path through the grass to the front door.

Danielle stepped out of the house to meet them before they could ring the bell.

“You’re T. J. Dawson?” she asked.

He nodded and offered her a business card.

“And you are?” Danielle stared at Lorna.

“Lorna Stiles.”

“Lorna Stiles,” Danielle repeated thoughtfully. “You’re from around here. I know your name. But I don’t have a clear memory of you.”

“I was a friend of Melinda Eagan’s,” Lorna told her.

“Who?” Danielle placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head slightly to the left.

“Melinda Eagan,” Lorna repeated.

“Am I supposed to know the name?”

“You were friends with her, back in grade school.” Lorna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was it possible Danielle had really forgotten someone she’d been friends with years ago? “She used to stay at your house quite often. Until she disappeared one night and was never seen again.”

“Oh, the girl who disappeared.” Danielle’s expression never changed. “What about her?”

“I’m looking into her disappearance,” T.J. said, stepping into the conversation.

“So why do you want to talk to me? I wasn’t there that night, I don’t know nothing about it.”

“I was hoping you’d be able to give us some information we don’t already have. You spent some time with her back then, maybe you’d remember if she ever told you that someone was giving her a hard time, or frightening her in some way.”

“Only her mother.” Danielle shrugged. “She used to beat up on her something bad, I remember that.”

“Did she ever say anything to you about maybe wanting to run away?” T.J. asked.

“No.” She shook her head and looked down. “We really weren’t that close.”

“She used to spend a lot of time at your house,” Lorna reminded her. “What did you do? What did you talk about?”

“It was a long time ago.” Danielle shrugged. “I don’t remember what we did, or what we talked about. I guess she just didn’t make that big an impression on me.”

She looked from Lorna to T.J. “Was there something else?”

T.J. handed her his card. “If you think of anything, if you happen to remember something about Melinda, give me a call.”

“Sure.” Danielle stepped back into the house and closed the door.

Lorna and T.J. returned to his car.

“That was a waste of time,” Lorna said.

“Not really. We learned something.”

“What, that she was lying?”

“That could be important.” T.J. started to back the car slowly down the drive. “Why would she lie about knowing Melinda?”

“I don’t know, but apparently she can’t wait to tell someone.” Lorna stared at the open window as they went past. “She grabbed that phone and started dialing before we reached the car. Wouldn’t you love to be a fly on the wall right now?”

“Nah. But I would like to know whose number she just dialed.” He reached into his pants pocket and took out his phone, then dialed a number. “Mitch, it’s T.J. How quickly can you get phone records?”