Wrong Turn Read online

  ‘Sure. What? Have you got other plans?’

  ‘I just can’t tonight. You see—’

  ‘Oh, well, whoever she is, I don’t want to hear about it. See you next week.’

  ‘Wait, Lucinda. No, it’s not like that. You see Jeanne Jacobs called—’

  ‘Damn it, Jake. I told you I didn’t want to know her name.’

  ‘Wait, wait, no! She’s a television producer, Lucy. I’m going to be live on her show tonight.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a good one, Jake.’

  ‘You can watch me. It’s tonight after the eleven o’clock news, Virginia’s Most Wanted. And after the show, I’ll be taking calls on the hotline they’ve set up. I’m hoping to get some leads to Mack Rogers’ whereabouts.’

  ‘OK, sarcasm jettisoned. That is a good one. I’ll be watching. And good luck.’

  ‘I’ll need the luck – if something good doesn’t come in the wicked witch will have my head.’

  ‘You didn’t clear it with her?’

  ‘She’d only say no, so why bother?’

  Lucinda laughed hard. ‘Oh, my influence is sooo bad for you.’

  ‘Can I blame you then?’

  ‘Oh sure. Sic the wicked witch on me – she’ll never know what hit her.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Lucinda went back to her apartment alone. At least Chester was there to greet her. He raced around, bounced off walls and meowed non-stop until she’d filled his bowl. She checked her phone for messages, speeding through the call from Dr Burns’ office wanting to set up the next surgery in her facial reconstruction series and one from the veterinarian reminding her of Chester’s appointment for his annual check-up next week. The third and final message broke her heart.

  ‘Hi, Lucy,’ Charley said. ‘I know you can’t talk to me. I think it’s stupid but I don’t want to get you in trouble. If you’re there, do not pick up. I just wanted to tell you I love you and I miss you and I like that Mr Waller and he said you were a good cop and I told him I know that and he laughed. But, anyway, I’m not worried. Everything’s going to be OK. And I love you and miss you and bye, Lucy.’

  Lucinda wanted to call her despite her orders but she knew that would only drag Charley into her now rather messy professional life. She sighed. She had time to kill before Jake’s television appearance but had no idea of what to do. She was too restless to sit down and read. She wasn’t hungry; when Jake turned down her invitation she’d lost her appetite. She sure didn’t want to open a bottle of wine; with the week she’d had, she’d fall asleep before Jake was on the air. She finally decided to take a walk on the river to see if that would settle her nerves.

  Unfortunately, the walk was also a good time to think and Lucinda’s thoughts were haunted. First by her sister Maggie and her latest interview; what had she done to turn her sister on her like that? Maybe it was all Maggie, maybe it’s just the kind of person she is. That’s a cop-out, Lucinda. There has been something I could have done differently or better or something. There has to be some way to set things right. But I have no idea of what that could be, she told herself.

  Part of her said that Maggie would have to find that on her own and until Maggie accepted responsibility for the pain she’d inflicted on her sister and sincerely apologized for it, there would be no resolution. Still, Lucinda felt that as the oldest child, she should fix the problem but she had no idea how – everything that ever came to mind would make her more vulnerable to renewed attacks and magnified pain.

  And what about Martha Sherman? The role she played in destroying that woman’s life was unforgivable. Sure, she wasn’t in charge but she also was not stupid. She chose to set aside her questions and concerns about the investigation and rely solely on Boz’s judgment in everything. It was a rookie mistake but that did not relieve her of responsibility. Somehow, after Martha was out of prison, she knew she would have to do something to help set her life right again – or at least make it better.

  And what about the deaths that lay at her feet? How many of the victims in the cellar were killed after Emily? How many lives could have been saved if she’d stood up to Boz and refused to accept some of his lame reasoning? What if she’d really probed and stopped the miscarriage of justice before he and the DA sent Martha away for all those years? How could she ever wash that sin of omission from her soul?

  And Trevor? What harm had she done him? What if his father did get custody? Had she just set him up for more misery, for more abuse – or worse?

  So what should she do? Just shuck her moral compass and reconsider all of her core beliefs? What if when she did, she ended up back in the same place? Then what? Somebody said an unexplored life is not worth living – or something like that. Maybe it was untested or unexamined or whatever. She tried to remember who was credited with the quotation; she thought of Thoreau and John Stuart Mill but knew neither was correct, but still the name eluded her.

  She heard the bongs from a nearby church steeple ringing out eleven bells for the top of the hour. She hurried back home to catch Jake talking about Mack Rogers.

  THIRTY

  Jake arrived at the television station a few minutes before ten thirty. Jeanne beamed at him when she retrieved him from the lobby and took him to the studio. There she walked him through his marks on the set – the position for the opening, the spot for the wrap-up plea. She had him read the teleprompter out loud from each spot.

  He started to criticize the wording of some of the script, but Jeanne said, ‘No, no, no, Agent Lovett, that is just there for practice and it will be up during the show in case you lose your train of thought. But feel free to say whatever you think will be appropriate in those segments. I just ask that you include the hotline number – nothing more.’

  ‘Now, over here,’ she said, leading him to a set within the set where a long open counter stood with six chairs behind it with a red telephone on the surface in front of each chair. ‘This is the hotline set. When you are not talking, you will be over here, answering phone calls. The first seat is yours – go try it out.’

  Jake sat down in his place; the chair was more comfortable than it looked. He leaned back and stretched out his legs.

  Jeanne turned to the cameraman. ‘There, see that. Make sure you get some long shots. I want you to capture those red chucks in the frame.’

  Jake sat upright, pulling in his legs, checking his posture.

  ‘No, no, no, Agent Lovett. When you’re not actually taking a call, I want you to sit just as you were.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But, it just wasn’t very professional.’

  ‘Oh, Agent Lovett, put that silly idea out of your head. We want you to look approachable – those cute red chucks do that for you. They make you look more human. Plus, when your phone rings, the movement from that relaxed pose to a more erect posture will be more dramatic – it will make the call appear very important – whether it is or not. And that’s what we want.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Come on now, Agent Lovett, slouch for me,’ she said with a stern expression and pouty lips.

  Jake slid down in his chair wishing it would swallow him whole.

  ‘Now remember, Agent Lovett, you will have an earpiece on during the show. I will tell you when to move from one position to another. I will tell you when the camera is on you and when it leaves you. And if you’re not slouching when I want you to slouch, I will nag you until you do. OK?’

  ‘Got it,’ he said, his face in a scowl.

  ‘And remember,’ she said wagging her finger from side to side, ‘no scowling during the broadcast. Now, come with me. I’ll take you to the green room. You can meet that professor I told you about as well as our other hotline volunteers. They’ve been briefed and they’ve all done this before but you can feel free to give them any specific instructions that apply to this case.’

  Yeah, right, Jake thought, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing, how am I supposed to tell anyone else what to do?

  After the walk, a little of L
ucinda’s appetite returned. She fixed a bag of popcorn, poured a glass of wine and sat down in her recliner and clicked on the television. In minutes, the show began.

  She thought the opening was a little cheesy but figured a local station was limited in what they could do. The host introduced Jake and he looked fantastic on the screen. And he delivered his lines about the case perfectly. He didn’t look as if he were reading. Did he read that well? Or did he memorize it? Or was he just speaking off the cuff? She couldn’t tell.

  The host referred to the hotline, reminding everyone it would be open during the commercial break and the camera cut to a long shot of the phone bank. Her hand flew over her mouth as she saw his red chucks. It looked as if the lens was focused on his shoes. And look at his posture. He must not know the camera was on him, she thought.

  As a criminal justice professor talked about Mack Rogers and his possible motivations, Lucinda could hear the pace of the incoming phone calls increase. When they cut to the hotline bank, everyone was on one of the lines. Jake was sitting up straight now – thank heavens.

  When they returned from a commercial break, Jake was on again, making a plea for calls to help him track down Mack Rogers. The host wrapped it all up and the camera returned its gaze to the hotline table where most of the lines were engaged again. Looks successful, she thought. I hope Jake gets something useful; I hope he finds Rogers before anyone else dies.

  When the programming shifted to a Friends rerun, she scooped up Chester and went to bed. For a long while, sleep eluded her, as a cavalcade of worries raced through her head. Chester finally tired of her tossing and turning and abandoned her to find a more peaceful place to sleep.

  THIRTY-ONE

  When the telephone beside the bed rang at four thirty that morning, Lucinda was anything but rested. She grabbed the receiver and mumbled, ‘This better be good.’

  ‘Better than good, it’s hot.’

  ‘Spare me. What is it?’

  ‘I got a lot of leads that I need to follow up but one was particularly intriguing. It came in after the show. Some guy said, “597 Elm Street”, and then hung up. I got a list of all the towns in the state with an Elm Street – do you have any idea how many there are?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t counted them but there are a lot. I picked out the three closest ones since I think they are the most likely and I’m going there this morning as soon as the sun comes up. I thought you might want to come along.’

  ‘Sure. Where are they?’

  ‘One’s right here in town. Then there’s Hopewell and Waverly. I’ll come by and pick you up at dawn.’

  ‘You might have trouble finding an open guest spot in the garage on a Saturday morning. Give me a call when you get here and I’ll pull out of mine and you can park there.’

  ‘Oh no, Lieutenant Pierce. I’m driving today.’

  ‘Jake, you know what I think of your driving.’

  ‘This is not negotiable. It’s supposed to be a beautiful day and I want to take our road trip with the top down in my car.’

  ‘But it eats so much gas.’

  ‘I won’t ask you to pay for it. C’mon, you look so good in my baby blue Impala Super Sport.’

  ‘The car’s older than I am.’

  ‘Ah, c’mon. She’s not fifty years old yet, give the girl a break.’

  ‘I suppose I could put up with your driving for one day.’

  ‘Sure you can. I’ll see you soon,’ he said and hung up abruptly. Lucinda was certain he disconnected quickly to avoid the possibility that she’d change her mind.

  She bolted down two cups of coffee and started a third while she dressed and left food for Chester. When the first streaks of light cut across the sky, she went downstairs to wait for Jake.

  He pulled up, the convertible top already down, and a big grin on his face. ‘Hey, good looking,’ he said. ‘Can I give you a lift?’

  Lucinda didn’t want to encourage his behavior but she couldn’t help but smile. She climbed into the passenger’s seat and said, ‘Don’t forget. We are working today.’

  ‘It won’t hurt to pretend we’re out for a ride around the countryside.’

  Lucinda shook her head.

  Their first stop was at 597 Elm Street in town, the address of an apartment complex that appeared a bit too upscale for Mack Rogers. They pulled up at the entrance where a manned gate blocked their way.

  They waved their badges and the guard lifted the gate. Before pulling forward, Jake held out a photo of Rogers. ‘Have you seen this guy?’

  The guard took the picture and studied it, then shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’

  They started by driving around looking at cars, hoping to find Rogers’ vehicle. No such luck. They stopped at the management office where they learned that Rogers wasn’t a tenant and staff did not recognize him. The manager said he’d make sure all the guards saw his photo and promised to call if anyone had seen him.

  They hit the road for their next stop in Hopewell. The drive was nice but the address was another bust: a piece of property with a burned-out house sitting on it. They poked around, looking for any place where Rogers might have taken shelter, but the roof was completely gone and pieces of the wall had fallen down.

  They drove south and, in just over half an hour, reached the same address in Waverly. Going down the narrow road, they saw some newer, larger homes before encountering the older, much smaller ranch house at 597 Elm Street.

  The surrounding tall oaks, maples and sycamores gave the white aluminum-sided home with gray shutters a comfy look. A faded red Toyota parked on the bare dirt driveway appeared as if it had left its best miles behind quite some time ago. No sign of Mack Rogers’ pick-up truck but he could have ditched that for all they knew.

  Stepping onto the porch, Lucinda saw the tips of fingers pull back a curtain and quickly release. When Jake knocked on the door, however, no one answered. Lucinda retreated and circled around to watch the back of the house.

  Jake pounded on the door and shouted, ‘FBI, open the door now!’

  Lucinda placed her hand on the knob of the rear door and turned; it responded, swinging open. She slipped inside, her weapon at the ready. Carefully, she moved through the kitchen into the living room and unlocked the door to admit Jake.

  ‘FBI!’ Jake shouted again. ‘We know you are in here. Come out now with your hands up.’

  In the living room, a folded blanket and sheet along with a bed pillow sat on one end of the sofa. They moved with deliberation toward the bedrooms. Rawhide chews littered the hallway testifying to the presence of a dog, but they heard no barks or whimpers of confirmation. The first bedroom was used as a storage area filled with stacked boxes with a bed frame, box spring and mattress leaning against one wall.

  The bathroom appeared normal and they found no one hiding in the shower stall, the linen closet or under the vanity. Moving into the other bedroom, they saw a double bed, hastily made, with a pink terry cloth robe stretched out on the spread near the foot board.

  Jake got down on his knees and lifted the bed skirt – nothing but dust bunnies and one battered shoe. The two moved silently to the sliding closet doors, one flanking each side.

  Jake gave a sudden shove to the panel; as it slid open a scream pierced their ears. A woman’s voice shrieked, ‘Please don’t shoot me. He made me do it. He kidnapped Prissy.’

  ‘Ma’am, we’re not going to hurt you if you follow my directions. OK?’

  The woman sobbed and said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Put both of your hands on top of your head and walk out slowly.’

  ‘I can’t put my hands on my head and push the clothes out of the way, too,’ she whined.

  ‘Fine. Push the clothing aside. Put your hands on your head. And come out slowly.’

  Lucinda trained her gun on the moving hangers as they shrieked against the metal rod. The woman made her nervous. If she were armed, she could easily come out shooting while they were distract
ed by the flutter of moving garments and the noise.

  A thin, haggard woman with long, tangled hair and a tear-stained face emerged from the closet. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’ Her eyes blinked rapidly and an ugly blue-black bruise marred her left cheekbone.

  Jake exchanged a glance with Lucinda and said, ‘OK, ma’am. You can put your hands down.’ She wore a paper thin cotton dress that would have revealed a hidden gun or even a knife with ease. ‘How about if Lieutenant Pierce here gives you a pat down to make sure you’re not armed?’

  ‘I’m not. I swear I’m not,’ she said, her eyes darting like those of a frightened, cornered dog.

  ‘Will you consent to a pat down, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  Lucinda reluctantly lowered and holstered her gun and stepped up to the woman. When she finished her check, she said, ‘She’s clear.’

  ‘OK, ma’am, let’s go sit down at the kitchen table. We have a few questions for you.’

  ‘Will you find Prissy? Will you bring her home?’

  ‘Let’s go talk about that, ma’am.’

  The three sat in the simple straightback chairs around a rectangular wooden table. The woman’s hands were busy, she clutched at the right one with her left, then switched to wrenching on the left one with the right.

  ‘First of all, ma’am, what is your name?’

  ‘Helen – Helen Johns.’

  ‘Do you know who kidnapped Prissy?’

  ‘Yes. But, but . . . he said if I told you he’d kill me. He said if I even looked at a police officer he’d kill Prissy. He said, “Don’t even think you can pull one over at me. I’ll know anything you do, where you go and who visits you”. He said after he killed Prissy, he’d come back and kill me. He said he’s killed a lot of women in the last few years and he’d have no trouble killing me.’

  Lucinda slid a photograph of Mack Rogers across the table. Helen looked at it and gasped. She threw her hands over her face and sobbed.