Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(64)
“Vernon Doherty.”
“He was driving the night of your accident?”
“A stolen Ford Pinto,” Ben said with a nod as he pulled out a copy of the accident report and handed it to her.
She read it over before she looked at him. “Why were you at the bar that night?”
He sighed. “I have no idea. Nobody knows. I must have been working a case. I’ve gone through the files at work a dozen times, hoping to find something to point me to a case I might have been working on at the time.” He shook his head. “I’ve found nothing. I have no idea what might have led me to the Wild West.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “So what do you know about this Doherty guy?”
“I know he was bad news. Years ago I tracked down his parents in New Jersey. Vernon was the youngest of three boys. They said Vernon had been trouble since the day he was born. Judging from his rap sheet, they were being kind.”
Her head pounded. She stood, went to the kitchen, and took some ibuprofen, figuring she’d save the pain pills the doctor had prescribed for tonight. “So,” she said after she was sitting again, “you contacted me after you recognized Sophie’s image on TV.”
“That’s right.”
If he had anything to do with Sophie’s disappearance, would he be here now? Maybe he would be. Most of his life was a blank slate. Even he didn’t know how far his involvement in the case went.
He opened his mouth to say something, but she raised a hand to stop him. “For some reason,” she went on, “I find myself liking you. You’re good with animals. Olivia liked you right off. You talk well about your kids and your wife. Overall, you seem like a decent man, a family man. But beneath it all you’re a complete mystery.” She angled her head. “Or maybe a puzzle would better describe you. A puzzle with pieces missing.”
He said nothing, which was good because she wasn’t finished.
“For instance, I’m curious to know what else you haven’t told me. Maybe you know more than you’re letting on. How much did you remember about Sophie and that night at the Wild West before you called me about doing this story on my family?”
“Maybe this isn’t going to work, after all,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, surprised by his sudden change of heart. “Because I’m being honest with you?”
“No, because you don’t trust me.”
“I thought trust was something people earned.”
“The thing is,” he said, “I can’t tell you things I don’t know or simply don’t remember. And if you believe I have motives or reasons to keep the facts from you, then I don’t see how we can work as a team.” He scratched his chin. “From the first moment we met, you were wary of me.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her. “I could see it in your eyes and in your quickness in telling me that you had already done all you could to find your sister, and it was time to move on.”
Guilt. It swept through her in waves, her conscience reminding her that he was right. After all these years, she’d been ready to tamp down everything that had happened, bury it like a dog buried a bone, because that sounded a hell of a lot easier than carrying the shame on her shoulders, day after day. “You’re right on both accounts,” she said. “I thought I could forget and move on. But then you came along, and I realized pretending it never happened wouldn’t resolve anything. Eventually the sorrow and memories would leach through cracks and crevices and find a way to torment me. And I need to think of Olivia, too.” Her gaze met his. “Despite my concern over your motives, we need your help.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Nothing was working out as planned.
He’d enjoyed having someone to talk to, but Zee had ruined everything. The fact that she was certifiably crazy had made her interesting to be around. But he’d never once thought of bringing her here.
He’d had so many ideas about what to do with Natalie, but having Zee in the cell next to her made it difficult to concentrate. He thought about throwing Zee in the box for a few days, but she was a big girl, and the box would never fit her. He could kill her, but last night he’d had an epiphany. All he had to do was build the perfect place to keep Zee. If he could do that, he would always have someone to talk to. She wouldn’t die without her meds, and although she might be angry with him now, she would come around eventually. Anyone with two eyes could see she was infatuated with him. The notion amused him. Only a schizo could fall in love with the man dubbed the Heartless Killer. They were meant to be.
The stacks of cement bags piled in the corner of the barn gave him an idea. He had plenty of wood planks. He could clean out the far corner of the barn and build a nifty room where he would keep Zee forever, or at least until she no longer entertained him, whichever came first.
What he needed were a couple of poles or stakes for support. He grabbed the wheelbarrow and headed for the old corral, figuring he could use the wood posts from there as the main beams to frame the structure.
As he pushed the wheelbarrow down the dirt path toward the corral, he realized he’d almost forgotten about Erin Hayes. He stopped next to the box, tapped his toe against the wood, and called out her name. He said her name twice more before he caught a glimpse of the broken hinges.