I Will Find You(47)



Max stopped chewing. His hand dropped to his side. “So Rachel Anderson visits David Burroughs in prison. After they meet, she asks about a key witness in the case—one Burroughs claimed lied on the stand—and finds out that she changed her name and moved.” He looked up. “So where do you think Burroughs is heading?”

“To confront her?”

“Or worse.” Max started for the airport exit. “Sarah?”

“What?”

“Get us a car to New York. And call our Manhattan office. I want Hilde Winslow’s place swarming with cops right now.”





Chapter

19



I stand in front of Hilde Winslow’s door.

Now what?

I could knock, of course, but since there is a buzzer downstairs and she’s already naturally wary, I don’t know whether that’s the right move. She would ask who it is. She would use the peephole to see who knocked. Would she recognize me? Probably not. Unless she’s heard the news reports on my escape. Either way, she wouldn’t just open it.

So Option One, simply knocking, probably wouldn’t work.

I wear a Yankees baseball cap I bought from a street vendor on Sixth Avenue, so if she ends up describing me, she won’t know that my head is shaved. I plan on ditching it after I visit Hilde.

Option Two: I could try to kick the door in or, I don’t know, shoot my way in. But come on. Like she wouldn’t scream bloody murder. Like none of the neighbors would report the sound of gunfire. Option Two was a dumb nonstarter.

Option Three…I didn’t really have one. Yet. But I couldn’t just keep lurking in the corridor like this. Someone would spot me and wonder what I was doing. I hadn’t really thought this through, had I? I’d spent all those hours today—today!—in a car with Rachel, and I hadn’t come up with a solid plan. Now I’m paying the price.

There is a door to the fire stairs to my left. Maybe I could hide there and try to keep an eye out for her opening the door. But it’s getting pretty late. Hilde/Harriet is in her eighties. Would she be going out again tonight? Probably not.

I am still debating my next move when I see the doorknob at 4B start to turn.

Someone is opening the door.

No plan, so I work on pure instinct. I don’t know why the door is opening right now, though I suspect that perhaps Hilde Winslow was curious about the purported package left in her vestibule and has decided to venture out to retrieve it. Doesn’t matter. I don’t hesitate. As soon as the door opens a crack, I throw my shoulder against it.

The door flies open.

I worry for a moment that I’ve been too aggressive, that I’ve knocked an old woman down with a heavy door, but when I burst through, Hilde Winslow is still standing there, wide-eyed. She backs up and opens her mouth to scream. Some primitive part of my brain has taken over and so again I don’t hesitate. I hurry toward her and clumsily yet firmly cover her mouth with my hand. With my foot, I kick the door closed behind me. I pull her toward me so that the back of her head presses up against my chest, my hand still covering her mouth.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper.

Did I really just say that? If so, I don’t think my words offer much comfort. She squirms and grabs hold of my hand. She fights back. I hold on hard. I want to be kind here, rational, polite, but I don’t see how that approach will help me or Matthew in any way.

With my free hand, I pull out my gun and show it to her.

“We just need to talk, okay? Once I get the truth, I’m out of here. Nod if you understand.”

With the back of her skull still against my chest, she manages a nod.

“I’m going to take my hand away now. Please don’t make me hurt you.”

I sound like something out of an old movie, but I really don’t know what else to say or how to handle this situation. I let her go and hope to hell she doesn’t scream, because I’m not going to shoot her if she does. I’m not going to hit her with the butt end or any of that either. Or will I?

Hilde Winslow lied about me. She lied under oath and helped convict me of killing my own child.

So how far will I go? I hope she doesn’t press me into finding out.

Hilde Winslow turns to me. “What do you want?”

“Do you know who I am?” I ask.

“You’re David.”

Her voice is surprisingly steady, confident. She doesn’t look away. She isn’t exactly defiant, but she doesn’t look frightened or intimidated either.

“What are you doing here?” Hilde asks.

“You lied.”

“What are you talking about?”

“At my trial. Your testimony. It was all a lie.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

There really is no choice here. I lift the gun and press it against the old woman’s forehead.

“I need you to listen to me,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t crack. “I have nothing to lose. You understand that, right? If you lie to me again, if you don’t tell me the truth, I’m going to kill you. I don’t want to. I really don’t. But right now, it is my son or you.”

Her eyes start doing the rapid-blink thing.

“That’s right,” I continue. “My son is still alive. No, I don’t think you’ll believe me on that, and I don’t have time to convince you. All that should matter to you right now is that I believe it. And because of that, I will have no qualms about killing you to find him. Do I make myself clear?”

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