The Couple Next Door(53)

The baby must have been alive when she left the Contis’ house, Rasbach realizes, or Marco would not have come to him now. Marco is taking a big risk, but he is plainly desperate. If what Rasbach believes is true, it puts the mother in the clear—mental-health issues aside, she must not have killed the baby.

He is very interested in seeing what he will find at the murder scene.

Meanwhile Jennings is looking for a connection between Marco and the dead man, Derek Honig. Perhaps they’ll find something, however tenuous, linking the two. Rasbach doesn’t think so, or Marco wouldn’t have come to him. But Derek Honig is dead—maybe Marco feels it’s a risk he can afford to take, on the very slight chance he can get his baby back.

Rasbach is convinced that Marco loves his daughter, that he never intended for her to get hurt. Rasbach almost feels sorry for him. But then he thinks about the baby, who is probably dead, and the mother, who is shattered, and his sympathy disappears.

“Turn here,” he tells the officer driving the cruiser.

They take the highway exit and travel for some time on a lonely dirt road. At last they come to a turnoff. The cruiser bumps and sags down a rutted driveway overgrown with weeds and bushes until it comes to rest in front of a simple wooden cabin, surrounded by yellow crime-scene tape. There’s another cruiser on the scene, obviously waiting for them.

The car comes to a stop, and they get out. Rasbach is happy to stretch his legs. “Detective Rasbach,” he says, introducing himself to the local cop.

“Officer Watt, sir. Right this way.”

Rasbach looks around, missing nothing. A glance beyond the cabin shows a small, deserted lake. There are no other cabins in view. A perfect spot to hide an infant for a few days, Rasbach thinks.

He enters the cabin. It’s 1970s vintage, with ugly linoleum flooring in the kitchen, a Formica table, outdated cabinetry.

“Where was the body?” Rasbach asks.

“Over there,” the officer says, jerking his head toward the main room. The room is furnished with mismatched castoffs. There is no doubt about where the body had been. The old dirty beige carpet is stained with fresh blood.

Rasbach stoops down to look. “The murder weapon?”

“We’ve taken it to the lab. He used a spade. Hit him over the head with it. A few times.”

“Is the face still recognizable?” Rasbach asks, turning to look up at the other cop.

“Battered, but recognizable.”

Rasbach stands again, considers taking Marco to the morgue to have a look. This is what you’re playing at. “So what’s the theory?”

“At first glance? We’re saying a botched robbery, but between you and me, there’s nothing here to take. Of course, we don’t know if there was something here. It’s a pretty isolated spot. Drug deal gone wrong, maybe.”

“Or a kidnapping.”

“Or a kidnapping.” The officer adds, “It looked a bit personal, the way he was struck repeatedly with the spade. I mean, he was good and dead.”

“And no sign of any baby things? No diapers, bottles, anything like that?” Rasbach asks, casting his eyes around the cabin.

“No. If there was a baby here, whoever took her cleaned up pretty good.”

“What did he do with his garbage?”

“We figure he burned some of it in the woodstove there, so we’ve been through that, and there’s also a fire pit outside. But there’s no garbage here at all, and nothing in the stove or the fire pit. So either our dead guy had just been to the dump or someone tidied up. There’s a dump twenty miles from here, and they get the license plates, and he hadn’t been there in the last week.”

“So not a botched robbery. No one comes to commit a robbery, kills someone, and gets rid of all his garbage.”

“No.”

“Where’s his car?”

“At the lab.”

“What make is it?”

“It’s a hybrid, a Prius V. Black.”

Bingo, Rasbach thinks. He has a feeling the tires will match the prints in the Contis’ garage. And no matter how thoroughly someone cleans up, if the baby was here for a couple of days, there’ll be DNA evidence. It looks like they may have their first big break in the kidnapping of baby Cora.

Finally they may be getting somewhere.





TWENTY-FOUR


Marco is at his office, staring blankly out his window at the view. No one else is there. He has no staff of his own on site. Since it’s Saturday, the rest of the building is quiet, too, for which he’s grateful.

He thinks about the meeting he and Anne had earlier in the day with Detective Rasbach. Rasbach knows, he’s sure of it. Those eyes of his seem to look right through Marco. Marco might as well have stood up and said, This is the man I conspired with to take Cora for a couple of days and negotiate the ransom money. He’s now dead. I have lost control of things. I need your help.

They have a lawyer now. A lawyer famous for getting people acquitted—people who are guilty as hell. Marco realizes now that this is a good thing. There will be no more interviews without the lawyer present. Marco no longer cares about his reputation; it’s all about staying out of jail and keeping Anne in the dark.

His cell phone rings. He looks at the display. Cynthia is calling him. That bitch. Why would she be calling? He hesitates, wondering whether to answer or let it go to voice mail, but in the end he picks it up.