The Vanishing Season (The Collector #4)(96)
Bran looks up sharply, his whole body tensing up.
“Why do you think that, Laura?” I ask gently.
She shakes her head, looking lost. “If I’d stayed . . . those girls would all still be alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I would have—”
“You don’t know that,” I repeat, gently but firmly. “After another ten years of being that miserable, how do you think you would have been? If he’d brought home a new Lisa, would you have been in a mental or emotional condition to tell him no? And even if that answer is yes, it was never your responsibility. You are not—were not—responsible for his actions. Laura, this is not your fault.”
“Tell that to their families,” she says bitterly.
Putting down his coffee, Bran leans forward to take her hands in his. “Laura, I didn’t fully introduce myself earlier. My sister was Faith Eddison. Mark took her from Tampa, and just yesterday we found her body in Omaha. I am family. Please believe me when I say no one with any sense is going to blame you. You had no way to know or prevent this. I’m sorry for what you’re going to go through as this breaks, for the harassment that will invariably occur. It shouldn’t happen, and it is undeserved. My sister’s death is not yours to carry.”
Laura folds herself over their joined hands, her shoulders heaving in great, wracking sobs, and Bran—who would be fairly happy if handshakes were outlawed so he didn’t have to touch strangers—wheels his chair closer so he can pull one hand free to drape his arm across her back.
From the walkway outside his office, Vic looks down on them with a small smile, simultaneously grieving and proud fit to burst.
A few hours later, true to our word, we wake Ian up with time to refresh himself before the press conference. He’s still visibly in pain, and light-sensitive enough to need his sunglasses even inside, but none of us are going to try to keep him from this. He brought us to this point. He made this possible.
The press room is crowded, representatives from dozens of news outlets filling the seats, camera operators bristling across the back of the room despite the presence of the Bureau cameras. More press line the far side of the room. On our side, agents line up respectfully. Vic stands on my left, one hand on my shoulder. Bran and Ian stand to my right, Ian in front. Partly that’s to respect their height difference, but it’s also to keep Bran a little out of view of the reporters. Like Watts, Bran is out in front of those same people and cameras on occasion due to being team leader. Mercedes stands next to Ian, helping to put Bran in a bit more shadow, and Cass next to her. A few agents down the line, Agent Addams stands against the wall, towering over everyone around.
Bran links his fingers through mine, carefully out of sight of everyone.
The conversation and shared questions abruptly silence when Watts walks into the room and centers herself behind the podium to begin the briefing. She doesn’t show any of the flustered terror she was swallowing back only moments before.
Burnside had the balls to pat her shoulder and offer her a protein bar.
“Thank you all for coming,” Watts says. The room is silent but for the rustle of clothing and the creak of chairs. “I’m Agent Kathleen Watts of the Quantico-based Crimes Against Children division. We’ve asked you here to make two announcements. The first you may have heard already, but good news always bears repeating. Two days ago, on the thirty-first of October, Brooklyn Mercer was found alive and is expected to make a full recovery from her ordeal.”
Murmurs and exclamations sweep across the room, and just as suddenly cut off as people remember the second announcement to come.
“One thing every law enforcement officer learns over his or her time of service,” she continues, “is that there are some cases that are harder to let go of than others. This is true at every level of law enforcement. Unsolved cases capture the imagination of the public, and when you have been one of the agents, officers, or detectives on that case, it demands your attention long after any hope of solving it seems to have faded. There are many who continue to work those cases regardless of the odds, and it is because of the work of two of those dedicated, persistent public servants—retired Detective Ian Matson of the Tampa Police Department and the late retired Detective Julian Addams of the Charleston Police Department—that we’re able to announce that Brooklyn’s kidnapping was not a one-off occurrence, but rather the latest in a chain of eight-year-old girls taken across a thirty-one year period by a man named Mark Davies.” She holds her hands up against the swell of noise, pleading a moment’s continuance. “Mr. Davies is in custody. By partnering with field offices and local police departments in seventeen different cities and states, all of his victims have been identified, their bodies located, and their families notified.”
The room is lost to a blinding array of flashes from the still cameras, the reporters shouting over each other to be heard. I turn to look at Ian, standing with a soft smile, tears tracking slowly down his cheeks, and at Agent Addams beyond, eyes bright and proud, his father’s final case closed at last.
Bran gives my hand a squeeze and shuffles a little closer, and Vic, Cass, and Mercedes all draw in closer as well. Together, our team stands, half hidden in shadow, and listens to Watts concisely relay the past week of hell. Taking a deep breath, she lists each girl by name.
By the time she comes back to Brooklyn, there isn’t a dry eye in the room.