Two Girls Down(107)

She gave Vega a shy smile.

“Yes. It can be.”

She seemed to be elsewhere while she recited the rest, channeling the events like a medium in a trance.

“We kept her for two days. At first we thought we’d give her back. We knew that would be the end for us, but then I thought, What if we can have a normal life after all? What if Press can live without having to go through the burden that has been placed on him—what if this got it out of his system, like an antibiotic? My husband and my daughter could be fine…forever. And all I had to do was kill a little girl.”

Vega started breathing faster. Stared into Mrs. Linsom’s clear eyes.

“Of course, as you know, it wasn’t forever. Two years later he came to me again. Cole had stopped taking ballet, so I volunteered at a different studio, where I met Sydney. I planned a bit more, rented a car, put my hair up under a cap. Some people are not as careful with their children as they should be. An eight-year-old, walking home by herself.”

She shook her head and sighed.

“And now, Kylie.”

Vega straightened her arm, fought the twitches in the tendons.

“You can think whatever you want of me,” said Mrs. Linsom. “But I opened those accounts and paid those people anonymously because I did feel bad. I do feel bad. I’m a mother too. And none of them seemed to have a problem with that, the money. Even if they didn’t exactly realize what it was for.”



Vega started to shake. She knew something would have to happen soon—she would have to either drop the gun or shoot.

“You don’t have kids, Miss Vega, so I don’t expect you to understand this,” said Mrs. Linsom. “But if someone tells you: Either your child gets hurt or my child gets hurt. Your child is raped or my child is raped. Your child dies or my child dies. You will always pick the other child to die. Always. If you ever become a mother, you’ll find that out.”

Vega’s mouth was dry as bread but she spoke anyway: “Lady, you’re a fucking psycho.”

She came forward and grabbed Mrs. Linsom by the hair with one hand, pressed the nose of the gun into her eye socket. Mrs. Linsom gave a grunt of surprise, raised her hands instinctually to protect the rest of her face, as if that might help her.

Vega took deep breaths and imagined the pull and release. The recoil would push her back, maybe knock her to the floor since her arm was so shaky. Mrs. Linsom had a small skull—the round would blast the back of it open easily and leave the muddy cavity that would have been her eye.

She tried to imagine how she would feel. She wasn’t thinking about Cap and Nell, Jamie Brandt, her mother, the world. She’d never had to kill anyone before. All her years working with Perry and freelancing she’d done a lot of injuring, hit arms and knees like she did with Dena Macht, broken fingers and smashed knuckles, bitten ears and slammed the grip of her gun into cheeks and jaws and temples.

Mrs. Linsom’s hair was feathery soft and a blend of blond shades so exact they seemed to run in a perfect pattern across her scalp—light, lighter, lightest.

Vega yanked Mrs. Linsom’s head closer to her, Mrs. Linsom’s hands flying up to Vega’s, digging into her skin, but she wasn’t as strong as Vega—no amount of Pilates could level the field. Vega jammed the Springfield into the hollow of her eye so it hurt. It was not nestled; there was no nestling. Mrs. Linsom cried out at the shock of it.

“2545!” she yelled.



“What?” said Vega, annoyed.

“2545,” she gasped. “The code to the wine cellar downstairs. 2545.”

She had drawn some blood with her scrapes on the skin of Vega’s hand.

“2545,” she said again. “You can check—I can come with you. I’m not lying.”

Vega didn’t move or speak.

“I gave her baby Valium…to make everything easier,” said Mrs. Linsom. “I wanted to be kind….”

This was her begging, thought Vega, but she didn’t enjoy it.

“You’re not coming with me,” said Vega.

She could feel her shudder, and then she heard the dribble of urine on the carpet, running down Mrs. Linsom’s elegant pajama pants onto the floor. Like a puppy.

Vega took the gun out of her eye and let go of her hair. She squatted to talk to her. Mrs. Linsom’s eyes were wide and bloodshot.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Vega. “I just wanted you to pee on yourself.”

Vega took the double restraints from her inside pocket. She grabbed Mrs. Linsom’s wrist and pulled her to stand, which she did unstably, then led her to the piano.

“Sit,” said Vega, bringing her hand down on Mrs. Linsom’s shoulder.

Mrs. Linsom’s legs folded underneath her. Vega wrapped one cuff around Mrs. Linsom’s wrist and pulled the strap, which clicked as she tightened it. Then she looped the other cuff around the piano leg and locked the strap, Mrs. Linsom’s body lurching forward.

“How do I get downstairs?” said Vega, standing up.

Mrs. Linsom looked very small on the floor, her legs crisscrossed awkwardly.

“Through the kitchen,” she said, her voice low. “The white door to the right of the refrigerator.”

Vega left her and went to the kitchen, hit the lights with her palm and saw the white door. She walked to it and pressed the silver lever handle down and pulled it open. There was a staircase, well lit with wall sconces, and Vega stepped down, felt the air become cooler.