All the Dark Places(84)
“I’m on my way.”
I end the call, and Joe backs down the long driveway.
That just leaves Hayes Branch on our list of suspects in the Robb murder. Maybe Mrs. Bradley’s disappearance is unrelated, but we need to make sure. Something tells me, though, that all of this mess is connected.
Joe and I drive out of Graybridge and take the highway two exits west of town. The Branches own multiple properties in the Boston metro area, but Hayes and his daughter live in the old family estate. His illustrious mother prefers a Manhattan apartment most of the year.
Mr. Branch greets us at the door. His face is pale, and his hair is a tangled nest, as though he tossed and turned all night and didn’t bother with a comb this morning. He’s wearing a faded gray Harvard sweatshirt and well-worn jeans. He escorts us to a fancy living room with soaring ceilings and large oil paintings on the walls. Embers glow in a huge fireplace that sits at one end of the room.
We ask him the same questions we’ve asked the others, and he says nothing that helps, other than he doesn’t have an alibi. He says that, after the party, he dropped Alice off at a friend’s house for a sleepover, then came home. He was home by himself the rest of the night.
He drops his head in his hands. “Do you think she’s all right?” His voice is tight and teary.
“We hope so.”
*
Media trucks are lined up like soldiers in formation in front of the police station when we return. Joe and I drive around the building and go in through the back entrance. The place is buzzing like a hive, alive with anxiety and the smell of bad coffee. Bob stands in his office doorway, phone clenched between his jaw and shoulder. He motions us inside, closes the door, and throws his phone on his desk.
“Find anything?” he asks, settling in his chair.
“We can’t eliminate Pearson, Ferris, or Branch. We’ve still got to talk to Mr. Westmore,” I say. “But the wife says they were home last night. He’s out on a job now.” My eyes meet Joe’s. “She’s calling him, and hopefully he’ll be here soon so we can question him.”
Bob’s face falls as though he was hoping, praying maybe, that we’d be back with the answers we need to find Mrs. Bradley.
I shake my head. “After the Pearson party, none of them has a solid alibi for last night.”
Joe leans forward. “They all had opportunity.”
“For Chrissake,” Bob says. “You guys sure that one of those men abducted Mrs. Bradley?”
I sigh. “We’re not sure of anything, Chief.”
He rubs his face with his hand while his landline phone rings.
“Anything here?” I ask. “Any developments.”
“Not a damn thing.” Bob stands, his breath coming in deep, worrisome gasps. “Okay, just keep at it.” We leave as he answers his phone.
CHAPTER 64
Molly
“MELINDA?”
My eyes slit open. I’ve been sitting here all day, huddled in the blankets, watching the faint light in the far window dim until it disappeared, thinking, crying, trying to figure out how to get out of here.
“Melinda?”
Keith? My stomach drops. How can that be? He’s in prison. He can’t get out. It’s my imagination. Thoughts of Keith Russell have flitted through my mind all day, despite my efforts to keep them at bay. It’s as though he inhabits the mold and decay in this basement, caught here like a demon spirit.
“Answer me, little girl.” His voice sing-songs.
I stay quiet in the dark, leaning against the wall. My heart thumps so heavily my body shakes with each pulse.
“Melinda?”
I hear the ladder scrape against the floor above.
“I just want to talk. For now,” he says.
It sounds like Keith, but not. Someone else. Someone familiar. I hear his footfalls slap against the ladder steps. I hear him advance toward me across the cement floor. A flashlight beam sweeps the basement, blinding me, then he switches it off. Despite the cold, sweat drips down my back.
He’s next to me now, breathing heavily, sitting beside me like two people just hanging out. I want to tear at him, fight my way out, but what will that get me? I close my eyes to push back tears and hope I don’t have a heart attack from sheer terror. Does that really happen?
“Let’s talk,” he whispers. “But don’t scream. It’s not worth the effort. Have you tried that already? I bet you did, and no one came, did they? Just like before. This whole street is deserted. This is an old row house. The whole neighborhood is going to be demolished soon. But it’s perfect for us.”
His voice. I know him. He’s sitting so close to me my shoulder touches his arm. I start to hyperventilate and have to talk myself down. I can do this. I can survive—again.
He clutches my chin and turns my face toward him. Through the darkness, my eyes meet his, and my heart seems to drop out of my chest. My captor is my friend.
CHAPTER 65
Rita
IT’S EARLY EVENING BY THE TIME DR. WESTMORE ARRIVES AT THE STATION. We have her escorted to an interview room, and Joe and I join her. This is as frazzled as I’ve seen the doctor. Her hair looks like it needs a good brushing, her clothes are wrinkled, and she smells distinctly of cigarettes.