All the Dark Places(93)

But I can’t help whispering to Joe, “What do you think? What if she’s not here?” As if he’s got a better plan.

He shakes his head. “We keep moving, Rita.” He rubs his large hand over his chin, the scar disappearing underneath his fingers. “We keep going until we find her, wherever she is.”

I glance across the street, one that’s already been cleared, and hope that we’ve got this right. What if Ferris dumped his cell phone in the area and took off? What if we’ve just wasted the last hour climbing through abandoned homes, across rotted floorboards, searching trash-filled basements for nothing? The officer leading our team looks up and motions us forward. I fall into line behind Joe, and we move out along the broken sidewalk and advance up the next set of stairs and into another decaying foyer. We fan out, clearing the first-floor rooms. Then we gather up in the back hallway, listen. There’s noise, movement below, and my heartbeat ratchets up. Our team leader raises a hand and signals for quiet. A man’s voice. He’s here. We creep forward toward the basement door, weapons raised.





CHAPTER 72


Molly


I PULL THE CHAIN FROM BEHIND MY BACK. CAL’S EYES OPEN WIDE IN surprise and confusion. I use both hands to wrap it around his neck and push him backward. His glasses tumble to the floor. He trips and falls, and I fall on top of him.

“What the fuck?” He mumbles and grabs my hands, freeing himself from the chain. I’ve managed to cut his neck superficially, but nothing more. He rolls over and pins me underneath him. “You fucking bitch.” He nearly laughs. “Thought you were pretty smart, huh? You been working on that the whole time?” He grabs my hand, eyes my bloody fingers. Saliva drips from his mouth onto my cheek, and his gasping, sour breath blows against my face. “Fine. You want it rough? I’m game.”

I can’t breathe with him on top of me. I squirm and kick, but he’s too strong. I reach out with my right hand, searching for the knife or the gun, but they’re too far away. His hands circle my neck. His fingers tighten on my throat. I feel woozy. I’m sinking into a swamp, dark and dreamlike. His hands loosen just before I go under, and I pull a choppy breath down into my chest. He’s yanking on my jeans. No, no, no.

I’ll fight with everything I’ve got. Keith and Cal meld into one before my eyes. With anger spreading through my body, filling me with purpose, I thrust my hand under my back and work my fingers down to my waist band. I slide out the metal piece I’d pulled from the toilet tank, and with all my strength stab it into the side of his neck.

He howls and rolls away as I scramble to my feet. The floorboards overhead creak. And I hear people shouting.

“Police!” They’re standing at the open door, looking down, guns raised.

Cal grabs my leg, and I fall flat on my face on the crumbled cement floor. I look back at him. Blood is bubbling from the wound in his neck. He’s trying to stop it with one hand and hold on to my leg with the other. I kick and thrash, finally breaking free.

Cops are descending the ladder as I run toward them. An older cop lowers his gun and pulls me to his side.

Detective Myers, her weapon raised, strides toward Cal. His face is a sickly white, and he grins at me. “Look, Melinda. They’re here. The media can’t be far behind.”





CHAPTER 73


Rita


IT HAS BEEN A DAY SO BUSY, NO ONE’S HAD A MINUTE TO EAT, SO WHEN Joe and I found ourselves at the station at seven twenty-two p.m., we were ravenous.

Cal Ferris is in the hospital, uniformed officers guarding his door. Mrs. Ferris was found bleeding and unconscious on the beach and is currently in a hospital on the coast. She managed to break a couple of her husband’s ribs and give him a pretty good blow to the head before he shot her twice. Luckily, his aim was off, and she’ll survive.

Bob just finished a press conference in which Joe and I participated. The media, starved for information, could barely control themselves and jostled for room on the sidewalk in front of the station. Then they scurried away to file their stories or wait for their on-air cues.

Mrs. Bradley was checked out at the hospital and released to her family after giving her statement from her bedside. There’ll be more questions later, but for now, we’ve got plenty to do.

Agent Metz left to grab dinner with her parents, and Chase is on his way home to his wife and son. Lauren is busy in the squad room, head bent over her keyboard, a half-finished ham and cheese deli sandwich next to her.

Joe and I head over to Mac’s. I’m limping slightly on my sore ankle but hope a couple glasses of wine will help soothe the pain. There are a few of the guys from the station hanging over the bar, laughing and blowing off steam. We’re all relieved that Mrs. Bradley was found relatively unhurt and our man is in custody. No one looks up or notices as Joe and I slide into the last booth in the corner.

We order mozzarella sticks, a large pepperoni and black olive pizza, a couple of salads, and a bottle of wine. I sip, and the alcohol hits my depleted blood stream quickly, filling my veins, making me feel tingly and light-headed. I grab up a slice of pizza and take a huge bite. I’m starving.

Joe leans back and laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’d just forgotten how nice it is to work with you, Rita.” His smile reaches his dark eyes.

I swallow. My hair has fallen out of its bun and hangs in a tangled mess over my shoulders. At least the gray is gone. But I’m sure my mascara is smudged, and the sleeve of my white blouse definitely has a smear of Mrs. Bradley’s blood from her injured fingers. I sit up and smooth my hair back.