First Girl Gone(76)
“What happened to your fastidious morals?”
Zoe’s face went hard.
“Kara Dawkins is still missing. We have to proceed as if she’s still alive. He could be holding her somewhere, as we speak. Besides that, Leroy Gibbs already got away with murder once. I won’t let that happen again. He killed Allie, and we’re going to prove it.”
Charlie swallowed, startled by Zoe’s passion. Lost in the shock of finding Amber’s body, Charlie had almost forgotten that Kara was still out there. After a moment, she nodded.
“You’re right,” she said, already beginning to formulate a plan. “Give me a call if anything happens. If they let him go, I mean.”
“I will. But he’s not going anywhere, trust me. Like you said, we’ll keep him here long into the night.”
As Charlie turned to go, Zoe caught her arm and gave it a squeeze.
“Be careful.”
Chapter Sixty
Charlie drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she waited at one of Salem Island’s three traffic lights, just two blocks from her apartment. The reality of what she was planning to do was finally sinking in.
The Gibbs house. Tonight. As soon as the dark fully settled, she would push through that door. She would see what there was to see. And everything would be different after. Everything.
The strange numbness from earlier had faded, replaced by restlessness. The anticipation made her skin crawl, as though fingertips lightly brushed down the lengths of her arms, swiped at the soft flesh just along her throat, tickled the backs of her knees.
So many times Charlie had wondered what she might have found in the Gibbs house if she’d been given a chance to poke around. The police had searched the place back then, of course. And they’d uncovered nothing. No hair. No blood. No fibers. No evidence that Allie had been there at all.
Still, Charlie could never let go of the idea that they might have missed something. That if only she’d had the opportunity to peek inside the ratty old house, she might have discovered something they’d missed. Allie was her sister, after all. Her twin. Charlie knew her better than anyone. Maybe she could have recognized some tiny detail that proved Allie had been there. Had died there.
The light turned green, and the car lurched into motion again. It felt strange to move just now. As though time itself should stand still as one approached the major events in life. Turning points. Crossroads. The thresholds we passed over and through, the lines that divided our lives into before and after.
A flood of images came to her. Memories of Allie’s investigation rendered in a jumbled montage of flapping police tape, whirling lights, the detectives sitting in the living room trying to talk to the family while her mom kept bursting into tears, clips from the local TV news reports. They fought to take her out of the moment, but Charlie pushed them away. The memories never helped anything.
Charlie pulled into the lot outside her apartment then, snow rasping under the tires where the plow had piled it along the sloped entrance. She parked near the stairs. Killed the engine. Sat in the quiet.
The wind howled as it blew over the hood and windshield. Shrill. Almost whistling.
Charlie had studied Allie’s file, of course. She’d read the interviews, pored over the photos of the Gibbs house. But it wasn’t the same as seeing it all with her own eyes.
Her hand clasped the door handle, hesitating a moment before pulling it.
Tonight, all of that would change. She knew it was unlikely that she’d find any trace of Allie there now. She was too late on that. But there was still a chance of finding justice for Amber and Kara. And she refused to give up hope that Kara might still be alive.
Charlie climbed out of the car and traversed the icy path. The wind ripped across her face, cold and dry, blasting her hard enough that her eyelids fluttered. The soles of her shoes skidded with each step, the ice preventing any real traction, making progress slow.
At the top of the stairs, she unlocked her door and stepped out of the wind. Shook the dusting of snow off the ankles of her pants.
She glanced around the room. She’d need to pack some supplies. There’d never be another chance like this, and she had to make it count.
She crossed the room and squatted beside the bed. Rooted around under it until she found the duffel bag. One good tug pulled it free of the mess. Then she slapped it on the mattress and unzipped the thing so its flaps hung open like a dog’s loose lips.
In went a pair of heavy-duty Maglites the size of nightsticks—a primary flashlight and a backup. Zoe always praised this particular brand for its reliability, as well as its ability to bludgeon if and when necessary.
Then her lock pick kit went in the bag. Probably less than five minutes at the back door would be enough to get her in, which was a good feeling.
Next, she tossed in a ski mask to hide her face as she crept up to the house. Around here, a ski mask wouldn’t look out of place at all this time of year. She’d look like an ice-fisherman headed home for the night.
She rifled through her toolbox and loaded a few of her tools into the bag, figuring that even with her lock pick stuff already in tow, she’d want options. Better to be prepared for whatever she might encounter.
She zipped the bag shut and lifted it, the tools inside clanking together. Placing the bag beside the door, Charlie peered out the window to gauge the level of daylight. The fact that the sheriff planned to hold Gibbs well into the night meant that she had the luxury of waiting until nightfall before attempting her little break-in.