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  “No, never.” Ian reached for his glass. Beads of water slid down the sides and settled in a puddle beneath it. He traced the condensation with his fingertip, staring absently at the untouched Sprite. “This was before or after I was born?”

  “It was between twenty-five and twenty-six years ago.”

  “I was about four then.” Ian raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t remember her ever being pregnant. And even if this story is true, why would it take all this time for my mother to snap?”

  “Maybe your father found your sister,” Lucianna said.

  “He’s been gone twenty years.”

  “Yes, but if he just recently found her, and the two of them were willing to go to the police with whatever it is they know, then that would stir up trouble. Or the girl may have wanted to meet her mother. Lots of things could have triggered this.”

  “You think she contacted my mother?” Ian said.

  “It’s possible.”

  Ian covered his face with his hands and muttered something unintelligible. Lucianna reached across the table and rested her hand on his arm. She said, “We’ll get the answers.”

  He sat up and took her hand in his. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “My mother has a crocheted baby blanket I’d never seen before,” he said. “When I found her that day, she was clutching it tight and crying. It’s pink.”

  ***

  Lucianna shoved open the office door. “Patrick is following me,” she said.

  Vinnie glanced over at her. He said into the phone, “I’ll call you back,” then dropped the receiver onto its base. “As in following you down the hall?” he said. “Or following you like a creepy little stalker?”

  “Like a creepy little stalker.”

  “I see.” Vinnie pursed his lips and drummed his fingers against the desk. “He’s in the parking lot now?”

  Lucianna slipped out of her coat. This shouldn’t be happening. Patrick was supposed to be conservative and trustworthy. A little boring as well. She’d certainly never expected him to snap like this. She had way too much going on right now to be worried about Patrick’s obsession.

  She grabbed her mail from Vinnie’s desk. “No,” she said. “He drove past when I turned in. I spotted him across from Taste Buds while I was there with Ian. Then he followed me here.”

  “This is the first time?”

  “That I’m aware of.”

  Vinnie nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Lucianna was too tired to argue. She said, “Don’t kill him.”

  “How did it go with Ian?” Vinnie asked.

  “Okay.” Lucianna walked into her office, dropping her coat on one of the chairs by the door. She said, “He doesn’t know anything about a sister. Not that I expected he would.”

  She flopped into the chair behind her desk. Vinnie sat perfectly erect in the seat across from her, somehow managing to look comfortable rather than stiff. She tucked a chunk of curls behind her ear and said, “I’ve been thinking about how to handle this thing with Ben Sterling. If he is the guy conveniently meeting Corinne at the grocery store, then the cops are definitely knee-deep in whatever happened to her. And Sterling sure as hell isn’t going to admit it to me.”

  “True,” Vinnie said.

  “So I thought about showing Corinne a picture of him. See if she recognizes him. How she reacts.”

  “Hmm…” Vinnie stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That approach has its advantages.”

  “As well as the danger of pushing her further over the edge,” Lucianna said.

  “That too.”

  “What do you think?”

  “You may want to do it in the presence of a psychiatrist,” Vinnie said. “Just in case things get, pardon the expression, crazy.”

  Lucianna sighed. “I thought of that. I just don’t think this Endicott character will agree to it. From what Ian tells me, he’s not particularly supportive of my involvement to begin with.”

  “Does Corinne respond well to him?”

  “I haven’t seen them together. She doesn’t seem to like him very much, though.”

  “Then we shall replace him.”

  “We can’t just replace him,” Lucianna said. “That’s up to Ian. And the other psychiatrists he checked with wanted to put his mother into an institution. He’s trying to avoid that.”

  Vinnie smiled in that way that said he was three steps ahead of her. “This gentleman won’t want or even suggest an institution.”

  “You have someone in mind?” Lucianna frowned, cocking her head to the side. “Is this “gentleman” a licensed psychiatrist?”

  “Of course. My darling Lu, you should know me better than that.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She grinned at him. “I’m sure I don’t want to know the nature of your involvement with this guy. You think he’ll agree to see her on short notice?”

  “I’ll arrange for him to meet you at the McCormick residence tomorrow afternoon,” Vinnie said. “Let’s say two o’clock.”

  “He makes house calls?”

  “For me, yes.”

  Lucianna shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll get you a recent picture of Detective Benjamin Sterling.”

  “I’d better run this by Ian,” Lucianna said. “He was frazzled when I left him. Hopefully he’s up to this.”

  “He will be.” Vinnie winked at her. “This one has character.”

  ***

  Ian couldn’t bring himself to look at his mother. He had picked her up from Endicott’s office and they had driven home in relative silence. That was how he’d wanted it at the time. All it had done was give him too much time to think. Or, more precisely, to dwell on this whole baby issue. Silly to let it eat at him this way.

  Whatever the situation, it had taken place about twenty-five years ago. She’d been young, only twenty-two or twenty-three, and already the mother of a four-year-old. Her husband had always spent more time with his friends than with his family. Ian could vaguely remember the arguments and his father disappearing for days. People did crazy things when they were feeling desperate.

  He raked his hand through his hair as he paced his bedroom. He’d left his mother sitting in her rocker, mumbling about Dr. Hartley and aliens. He had no idea what the connection was and was sure he didn’t want to ask. Instead he’d locked himself in his room, hoping the world would disappear while he wasn’t looking.

  He plopped down on the edge of his bed. Outside his window all the trees were now bare. The gray of winter dusk had settled around the house. He thought of the years with his mother, after his father had left. She’d worked hard to support the two of them.

  On his twelfth birthday, she had surprised him with his own basketball hoop. He remembered his confusion then, since they lived in a small apartment with no yard of their own. She had laughed joyously, as she took his hand and led him out to the car. They’d driven here. And he would never forget her excitement, the way she’d looked at him with those happy eyes, when she’d told him she’d bought them a house. This house.

  Standing in their new front yard, pointing out where the hoop would be placed, smiling down at him as he stared in wonder at their new home. He turned away from the window. Whatever had happened all those years ago didn’t change things. His mother had been right beside him all through his life. He’d always felt loved, never questioned where he belonged. Now she needed him and that was all that mattered.

  ***

  Skeets crawled across the ground. Tiny rocks cut into his hands. He tasted the dirt mixed with his blood. His jaw hung loose and blood trickled down his chin. He tried to call out for help but only a hoarse groan escaped his lips. Screaming wouldn’t have helped, anyway. No one could hear him, aside from the two that brought him here.

  A boot connected with his chest. He went down hard on the dirt. The sound of his ribs cracking vibrated in the groun
d beneath him.

  He thought he heard laughter above him. He couldn’t see. His good eye was now plastered against the ground, filled with dirt. His other eye had been swollen shut for the past few minutes. Or maybe it had been poked out and he was now laying on top of it, squishing it into the ground. He imagined his eye like a golf ball, rolling across the dirt, and he had the ridiculous thought that at least part of him would be free.

  Another kick landed on the side of his head. An electric spasm ripped through him. Why couldn’t he at least lose consciousness?

  He wanted to die. He’d beg for it if he weren’t too busy choking on broken teeth.

  Feet scuffed around him. He waited, hoping the next blow would knock him out. Wishing one of them would use the gun and end his misery now.

  Was it too late to pray? He’d never believed in God, always thought death was just an empty blackness. But now, with it so close, he was terrified. What if there was a God? Did that mean there was also a hell? And was he going there?

  Someone grabbed him and rolled him onto his back. Through the swirling haze of his remaining vision, he saw that Dean hovered over him. Then a searing pain ripped through his stomach. He tasted blood, heavy and metallic. And, in that moment, he realized that he didn’t need to worry about going to hell. He was already there.

  Chapter 41

  “I’m not finding any record of Corinne having given birth to a second child,” Lucianna said as Vinnie stepped into her office. “I’ve checked all the hospitals within reasonable driving distance, using both her married and her maiden name.”

  “Unfortunate but expected,” Vinnie replied. He held a manila envelope and a few faxed sheets of paper but made no move to hand them over. “If she were planning to give up the child illegally, I rather doubt that she would use her real name at the hospital. That’s providing she even went to a hospital. They may have used a private doctor.”

  “One who was being paid off,” Lucianna said.

  “I would say so.”

  Lucianna let out a long breath. She turned away from her computer monitor and said, “Ian will be here soon so we can discuss our approach with his mother. I’m going to suggest we talk to his aunt about this. He had mentioned that the two of them were close years ago. So I’d think that the aunt would know if there was a second pregnancy.”

  “Certainly makes sense to me.” Vinnie tossed the sheets of paper down on the desk. “Cameron McCormick was arrested twice for domestic disturbance. First time was twenty-six years ago, about the time Corinne would have been pregnant, providing Evans’ story and timeline are correct. The second time was just over twenty years ago.”

  “About the time he walked out on his wife and son,” Lucianna said.

  “Correct,” Vinnie replied. “Charges were not pressed either time. He spent the night in a cell to, as the officers say in their reports, “cool down”. The following morning he was released on his own. No follow-ups done.”

  “Interesting timing on both.”

  “Nothing else, aside from a few traffic tickets.” Vinnie sat in a chair opposite the desk, dropped the manila envelope on his lap, and stretched his arms behind his head. He said, “Shortly after the second arrest, he fell off the face of the earth. No credit cards in his name. No job, taxes paid, property owned. No activity on his Social Security number at all. And no death certificate. The man either became another John Doe lying on a cold slab in some morgue or he effectively changed his identity and disappeared.”

  “What do you think?” Lucianna asked.

  Vinnie shrugged. “Hard to say. His situation was tumultuous; he owed the wrong people too much money. Could have been made into fish food for all we know. Or he could have been smart and got away. However, if Nico has his minions searching, I’d venture to say they have information that Cameron is alive and well.”

  Lucianna tapped her pen against the stack of files on her desk. “What are the chances that someone like that would stay out of trouble all this time, even if he managed to adopt another identity?”

  “Slim.”

  “So he could be in prison or dead and buried under a different name.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Would any of this make sense if he was dead?”

  “Maybe,” Vinnie said. “Providing the girl surfaced, somehow connected Corinne with being her mother, and had a story to tell.”

  “And that would be enough to make Corinne snap?”

  “Probably not.”

  “So our best assumption is that Cameron McCormick is alive.”

  “Yes. I’d say that’s true. Although there are other possibilities.”

  “Okay,” Lucianna said. “We have to find this guy.”

  Vinnie tossed the manila envelope on the desk. “Picture of Detective Benjamin Sterling. Taken approximately one year ago. Recent enough, I’d say.”

  “Thank you. I won’t ask where you got this.”

  “Best not to,” Vinnie said with a grin.

  ***

  Corinne rocked in her chair. Back and forth, the constant motion easing her anxiety. Everyone wanted her to remember. What was it they wanted her to tell them? And why?

  She was sure that she shouldn’t, even if she wanted to. Remembering would hurt. She knew that, although she couldn’t say why. Sometimes it would get close, hovering in the darkness where her memories hid. Her skin would crawl, sweat would trickle down between her breasts. For a moment the world would spin and she’d begin to go with it. Then suddenly it would all go away. Nothing made sense but that was okay. Anything was better than remembering.

  Sitting there, she stared at the blank television screen, as she did so often. Memories sometimes came out of the pictures. That was why she rarely turned it on. She was safer here alone.

  It could be that the TV had an evil demon inside that enjoyed torturing her. Ian said no, that the TV only had wires and computer chips inside. But how did he know for sure? It wasn’t as if the demons would announce their presence to them.

  The chill in the room was seeping under her skin. She should turn the heat up. She stood up and stretched, then spun slowly around trying to remember what it was she had been about to do. The last of the fading sun streamed in the front window. The warmth felt good on her skin. She went to the window, tiptoeing for reasons unknown to her. Then she parted the curtain and peeked outside.

  For a few precious seconds she stood there noticing only the sunshine. Then she spotted him across the street. That face filled with evil. His eyes reached out to her, wanting to make her remember the horror.

  She slapped the curtain closed and staggered backward. The floor rocked, pulling her down. A cry of terror filled her head but she wouldn’t know whether it had ever managed to escape her lips. She had retreated to a place where no one could reach her.

  ***

  Showered, dressed in clean clothes, and somewhat more coherent, Ian grabbed his keys off his dresser and went to let his mother know he was leaving. No lights were on in the living room. He flipped the switch on the wall, bathing the empty room in bright light.

  She must be in her room. Since it now got dark so early, she often became confused on the time and he’d find her in bed at six o’clock.

  Just as he was turning to go back down the hall toward her room, he spotted her crouched in a tight ball against the wall by the window. She was rocking slightly. Her head was tucked down and she was muttering into her knees.

  He closed his eyes and let the wave of nausea pass. Seeing her that way wasn’t something he would ever get used to. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and slowly approached her.

  Her words were muffled, a rhythmic chanting directed at her thighs. He knelt beside her and said, “Ma? I’m here now. You’re okay.”

  Corinne didn’t respond or acknowledge his presence in any way. The rocking continued, as did the muffled chant. He was afraid to touch her, not wanting to startle her or make her retreat any further away than she already had.

>   He remained quiet beside her, listening, trying to make sense of the sounds. He caught a word she continued to repeat. It sounded like she was saying “pictures”. He sighed, swiped a hand through his hair, and tried again. “Ma? Let me help you. Please tell me what happened.”

  The chanting stopped. She kept rocking, back and forth, as if she was still sitting in her rocker rather than curled in a ball on the floor. He reached out, laid his hand lightly on her arm, and said, “Let’s go sit on the couch, okay?”

  She lifted her head enough for him to see the streaks of tears. Then her eyes drifted out of focus. He had lost her for now.

  He stood, helping her to her feet. She let him lead her to her chair, functioning in an almost catatonic state. He covered her with her favorite throw blanket and let the tears come.

  ***

  The only light came from a dim bulb surrounded by a dusty shade. The heavy drapes had been drawn tight against the bright sun and now blocked out the glow of the lights outside. Cameron McCormick lay on the scratchy old bedspread, staring up at the nicotine-stained ceiling.

  Earlier that day he had drained a bottle of whiskey, covering his emotions with a layer of drunken haze. He vaguely remembered crying, then vomiting. Since then he had lay on this hard, creaky mattress in this dirty room in a lonely motel. He could change nothing but he thought about it all.

  Images of his son toyed with him. The golden-haired ten-year-old boy with big dreams and an even bigger heart. Cameron tried to swallow away the sour taste in his mouth. That child no longer existed. The ten-year-old boy had become a grown man. Thirty, just about the age he himself had been when he’d walked away.

  Cameron pushed himself up, standing on unsteady legs. What had he done to all those people who had loved him? So much hurt. And for what? He’d lost everything and then some. After that, he had run. He was still running. That had been his life so far.