doing here? She saw a rat and let out a scream.
'Shhhhh! It's all right. I'm not going to let anything happen to you!'
It was him. It wasn't a dream.
'It's a rat!'
'Big mouse,' he said, trying to calm her. 'Think a very, very big mouse'
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday, 2:40 n.M., Cherrystone, Washington
The wind kicked up and blew just enough dust across the parking lot in front of the safety building so as to make the hairs stand up on the back of Emily Kenyon's neck. Jenna had been missing for thirty-two hours. Thirty- two hours is a lifetime. Life and death. Emily had cried until no more tears were left, but she also put on the kind of brave face that only a person who'd seen the worst humans can do to others can muster. It was a mask, she knew, but somehow it held her steady.
Sheriff Kiplinger was elated when KREM TV from Spokane called saying the network honchos might want to do a story on the missing detective's daughter. Emily was oddly ambivalent about the prospect. She'd been the first to jump at the chance when the media came-so concerned, so sincere-to profile a missing person. But not now. It felt more intrusive than helpful. She tried to explain herself to Kiplinger.
'I want to find her,' she said, 'not embarrass her to death'
He didn't get it. 'That's flat-out stupid, Emily.'
'Tell me how you'd handle it if it was your daughter?'
'I'd call out the cavalry,' he said. 'You know I would.'
Emily put that out of her mind. The day had become one of those evidentiary roller coasters or maybe a merry-goround, as it seemed to go in circles with no end. She'd been on the phone with the bank card company. Nope, Jenna hadn't taken out a dime. She'd called every parent in the PTA phone book, grateful that it was still hard copy and not some goddamn online system. Old ways sometimes worked best. God knew if the Internet hadn't been invented, her daughter probably wouldn't be off who-knows-where with Batboy. She hoped, no she prayed, that Jenna had gone willingly.
Jenna wasn't Polly Klaas or Elizabeth Smart. No way. Emily hoped that there was some connection that was reckless and wrong, but ultimately less scary. She was living in a fool's paradise and deep down she knew it. Shali's printout from her computer was proof enough that something was terribly awry.
Do you think that a love could be so powerful as to be sick?
The words made Emily's skin crawl. She knew there was only one answer for such a question: 'In your case, yes. Yes. Yes'
Jason Howard slipped into her office. He carried a pair of paper cups embedded in a cardboard tray.
'Latte?'
Emily barely nodded. 'Thank you.'
She pulled off the plastic lid and sipped.
'Any news?' he asked.
She shook her head, swinging her ponytail. It reminded her that she probably looked like garbage. Her hair was oily. Her makeup nonexistent. Looking good wasn't on her mind. Only Jenna.
'We'll find her,' he said. 'She'll be all right.' '
Emily stayed mute. She felt so empty, so devoid of feeling. She never knew how it felt to lose someone in the night. Others had. She always comforted them. But just as no one really knows what it is like to be a mother until she holds her first child, no one who hadn't felt the sudden loss of a child could ever even approximate the stabbing ache that came with every breath.
I know you're not thinking about the Martin case right now,' he started to say.
'Oh, but I am ' Emily cut him off, summarily snapping herself out of the pity that had mired her, sucked her down, into the depths of despair.
'I know,' he said, his bright eyes, now surprisingly compassionate for a young man who couldn't even begin to understand her pain. 'I know ... if we find Nick, we might find Jenna'
'We'll find her,' she corrected. She looked down at her latte, trying hard not to cry.
Jason spoke to fill the awkward silence. 'Anything more off Shalimar Patterson's computer? Jenna's Mac?'
'Not a goddamn thing. Both girls use something to avoid spyware, viruses, and all the rotten stuff out there. I can't even tell what sites she visited. She must have cleaned it just before the chat with Batboy.'
'Nick. Nick Martin.'
'Right, Nick.' Jason hesitated a moment. 'I know I'm just a deputy around here,' he said. 'But I did call the Spokane ME about the Martin case. For an update. I know it isn't my job, but you and the sheriff were so busy with Jenna stuff. Are you mad?'
Emily sighed and leaned forward. She even managed a little smile. Despite all that was going on Jason Howard was still doing his job. That was good. She regretted how she'd chewed him out at the crime scene. It was like shooting the Easter Bunny.
'That's good, Jason. Did they have anything for us?'
The young man pulled up a chair. He tried to temper his excitement, but he was bursting with the news.
'Yes, they did. They told me that the victims had probably been tied up before they were shot'
With those words, Emily found herself back at the crime scene. The bodies had been such a mess. So battered by the debris of the tornado, she doubted that outside of the gunshot wounds there'd be little in the way of forensics. But this was good. This was real information.
'Bound? Then murdered?' she asked. Her bloodshot eyes widened. She looked down at her cup, already empty. She hadn't even remembered drinking it, let alone sucking it down as she apparently had.
'Yup. That's what she said. Paperwork's on its way. Some sick puppy really did a number on that family. They were held captive, like animals. Maybe he tortured them, too. Maybe he made them really, really suffer.'
Sick puppy. The term was not only at odds with the deed, but it lessened the truth of what the killer had done. A puppy doesn't rage. A puppy doesn't do the unthinkable. But a Batboy just might.
Emily's thoughts swung back to Jenna. It was like Jason Howard had slammed a door in her face. He didn't mean it. But she wondered why it hadn't dawned on him that the socalled sick puppy was Nick Martin. And that the sick puppy might be holding her daughter.
Jenna! Where are you?
'I'm going over to the high school,' she said, abruptly rising. 'I need-we need every bit of information we can get about Nick.' She drummed her fingertips on a manila folder on her desk.
Inside was a copy of Judge Crawford's subpoena for all of Nick's school files.
Wednesday, 3:25 P.M.
As she walked from her car to the school's administration office, Emily Kenyon was acutely aware of the looks of concern coming at her from in every direction. Kids she didn't know, but who probably knew Jenna and why her mother the cop was there, were fixated on her. They stared, mouths slack jawed. Only one had the courage to come forward, a boy of about sixteen. He had tiny white shells strung on jute around his neck. A chain dangled from his belt loop to his pocket. He'd been fighting acne and the smell of the ointment he used was heavy.
'Sorry 'bout Jenna. She's a good girl,' he said.
Emily nodded. She could have said something, but she just had no words. Her silence seemed to make the boy step back. He looked suddenly insecure and awkward.
'Everyone liked her,' the boy added, looking down at the ground.
'Likes her,' Emily finally said, correcting his tense. 'I'll find her. She'll be home. She is a good girl.'
'Yup. Just wanted you to know.'
Emily swung from mom to detective mode. 'Who are you?'
'Kev Bonnets,' he answered, this time, looking her in the eye.
'Do you know my daughter?'
He shifted his weight and looked down. 'Not really. But she's talked to me a few times. Nice. Always nice to
