Where hadn’t she gone wrong with Reese?
The phone rang. She tried to ignore it, but its shrill insistence finally drove her to get up, drag herself four feet away and pick up the receiver. When she reached it, the noise ceased and no one acknowledged her greeting.
She realized it was dark outside. She’d been lying on the couch for hours. A thought crossed her mind. The twins. Did Jake have them? He must, she hadn’t heard a peep from them all afternoon. She didn’t remember telling him he could take their children with him when he took off this afternoon. She figured she’d best call his cell phone, insist he bring them home.
She dialed the number, surprised when he answered after only one ring. She tried to be courteous. “Jake, I’d appreciate it if you brought the children back for the night. I don’t know where you’re staying but they have their own needs, their own beds to sleep in… What? You don’t have them? Did you drop them off somewhere? Oh my God, Jake, where are they?”
She was wailing, running through the house calling their names. There was no sign of either child.
The phone rang again. She rushed to it, thinking it was Jake, telling her he was kidding, just punishing her for kicking him out. It wasn’t.
The voice on the other end of the phone was so soft, so low, she could barely hear it. Even months later, she’d swear she hadn’t really known what was said.
“Meet me in the clearing. Come see your children die.”
Fifty-Two
T aylor and Baldwin were sifting through Reese Connolly’s life. His small two-bedroom bungalow in West End was simple, clean and held few clues as to the nature of the killer who lived within its walls. A dig was going on in the backyard. Marcus had spotted freshly turned earth, and further investigation showed six perfect mounds, one laid out next to another with flawless symmetry. The first grave held a decomposing woman’s hand. Very carefully, the remainder of the mini graves were being excavated.
Taylor’s cell rang, and she sighed as she stopped, reaching for the phone, clicking it on. Even the most mundane task was exhausting. She wasn’t prepared for what she heard when she answered.
Quinn Buckley was hysterical, screaming into the phone. Taylor tried to calm her, to no avail. She gleaned only a few tidbits of information from the call-that Quinn’s children were missing, and that Quinn had been instructed to go to the spot they’d been playing the day she and her sister were kidnapped. Taylor remembered from Quinn and Whitney’s file that it was behind their parents’ old place, out on Belle Meade Boulevard.
The homicide team split up. Taylor and Baldwin headed to the park. The drive took only ten minutes. Reese’s West End home was easily accessible to the main roads and they sailed through the dark night without trouble.
Taylor and Baldwin were tense and alarmed. Not speaking, each attuned to the other, they got themselves emotionally prepared. When children were involved, sometimes the results could be heartbreakingly bad. They had both seen the tumult that came into play with domestic violence. If what Quinn said was true, they would need to focus as much of their energies as possible to get the children out safely.
They pulled onto Belle Meade Boulevard, Taylor counting down the addresses until they located the home that had belonged to the Connollys when the girls were children. They pulled into the entrance, struck by the house in front of them. Quinn had mentioned the house had sold recently but was unoccupied. A stroke of luck, the new tenants weren’t there to contend with.
Taylor backed out, then pulled to the side of the Boulevard, right down the street from Quinn’s, and cut off the lights on her car. The moon was full, making the shadowy world before them shimmer. She and Baldwin jumped the fence and carefully made their way up to the house. There were two cars before them in the circular drive.
Taylor recognized the bottle-green classic Jaguar that had been parked in Quinn’s driveway. The other car she wasn’t familiar with, a black soft-top Jeep Wrangler. She radioed in the plates. The car was registered to Reese Connolly.
It was time, then. All the leads, the missteps, the death over the past two weeks would be decided in this last moment. Reese Connolly’s last stand against the world. And he was doing it with two innocents at his side.
Taylor and Baldwin crept around the side of the house, silent in the darkness. Surprise was their only chance to help Quinn and her children. Reese didn’t know they would be here, ready to take him into custody. Or worse, if warranted.
“How do you want to do this?” Taylor asked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The moon was giving off enough light to help them.
“Let’s take it slow, go through the woods. With any luck, Quinn was overreacting. Let’s get in there, see what there is to see. Maybe nothing will have to be done.”
Taylor’s hand slid the familiar route to her Glock, stationed at the ready on her hip. She unsnapped the holster strap, heard a corresponding snick from Baldwin, two feet to her right. She signaled to him in the shadows, motioning for him to go ahead. She broke out a flashlight, covered the edge with her free hand so they wouldn’t be seen and moved through the gloom into the backyard of the house.
“Through there,” Baldwin whispered, pointing to a small opening in the woods. “That should be the path to the clearing.”
They crept along the path, swatting branches and spiderwebs from their faces. After about fifty yards, the path grew wider. They could see the clearing just ahead.
Careful to make no noise, Taylor slid from behind the cover of the trees, Baldwin right on her heels. She could already hear sobbing, pleading and the strong voice of the man who’d claimed eight lives.
“Quit blubbering, Quinn, it makes your face all puffy. You want to look beautiful for the cameras tomorrow, don’t you? You’ll want to be the fresh and pretty mom next door, keening and wailing in your reserved way, sorry about the death of your children and only brother. Oh, but that’s not right, is it? I’m not your brother after all. Just a poor kid who no one thought could handle the truth. You and Whitney let them, Quinn. You let them perpetrate the lie.” There was a shuffling and a thin, high-pitched squeal came out of the darkness. One of the children had cried out and been muffled.
Quinn’s voice was choked with emotion. “Reese, you don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand. We were twelve years old, Reese. Twelve. Our innocence stripped away on a couch that stank of beer and sweat. Please, Reese, my children have nothing to do with this. You and I have many things to talk about, to work through. I’ll help you every way I can. I’ll get you out of the country so you don’t have to stand trial. But please, Reese, let my children go. They’re innocent in all of this, they shouldn’t be punished for the sins of their mother.”
Quinn was pleading now. With her voice for cover, Taylor stepped even closer, lodging herself against a young tree for support, her gun drawn and ready. She risked a glimpse around the tree. Quinn was approximately forty feet from her, she could see her clearly in the moonlight. Reese, though, was out of sight, a disembodied voice ringing out through the night. She couldn’t see the children, either. Shit, it was a blind shot. Not a thing she could do. Not yet.
Quinn continued trying to talk Reese into handing over the children. She must have started moving, because Reese’s voice rang out, clear and cold.
“Don’t move another inch, Quinn. This knife I have against sweet little Jake Junior’s throat could slip, and he’ll go down fast if you come any closer.”
Quinn raised her hands in submission and took a few steps back. Taylor realized that from Quinn’s angle, she could see Reese, had a clear view of him. Could see the knife pressed to her child’s throat.
Quinn gave up trying to negotiate for her children’s lives, settling instead on trying to get answers from Reese. Good girl, Taylor thought. Keep him talking, let us get him surrounded and cut off. She sent the mental message to Quinn, praying that the woman could feel her presence.
Baldwin caught Taylor’s eye. He held up a hand, fingers splayed. Five minutes, he was saying. Give me five minutes to get into place, then we’ll take him. She nodded and watched Baldwin creep away. If Quinn could keep him occupied for five more minutes.
