Exposure

readers.” She didn’t want to tell Mark about her dream and how details from it had played out in the second photo. If Tricia hadn’t believed her, neither would he.

Kaycee picked up her purse and pulled out the bagged photo — her one piece of evidence, what was left of it. “Then when I got in my car to come down here, I found this stuck in the visor.” She held it out to him, face up. “It’s the same photo — the dead man, with a bullet hole in his jaw and one in his head. But this one has blood on it.”

“Blood? ”

“Then minutes after I found it, the picture faded to this black.”

She flicked a look at Rich. He had stopped clicking through a tape to listen. Mark followed her eyes. Rich shifted in his chair and resumed his task.

Mark took the bagged photo from her hand and stared at it.

He flipped the picture to see the back, then turned it right side up. Lines etched in his forehead. Slowly he raised darkened eyes to hers. “This was a picture of that dead man?” Mark’s words resonated, a doubting Thomas now facing evidence. “The third you’ve seen.”

Kaycee nodded. “It’s why I . . . almost lost it there for a minute.”

He held her eyes, speechless. Kaycee bit her lip. “The thing is, Mark, Hannah’s gone. And they — whoever’s doing this to me — are here. For real. Lurking, hiding. They obviously were around my house last night. I didn’t imagine that camera. And the minute I left to come here, they got back into my kitchen to whisk it away. If Hannah made it to my house, and I wasn’t there, but they were . . .”

Kaycee couldn’t bring herself to say the rest. Mark inhaled a long, silent breath. At the same time their eyes lowered to the blood on the photo.

THIRTY

“There she is.”

Rich’s voice made Kaycee jump. Her gaze snapped up from the blackened picture.

Mark rose. “You see Hannah?”

“Yeah. I’ll freeze it.” Rich hit a button then pointed toward the bottom left of the screen.

Kaycee dropped her purse on the floor and hurried to Rich as Mark came around his desk. They leaned down and peered at the frozen shot on the monitor. The camera was apparently mounted in the parking lot between the police station and railroad tracks, taking in a diagonal shot up East Main and mostly focused on storefronts across the street. Near the left edge was Rice Street, running parallel to the tracks, and the Rail-Side Museum. At far left ran the railroad tracks, disappearing at a slant into the side of the screen.

Just this side of those tracks in the darkness, faintly lit by a streetlamp’s circle of light, was Hannah.

“Oh.” Kaycee’s pulse skipped.

The nine-year-old had just crossed the tracks on the other side of the street near the museum. One foot posed in front of the other, midstride. She clutched a small suitcase in both hands.

Mark gestured with his chin. “Play it.”

Rich pushed the button and the picture slid into action.

In silent motion Hannah put down the suitcase and pulled it away from the tracks. Her shoulders were hunched, her head swiveling, as if searching the night for ghosts. She looked so small and alone. Kaycee longed to reach into the monitor and pull her out. Tell her everything was going to be okay.

Abruptly Hannah stopped. Her head turned right.

“She’s looking this direction,” Mark said.

Hannah veered left and headed up Rice Street.

Kaycee’s mouth creaked open. “Why would she go that way?”

“The station.” Rich shook his head. “I think she didn’t want to pass by here.”

In tense silence they watched her back as she continued up Rice Street. On her left ran the tracks.

Thirty seconds later she twisted to look behind her. At the edge of the screen red lights began to flash.

“A train’s coming,” Kaycee whispered.

Hannah drew in her shoulders as if she wanted to melt into the pavement. The train shot from the bottom left of the screen and up the tracks. So silent on the film. But at night in the darkness, and so close — the sound must have terrified her.

Hannah slapped her hands over her ears.

The trains passing through Wilmore were long. As this one sped by, car after endless car, Hannah hunched over, ears covered. Finally her small form straightened. The train continued to pass. Hannah grabbed the handle of her suitcase and scurried up Rice Street. They saw her under the light of a street lamp, but the next one wasn’t working. Hannah’s form dimmed.

Fingers pressed to her mouth, Kaycee watched the girl until she faded into blackness.

THIRTY-ONE

The first thing Lorraine did was stop by the apartment to pick up Belinda.

As she turned her van into AC Storage, Lorraine clamped a lid on her emotions for Tammy’s sake — and partly for her own. She could so easily lose it right here, right now. She knew she teetered on the edge of that chasm in her soul. Get too close and she’d fall in. And there’d be no climbing out.

She chose not to park in their usual place around the corner from the apartment. That area was too close to the yellow crime-scene tape. And next to her spot sat Martin’s Pontiac. Lorraine couldn’t bear to look at it.

She pulled up beside the end of a storage building.

“What those people doing at our house, Mommy?” Tammy screwed up her face. A crime-scene technician wearing gloves disappeared into the apartment. A uniformed officer holding a clipboard stood guard just outside the taped-off area.

“They’re looking for things.”

“Like what?”

“Things to clean.”

The answer made no sense, but Tammy seemed to accept it.

Throat dry, Lorraine unbuckled her seatbelt and patted Tammy on the arm. “Stay here, okay? I’m just going to walk over and ask someone to bring out Belinda.”

Tammy nodded, her brows knit together, as if she understood the grimness of the situation.

The crime-scene tape fluttered in a slight breeze as Lorraine approached. Its yellow color stood out starkly against the gray of the office-apartment building and the sun-washed concrete. The young officer locked eyes with her as she drew to a halt. She didn’t recognize him from that morning.

“May I help you?”

“I want . . . that’s my apartment.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “My little girl needs her stuffed bear. It should be on her bed. It’s light brown and about so big.” She held one hand above the other a foot apart. “Real soft.”

“Okay.”

He walked to the door and opened it. Stuck his head inside. Lorraine heard his low voice, although she couldn’t make out the words. Beyond the doorway she could see movement. What could those people possibly be doing in there for so long?