“Did she know the boy’s name?”
“No.”
I thanked her and then hung up before she could ask any questions. I took the two files that caught my attention, the one on Christina and the one on the thirteen-year-old’s stalker. I handed both to Max. “We’re going to split up,” I said. “You have two cases here, a harassment charge and a missing person. Take a look.”
Max opened the files and flipped through the reports.
“Where did you get these? I don’t remember seeing either one,” he said. “I searched for missing persons when I first got the note on Delilah. This report on Christina Bradshaw didn’t come up.”
“It’s a long story. Talk to their families. See what you can find out. Find out who the Bradshaws suspected in their daughter’s disappearance.”
“They had a suspect?”
“It says they did,” I said. “And the other report, the thirteen-year-old, the family named the man they say stalked their girl.”
“Who was it?”
“It’s been redacted. All I can read is the last name. Barstow.”
“One of the Barstows was involved?” His voice rose in alarm.
“It appears that way.”
“Clara, I can do this, but are you sure you don’t want me to go out to talk to your family with you?”
“I’m sure.” I picked up the folder with the photos of the dead girl’s dress to bring with me. “This time, I’m going alone. And I’m not leaving that trailer until I find out what happened to Delilah.”
Thirty-Three
The man walked in before Delilah heard him. The light had softened and filtered in around the boarded-up window. Late afternoon leaning toward evening, she decided. Still a long time before night.
“You have a good nap?” he asked.
At the sight of him, Delilah’s heart pitched so high she thought it might lodge in her throat.
“I sleep a lot,” she said. “I wish I could move around.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “You think if I unchain you, you’ll keep settled down?”
“Yes.” Delilah said, hopeful. “I promise.”
Out of his back pocket he pulled a small ring with two keys. “Turn around,” he said. Delilah did, and the man leaned toward her. She thought he’d reach for her wrists, but he paused to take her hair in his hand, feeling the weight of it. “I’ve always loved the look of a redhead. That’s why you caught my attention.”
Delilah shivered.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Maybe a little,” she said.
“Come on. We’re going downstairs,” he said.
The old house looked a mess, with boxes and newspapers scattered across the floor and furniture. Dirty clothes heaped in piles. “This way,” he said, leading her into a short hall. A door opened into a bathroom, the tub filled with water. “Git in.”
Delilah moved forward, and then turned to close the door.
The man put out his hand to stop her and pointed at a chair in the hallway. “Leave it an inch open. I’m gonna sit here. I want to hear what you’re doing.”
“Okay,” she answered.
Although uneasy with the man so close behind the door, Delilah dropped her clothes on the floor. As she sank into the water, relief flooded through her. The warmth soothed the bruises the chains had left on her sore ankles and wrists and felt better than any bath she’d ever taken. She eased her head under the water, and then came back up, her hair streaming wet down her back.
She worked shampoo into her hair and lathered it into her scalp, then grabbed a bar of soap and a well-worn washcloth. Delilah scrubbed as if she hadn’t had a bath in years, scouring her skin. She wanted to wash the last four days away, the soiled mattress, the dim locked room, and the shame she felt when the man looked at her.
“Better finish up,” he ordered.
“Just one more minute,” Delilah shouted. She closed her eyes and leaned back to rinse her hair.
Without warning, the door opened. The man’s heavy hand came at her and pushed her under the water. She kicked and flailed her arms, gasped for breath. The back of her head struck the smooth surface of the tub with a thunk.
Helpless, her mind flashed on her mother, the sister-wives, her brothers and sisters, as if saying goodbye to each one. She felt her father’s presence and wondered if he had come to pull back the curtain and welcome her into heaven.
At the moment she gave in to the inevitability of death, the man let go.
Delilah broke through the water’s surface, splashing waves across the tub. Her starved lungs sucked in air. Ragged coughing, a violent lurch deep within her, and she vomited filthy bathwater.
Shaking, she looked over at the man, who stared at her with cold, dead eyes. “Listen, little girl,” he hissed. “Don’t you ever cross me. You understand?”
“I-I-I…” her naked body trembled so violently that she couldn’t get the words out.
“You give me any reason to doubt you? I’ll kill you. Count on that,” he shouted as he grabbed a towel off the door and threw it at her.
Thirty-Four
It appeared that the family meeting Jim Daniels had mentioned was still in session. The street in front of my family’s trailer was lined with cars when I arrived. I knocked on the door, and someone looked out the window on my right. The door didn’t open. I knocked again. Harder. Still nothing.
“Mother,” I said, pounding on the screen door with my fist. It rattled, making a loud, tinny racket. “Open this door now!”
The lock clicked. The door opened a few inches, and a man stood behind it.
“Aaron,” I said. “Thank you. Now please let me inside. I need to talk to all of you about Delilah.”
He eased the door open a bit farther. My oldest brother had changed over the years. His shoulders were broader than I remembered and he looked heavy and solid, his forehead wide and his chin set. He scowled at me with Father’s dark eyes. “Clara, Mother doesn’t want you here. She wants you to leave.”
I shook my head and stared right back at him.
