It would be at least an hour before Mary Beth arrived with her equipment. Darby took pictures with her digital camera for her files.
Jane Doe was heavily sedated, so the doctor was willing to undo the restraints so Darby could take close-up pictures. She examined the rest of Jane Doe's body and didn't find any other writing.
'Someone from the lab is going to be here to take more photographs,' Darby said after she finished. 'You might have to undo the restraints again.'
'As long as she's sedated. I meant to ask you this earlier: Do you know why she didn't attack you?'
'I think I reminded her of someone.' Darby took out a business card and wrote down her home number. She handed the card to the doctor. 'That's my home number. When she wakes up, I'd appreciate if you'd call me, even if it's late. I'll leave my cell on, too.'
'When you find the person who did this to her,' the doctor said, 'I hope you all have the good sense to string the son of a bitch up by his balls.'
Chapter 15
Darby did the documentation work for Mary Beth. When they stepped back outside the ICU, Darby turned on her phone and checked her messages. There was another one from Sheila, asking her to call. She was worried; Darby could tell by the tone of her mother's voice. The second message was from Banville.
Her cell phone battery was almost dead. Darby found a pay phone on the wall next to a pair of vending machines. Across the hall was the ICU waiting room, a small area with stiff plastic chairs and magazines wrinkled by sweat. A man with rosary beads stared at the floor while a woman cried in the corner underneath the TV playing a news report on the war in Iraq.
When Banville answered his phone, Darby brought him up to date on the day's events.
'I agree, the letters do sound like directions,' Banville said after she finished. 'I wonder how the numbers factor into it.'
'It could be a shorthand of some sort.'
'And the only person who can decipher it is still sedated.'
'I asked the doctor to call me when she wakes up. I want to be there when you question her.'
'I think that's a good idea. It might help keep her calm. Let's hope she wakes up soon.'
'I hear I'm all over the news.'
'Some reporter got footage of you climbing under the porch with Jane Doe,' Banville said. 'I bet our boy is getting real nervous.'
'How's the mother holding up?'
'About the same as any mother would hold up in this situation,' Banville said. The Lynn police went to Little Baby Cool's last known address. He doesn't live there anymore and – imagine this – he forgot to notify his parole officer. I'll tell them about the footwear impression.'
'I want to talk to you about that,' Darby said, and launched into her reasons for hiring the footwear consultant.
'It's something to consider,' Banville said.
'The last FedEx drop is at seven. Emmerich said he'd work on it first thing in the morning.'
'That's a hell of a lot of money to gamble on something that might not pan out.'
'What would Carol want you to do?'
'I didn't realize you were on a first-name basis with the vic,' Banville said. 'I'll be in touch.'
Darby heard the sting of the dial tone. She hung up the phone, her face burning. Her attention drifted back over to the man holding the rosary beads.
In a flash she saw herself at fourteen, rosary beads in hand, pacing the worn-out carpet, waiting for her mother to come out of ICU where she was talking to the surgeon. Her father was going to be okay. Big Red had been in plenty of tough spots before; he was going to pull through this. God always protected the good.
Now, at thirty-seven, she knew better.
Darby thought about her mother wasting away at home and felt a cold, empty space hanging inside her chest as she walked toward the elevators.
Chapter 16
Daniel Boyle rubbed the rosary beads between his fingers as he watched the crime scene investigator, the attractive redhead who had helped Rachel Swanson out from underneath the porch, disappear around the corner. He had changed seats when she picked up the pay phone. He had listened to most of her conversation and was relieved to hear the police had found the footwear impressions he had left on the kitchen floor.
Once the blood from the hallway was processed through their CODIS system, they would get a hit for Earl Slavick. The FBI was looking for Slavick in connection with a string of missing women that started in Colorado.
The FBI didn't know Slavickwas now a resident of Lewiston, New Hampshire. When Boyle decided to lead the police to Slavick's house, they would find a pair of Ryzer hiking boots, size eleven, in Slavick's office closet, along with some other valuable evidence connecting him to the disappearances of several New England women.
What was troubling Boyle was this business about the writing found on Rachel's arm. He had an idea what the numbers and letters meant, but it would be meaningless to the police unless Rachel woke up and started talking.
Boyle knew Rachel had already woken up once and attacked a nurse. If Rachel woke up again, if they could stabilize her long enough to pump her system with some antipsychotic medication, she might be able to tell the police about what had happened to her and the other women in the basement.
Boyle still couldn't figure out how Rachel had escaped. The two pairs of handcuffs were good and tight, the ball gag still wedged securely in her mouth, when he left to get Carol. And Rachel was sick. She wasn't going anywhere.
When he came back, the van's back doors were open. The ball gag and handcuffs were lying on the floor.
Nobody had ever escaped before.
Boyle tightened his grip on the rosary beads. Once again, he had underestimated Rachel, forgot what a resourceful cunt she could be – which was, ironically, one of the things he absolutely loved about her. Rachel reminded him so much of his mother.
A little over two weeks ago, Rachel had faked being sick, refusing to eat for days, and when he went into her cell to check on her, she attacked him and broke his nose. He fell to the floor and she kicked him in the head until he passed out.
The keys she took from his pocket didn't unlock the padlock for the basement door. Those keys were in his office. And that was where he found her, tearing the place up, looking for his other set of keys, maybe even his cell phone. Maybe Rachel had found the spare set of handcuff keys. He hadn't noticed they were missing. He was still cleaning up the mess she made.
He should have left Rachel inside her cell. He should have come to Belham alone, as originally planned, grabbed Carol and then, after he returned home – then he should have made a separate trip to bury Rachel.
Instead, he had been lured by the idea of burying Rachel next to his mother in the Belham woods around Salmon Brook Pond. He hadn't been to his old burial ground in years – so long, in fact, he had forgotten where he had buried her.
Boyle had made maps of all his burial spots. He couldn't find the recent map he had made showing where his mother's remains were buried. Boyle, never good with directions, had to rely on memory. It had taken nearly four hours to find the spot, followed by another hour of digging. When he left the woods, the idea of burying Rachel next to his mother had consumed him for days. He couldn't let it go. Now, because he had put desire before
