Boyle never called her. The only person he ever talked to was the only person who wanted to talk to him: his cousin Richard.
During his two years at Vermont's Mount Silver Academy, Boyle had learned discipline. When he graduated, he enlisted in the army. There he learned how to put planning and organization above the secret need that burned like a supernova in the center of his mind. He had to apply that same discipline now, to this situation.
Daniel Boyle, forty-eight, went into the other room and stared at the green glow coming from the six monitors set up on the shelf. Rachel Swanson's cell was dark. The other five cells were occupied. They were sleeping. Carol Cranmore seemed to be coming awake.
Chapter 21
Boyle's cell phone rang. It was Richard. Boyle heard traffic in the background. Richard was calling from a pay phone. He always called from a pay phone. He was always so careful.
I've been thinking about Rachel,' Richard said. 'Do you still have Slavick's Colt Commander?'
'I have it.'
'Good. Now listen to me. I want you to take Carol back to Belham.'
'No.'
'Danny, we need to get rid of her.'
'I don't want to.'
'You're going to drive Carol back to Belham.'
'No.'
'You're going to bring her out into the woods and shoot her in the back of the head – and make sure you leave the body out in the open. I want her to be found quickly.'
'I want to keep her,' Boyle said.
'After you shoot her, I want you to plant Slavick's blood on her clothes and underneath her fingernails. The police will think she fought him off before he shot her. The police will come in and investigate, and they'll find the blood belongs to Slavick. It will match the blood you left at Carol's house.'
'Let's play with Carol for awhile. You know what the girls are like when they see the basement for the first time.'
'We can't risk it. There's too much trace evidence in the basement. We don't want the police to find anything on her to connect her to Rachel.'
'What are we going to do about her?'
'I'm still thinking about it.'
'She's at Mass General. I know her room number.'
'We'll talk about it when I get there. I'll see you in a couple of hours.'
Wait, there's something I need to tell you,' Boyle said. 'It's about Victor Grady.'
'Grady? What does Grady have to do with this?'
'Do you remember the names of the three girls who saw me strangling Samantha Kent?'
'I know two of them are dead.'
'I'm talking about the redhead, Darby McCormick.'
Richard didn't answer.
'She's the teenager who left her backpack in the woods,' Boyle said. 'You went into her house and she fractured your arm with the hammer -'
'I know who she is.'
'Do you know she's a crime scene investigator for the Boston Crime Lab?'
Richard didn't answer.
'She's working on Carol Cranmore's case,' Boyle said.
The Grady case is closed.'
'I don't like the idea of her snooping around.'
'Forget Grady. He's a dead end. Get Carol ready.'
'Let's keep her just for tonight. Just give me one night -'
'Do it,' Richard said, and hung up.
Boyle only needed a moment to get organized.
He tucked the Colt Commander in the shoulder holster under his vest. He slipped the silencer and stun gun in his right vest pocket so it was handy. The plastic bags holding rags soaked with chloroform were already in each pocket. He made a mental note to cut Carol and collect some of her blood. He wanted to plant it inside Slavick's house. It would be easy to do. Boyle had a set of keys to Slavick's house and shed.
Boyle was about to lock up the filing cabinet when he pulled the drawer back out and removed the old mask made of stitched-together strips of Ace bandages. He hadn't worn it in years. Smiling, Boyle slid the mask over his head and picked up the rope from the wall.
Chapter 22
Carol Cranmore sat on a cot, underneath a wool blanket that felt stiff and scratchy against the bare parts of her skin. She didn't know how long she had been awake. She knew she wasn't wearing Tony's shirt anymore. The clothes she was wearing – sweatpants a little too tight and a baggy sweatshirt – smelled of fabric softener.
She had no memory of being undressed. The only memory she had was the one she kept replaying over and over in her mind – the stranger pushing a foul-smelling cloth over her mouth.
Carol buried her hands in her hair. This isn't supposed to be happening to me. I'm supposed to be at school today. I'm supposed to have lunch with Tony and then I'm supposed to go to the mall with Kari because Abercrombie amp; Fitch is having a huge sale and I've saved up money from babysitting because I'm a good person. I shouldn't be here oh God why is this happening to me?
The panic felt like a monstrous tide rising above her. Carol drew in a sharp breath and all the fear and terror were rushing through her, rushing up her throat, and she was screaming it into the dark room, screaming until her throat was raw, screaming until she had nothing left.
The darkness didn't go away. Carol closed her eyes and prayed to God – prayed hard. She opened her eyes. The darkness was still here. And she needed to pee. Was there a toilet hidden somewhere in this pitch-black room?
Carol swung her legs off the cot and felt something with a hard edge bump up against her foot. She reached down, hands moving across the shape. It was a cardboard tray holding a wrapped sandwich and a soda can. Whoever had brought her here had not only dressed her before putting her to bed, he had taken the time to wrap a blanket around her to make sure she was warm and had brought her food.
Carol wiped the tears from her face. She removed the Saran Wrap and took a bite of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly. She washed it away with the soda. It was Mountain Dew, her favorite.
As Carol ate, she wondered, for a brief moment, if her abductor may have been her father. She had never met him before – she didn't even know his name. Her mother referred to the man as 'the donor' and that was it.
If her father had abducted her – stories like that were all over the news, it did happen – he wouldn't lock her up in a room with no lights. No, her father hadn't brought her here. Someone else had.
Carol finished the rest of the Mountain Dew, wondering if there was a light switch on the wall.
The wall behind her had the same rough, sandpaper-like texture as the floor. Concrete, probably. She rubbed her hands up and down along the wall above her cot and failed to find a light switch. But that didn't mean there wasn't one in here.
Carol got her bearings. Okay, here was the end of the cot. Two choices: left or right. She decided to go left and started moving her hands across the wall, counting her steps as she searched for a light switch. She counted
