Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver

house and had a lot of fun fixing it up.'

'How about other people in her life, friends, boyfriends?'

'She's got some good friends, sure.'

'Names, phone numbers?'

Again the girl fell quiet. 'I know some of their names. Not exactly where they live. I don't have any numbers.'

'Anybody she was seeing romantically?'

'She broke up with somebody about a month ago.'

Sellitto asked, 'Was this guy a problem, you think? A stalker? Upset about the breakup?'

The girl replied, 'No, I think it was his idea. Anyway, he lived in L.A. or Seattle or some place out west. So it wasn't, you know, real serious. She just started seeing this new guy. About two weeks ago.' Carly looked from Sachs to the floor. 'The thing is, I love Mom and everything. But we're not real close. My folks were divorced seven, eight years ago, and that kind of changed a lot of things… Sorry I don't know more about her.'

Ah, the wonderful family unit, thought Rhyme cynically. It was what made Park Avenue shrinks millionaires and kept police departments around the world busy answering calls at all hours of the day and night.

'You're doing fine,' Sachs encouraged. 'Where's your father?'

'He lives in the city. Downtown.'

'Do he and your mother see each other much?'

'Not anymore. He wanted to get back together but Mom was lukewarm and I think he gave up.'

'Do you see him much?'

'I do, yeah. But he travels a lot. His company imports stuff, and he goes overseas to meet his suppliers.'

'Is he in town now?'

'Yep. I'm going to see him on Christmas, after Mom's party.'

'We should call him. See if he's heard from her,' Sachs said.

Rhyme nodded and Carly gave them the man's number. Rhyme said, 'I'll get in touch with him… Okay, get going, Sachs. Over to Susan's house. Carly, you go with her. Move fast.'

'Sure, Rhyme. But what's the hurry?'

He glanced out the window, as if the answer were hovering there in plain view.

Sachs shook her head, perplexed. Rhyme was often piqued that people didn't tumble to things as quickly as he did. 'Because the snow might tell us something about what happened there this morning.' And, as he often liked to do, he added a dramatic coda: 'But if it keeps coming down like this, there won't be any story left to read.'

A half hour later Amelia Sachs pulled up on a quiet, tree-lined street in Glen Hollow, Long Island, parking the bright red Camaro three doors from Susan Thompson's house.

'No, it's up there,' Carly pointed out.

'Here's better,' Sachs said. Rhyme had drummed into her that access routes to and from the site of the crime could be crime scenes in their own right and could yield valuable information. She was ever- mindful about contaminating scenes.

Carly grimaced when she noticed that the car was still in the garage.

'I'd hoped…'

Sachs looked at the girl's face and saw raw concern. The policewoman understood: Mother and daughter had a tough relationship, that was obvious. But you never cut parental ties altogether — can't be done — and there's nothing like a missing mother to set off primal alarms.

'We'll find her,' Sachs whispered.

Carly gave a faint smile and pulled her jacket tighter around her. It was stylish and obviously expensive but useless against the cold. Sachs had been a fashion model for a time but when not on the runway or at a shoot she'd dressed like a real person, to hell with what was in vogue.

Sachs looked over the house, a new, rambling two-story Colonial on a small but well-groomed lot, and called Rhyme. On a real case she'd be patched through to him on her Motorola. Since this wasn't official business, though, she simply used her hands-free cord and cell phone, which was clipped to her belt a few inches away from her Glock automatic pistol.

'I'm at the house,' she told him. 'What's that music?'

After a moment 'Hark, the Herald Angels Sing' went silent.

'Sorry. Thom insists on being in the spirit. What do you see, Sachs?'

She explained where she was and the layout of the place. 'The snow's not too bad here but you're right: in another hour it'll cover up any prints.'

'Stay off the walks and check out if there's been any surveillance.'

'Got it.'

Sachs asked Carly what prints were hers. The girl explained that she had parked in front of the garage — Sachs could see the tread marks in the snow — and then had gone through the kitchen door.

Carly behind her, Sachs made a circuit of the property.

'Nothing in the back or side yard, except for Carly's footprints,' she told Rhyme.

'There are no visible prints, you mean,' he corrected. 'That's not necessarily 'nothing.''

'Okay, Rhyme. That's what I meant. Damn, it's cold.'

They circled to the front of the house. Sachs found footsteps in the snow on the path between the street and the house. A car had stopped at the curb. There was one set of prints walking toward the house and two walking back, suggesting the driver had picked Susan up. She told Rhyme this. He asked, 'Can you tell anything from the shoes? Size, sole prints, weight distribution?'

'Nothing's clear.' She winced as she bent down; her arthritic joints ached in the cold and damp. 'But one thing's odd — they're real close together.'

'As if one of them had an arm around the other person.'

'Right.'

'Could be affection. Could be coercion. We'll assume — hope — the second set is Susan's, and that, whatever happened, at least she's alive. Or was a few hours ago.'

Then Sachs noticed a curious indentation in the snow, next to one of the front windows. It was as if somebody had stepped off the sidewalk and knelt on the ground. In this spot you could see clearly into the living room and kitchen beyond. She sent Carly to open the front door and then whispered into the microphone, 'May have a problem, Rhyme… It looks like somebody was kneeling down, looking through the window.'

'Any other evidence there, Sachs? Discernible prints, cigarette butts, other impressions, trace?'

'Nothing.'

'Check the house, Sachs. And, just for the fun of it, pretend it's hot.'

'But how could a perp be inside?'

'Humor me.'

The policewoman stepped to the front door, unzipping her leather jacket to give her fast access to her weapon. She found the girl in the entryway, looking around the house. It was still, except for the tapping and whirs of household machinery. The lights were on — though Sachs found this more troubling than if it'd been dark; it suggested that Susan had left in a hurry. You don't shut out the lights when you're being abducted.

Sachs told the girl to stay close and she started through the place, praying she wouldn't find a body. But, no; they looked everywhere the woman might be. Nothing. And no signs of a struggle.

'The scene's clear, Rhyme.'

'Well, that's something.'

'I'm going to do a fast grid here, see if we can find any clue where she went. I'll call you back if I find anything.'

On the main floor Sachs paused at the mantel and looked over a number of framed photographs. Susan Thompson was a tall, solidly built woman with short blonde hair, feathered back. She had an agreeable smile. Most of the pictures were of her with Carly or with an older couple, probably her parents. Many had been taken out-of- doors, apparently on hiking or camping trips.

They looked for any clue that might indicate where the woman was. Sachs studied the calendar next to the phone in the kitchen. The only note in today's square said C here.

The girl gave a sad laugh. Were the single letter and terse notation an emblem of how Carly believed the