The Longest Silence Read online

  She found no photos or stacks of DVDs as she’d feared. Whatever he’d done, he’d kept it on his computer or he had some other storage facility.

  She glanced at him once last time. “Dumb ass.”

  Once she’d ensured none of the neighbors were on the landing outside, she tucked on her sunglasses and got the hell out. It wasn’t until she was on the street headed away from the scene that she made the necessary call.

  Her partner was not going to be happy.

  14

  Doe Run Road, Macon

  11:30 a.m.

  Tony glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. “Don’t mention being a reporter. Just observe. If you recognize her, don’t say a word until we’re done.”

  Joanna scrutinized him for a long moment. “You’re still undecided about trusting me.”

  “I’m not taking chances with my niece’s life.” He reached for the door but hesitated. “Fair warning, if you’re wasting my time you will wish you’d latched onto some other player in this case.”

  Still angry that the chief of police had called to warn him about crossing any lines in his jurisdiction, Tony’s options were sorely limited. He’d expected the Bureau to put up roadblocks to his involvement in the case, but he’d held out hope the chief would keep a back door open. No such luck. He climbed out of the BMW. If his suspicions were on the money Miss Hailey Martin would still be in bed. She struck him as a full-time night person, not just the occasional stay-out-late kind of gal. The Jag in the driveway was a good indication she was home.

  Joanna walked around the hood and joined him. “I’m sure you have contacts you can use to confirm what I’ve told you is the truth.”

  He considered her for a long moment. “You were abducted eighteen years ago. You and another freshman were missing for fourteen days. You survived, got away somehow and returned to finish the semester, and then you vanished. At some point over the years you cut your hair and went blond. You move frequently. Never been married. No long-term relationships. Your mother hasn’t seen you in nearly two decades. The only trail you leave is your work for an online newspaper. Otherwise you’re a ghost. That’s what I confirmed. That’s what I believe. Until you show me proof, that’s all I believe.”

  She had refused to discuss her time in captivity. The chief’s call had interrupted the shouting match over her refusal, and then she’d given him the silent treatment on the way here. He’d decided to give it a rest for now. When the time was right, he would have his answers.

  “You called my mother?” The shock on her face quickly dissolved into anger. “You shouldn’t have called my family.”

  “You want me to trust you, then I need to know you’re not some nutcase off her meds.”

  She set her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Fuck you, LeDoux.”

  He decided not to mention that she had already or that he had done a bang-up job of fucking himself the past few months. “Just keep quiet and let me do the talking.”

  When they’d climbed the steps, he crossed the porch and pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed through the house. A minute later Hailey Martin’s toned legs came into view. By the time she reached the bottom of the staircase he glimpsed a full frontal view of Martin’s naked body before she bothered to cinch the robe closed.

  “Jesus.” Joanna rolled her eyes.

  The door opened. Martin was all smiles; the dog on her heels eyed her unexpected guests warily. “Agent LeDoux, aren’t I the lucky one? A visit two days in a row.” She opened the door wider. “Please, come in. Did you locate Miles?”

  “Actually, we hoped you might be able to help with that.”

  She glanced at Joanna. “Is this your partner?”

  “We’re working together on this case,” Joanna said before Tony could. She thrust out her hand. “Carrie Cole.”

  The lie slid right off her tongue without the slightest hesitation. She’s almost as good as you, Tony.

  “As you know,” Tony moved on, “we have two missing freshmen from Georgia College. You appear to be one of the last people to have seen Tiffany Durand.”

  “Would you like to come in and sit?” Martin glanced at Joanna again and smiled. “I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”

  “Actually,” Tony said, “we don’t have a lot of time. Any additional information you could provide that might help us locate Conway would be helpful.”

  “I wish I could do something more.” Martin lifted one silk-clad shoulder. “I gave you his number. I really don’t know him that well.”

  “If you hear from him or recall anything else, call me.” He drew another card from his pocket and passed it to her. “Just in case you lost my number.”

  Hailey took the card and flashed him a flirty smile. “More than happy to.”

  Before she could reach for the door once more, Joanna snatched the card from her hand. She dug in her bag for a pen and jotted her cell number right under Tony’s, then offered it back to the woman. “Now you have my number also.”

  Hailey didn’t smile this time. She opened the door once more and Joanna hesitated again. “Do you know Professor Orson Blume?”

  Hailey frowned but not before Tony spotted the surprise in her eyes. “I don’t think so. The name doesn’t sound familiar. I’m sorry, do you and I know each other?”

  Joanna shook her head. “I probably have you confused with someone else. I remember now. I was thinking of Madelyn. She had red hair. You’re a natural blonde, aren’t you?”

  Hailey’s lips curved into a smug expression. “I am.” She reached out and touched Joanna’s hair. “And you are not.”

  Joanna drew away from her and flashed a fake smile. “No, I’m not.”

  When they were in the car driving away, Tony said, “You recognized her.”

  “I did.” Joanna stared forward, the fingers of her right hand clenching the armrest. “Eighteen years ago she was Madelyn. She had red hair and she worked as an assistant to Professor Orson Blume.”

  “Blume?”

  “He was a psych professor when I was a freshman. He was also a much-loved advisor. All the freshmen I knew went to him. After the abduction Professor Blume went out of his way to try and help with our recovery. He was convinced Ellen and I needed additional therapy. I blew him off but I think Ellen went to see someone a few times.”

  “You didn’t feel you needed counseling?” Tony kept his eyes on the road but he felt hers burning a hole through him.

  “No. Words weren’t going to make what happened go away. Nothing anyone could say would change what we lived through.”

  Tony only had a general overview of the case file. His one remaining contact at the Bureau who was still speaking to him hadn’t been able to provide more than a cursory briefing. “Tell me about you.”

  “Didn’t my mother do that already?”

  The anger was gone but there was something else—defeat, disappointment maybe. “We only spoke for a couple of minutes. She was happy to know you were well. I hope I wasn’t wrong about that part.”

  Five miles zipped past the windows before she decided to respond. “I grew up in a small town where everybody knew everybody else. My folks were strict. Went to church every time the doors opened. My brother was the captain of the football team, class president, you name it. When my father had his first heart attack, Ray stepped right into his shoes as breadwinner instead of going to college. He always did the right thing. The leader. Model student and son. Married the right girl. Had the perfect kids. Everybody loves Ray.”

  More of that silence lapsed. While he waited for her to go on, Tony headed for the only address he’d been able to find for Miles Conway.

  “I was the quiet one. The wallflower. Didn’t belong to any clubs, didn’t play sports. No friends. Stayed holed up in my room. A loner.”

  “No boyfriends?” He made a left.

&n
bsp; “I was fat and kept my nose in a book all through high school. No one noticed me and those who did only wanted to get a laugh at my expense.”

  “Kids can be cruel.” He’d never had any trouble in school but his sister had been bullied—at least until Tony found out. The resulting expulsion was the only black mark on his high school record. It cost him three games that basketball season but he would have kicked the shit out of the guy making fun of her if it had cost him his spot on the team. “You came into your own in college?”

  “I tried. The extra weight disappeared the summer before. I think I was so nervous I couldn’t eat. Working out was my new best friend when I didn’t have my head in the World Wide Web. Suddenly I was enthralled with what was going on in the world when I couldn’t have cared less in high school.” She shifted in her seat so she could look at him. “My father always said it was the quiet ones who changed the world.”

  Tony noticed that she glossed over the part about her father dying the year after her abduction. The brother had eventually taken over the shop where he’d worked. “You met someone in college?”

  “No. I just hung out in the places my roommate told me I should if I wanted to have a life.”

  “Did that work?” He parked in front of the Cherry Tree Apartments. Decided the car sporting the fancy cover was Conway’s Ferrari. Hadn’t been here the last time he stopped by.

  Joanna looked away. “Do the math and you’ll have your answer.”

  Eight months into her freshman year Joanna was abducted and her life changed forever. She’d been a ghost ever since.

  “You know, if my niece is going through what you went through—” he offered a different approach “—it would help if I had a better understanding of what happened during those fourteen days.”

  She stared out the window at the Dumpster that sat next to the line of trees separating this property from the next. “They made us fight. You know, like gladiators or something. If you lost you didn’t eat.”

  The idea that Tif might be in that same position ripped at his gut. “Do you know if this fighting was recorded?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so, but the room was either completely dark or blindingly light. All I wanted to do was survive. Everything else was pretty much irrelevant.”

  He would take that for now. “So who’s Carrie Cole?”

  “My make-believe friend.”

  Rather than delve into an analysis of that statement, they got out and Tony led the way up the exterior staircase to the second floor. Conway’s apartment was the fourth door along the row of six on the right. A crying baby behind door number one and a barking dog behind number three were the only sounds. Tony took a position to the right of the hinged side of number four. He gestured for Joanna to get behind him. He knocked. No television or other noise. The second time he raised his fist he pounded harder.

  Still nothing.

  He turned to the woman behind him. “You should wait in the car.”

  She held his gaze a moment. “No way. I’ll know if he’s the one.”

  “The one?” Tony’s instincts went on point.

  “The one who made me believe I was going to be a star in a video he was making. The one who drugged me and delivered me to that place where my life ended.”

  She hadn’t mentioned that part before but she had a damned good point. “Just don’t touch anything.”

  He pulled a credit card from his wallet and reached for the doorknob. There didn’t appear to be any dead bolt. The knob turned freely. Not locked. Which still didn’t give him justification for going in without a warrant, but that didn’t stop him. As he crossed the threshold, he reached under his jacket for the .22 at the small of his back. Living room was clear. Typical single guy decor. Large sectional sofa, ottoman that served as a coffee table. Even bigger television hanging on the wall. Kitchen and dining area were to the right. Clear.

  He ordered, “Close the door with your elbow.”

  Joanna elbowed the door closed. “It stinks in here.”

  She was right. Smelled like cigarettes and leftover pizza.

  The pizza remains were still in the open box on the counter. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. Ashtray on an end table was overflowing.

  A cramped hall led to a row of three doors, two on the right, one on the left. First door on the right was a spare bedroom that served as what appeared to be a home office. Something of that order. Tony surveyed the three desks crammed into the room. Large monitors stood on each one but there was only one chair. Tony dragged a pair of gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. One by one he tried to awaken the screens. Nothing happened. Then he noticed why—the hard drive towers were missing.

  As much as he wanted to go through the contents of the desk drawers, a new odor emanating from this end of the apartment told him the real trouble was behind door number two or three.

  At the door on the left an extension cord had been plugged into an outlet in the hall and run under the door. He opened the door to what turned out to be a bathroom. No Miles Conway, but the answer to where the missing hard drives were became painfully clear.

  Before moving into the bathroom, he kicked the extension cord free of the outlet that had blackened, probably from burning out. He then eased into the room. An iron had been thrown into the water with the three hard drives.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Beyond the piss stains on the toilet seat and the scum circling the sink basin, there was definitely nothing left to see. Dirty towels lay in a pile in the floor.

  He moved on to the final door.

  Tony listened at the door for several seconds before opening it. The smell had him holding his breath. A male victim lay in the bed amid the tousled and bloody sheets. His head was stationed on the pillow, eyes and mouth open wide. In the center of his chest a wound had puckered angrily. The one lower on his abdomen had done the same but it was a bigger gash. Blood had spurted and oozed over his torso, soaking into the sheets.

  “Stay right here at the door and for God’s sake don’t touch anything,” he reminded the woman standing behind him.

  Tony moved to the side of the bed, careful of the bloody rug on the floor. He touched the vic’s neck. No pulse. The body was cold, the blood coagulated. Lividity confirmed that he’d died right where he lay. Judging by the stage of rigor Tony estimated he’d been dead eight to ten hours, which put time of death between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m. The lack of blood in the area of his pelvis, as well as the mess on the bedside rug, suggested someone had been straddling him when he was stabbed, and then cleaned their feet or hands on the rug.

  Arms were stretched toward the headboard, colorful silk scarves secured his wrists there. All signs indicated the victim had sex just before his death.

  Surveying the floor carefully before each step, Tony moved around the room. The killer had apparently taken the murder weapon with her—or him.

  “It’s him.”

  Joanna took a step toward the bed.

  Tony held up a hand. “I told you not to move.”

  She pointed at the victim’s face. “He’s the man who talked me into meeting him at that bar.” She shook her head. “We had a drink, and then I don’t remember anything else. It’s him.”

  Tony backed up a couple of steps, pulled out his cell and took a pic of the victim. “It’s been eighteen years. How can you be sure? You told the police you went to a bar alone.” He studied her face for tells. “You said you didn’t know who drugged you.”

  “I lied. I didn’t want my family to know what I’d done.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I was afraid to tell anyone the truth about what happened.” She stared at the dead man in the bed. “It’s him.”

  “Go back outside. Get in the car and stay there. I have to call this in.”

  When she’d done as he asked, he moved back into the hall. Only a couple
of droplets of blood but those few indicated the unknown subject was headed for the bathroom.

  Had his murderer also attempted to destroy any evidence that might have been on those hard drives?

  Tony stared back into the bedroom at the dead man on the bed. “Fuck.”

  His cell vibrated. He heaved a weary breath, dragged it from his pocket and checked the screen. The text message from Chief Phelps was a pic of the sketch artist’s rendering of the man Riley Fallon had seen with Tiffany. Tony looked from the screen to the dead man on the bed.

  Damn, he had needed this guy alive.

  15

  Day One

  Eighteen years ago...

  I made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  I only wanted to be like everyone else. To fit in. What was so wrong with that?

  I made a mistake.

  The room is dark. I can’t see a thing. It’s so cold. I can’t stop shivering. I don’t understand what happened. Beer and wine tastes awful to me so I rarely drink. I didn’t overindulge last night. No way. I remember the one drink, a cosmopolitan. I shouldn’t have a hangover like this. I feel disoriented. My mouth is dry and I feel so sick. There was something wrong with that drink.

  This is wrong—a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.

  Don’t fall apart, Jo.

  I feel my way around the dark, cold space on my hands and knees. My clothes are missing and so is my virginity. I hurt inside and down there between my legs. There’s something dried on my thighs. Don’t know if it’s semen or blood. Maybe both.

  I made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  I crawl over the dark place, back and forth, back and forth, until I’m as sure as I can possibly be that there are no holes or traps to step into, so I stand. My father taught me this. He’s always working on that old house we call home. The leaky roof or the sagging floors. I remember him moving slow and cautious over the place he needed to repair to make sure there were no surprises before he set to the task. He laughed and said, “I fell through a floor once. Don’t have no desire to repeat the indignity.”