She crossed her arms over her chest. “I get that.”
“The thing is,” he went on, “most people investigators talk to are more likely to open up about an old case rather than a new one. Witnesses and friends tend not to be so secretive about something that happened a decade ago. Many people don’t like to cooperate with authorities because of fear or disdain. But after the years pass by, things change. People grow up. Sometimes they grow a conscience. Minds muddled by drugs grow clearer.”
Jessie met his gaze and wondered if she could trust him. Everything he said made sense. She found herself warming up to him and changed her mind. Besides, she really could use some help. She thought about Parker Koontz and Arlo Gatley and the stacks of files on her desk at the office. She needed him a lot more than he needed her.
“This isn’t about dragging your family’s name through the mud,” he said. “I’m not interested in casting dark shadows of any kind on your family. My plan would be to start by retracing every detail of the last day your sister was seen.”
“You said on the phone that you might have known Sophie. Is that true?”
“I have amnesia—”
“Yes. I did a search on the Internet. Retrograde amnesia. You were in a car accident.”
He nodded. “The doctors had hoped I would regain memories by now, but that hasn’t happened. Not until I saw your sister on television. It felt as if a switch had been flipped inside my head. I know I’ve met her,” he continued, “but I have no idea when or where.”
“Maybe your sudden interest in Sophie has more to do about discovering your past than mine.”
He seemed to ponder that. “Perhaps.”
“If this is about finding Sophie, then why bother doing a story about my family?”
“I needed to sell the idea to my boss so I could continue to collect a paycheck, and your story makes good copy.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow.
“You and your sister were born and raised right here in the neighborhood,” he explained. “Your mother leaves. Your father starts drinking. One sister goes missing and the other never stops looking.”
“I appreciate your brutal honesty, but I’ll need to talk to Olivia about this before I make my final decision.”
“Talk to Olivia about what?”
Jessie looked across the room and saw Olivia standing at the top of the stairs. Jessie sighed. “This is Ben Morrison with the Sacramento Tribune. He’s interested in helping us find out what happened to Sophie.”
Olivia looked from Ben to Jessie. “You said yes, right?”
“Don’t you think that might be a problem at school?” Jessie asked her. “Your friends will be reading about Sophie’s life, which means they’ll be asking questions about you, too.”
“I don’t care about that,” Olivia said with a shrug. “My closest friends know everything anyhow.”
Ben pushed himself to his feet. “I should go and let the two of you talk in private.”
Jessie stood, too.
Ben looked at Olivia. “It was nice meeting you, Olivia.”
“You, too,” she said.
Jessie walked him out and then joined Olivia in the kitchen, where she hovered over the dog.
“I don’t know why you would even think about turning down his offer,” Olivia said. “Don’t you want to find out what happened to Sophie?”
Olivia had stopped referring to Sophie as her mom years ago, and Jessie had never pressed her about it. But there were times like now when she wondered what was going through that head of hers. “Of course I do,” Jessie said. “But you’re older now, and I worry about people talking, saying unkind things. How would that make you feel, hearing things that may or may not be true about someone you love?”
“I guess I wouldn’t like it if people were talking crap about her, but I’m tough. I can handle it.” Olivia pushed herself to her feet and looked Jessie in the eyes. “I want to know—no, I need to know why Sophie left and whether or not she’s ever coming back.”
SEVENTEEN
Erin could hardly move. Her breathing quickened.
Don’t panic.
She was on her back, faceup, arms at her sides.
When she tried to lift her head, her forehead smacked against wood. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take calming breaths. But it was no use. She wanted to scream for help.
But then what? Would that alert the freak?
No. No. No. Don’t scream.
She bit down on her lip and counted to five. The sound of her heartbeat pounded inside her head.
How had she come to be there?
The freak had been angry with her. She remembered that much. He’d said something about a box. That was the last thing she’d heard him say before everything went black. Had he hit her over the head? Drugged her? She had no recollection whatsoever.
She used the tips of her bare toes to feel around and get an idea of the length of the box. If she pointed her toe, she touched wood. Damp wood. She could raise her knee only a few inches before making contact. The wood was soft. She jerked her knee upward, quick, to see if she could make a dent, but the wood wouldn’t give. She cried out in pain. Shut up. Shut up.
She stopped to listen. Was he coming?
Suddenly she recalled waking up once before. She’d thought she was having a nightmare. Every time she fell back asleep, Grandma Rose would appear and remind her of her first track meet. “Go for it,” Grandma had whispered in her ear. “Set goals or you’ll have nothing to strive for. And don’t forget to imagine it—see it in your mind—and it will happen.”
Go for it, Erin thought. Go for what?
She looked left, then right. Tiny pinpricks of sunlight had found their way through crevices in the wood. Daytime. Was she inside or outside?
She sniffed the air, concentrating, trying to figure out the smells. Horse manure and straw.
Outside.
There were other smells she couldn’t quite figure out. Every once in a while she’d hear grunting. Pigs?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
How had she let this happen? She was smarter than this. She’d thought she could outsmart him, but she’d failed. He’d known exactly what she was going to do, and he’d been prepared.
Think, Erin. Think.
Stay positive. Stay strong.
She could breathe. That was a good thing. If the wooden box had been constructed of brand-new wood instead of old, she probably wouldn’t have had enough oxygen to stay alive for long. The light coming through was also reassuring since it meant she hadn’t been buried alive.
She couldn’t hear anyone moving around outside, so it wouldn’t do her any good to scream out and risk drawing the freak’s attention. Besides, she didn’t want to waste her energy. She’d watched a show with her mom once about getting out of crazy situations, like if you were trapped in a car that was sinking in water or an attacker came at you in a parking lot. She would have kneed her abductor in the groin if she hadn’t had the Taser. What a waste of effort that had been. In all situations, though, there was one common denominator: never panic. Not panicking wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Neither was getting the image of Garrett’s bloated face and bulging eyes out of her mind.
She worked on keeping her breathing even as she tried to think.
“Start out slow. Finish fast.” Those had been the last words she’d heard Grandma Rose say before she woke up.
Start out slow. Finish fast.
The coins! As he’d dragged her from the cell, before she’d blacked out, she’d felt the coins beneath the straw. Knowing he would take them away if he saw them, she’d quickly shoved one coin in each ear.
Had he taken them from her?
There wasn’t much room to maneuver in the box. It was a tight squeeze, but if she bent her elbow and slid her forearm slowly across her stomach, she could move her hand up toward her face. She put her left finger inside her right ear and squeezed her eyes shut when she realized there was nothing there.