"It might be best for me to stay in the car," Dan said.
"I think you're right."
Diana went up the steps and pulled the screen door open.
"No," Kay said, backing away from Diana and into the trailer. "Don't you dare show up here and tell me my baby's dead. Don't you dare do it. Goddamn you."
She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
"It's not true," Kay said. "It's not true."
She beat at the floor with her withered fist.
Diana walked over and sat on the floor next to her. Kay tried to push her away, but Diana held on.
"No," she said, her voice growing quiet. "No."
"I'm sorry, Kay. I'm so sorry."
Kay leaned on Diana's shoulder and cried and cried.
When Kay calmed down, Diana helped her to the couch. Diana went to the kitchen and brought Kay a glass of water, which she drank down quickly. When the water was gone, Kay lit a cigarette. Diana studied Kay in profile. She looked thinner. Her skin had a gray pallor. While Kay smoked, Diana told her of the events of the last twenty-four hours, as well as everything they had found on the Donahue property. Kay didn't speak or ask questions. She listened, lighting cigarette after cigarette while Diana talked.
"That creature had my baby in his house all these years," Kay said finally.
"Yes."
"How did he do that? Why didn't she get away?"
"There's evidence he tied the girls up for some of the time. There's also the idea that Margie suffered from Stockholm Syndrome."
"What?"
"It means someone who is held captive begins to identify with their captor. They feel safer with them than out in the world. Like Patty Hearst or Elizabeth Smart."
Kay made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
"Bullshit," she said. "It sounds like something some shrink made up."
"It is."
"How did she die?" Kay said. "How did he kill her?"
"We're not sure," Diana said. "They'll do an autopsy. There's really no way to know, but the guy, Roger Donahue, kept saying that he didn't kill Margie. He said she got sick and died. It's possible, Kay."
"I guess it doesn't matter, does it?"
"I guess not, but they arrested John Bolton."
Kay perked up, her face becoming animated for the first time that day. "What for?"
"Being an accessory to Margie's kidnapping. Roger Donahue says Bolton arranged for him to grab Margie off the street the night she disappeared. He told him where she lived, how to do it. Apparently Bolton told Donahue to tell her that Bolton wanted to see her. That's how he was able to get Margie in the car."
Kay stared straight ahead. Her eyes didn't appear to be focused on anything in the room. "She fell for that?" she said. "Dumb girl."
"We've all fallen for stuff, Kay."
"What is Bolton saying?"
"He's claiming his wife put Donahue up to grabbing Margie. She'd found out about his affair with Margie and wanted to get rid of her. He says he didn't know anything about it."
"Do you believe that?" Kay said.
"I wouldn't believe anything the guy said."
"Me either."
"It's even possible Bolton pushed his own child down a flight of stairs the night Margie disappeared, his attempt to create an alibi. That's how he ended up at the hospital that night." Diana sighed. She felt tired. "We may never know everything."
Kay leaned back against the couch, her eyes still red and watery.
"Kay?"
The old woman nodded. "I know. You're here to collect on what I promised."
"I am."
She put her cigarette out and coughed. "I may have misled you just a little bit when I told you I knew something. I may have overstated things to try to get you on my side."
"I figured that, Kay. But you do know something, right?"
"I do."
"Fine. I don't have anywhere to be."
"About three years ago, I started keeping company with this guy named Jim Potts. I've dated my share of men since my husband died. I brought them around when I shouldn't have. Let them stay over when I shouldn't have. I'm not perfect, honey, I know.
"Jim Potts liked to drink. And when he drank he talked. He told me all kinds of things, things I really didn't want to know. He scared me to be perfectly honest, but I guess being alone scared me more. He never got violent with me, but he'd threaten me, you know? He'd talk about doing things to me, and he'd talk about things he'd done to other women. I guess it made him feel more like a man.
"One night, he was drinking, and he told me about this girl he'd picked up in a convenience store. He said he was up near Westwood—that's where you're from, right?—and he was driving through, out on the 901 Bypass. He stopped to get cigarettes or something, and he saw this girl. He said she was the most beautiful young thing he had ever seen. Blonde hair. Petite. Worldly and innocent at the same time, he said. Does that sound like it might be your sister?"
Diana swallowed hard. "Go on."