CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Veronica caught a few hours of shallow sleep in a blessedly sterile Best Western in Bakersfield, five miles from the interstate. She didn’t dream, but she woke up several times and lay in the dark, picturing Hayley Dewalt’s hair spilling out across the ground, like dark waves rolling off the body. When the clock turned to seven she finally hauled herself out of bed, took a scalding shower, and drove to Officer Meeks’s precinct to answer a few final questions. He told her that the San Jose police had finally arrested Chad Cohan in the small hours of the morning. He’d made it as far as Morgan Hill before a hastily erected blockade forced him off the road. Then he sat in his car with a loaded Glock at his temple for three hours, until some smooth-voiced negotiator had talked him down. By 9:00 a.m. he’d hired Leslie Abramson as his defense. Veronica had a nauseated feeling he’d be out on bail in no time.
It was nearly 1:00 p.m. when Veronica left the station. Before she hit the highway she called Margie Dewalt, ready to offer her condolences. It was a relief to get voice mail. She assumed they were en route to Bakersfield to identify the body, or maybe they were on the phone with family members back in Montana. She’d send something—flowers, a letter. She’d have to follow up. But for now, she’d leave them to their grief.
When she arrived at the condo, Lianne was pacing the house like an angry cat, her shoulders back and sharp. Hunter sat at the kitchen counter, shaking a pair of heavy wooden maracas to the samba beat of a little Casio. Tanner occupied one of the deep white leather armchairs, and Lee Jackson stood with his back to the room, looking out over the cityscape beyond the window. She realized with mild annoyance that he hadn’t called her back the day before. He looked up and nodded at her when she came in the room, cool and professional as ever.
On the coffee table sat a blue nylon duffel bag, unzipped. Bundles of twenty-dollar bills were neatly stacked inside.
“Anything new?” Veronica asked before even saying hello.
Lianne shook her head. “Nothing. We haven’t heard from anyone.”
Veronica let out her breath in a sudden exhale.
“Okay.” She shrugged out of her leather jacket and draped it over one arm. “How are you guys doing?”
Tanner glanced up from where he’d been staring into space. His eyes looked bruised and exhausted; he didn’t look like he’d been to bed the night before. “Oh, Veronica, we’re just confused. Confused and worried and tired. None of this makes any sense.” He gestured toward the bag on the coffee table. “We’d just gotten the ransom ready to go when we heard the news.”
She felt like she should pat his shoulder or offer a hug, but instead she just stood there awkwardly. “Look, I don’t know if you heard the news yet, but Hayley’s boyfriend has been charged with the murder. So Aurora’s disappearance seems to be totally unrelated to Hayley’s.”
“That poor girl.” Lianne covered her face with her hands. “Her poor parents.”
A tense silence fell over the room, underscored by the sound of Hunter’s maracas.
“Mind if I get a cup of coffee?” Veronica finally asked. Lianne nodded, dabbing at her eyes. Veronica went into the kitchen, stopping on her way to lean over Hunter’s Casio and hit a few keys, playing a quick, modified “Chopsticks.” She winked at the kid, and he shook one maraca at her. It was painted bright red, with green stars.
“So do you think it was some kind of copycat crime?” Lianne asked, resting her forearms on the kitchen counter. Veronica poured coffee into a pristine white mug, then held the carafe up to ask if Lianne wanted any. Her mother shook her head no and she replaced it in the coffeemaker.
“Maybe. It’s possible that whoever took Aurora heard about Hayley going missing from that party and decided to take the opportunity.” She dropped a lump of sugar into her mug with a small plop and stirred. “As for the notes, the proof of life on Hayley’s ransom message was actually a story from her Facebook feed about five years ago. I’m guessing the notes were sent by someone who had nothing to do with either crime, trying to cash in.”
Tanner spoke up. “Or maybe someone really did kidnap Aurora, and they were trying to con an extra paycheck out of the Dewalts in the process.” He stood up out of his chair and came toward the kitchen counter, standing between Lianne and Hunter. He held out an empty cup, and Veronica filled it with coffee, feeling a little like a waitress at Lucy’s All Nite.
“Mr. Jackson?” she asked, holding up the carafe. He turned away from the window and shook his head.
“Thank you, no.” He smoothed his lapels, hovering back by the sofas, away from the counter.
“So what’s our next step?” Lianne asked. “What do we do now?”
“Well, I’m going to start going through all the evidence again,” Veronica answered. “The party pictures, anything that’s come into the tip line. Now that we know this has nothing to do with Hayley, something new may stand out.”
Tanner set his coffee mug down on the counter and turned to Lianne. “We need to take the money to the drop. The ransom’s due tomorrow.”
Lianne turned to face him, her lip curling in contempt. “Tanner, that’s insane. There’s nothing, nothing in those messages to make us believe whoever sent them has Aurora.”
“There was the story about my relapse …”
“Which she could have told to anyone: Adrian. Her therapist. Her teachers. Hell, I might have told it at AA, right to a whole crowd of drunks and junkies.” She shook her head and looked back to Veronica. “We should have listened to you, Veronica. You were right—we should have tried to find her. Not just throw money out there and hope for the best.”
“But what if someone does have her?” Tanner argued. “What if it’s not a fraud? If that money isn’t there—”
“Tanner, Jesus Christ. The ransom message was a con.”
Hunter’s maracas sounded loudly in a syncopated beat.
“God damn it!” Tanner turned on his heel and grabbed the maracas out of Hunter’s hands. His chest heaved, and for a single surreal moment Veronica thought he was going to hit the boy with them. But he didn’t. He just held them in his clenched fists. “Hunter, go play in your room. Take your keyboard. I can’t even hear myself think around this place.”
For a moment nobody moved. Hunter looked over at his mother, his eyes large and confused. Lianne gave Tanner an angry, reproachful glance, but then she leaned around him to smile at her son.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go on. Maybe later we’ll call Adrian and see if he’d like to take you to a movie. Right now Mom and Dad are just upset.”
Hunter gave Tanner a last, baleful glance before jumping down off the high stool, his Casio in his hands, and disappearing down the hallway.
“Nice,” Lianne spat. “Nice way to talk to your son.”
Tanner stood for a moment, face rigid. Then all at once, he seemed to deflate.
“I just want my baby back.” His mouth writhed as he fought tears. “Lianne, I just want Aurora back. I’ll do anything. I’ll flush the fucking money down the toilet if that’s what it takes. I know the ransom is probably a grift. But what if it’s not? What if it’s our chance to get her back?”