Chapter 18
“Where’s B.J.?” Cissy cried, her heart racing, feeling as if she might faint. Oh God, oh God, oh God! He had to be here. Had to. She stared at Tanya’s body, the blood oozing from the black hole in her forehead, the sightless eyes staring toward the ceiling of her bare apartment.
“Oh Lord…” the neighbor woman said, backing away as Cissy raced through the rooms, searching, her gaze scraping every nook and cranny of the tidy, one-bedroom apartment.
He had to be here. He had to!
“Call 9-1-1,” Jack ordered the retreating neighbor.
“Beej,” Cissy called, desperation creeping into her voice as an old cuckoo clock on the mantel ticked loudly. She hurried down the short hallway a second time, opening the bedroom closet door. Finding nothing, she dropped to her knees and peered beneath the bed skirt. Suitcases and a plastic tub of summer clothes were hidden there, but no baby.
She whispered, “Beej, where are you?”
What if he wasn’t here?
There were only so many places he could hide.
What if…Oh God…She hated to think it, but what if the person who’d shot Tanya had B.J.? She couldn’t think that way. Not yet. Pushing herself to her feet, she dashed into the minuscule bath. Heart thudding, half afraid that she might find his little lifeless body on the cold porcelain, she threw back the shower curtain, nearly ripping the plastic from its metal hooks.
“I’m looking outside,” Jack’s voice reached her.
Aside from a visible rust stain, the tub was empty. Cissy nearly sank to her knees. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. She just wanted her child.
Please, please, please keep him safe. Let me find him, she silently prayed, returning to the kitchen, keeping her eyes averted from Tanya’s body. Through the open sliding-glass door, she spied Jack outside in the small courtyard, where a rusting barbecue and pots of last year’s dead flowers had been stored. Rain poured down. But there was no child.
She swallowed back her fear. Whoever had killed Tanya wouldn’t take Beej. Wouldn’t hurt him. That made no sense.
Or did it?
A chill as dark as midnight touched her soul.
Jaw tight, skin stretched taut over his face, Jack walked back inside and shook his head. “I checked her car. Unlocked. Nothing.”
“He has to be here,” she said as if to convince herself. “He has to.” Willing her child to appear, she threw open a pantry door. Brooms, cleaning supplies, towels, and a few canned goods filled the shelves.
Jack’s hands grabbed hold of her shoulders as she stared into the empty pantry. “He’s not here.”
Her knees nearly gave way. “Oh no,” she whispered, disbelieving.
Cissy’s entire world spun. How had she let her son get caught up in this horrendous nightmare? How could she have let him be in jeopardy? If anything happened to Beej…Oh God, she couldn’t think that way. Wouldn’t. “We have to find him!” Where? Oh Lord, where was he? She couldn’t breathe, could barely hear over the panicked beat of her heart.
Jack pulled her against him and whispered into her ear, “We’ll find him, Ciss. I promise.”
Anger and frustration filled her. “How could you let B.J. go with Tanya?” Cissy demanded, rounding on Jack, ready to strike at anything, to accuse anyone.
He flinched. “Don’t go there, Cissy. Not now.”
“But I warned you. I told you she was…was…”
“You said you trusted her,” he reminded, throwing her own words back at her, and she knew he was right.
“Oh,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m just so scared. So damned scared for Beej.” Her insides turned to water, but she knew that Jack was right. B.J. was missing, most likely in the clutches of whoever had murdered Tanya. Horrible scenarios of her frightened child—in pain, in fear, lost and lonely—streaked through her brain. He would be looking for her, and she wouldn’t be there. Tears rained from her eyes. Cold, certain fear crawled through her as Jack steered her into the living room.
“We’ll find him. He’ll be safe. You have to trust that, Cissy. Okay?”
She nodded, willing herself to be strong.
“Did you call the police?” Jack demanded, glaring at the neighbor, who’d returned.
“I…” She shook her head.
“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Jack retrieved his cell, punching out numbers.
Cissy glanced down at Tanya’s body sprawled across the rug, blood pooling beneath her. It was the second body she’d seen this past month. So much like Gran’s. Cissy’s stomach revolted, and she retched, barely able to keep the contents of her stomach down. Acid burned up her throat. What had happened here? Why had Tanya stolen their child and ended up dead? This didn’t make any sense.
Marla…She’s behind this…. You know it. She’s a psycho.
A new fear crawled through her veins.
Marla wouldn’t hurt B.J. Not her own grandson….
But you think she killed Gran, don’t you?
And Rory, her own brother?
What about Cherise?
Why would she stop there?
Why not murder Tanya and B.J. too?
“No!” she said, denying the evil thoughts.
Jack, cell phone to his ear, snapped back to attention. “What?” he said, but before she could answer, she heard a voice coming from his cell phone. The 9-1-1 operator.
Jack’s blue eyes were as sober as she’d ever seen them. He stared at her but spoke into the receiver. “This is Jack Holt. I need to report a murder. A woman is dead, and a child is missing. The victim is Tanya Watson; she’s our nanny. She’s dead in her apartment. It looks like she’s been shot and…and she had my, our, son, Bryan Jack Holt. He’s missing. What? The address?” He looked at Cissy, who dully recited it, and Jack repeated it for the officer, then added, “Send an ambulance and help. We need help…Oh…wait…” He looked through the doorway to the parking lot, where a car was wheeling over the apron and into an empty slot.
Cissy recognized the unmarked police car and the men inside as the officers who had been watching her house and following her.
“They’re here,” Jack said and hung up as the two men flew out of the car, weapons drawn, their faces masks of determination.
The rain was finally diminishing as a tall Latino man with clipped hair and a weathered face yelled “Everyone out!” as he walked to the open door. “Now! Oh Jesus.” He squatted next to the body and felt for a pulse, then looked up and shook his head as his partner approached. “Dead. Call it in, and we’ll seal off the area. Start talking to the neighbors, see who heard what. Then phone Paterno.”
“Already on the phone,” the other, heavier-set detective said, clicking a cell to his ear.
“Our son is missing,” Jack said. “He was here with Tanya, and we can’t find him.”
“You’ve searched?”
Jack nodded.
“You need to get out of the apartment…. Please wait on the porch.”
“But he’s not here,” Cissy cut in. “We checked. We have to find him.”
“I’ll look again, but you have to leave. This is a crime scene.” He was motioning with his hand to Cissy and Jack. “In just a minute we’ll get your statements—yeah!” he said into the phone as he walked into the room. “O’Riley.” He gave his badge number, then said, “Detective Perez and I are here at what looks like a homicide. Dead female. We’re first on the scene. We were following Cissy and Jack Holt.” He glanced up at Jack, who lingered near the doorway. “Victim’s name?”
“Tanya Watson,” Jack supplied again, his expression grim, lips blade thin, muscle working in his jaw. “Our nanny. I already called it in.”
O’Riley nodded.
Propped against the exterior wall of the unit, Cissy tried to think clearly, to get a grip on herself though she wanted to fall into a billion pieces. She couldn’t let herself. She didn’t have time. She had to save her son. But from what? From whom?
The detective grunted. “Tanya Watson is dead…. What? I don’t know all the details. We just arrived on the scene. The Holts say their kid is missing, that he was with the victim.” O’Riley turned back to Cissy and Jack, peering at them over the top of wire-rimmed glasses, and Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said to Paterno. “Okay, we’ve got it covered, but we need more manpower, not just for the investigation but for the search. Okay.”
He hit a button, said to Jack and Cissy, “More units are on their way. Just give me another minute.” He punched out another number and had another conversation, similar to the first.
The scream of sirens split the air. For the first time, Cissy noticed that neighbors were peeking out windows or standing in doorways as more emergency vehicles screamed up the street.
Everything seemed surreal, just slightly out of focus.
A jet rumbled overhead, taking off from the airport not far away.
O’Riley said into the phone, “When the unit gets here, we’ll start with the neighbors and scene…Will do.” He clicked off his phone and said to Cissy, Jack, and Tanya’s neighbor, “We’re gonna want statements from all of you and all the neighbors. You live next door?” he asked the neighbor, who identified herself as Corinne Glenn.
“Yes.”
“You heard the gunshot?”
“No…Well, maybe. I’m not sure.”
“How’s that?” O’Riley asked.
Cissy couldn’t believe it. Everyone was standing here, under the overhang of the porch, asking questions while someone had stolen her child. “Aren’t you going to look for my son? We have to start now! We have to find him! We…we can’t stand here and discuss this. Whoever took him is getting away. Don’t you see? Whoever killed Tanya—” Her voice cracked. “Whoever did that, who shot her, they…they took B.J. They took my baby!” Her voice rose steadily, and she was gasping, hyperventilating, barely noticing that a police cruiser had arrived and cops in uniform were setting up tape and barricades around the scene. More sirens. More cop cars. An ambulance, siren shrieking, screeched into the lot.
O’Riley nodded, eyes concerned behind his glasses. “That’s what we’re trying to do, Mrs. Holt. But we need some information. If you’ll just be patient—”
“Be patient? Are you crazy? We don’t have time for patience. Who knows where he is, what’s happening to him!” She fought back tears, fought too against the urge to fall completely apart. Frantic, she looked from the cop to her husband. “Jack, tell them!”
“Minutes may count,” Jack said grimly.
“We’re aware, sir. As soon as we secure this scene, we’ll start going door to door. Believe me, Mr. and Mrs. Holt, we want to find your child.”
The crime-scene investigators trooped in, carrying kits into Tanya’s apartment, the place she’d called home. Cissy’s heart went out to the girl. But why had Tanya taken Beej away from the house? Why had she kidnapped her baby? More investigators arrived, more officers swarming the scene of the crime, uniformed men keeping the growing crowd of the curious at bay. Cissy felt the seconds of her life ticking away. To her horror, a news van arrived, parking at an odd angle on the street. To the media, this was news. This. Her worst nightmare. “Please,” she whispered.
“Detective Paterno is on his way,” Perez said.
O’Riley said, “Now, Ms. Glenn. Did you hear a gunshot?”
“I heard something. A loud pop. I was sleeping. I work graveyard. Thought it was a car backfiring or something on TV. I didn’t realize…” Her gaze slid into the open apartment door, where Tanya lay on the green carpet. “…I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t see a baby?”
The woman swung her head side to side.
While O’Riley walked into the apartment again, Perez asked, “Did you notice anything or anyone else? A person? A car?”
“Nothing.”
Cissy felt Jack’s arm around her.
“Which vehicle belongs to the victim?”
“That one. The Subaru.” Jack pointed to the car parked in its spot.
“Yes, that’s it…but…” Cissy stared at the car. “Tanya always has B.J.’s car seat in the back. I’ve never seen the car without it. And I didn’t see it in the apartment.”
“It was in her car when she picked up B.J. this afternoon,” Jack confirmed.
“You think the killer bothered with a car seat?” O’Riley questioned.
“Someone did. Someone who took my baby,” she said.
He looked skeptical. It sounded insane. A person killing Tanya, then bothering with the car seat to kidnap B.J.
Cissy thought she was going to die. She was shaking, trembling, tears running down her face. Where was he? Precious, precious baby? Dear God, please, keep him safe!
“We’re gonna need a picture of your son.”
“I’ve got one,” Jack said, slipping his wallet out of his back pocket. A smiling picture of B.J., taken at Christmas, filled the plastic compartment. He pulled it out and handed it to O’Riley.
Cissy’s heart shredded all over again.
Who would do this to her child? And why, oh God, why?
Her knees buckled, and Jack caught her, held her tight, helping her stand upright. In a far, frightened corner of her mind, she wondered if she would ever see her son again. Fear crippled her. She was paralyzed with despair.
A killer had her son.
“Son of a bitch,” Paterno said, snapping his cell phone shut and grabbing his shoulder holster off the back of his chair. “Son of a goddamned, friggin’ bitch.” He snagged his jacket from a hook and stormed to Quinn’s desk.
“What are you swearing about?” she asked as she pulled her jacket off the back of her chair. “The Cahill case?”
“The nanny was killed, and the kid is missing.”
“What kid?”
“Cissy’s Holt’s son.” He was striding out of the squad room, heading for the street, Quinn on his heels.
“Wait a minute! What happened?”
“I don’t know the whole story yet. O’Riley just called. He and Perez had the Holt duty, and somehow the nanny and kid slipped away. Man, I didn’t see this coming,” he said, kicking himself as he pushed open the door to what was left of the day. Sunlight was fading fast, dusk chasing through the city, clouds on the horizon.
“I’ll drive,” Quinn said, and he didn’t argue. Her car was more agile in cutting through rush-hour traffic. She slammed the police light on the top of the car, then slid behind the wheel. He climbed into the passenger seat of the Jetta and had barely buckled his seat belt when she gunned the car out of the lot and onto the street. “We’re heading south,” he said. “It went down at the nanny’s, Tanya Watson’s, apartment, on the other side of the airport. Let’s see, I wrote down the address.” He looked at the piece of paper he’d torn from the tablet on his desk and told it to her. “Around Burlingame.”
“Got it,” she said. “I used to live down there.”
“When?”
She slid him a glance. “In another lifetime. Don’t ask.”
He didn’t. As private a person as she was, it wouldn’t do any good anyway. And he wasn’t really concerned about her personal history, at least not now. Reaching into his pocket, he found a piece of gum and offered it to Quinn. She shook her head and rocketed around a gas tanker as she hit 101. Unwrapping the gum, he tried to focus as the cars flew by in a blur. Why kill the nanny? That didn’t fit into his theory about Marla Friggin’ Cahill.
“Did you get through to any of the employees or volunteers who worked at Cahill House when Marla Amhurst had her baby?”
“I’ve talked to five or six people who won’t say a word against anyone at Cahill House. They’re hiding behind sealed records and patients’ rights, but I still have those three names to work with, if they’re still alive. One nurse moved out of the area, lives in Boise, I think. Another aide is in Oakland, and the third, a secretary, I’m still tracking down.” She saw her exit and took a quick turn off the highway. “You know, just because Marla had another child, doesn’t mean squat.”
“Could be nothing. But it’s a loose end that bothers me.”
Quinn turned a corner around a gas station. “Only a few more blocks,” she said. “So why would anyone kill the nanny? Does that make sense?”
Paterno frowned. “Maybe she was a means to an end.”
“The end being the baby?”
“That little kid is Marla Cahill’s grandson.” Paterno didn’t like the turn of his thoughts as a motorcycle blew past them, loud pipes roaring.
“Shit. You think the boy was the target.” She shook her head, and the nostrils of her straight nose flared. “Then why not kill him too?”
“Don’t know.”
“I hope to God we don’t find his body in a trash can somewhere.”
“You and me both,” Paterno agreed as she rounded a final corner and he saw the flashing lights of two patrol cars and an ambulance. A crowd had gathered, and one news van sat on the horizon. He caught a glimpse of Jack and Cissy Holt standing together on the front porch, each looking desperate.
“Crime unit’s behind us,” Quinn said.
“I’m gonna look around, then get the Holts out of here. Take their statements if Perez and O’Riley haven’t. They don’t need to hang out here.”
“I’ll stick around. Talk to Jefferson.”
She parked the Jetta near the entrance to the lot of the apartment complex as Paterno unfolded himself from the seat. Before he’d even stepped on the curb, Cissy Holt was running toward him, across the parking lot. Tears streaked her cheeks, determination set her chin, and in an instant Paterno saw glimpses of her mother on her face. “Thank God you’re here,” she said before she reached him. “We can’t just stand around here. We have to start looking for B.J.! He’s missing! You know that, right? She took him!”
“She?”
“My mother.”
“You think Marla’s behind this too?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s what you think, isn’t it? So, if you’re right, then she killed Tanya, and she has my baby, so let’s move, Detective. Let’s find that murdering psycho! We can’t let her hurt B.J. We can’t!”
The glare of headlights was blinding. The kid was crying in the backseat. He was probably wet or needed to eat or something. “You’re going to be fine,” Elyse said, squinting against the drizzle and fighting the pain ricocheting through her head. At least the damn downpour had let up.
She had to be careful. The police would be everywhere, and there were security cameras in places she’d never think of—on streets, in parking lots, in stores. She’d been prepared, of course. She had a stash of disposable diapers, baby food, a car seat, bottles and formula, even clothes that she’d bought over the past week. But she hadn’t prepared herself for his crying.
God, would he never stop?
“Just a little farther,” she said as she reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. The childproof top gave her fits as she tried to drive and open it, but finally she managed to get the damned thing off and tossed several pills into her mouth. She swallowed them dry, then, on inspiration, pulled into a fast-food drive-through and quickly donned her dark glasses. The blond wig was already in place when she ordered some fries for the baby and a large diet soda for herself. Once they were through the series of windows, after she’d paid and collected the bag and cup, she twisted in the seat and handed the small container of fries to the boy, who quit crying long enough to be intrigued. He grabbed the bag, and though she knew that he’d spill more than half of the damned things, maybe it would keep him occupied for a while.
She jabbed her straw into the drink, then took a long swallow and felt better. Nosing into traffic, she headed still farther south, toward San Mateo. She’d take that bridge, hoping that if anyone had seen the car, they would remember it traveling in the opposite direction from her destination. She checked her mirror often as the night encroached but saw no one following her. It was a worry. She’d heard the newscasts, seen the picture of her car and herself in her Marla getup that had been taken by the damned medical school parking-lot cameras. She kicked herself for getting a ticket there; it had drawn the police closer. If she hadn’t switched plates a few times, she would have been caught. As it was, she should probably get a new vehicle as well. But she wouldn’t need one much longer.
She checked the rearview again, and the kid, finally, had calmed down enough to munch his fries, his eyes curiously studying the back of her head. Kidnapping Cissy’s kid hadn’t been part of the original plan, of course, but Elyse had seen a growing opportunity and taken it. Let Cissy twist in the wind a little, let her agonize over the whereabouts and safety of her darling boy.
Stealing the baby had been a bold act, but Elyse was happy with her decision. It complicated things, but the satisfaction of knowing that Cissy was worried sick, was sleepless and guilt-riddled, was worth it.
She drove through the middle of San Mateo and found the ramp for the bridge. She kept checking her mirrors, but it still appeared that no one was following her. All the commuters drove as if they were robots, some on cell phones, most listening to their favorite radio station, all anxious to get home.
She could have been invisible for all the notice they gave her.
Elyse was in no hurry. She drove carefully, turning north at the east end of the bridge.
She’d put another five miles behind her, heading toward Oakland, when she heard the first shriek of a siren.
Her heart jolted.
No! She couldn’t have been found out.
She looked in her rearview mirror. Lights flashed as a police car roared up the freeway. Cars behind her were pulling over to the side of the road, and she prayed one of them had been speeding and was the cop’s target. She thought of her switched license plates. Had they found out? She had a gun. In her purse. She could use it if she had to.
He was bearing down on her, his siren screaming, blue and white lights flashing wildly. She had no choice but to ease to the side of the road like everyone around her and pray that he would pass. Every nerve tight, she slowed into the far right lane.
The cop followed.
Oh shit!
What could she do? Blow him away? Risk someone seeing her kill a policeman? Every damned motorist had a cell phone with a camera. She slowed even further, onto the shoulder.
The cop blew past her, his siren deafening.
Elyse nearly fainted.
Her tense muscles relaxed.
“Loud!” the baby said, unconcerned.
“Oh yeah.” Elyse took a few deep breaths and then slowly accelerated, easing into traffic, her heart still madly pumping, her headache sweeping back with gale force.
She kept the needle of her speedometer right under the speed limit. Shaking inside, she was more than careful as she wound her way northward and finally reached the alley behind the bungalow where Marla was hiding.
This ought to be good, she thought, hauling the baby and a blanket out of the car.
“Down!” he said as she started carrying him to the back door. “I get down.”
“Not yet.”
“Down.”
“In a second.” Elyse hauled him up the back porch, and as she fumbled in her purse for her keys, she heard a hiss. That damned cat again.
“Kitty!” Now the boy was a whirling dervish. Eyes on the cat as it hissed again and slunk into the shadows, he wrestled with Elyse to be free. “Kitty!”
“Yeah, that’s what it is,” she said as she found her key and jammed it into the lock. “A cat.”
“Want kitty.”
“No, you don’t. That’s one nasty thing,” Elyse said, then realized she was making too much noise. That nosy neighbor across the street was peering through her blinds again, not that she could see anything. Nonetheless, Elyse had to be careful.
She slipped inside the house, and the baby said, “Eew. Stinks!”
“That it does,” she agreed, reminding herself to get more air-fresheners. If Marla would ever get off her bony ass and clean the place, it would help, but it was never going to happen. Well, she was in for a surprise tonight. “Shh,” Elyse said and fought the blasted headache as she descended the stairs into the old, musty basement.
God, how could Marla stand it down here?
Her footsteps seemed to ring on the floorboards as she passed the rusting washer and eased to the bookcase where she unlatched the hidden lock. With her free hand, she pulled the door open.
God, the smell was worse in here.
The kid started whimpering.
“You’re fine,” she said tautly.
The door swung open, and Marla was inside, sitting in front of the television as always, her eyes glued to the news.
“Do you see that?” she said without looking up. “What kind of moron are you? Your picture’s all over the place! They caught you on camera, there at the medical center. Jesus Christ, Elyse, how do you think we’re ever going to escape?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled.”
“The village idiot would do a better job!”
Ungrateful bitch.
“Don’t worry about that now,” Elyse said. “Turn around, Marla. I think it’s time you met your grandson.”