Authors: Lis Wiehl,April Henry
She had asked both her parents, but as usual, it was Berenice who did the talking. “We’ve heard you talk about Leif before. He seems like a good man. What does it matter if he’s black, white, or polka-dotted? If we told you to wait for chocolate love, well, this is Portland. You might just end up an old lady living by herself with four chocolate cats.” Berenice bit her lip, suppressing a smile.
Reality crashed in on Nic. It didn’t matter what her parents thought of Leif. It was already over.
“You’re right. Leif is a good man. But I’ve told him I can’t see him outside of work anymore. Because there’s something else going on in my life. And that’s what I really have to tell you. Mama, Daddy—I found a lump the other day.”
Their expressions began to slowly falter.
“I have breast cancer.”
“Oh no,” her father groaned. Her mother pressed her fingers to her lips.
Nic hurried to reassure them. She glossed over the details, painted the brightest scenario, rattled on about breakthrough, cutting-edge treatments. Still, her mother began to weep quietly, and her father’s eyes looked like wounds.
Nic finished by saying, “Don’t tell anyone. At least not for a while. I need time to think about this on my own. The more people who know, the more questions I’m going to have to answer, and the more advice I’m going to get. And right now, I just don’t have the energy to deal with any of that.”
They nodded numbly.
Nic went into the kitchen, where she grabbed two paper towels and brought them back. “Here, wipe your eyes. I need both of you to act like nothing has happened. It’s time for me to take Makayla to her swimming lesson, and I don’t want her to know that anything is wrong. At least not today. I don’t want to tell her about this until after they’ve taken it out and the doctors can tell me more about what I have ahead of me.”
Her parents nodded and wiped their faces. But their expressions were so strained and false that Nicole hurried Makayla out in record time. Eager to get her out of the house before she could ask questions. Eager to get to her lesson, where everything was black and white. Sink or swim.
FBI Computer Forensics Lab
A
t first glance, the FBI’s computer forensics lab looked like a cluttered high-tech office. The curved metal desks all held two or more computers. The difference was what was on the computers. As Leif led her to a workstation, Allison caught a few glimpses of the images on the screens. What she saw was enough to sicken her soul.
“Sorry,” Leif muttered. “Eighty percent of what they do here is child porn.”
No wonder so many of the desks had framed pictures of children or families on them, Allison thought. All facing away from the computer screens and toward the people working. You would want to be able to look at something to counteract what you saw on the screen.
Leif stopped at a desk where a man with a shaved head was watching something unspeakable. When he saw them coming he hit a few keys, and the image mercifully blinked off. He slipped off his headphones and turned to them.
“Allison Pierce, this is Paul Trumbo.”
They shook hands as Leif slipped the smoke detector out of a pink antistatic bag. He handed it to Paul.
“This is supposed to be a hidden camera.”
“Clever,” Paul remarked, turning it over in his hands. “Haven’t seen one of these before.” From his desk drawer he took a zippered kit, opened it, and selected a miniature screwdriver.
After he had removed the back, Paul plucked out a tiny black memory card the size of a thumbnail. He inserted it into a reader that looked like a flash drive. A few seconds later the memory card reader was connected to a computer with a thirty-inch screen. With a couple of clicks they were in business.
The three of them leaned closer. The image was in color and surprisingly clear. In the foreground was the bed, neatly made with a garishly patterned spread. In the background, the door. In front of it, a man with tight brown curls, his back to the camera, tapping his foot. He raised his right arm to look at his watch. Allison saw that the fingers of his left hand were twisted, frozen in a permanent red claw.
“Do we know who that is?” Paul asked.
“I believe we’re looking at Joseph—Joey—Decicco,” Allison said. “His body was found in Forest Park yesterday. He was shot in the face at close range with a rifle.”
Paul winced.
“And he must be waiting for Jenna Banks—that woman who worked for Channel Four, whose body was just recovered from the Columbia River,” Allison said. “Her blood was found in this room. She’s the one who bought the camera.”
From the computer came the faint sound of a knock. Decicco sprang forward and opened the door.
The three of them had a brief glimpse of a woman wearing a baseball cap pulled low. But then she stepped out of the frame so that all they could see was Decicco and a slice of her shoulder.
“Shoot!” Leif muttered. “The angle’s wrong.”
Allison held up her hand. The video might be bad, but the audio was still fairly clear.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Her voice was low. She stepped into the frame for a second, long enough for Allison to confirm her impression that the woman was young and slender. In her arms she held a red flowered nylon shopping bag. There was the smack of a kiss, and then she stepped back. Decicco slowly raised his hand to his cheek.
“I really, really appreciate what you did for me, Joey. I mean, you totaled her house. They know it’s arson, of course, but there’s no one to pin it on. I’m sure that’s making it hard for her to sleep at night, not knowing who did it.”
Allison stiffened.
Paul looked at her and then hit the Pause button.
“I don’t know who that is,” she said, “but I’m 99 percent sure it isn’t Jenna.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Leif commented.
Then Paul hit the button again, and the tape resumed playing.
“It burned easy,” Decicco said, and even in the weird echoey way the microphone had recorded it, Allison heard the longing in his voice. “Wooden structure, no rain the week before.” He raised his hands, wiggling his fingers. “It was just
whfff
.”
“Well, she lost everything.” The woman’s tone began to turn from pleasure to anger. “But then she was all ‘Boohoo, poor me’ about it to my boyfriend. And Ian’s such a nice guy that of course he started offering to buy her more stuff. No, it’s not enough for her that she has insurance and can get all new stuff anyway. She’s trying to double-dip. Now the stupid chick is staying in a hotel that’s probably way nicer than her house ever was.”
In the corner of the frame, the woman’s right hand clenched into a fist.
“She’s got a housekeeper to bring her fresh towels and put clean sheets on the beds every day, and a pool her bratty kid can swim in anytime he wants. When I heard that, I realized it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.”
It was clear that this tape had been made before Sara and Noah moved back in with Ian. If this woman hadn’t liked Ian paying for a hotel, how would she have felt about their moving in with him?
Allison found herself mentally urging the woman to take just a half step forward so that she could see her face. There was something about her that nagged at Allison. But all they could really see was her shoulder and the brightly flowered shopping bag she was holding.
“Not enough?” Decicco echoed. “What’d you mean, Sissy?”
Sissy!
Allison blinked. It was the same girl—woman, now—that Lindsay had talked about. Decicco’s only friend at Spurling.
“You know, you’re the only one who still calls me that.” Her tone was a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Everyone else calls me by my real name.”
Which is .
. . Allison thought.
“I like Sissy,” Decicco said, maddeningly. “So what is it you want me to do?”
The woman called Sissy pulled a handgun from the shopping bag. “You need to kill her,” she said, putting the gun in Decicco’s hand. “Kill Sara and make it look like a robbery gone wrong. Take her wallet, her watch, her jewelry. Anything you want. Just as long as it’s fast.” She reached inside the bag again and pulled out a bulging manila envelope. “Here’s a thousand and the address for the hotel.” She handed it to him. “I’ll give you the rest when it’s done.”
Allison wondered if she had ever planned on giving him the money.
“Didn’t you say she has a kid?”
“What about him?” Her voice was offhand.
“Will he be there?” There was hesitation in Decicco’s voice. “At the hotel?”
“I don’t think so. Ian said something about him going to kinder-garten half time. But if he is, you have to do him too. Just get in, do what you need to do, and get out.”
The hair rose on the back of Allison’s neck.
“How old is he?” Decicco asked.
“The kid?” The woman sounded like she had already lost interest. “Four or five.” Her voice hardened. “Don’t go getting all soft on me now, Joey. That woman needs to die, and I need you to do it. End of story. Oh,” she said, clearly remembering something. “I brought you a little something extra.”
Allison and the two men strained to see what Sissy took out. It was a light-colored round plastic container, about six or eight inches high, with a flat top.
“What’s this?”
She pulled off the lid. There was a smile in her voice. “My homemade pasta salad. Enjoy!”
A chill crawled over Allison’s skin.
Decicco took the container. He sounded a little dazed as he said good-bye, holding the gun, the manila envelope, and the pasta salad. The door opened and closed, without ever allowing them a clear glimpse of the woman who had just asked Decicco to gun a woman and her child in cold blood.
“We didn’t get Ian’s girlfriend’s name, did we?” Leif asked grimly.
“No,” Allison said as they watched Joey put the gun, envelope, and pasta salad into a backpack.
“Did you notice how he always has his back to the camera?” Allison asked the two men.
“Jenna must have told him about it,” Leif said. “Maybe it was even his idea. Maybe he thought it would be insurance.”
“Only it didn’t work,” Allison said. Decicco had been caught between a rock and a hard place. “And if Jenna told him about it, then where’s Jenna?”
Decicco put the gun and the pasta salad into a duffle bag and then left.
The tape went black. “I feel like I know that Sissy person from someplace,” Allison said, “But—”
The camera kicked in again as Jenna opened the door and entered the frame. With her eyes fixed on the camera lens, she made for a chair in the far corner. At the sound of a knock, she started and looked at the door. She called out, “It’s okay. I don’t need anything.” And repeated it several times, with variations, before she finally opened the door.
A woman holding a tall white stack of towels pushed her way into the room. Jenna stumbled backward. The towels fell to the floor.
And now Allison could see who it was. And why she had sounded so familiar.
And on the tape, Elizabeth trained a gun on a babbling Jenna. Allison’s thoughts raced as she made the connections. Elizabeth who taught at Cassidy’s health club. Elizabeth who had also been Sissy. Sissy who had killed those two children. Drowned them.
Drowned them.
Pools.
She looked at her watch. 6:48.
“Leif—what time does Nic’s daughter have her swimming lesson? Isn’t it now?”
The two men turned their faces to her, startled. From the computer there was the sound of a gunshot, and suddenly Jenna’s body flopped on the bed in the foreground, dark blood running from her mouth and nose.
But Allison wasn’t looking at Jenna. She was punching a number into her phone.
By the time she realized that she had set something terrible into motion, it was too late.
Portland Fitness Center
N
ic sat on a wooden bench in the hall outside the swimming pool area. With Makayla at her lesson, Nic was free to look through the various pamphlets and brochures Dr. Adler had given her. Each described one of the many ways they could attack the cancer. Cut her open. Pump poisons through her veins. Beam radiation at her. To cure her, it seemed like they would have to nearly kill her first.
On Nic’s hip, her BlackBerry began to vibrate. She looked at the screen and then accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Nicole—where . . .
buzz
. . . you?” If she hadn’t seen Allison’s name on the display, Nic wouldn’t have recognized her voice. It was higher pitched than normal, faster.
And completely broken up. The reception was terrible on this floor of the gym. Presumably to help it hold the weight of the two swimming pools, the floor was half set into the ground, and the walls were made of thick concrete. Nic got to her feet and began moving toward the window at the far end of the hall, hoping for a better signal. “At the gym. Why?”
“And . . .
buzz
. . . Makayla?”
Guessing at the question, Nic answered, “She’s having her lesson.”
“Nic—listen. Jenna did tape Decicco meeting with . . .
buzz
. . . ordered Sara’s murder . . .
buzz
. . . wasn’t Ian. It was Elizabeth.”
Nic pressed the side of her head against the window so that the back of the phone was directly against the glass. “What are you talking about?”
It didn’t make any sense. She must have missed half a sentence or more. Why had Allison started talking about Jenna and Decicco but then switched to Elizabeth? As in the boot camp instructor? As in Makayla’s swimming teacher?
“Elizabeth’s dating Ian.” Allison’s words were still edged with static, but her tone was unmistakable. “But there’s something else you . . .
buzz
. . . Elizabeth murdered two children when she was . . .
buzz
. . . drowned them.”
Nic started to run.
Later, she would replay the scene over and over. Would everything have gone so wrong if she hadn’t panicked?
Nic had trained herself to approach her job with dispassion, but now terror pushed all reason aside. Her low-heeled shoes slipped on the wet blue tiles as she sprinted the length of the Olympic-sized pool. As if she were in a nightmare, it seemed to take her forever to reach the therapy pool tucked in the separate room behind the main pool. The lifeguard turned in his tall chair to watch her run past. His mouth opened into an O as her jacket flapped back and he saw her gun.