False Positive (22 page)

If everything was still on track, this would be the last stop she'd have to make.

It had involved a slight detour to reach another Internet cafe, but the woman wanted to check on her webcams one last time. To be certain that everything was ready for their arrival, less than a hundred miles up the road. They were tantalizingly close. But she'd invested so much time and effort over the last few months it would be crazy not to take a few more minutes and make sure every detail was still perfectly on track.

The woman was desperate for things to run smoothly, since she'd have company with her for the first time. She wanted the torch to be passed without a hitch. And she didn't want to get bogged down in any avoidable snafus that could make her late getting to the girl's house for the start of the next phase. The more time the girl spent with her mother, the more opportunities there'd be for the plan to be knocked off track.

Normally the woman wouldn't be too anxious about a thing like that. If something unexpected happened, she'd just wait. Retrench. Bide her time until the circumstances were to her liking. But now, time to wait was something she didn't have.

They'd been on the road since before dawn, so as soon as she was done with the computer the woman let the boy stretch his legs and use the restroom. She changed her wig and her cardigan, one last time. Made the boy change his shirt. Checked the car. Retrieved a discarded sweatshirt and his cuddly rabbit from the foot well and threw them in the trunk with the other things she'd need to dispose of.

But she let him keep his little monkey.

She was thorough. Not heartless.

Tuesday. Late Morning
.

Ethan missing for eighty-eight hours

Devereaux never got as far as putting his head through the loop in the rope.

Would he have done it if the beam hadn't collapsed when he tried to test its strength? He was adamant that he wouldn't have. That the whole thing was symbolic. That it was just a way to help him get over the shock of learning about his heritage.

A shaft of sunshine blazed into the room from a new hole that had been torn in the roof when the beam gave way. Devereaux lay on his back, pinned in place by pieces of the wooden framework and dislodged shingles, and stared up through the gap. He could see the blue sky, way above the cabin. Closer to him specks of dust and tiny fragments of wood floated aimlessly, trapped in the bright confines of the light. He stayed still, watching them drift. They were displaced and unwanted, just like him. But unlike him, they didn't have a choice.

He moved one leg, freeing it from the debris. He pulled the other one clear. Then he heard a car approaching. He threw off the rest of the clutter and a second later he was on his feet and heading for the door.

He figured it would most likely be Lieutenant Hale. The officer at the archive must have realized he'd been played and raised the alarm.
His lieutenant would have called Hale, out of professional courtesy. And she would have wanted to contain the damage. The worst case would be that she'd sent a pair of uniforms to bring him in, again. If so, he could get to the woods long before them. Retrieve his car. Head back to the archive. Return the file. And then, when he was ready, he'd face the music on his own terms.

The engine note grew louder, but when the car appeared Devereaux could see it wasn't Hale's. Or a squad car. It was a Subaru station wagon. In dark green. It was moving fast. The driver was confident. Or reckless. A kid had probably stolen the car, and now was out to drive around until he wrecked it or got it stuck in a ditch. He'd probably pass right by—why would he be interested in a broken-down old cabin when he had someone else's vehicle to play with?—but Devereaux reached for his Glock anyway, just in case. He held it ready, down at his side. Then he caught his first proper glimpse of the person behind the wheel.

It was Loflin.

Loflin, who'd killed Tomcik.

Tomcik, who'd given Devereaux his name.

Discovering the true identity of the man Tomcik had killed had thrown Devereaux for a loop, at first. But the reality had sunk in now. And he could see that nothing had really changed. Tomcik had stopped a serial killer. That was the bottom line. He was a cop. It was his job. Devereaux would have done the same thing, in his shoes. A murderer is a murderer, whoever his offspring may be.

Devereaux felt the familiar calm clarity descend upon him. He understood what it was now. Where it came from. But he didn't reject it. Or fight it. Even though he knew it was a murderer's legacy. He saw that he could use it. He stepped back behind the cabin door and waited for Loflin to come closer. She had a debt to pay for what she'd done to Tomcik.

But she also had Ethan.

First things first.

Tuesday. Late Morning
.

Ethan missing for eighty-eight and a quarter hours

Loflin jumped out of the car, leaving the door open and the engine running.

“Cooper? Are you here? It's Jan. I need your help. Right now! I'm in a whole heap of trouble.”

“I'm inside.” Devereaux kept an eye on her through a crack in the door.

Loflin raced across the open ground toward the cabin. Devereaux waited for her to cross the threshold, then grabbed her by the hair. He pulled her forward and flung her against the wall. She slammed sideways into the wood and slid down to the floor. Devereaux picked her up. He hauled her to the couch. Pushed her face-first into the cracked leather surface. Put his knee between her shoulder blades to hold her in place. And jammed his gun against the base of her neck.

“You kidnapped an innocent child, Jan.” He leaned down so that his mouth was near her ear, close enough that he could smell the lacquer in her hair. “You killed a retired cop. That's two lines you can't uncross. I could beat you to death and drag your body into town behind my car, and they'd still give me a medal. You know it's true. But I'm a fair-minded guy. I'm going to give you a chance to avoid that happening. All you have to do is tell me where Ethan is.”

Loflin started to mumble into the cushions so Devereaux let her raise her head a couple of inches.

“I don't have him.” She gasped for breath. “I didn't take him. You've got it all wrong.”

“There was an eyewitness.” Devereaux pressed harder with the gun, breaking the skin and drawing a little blood. “At the hotel. The clerk I spoke to. David Day. The one you carefully avoided seeing on Sunday. He ID'd you from your photo. And Ethan's clothing was found at your house. You can't talk your way out of this, Jan. The time for bullshitting is over. Tell me where the boy is. If Ethan doesn't walk away from this mess, neither do you.”

“I can explain.” Loflin was almost shrieking. “This witness? Dave the clerk? I didn't deliberately avoid him. And he didn't identity
me
. He made a mistake. You need to listen. Because I know where Ethan is. Or where he's going to be. Very soon. That's why I'm here. Why I came to find you.”

“Quit lying.”

“I'm not lying! You want to know who kidnapped Ethan? It was my mother! She looks just like me. The clerk obviously mixed us up.”

“What's your mother's name?”

“Rebecca Loflin.”

“What was her maiden name?”

“Rebecca Nesbitt. But she was born Madison Burke.”

Devereaux let Loflin go. She flopped forward and sprawled on the couch for a moment. Then she rolled over, hauled herself upright, and turned to face him.

“Why don't you believe me?” Tears of frustration were starting to form in her eyes. “I'm not lying. I swear to you.”

“Madison Burke's dead, Jan.” Devereaux kept his voice calm and level. “She was killed in a fire. At the Nesbitt house. A few years after they'd adopted her.”

“No.” Loflin was adamant. “She didn't die. She survived the fire. She was the only one who did.”

“The FBI says she died.”

“What would they know? They weren't there. The Nesbitts lived in the middle of nowhere. They had no neighbors. No family. No friends. The kids were home-schooled, so there were no teachers. My
mother was practically the same age as her foster sister, Rebecca. She had no driver's license. No photo ID was on file anywhere. Neither of them had ever been to a dentist's office in their lives. So when the fire department finally showed up, she pretended to be Rebecca. No one ever knew the difference.”

“Why would she do that?”

“You know who her father was, right? She wanted to get out of his shadow. She saw the opportunity. And she took it. Wouldn't you have done the same?”

Devereaux took a moment to think about it. Could things have been bad enough for her to steal another kid's identity? He wasn't convinced. But he didn't doubt it strongly enough to dismiss her story out of hand.

“Let's talk about the present.” Devereaux took a bottle of water from his pile and wiped away a layer of dust that had fallen from the roof. “You're saying your mom has taken Ethan?”

Loflin nodded.

“Did she take all those other kids, as well?”

“There were some others.” Loflin nodded again. “I'm not sure if it's as many as the FBI think.”

“What did she do to them? Did she kill them?”

“I don't know. I guess so. I'm still piecing things together.”

“Is Ethan still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. But I know she has something planned for him. I think it's something bad. We have to stop her. You have to help me, Cooper. I can't do it on my own.”

“Hold your horses. You knew your mom had kidnapped Ethan the whole time we were searching for him. You were stringing us along. Not to mention that poor kid's parents. Why should I trust you now?”

“No.” Loflin shook her head violently. “Listen. I didn't know what she was doing. Not all along. I was in denial. Looking back, all those years ago, there were clues, I guess. I can see that now. But it only became fully clear two nights ago. My mom's sick. She's terminal. All my life she talked about me following in her footsteps. Carrying
on her work. It's only since her cancer brought us closer that I realized what she meant. I humored her for a few months. Who can say no to a dying mother, right? At first it was easy. She talked me into sweeping up a couple of drug dealers and a gang enforcer who'd got off on technicalities. She had me use my contacts at the department to find new evidence. They were people with bad genes, she said. And after them, it was you. She sent me a whole file making you out to be the new Al Capone. Then, Sunday, at the Roadside Rendezvous, I saw her on the CCTV. She'd hidden her face, and she was in disguise, but it wasn't enough to fool me. That's why I left the manager's office when I did. Not to avoid the clerk. So I could call my mom. We fixed to meet, that night. And she laid it all out. Ethan. The other kids. All of it. The FBI found a couple of things of Ethan's that she'd given me as proof, at my house. And some of the tranquilizer she'd used on him. They put two and two together, and skipped a generation. I should have told someone—you, Hale, Bruckner, Grandison—I get that. But I didn't know what to do. I panicked. We're talking about my
mom
, Cooper.”

Tuesday. Late Morning
.

Ethan missing for eighty-eight and a half hours

Devereaux had been watching Loflin the whole time she was talking.

The years he'd spent with the police department had honed his instinct for sensing lies, and he wasn't picking up anything that worried him. But he was also aware that Loflin was light-years away from the people he normally pulled off the streets. She was no drug dealer, claiming not to know how a dead rival's blood came to be on a baseball bat in the trunk of her car. Or a factory worker, denying she'd found out a co-worker was sleeping with her husband the night before the slut mysteriously disappeared. Loflin was an undercover detective whose life depended on her ability to deceive.

“You told me your mom was a psychologist.” Devereaux took a sip of water, still unsure whether to believe her. “It's quite a leap, from counseling to kidnapping. How did it happen?”

“It was a gradual thing.” Loflin straightened her blouse. “She'd always been obsessed with genetic inheritance, since she was a little girl. Because of her father, I guess. She was always reading theories about destiny and such. She studied it at graduate school.”

“How could a kid in her shoes afford graduate school? Did someone give her a scholarship?”

“She didn't need one. Everyone thought she was Rebecca, so after the fire she inherited the Nesbitts' money. A ton of it. College, graduate school, starting her own practice, funding her research, none of it even scratched the surface. And whether it was her destiny, I don't know, but she went on to get hired by the FBI. As a contractor, not an agent. Her specialty was helping people deal with trauma. Kids, in particular. Including, one day, the daughter of a serial killer in New Mexico who'd been shot by the police.”

“So how did it work? Your mom had suffered when she was a kid, so she wanted to pay it forward?”

“No!” Loflin's eyes blazed. “She's crazy, but she's not evil. She thinks she's rescuing them from their fate. She thinks that without her, the kids would be doomed to follow in their parents' footsteps.”

“So why take Ethan?”

“You don't know?” Loflin stepped forward and touched Devereaux's shoulder. “Cooper, all the kids she took? The orphans? Their fathers were
all
serial killers. That's the link. From mom's father, to her, to them.”

And from my father to me
. Devereaux was stunned.

“Ethan's father killed his mother.” Loflin took her hand back and swept her hair out of her face. “She was his seventh victim. He cut her throat when she found out about victim number six. An au pair they'd hired illegally from Venezuela. The neighbors heard screaming. The police were called. The father was shot. And Ethan was taken into care.”

“Did Ethan know about his father?”

“I'm not sure. He was pretty young. He may not have.”

“Your mom was his caseworker?” Devereaux forced himself to change tack. “Why wasn't this flagged up? Bruckner or Grandison should have done a full background check on her when they came up with the law enforcement angle.”

“Bruckner and Grandison wouldn't have known about her. These days, all the records are centralized. My mom's senior enough that she can get printouts of the entire database. A kid doesn't have to be her patient for her to find out about him.”

“Then how did she find out about me?
I
didn't even know about my father.”

“Because of the cancer, indirectly. She was cleaning house, ready for when the end came. The old guy Tomcik was the one who'd gotten her placed with her foster family. She knew he'd been keeping tabs on her, up till the fire. She suspected he'd kept a file. She didn't want any records left behind, so she went to get it. And found yours at the same time. You're another child of a serial killer, and she believes it's her mission to save you.”

“She's crazy.”

“You think?”

“Crazy, but smart, too. It was she who lied to the lieutenant to get me put on ice then brought back in time to catch this case, I bet.”

“Right. But I didn't know at first. She just told me to report on what you were doing. I thought it was just for background, not to confirm her plan was working.”

“She wanted me close, but not too close. So she had you jerk me around like a puppet, swallowing her misdirections like I was fresh out of uniform.”

“No. I didn't know about any of that until Sunday night, when she told me about Ethan.”

“How did you leave things with her, Sunday? Does she believe you're doing what she wants? Going to meet with her?”

“Yes. What else could I do? If she stopped trusting me, she'd cut me off. We'd lose touch. I figured our only chance of saving Ethan was for me to play along. And it was working. I know where she's taking him. We still have time to get there ahead of her.”

Devereaux had heard enough. He'd made his decision.

“Come on.” He checked that he had his keys and headed for the door. “We need a cell signal. Then we need to contact Lieutenant Hale. Get her to put a hostage rescue team—”

“I already tried, Cooper.” Loflin hadn't moved. “She didn't believe me. And you can't blame her. The
evidence
against me looks pretty compelling.”

“That's crap. I'll talk to her. She'll believe me.”

“What if she doesn't? Didn't you already tell her my mother was the kidnapper? You didn't know she was my mother then, and you used her old name, but might the lieutenant not think you're flogging a dead horse, here? Trying to save face? And if she doesn't believe
you—which she probably won't—she'll order you to arrest me. What would you do then?”

Devereaux was running through rescue scenarios in his head, weighing the odds of needing reinforcements.

“I'm not worried for myself.” Loflin shrugged. “I'm innocent, and I can prove it. It would just take time. But if I don't show up when my mother's expecting me, she'll think I've betrayed her. It'll be the kiss of death for Ethan.”

There were ways in which involving Lieutenant Hale made sense. But in one respect, her presence would be a major disadvantage.

“She's not going to buy it, Cooper. Believe me. I spoke to her right before I drove over here. Her mind's made up. Look, this isn't about me saving my own ass. I've done nothing wrong. Except break procedure, and I'll take whatever's coming my way on that. I'll turn myself in. I'll resign. I'll go to jail, if I have to. But first, we've got to save that kid. I couldn't live with my conscience, otherwise. It's down to you and me, Cooper. Whether he lives or dies. At this point, we're Ethan's best hope. Actually, we're his only hope.”

Devereaux was confident he wouldn't need help to save Ethan from a cancerous old woman. But that wasn't the clincher. Another factor was weighing on his mind. The likelihood that Loflin's mother was the one who'd killed Tomcik. And the drawback of facing her in front of an unnecessary witness.