She Can Run (27 page)

Unfortunately Jack agreed with him. “Either one of them could be copycatting the Killer, though.”

“True. Or it could be some other white male between twenty and forty who lives alone or otherwise fits the general serial killer profile.” Sean finished his drink.

“I really hate to think someone around here took Mary Ann.”

“I know, but the FBI profiler’s betting on a local. Branigan Road is too remote for a random criminal.”

“Who else is on Mike’s short list?” Jack asked.

“Besides every single white male in the township?” Sean snorted. “Because of their ready access to Ace, which they know the killer used from the autopsies on the earlier victims, he’s added Doc White, the large animal vet; Dr. Ritter, the small animal vet; and a handful of horse breeders and trainers, including your neighbor, Jeff Stevens.”

“Don’t know Dr. Ritter, but Doc White seems a bit old.”

“Strong as an ox, though,” Sean pointed out.

Jack pictured his neighbor. Jeff couldn’t be more than five-foot-seven and was on the lean side. “Think Jeff would be strong enough?”

“He handles thousand-pound animals all day.”

“Good point,” Jack conceded.

His cousin opened his briefcase and took out two folders. He tossed the first onto Jack’s desk. “That’s the updates I’m recommending to the security system. Motion sensors, cameras, intercom, everything we talked about and more. We’ll run a phone line and place a camera or two down at the barn as well. My men’ll be here first thing in the morning to start the installation.”

Jack set his glass down. He already suspected what was in the second folder.

“And this is everything you ever wanted to know about your new caretaker, who by the way, fate has royally pissed on.”

Jack stared at the folder. Beth’s real identity was right in front of him. So why was he hesitant to open the file? Because even though she’d lied to him and presented him with false identification, it still felt like an invasion of her privacy. Which was stupid. He had every right to know whom he’d hired. And, more importantly, how could he help her if he was in the dark about her situation?

“After you read that, you’ll see why I’ve added a few additional features to the alarm system. She’s in deep shit right up to her pretty neck.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jack’s hand hovered over the folder.

“For Christ’s sake, will you just open it?”

Jack reached out and flipped back the cover, ignoring his cousin’s outburst. He knew Sean’s report would be comprehensive, but he still wasn’t prepared for the photo of Beth that stared back at him from the front page of a missing person report. Jack’s gaze moved from the head shot to the text below. Her name was—holy shit—Elizabeth Baker.

Jack’s brain froze for a few seconds as he tried to recall what he’d heard in the news about her disappearance. The congressman hadn’t lived in his jurisdiction, but Jack had known about the case. He suddenly remembered that Congressman Baker’s missing wife was crazy—or so they’d been told. Sometime before her disappearance she’d tried to buy a one-way ticket on the Ambien Express.

Jack picked up the report to read the details. Elizabeth Andersen Baker disappeared from her Main Line Philadelphia home last fall. Congressman Richard Baker had gone to visit his father in Washington the previous evening for advice on a legislative issue and had stayed the night. When he’d returned home the next morning, his new family was gone. Mrs. Baker’s car was missing. The police were called a half hour later.

Usually the police preferred to wait forty-eight hours before filling out a missing persons report for an adult, but since Elizabeth Baker had been recently hospitalized with severe depression after her suicide attempt, she was thought to be a danger to herself and the children. She hadn’t taken her medication with her. The police began searching for Mrs. Baker right after the report was filed. Jack suspected that the fact she was a congressman’s wife also had something to do with the white-glove, concierge-level service Baker had received from law enforcement.

Elizabeth had had at least a twelve-hour head start. In the month following her vanishing act, there’d been hundreds of unsubstantiated sightings of Mrs. Baker, but the police hadn’t confirmed a single one.

Mrs. Baker had no family. During summer vacation her freshman year at college, her ten-year-old brother had been killed by a friend in a handgun accident. Her father had been a gun collector and had neglected to lock his gun safe. Her dad had then used a second pistol to decorate his study with a Rorschach pattern of his own brain matter the next day. Elizabeth had found him. Her mother had died of cancer the following year.

After flipping through boring college transcripts and legal documents pertaining to Beth’s first marriage and the births of her children, Jack skimmed over the accident report of Brian Andersen’s death. The information matched what Beth had told him. He looked up at Sean. “I assume you read all this?”

“I skimmed through it, yeah.” Sean moved to the sideboard and uncapped the bottle of whisky.

“What do you think?” Jack reached for the glass of scotch he’d forgotten.

Sean poured a short shot. “I think there are two possibilities here. Beth’s depressed and delusional, or Baker’s lying.”

“Yeah.”

His cousin cut through the bullshit to the heart of the situation with surgical precision. “On one hand, her life’s been filled with enough tragedy to warrant depression. But you have to ask yourself why she would suddenly decide to pack it in so many years later. She’d been an accountant, doing the single mother thing for, like, five years before she even met Baker.”

Jack finished Sean’s thought. “So why would her depression get worse if her life had gotten better?”

“Exactly.” Sean crossed his arms and leaned on the credenza.

“Plus, Beth is fanatical about not taking medication. Didn’t even want to take anything for her concussion. I’ve never even seen her drink a glass of wine.” Jack scratched his chin. “Which means that Congressman Baker is lying through his perfect teeth.”

Sean snorted. “Probably picked her because of all the tragedy in her life. Plus she has no immediate family. She was nice and vulnerable. Baker thought she’d be easy to manipulate.”

Anger tightened Jack’s chest.

His cousin crossed his arms over his chest and gestured with his glass. “You have to ask yourself, why would a man with a depressed, possibly suicidal wife leave her all alone overnight? Worse, he left two children in her sole care. Two children he claims to love as if they were his own.”

“Good point,” Jack agreed. “It’s not like he couldn’t afford to hire live-in help.”

“When the police asked him that, he said that as a politician, he hated to give up what little privacy the family had.” Sean’s eye roll transmitted his opinion on the congressman’s statement.

“I guess that makes sense in a normal family.” Jack shook his head. “But not in this case. No one with any sense would leave a mentally unstable woman alone with two children. He’s either lying or guilty of criminal neglect.”

“Unless she isn’t mentally unstable,” Sean added. “She seems sane enough to me. Any chance her paranoia is all in her head?”

“Definitely not. Imaginary threats don’t drive black sedans.” Jack filled Sean in on Beth’s accident.

Sean’s fist thudded on the desk. “Accident my ass. Baker’s after her.”

“The congressman has something to hide.” Jack met Sean’s gaze. “Something he doesn’t want his wife to talk about.”

Later, after Sean had left, Jack pulled out the articles on the Bakers his cousin had included in the file, having made up his mind that the congressman’s story was total bullshit well before he’d talked to Jack about it.

Jack lifted a photo from the file. There she was in a full-color glossy with the congressman at some charity event during their engagement. Baker’s hand rested intimately on the small of her back. She looked different with her light brown hair, which was shorter, highlighted, and cut in a polished, modern style. In the picture she was ten or fifteen pounds heavier, which changed the whole shape of her face. No wonder Jack hadn’t recognized her. The biggest difference, though, was in her expression. Her eyes did not hold the haunted look Jack was accustomed to seeing. She looked happy, healthy, and beautiful.

Jack looked at another picture, taken shortly after their wedding. The happy smile was now forced and tight. She stood a little farther away from her new husband than she did in the engagement picture, just out of his reach. She was thinner, and her eyes were not quite as bright.

The next picture was taken several months later. The change in her appearance was startling. Her weight had fallen dramatically. She looked tired and sick. Dark circles had formed beneath her eyes. She was a different woman, like she’d been struck with cancer or some other serious illness. Depression had been the official diagnosis, but Jack wondered how much physical and psychological abuse Beth had suffered during those long months of her marriage.

Jack then pulled out the information on Congressman Richard Baker. Ivy League education, captain of the debate team, lawyer turned politician, Baker had been elected to Congress shortly after marrying Elizabeth. An attractive new wife and two ready-made kids were evidently assets to a politician. The Bakers were an old money family, complete with a gigantic house in the Hamptons, racehorses, and a yacht. There was a picture of Richard and his father in the winner’s circle with one of their horses after the Brandywine Derby.

Jack flipped through the pictures of the congressman. Richard Baker was athletic looking and blond, with a country club tan. His hair was Ken-like in its perfection, his clothes classically styled, and his smile sincere. Baker didn’t seem to mind having his face in the paper, and he was always willing to give an interview, even when he claimed to be distressed about his missing wife.

Jack had seen enough victims and their family members to recognize the signs that intense grief and worry left on a person. Some people reacted with anger, while others harbored their misery within themselves, but the despair was always visible in their eyes. Long periods of not eating or sleeping left a person worn and beaten. They neglected personal hygiene, bit their nails to the quick. Genuine grief inevitably took its toll and manifested itself as a physical illness.

The congressman, however, didn’t look upset in any of the pictures. His expression appeared grave and concerned, maybe, but his clothes and hair were still mannequin perfect. He hadn’t lost any weight worrying about his missing family, and Jack didn’t see any shadows beneath his eyes. This guy probably hadn’t missed a manicure, let alone an hour of beauty sleep.

If Baker
had
hired the goon in the black sedan, Beth and the kids were in even more serious jeopardy than he’d realized. The Bakers had money and connections, many in the legal system, and probably some outside the law as well. He knew well enough that money and power could manipulate the law as easily as fresh Play Doh. In this case, money and power did not give up after one failed murder attempt.

Rising, Jack closed the file and stored it in the wall safe. He didn’t want Beth to know he had this information yet. He still hoped she would trust him enough to tell him everything, but at least he now had some information that might enable him to protect her.

Now he just had to find out why. Why did Baker want his wife dead?

Flipping off the light in the study, Jack turned into the hall with the intention of dropping the two dirty tumblers in the kitchen before heading to his room. The faint sound of a zipper drew his attention to the stairs. With one hand on the banister and the other on his cane, he limped up the steps. Following the sounds of light footsteps, he turned left at the top of the stairs. A light glowed from around Beth’s door, which was slightly ajar.

Jack peered through the gap and gasped.

A large wheeled suitcase lay open on the bed, neatly folded clothes stacked inside.

Beth was packing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Beth folded a pair of jeans and set them in the suitcase. Though the morning’s events had chilled the blood in her veins, she couldn’t help but turn them over and over again in her mind. Only one thing was crystal: her
accident
that afternoon had been anything but.

Richard’s men had found them.

They needed to leave. Tonight.

The kids were going to be devastated. Though they’d only lived here for a short time, they loved the mountains. They were attached to Jack, too. Her throat constricted at the thought of leaving him. Strengthening her resolve, she opened her closet and began pulling out the few items that hung inside. She couldn’t afford to think about Jack. She had children to protect.

She’d let the kids sleep a few more hours, let whoever might be watching think they’d settled in for the night. Then they’d take off a few hours before dawn. It was their best chance at slipping away. Their only chance, really. If they waited any longer, that man in the black sedan would be out there, somewhere, waiting for them.