Clare set the drink aside, wiping at her jeans where the cola and vodka had spilled. All was quiet, the steady drip of the eaves the loudest sound. The fire had burned down and she went to it, stoking it with another piece of wood. How much time had passed? She couldn’t have been asleep too long, but with the muted light of the storm it was hard to tell. She searched for her phone, spotting it on the kitchen counter.
Late afternoon. She’d slept several hours. That would account for the wooziness. She rubbed at her eyes and jumped when the phone came to life in her hand. She recognized Hughes’s number and answered.
“All okay there?” he asked somewhat breathlessly.
“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Shanna’s sleeping and Wilt’s outside.”
“Good. There’s been a development.” Clare’s grip tightened on the phone and she leaned against the counter. “We just received a tip from someone in Farrell that they spotted Rainier’s vehicle heading into an old property outside of town.”
“Farrell, where’s Farrell?”
“Little town three hours southwest.”
“They were sure it was his car?”
“Gave us the license number exactly. And something else too.”
“What?”
“They said they couldn’t get a good look at the driver, but there was a kid with him in the passenger seat.”
Clare’s heart surged. “Oh God.”
“I’m on my way there and we’re in contact with the state police. They’ve set up checkpoints on all roadways. He won’t be able to slip away this time.”
She went to the sofa and sunk into it. “Who called it in?”
“Someone local. Sounded like they didn’t want to get involved but had seen the car’s description on the news.”
Clare’s thoughts swirled. “Why would Rainier go there?”
“No way of telling yet. I’ve got someone working on the place in question. Might be some distant relation of his we hadn’t made a connection to yet. In the meantime we’ll be putting a team together to observe and then move on him when everything’s a go. I touched base with Wilt a while ago, he said everything’s fine. I’ll keep you posted when we know something more.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“No problem.”
“Be careful.”
There was a long pause. “I definitely will. For everyone’s sake.”
She lay her phone on the couch cushion and stared at it. Should she wake Shanna? It almost seemed she didn’t have a choice. It was utterly wonderful knowing her son might be alive, but also deeply chilling that he was in the possession of the man who had held her captive all those years—someone deranged enough to try killing her when she’d escaped. What would Rainier do now if he became aware the net was closing around him?
She stopped herself there, knowing exactly what he would do, what he was capable of. Maybe she should wait to tell Shanna. In a few more hours they might have much better news. In the meantime she could rest; she’d been through so much already. Clare was about to get up and find where she’d left her drink, maybe take a look out the front door to check on Wilt, when her phone chimed again. It would be Hughes, his voice a low husk, and he wouldn’t need to tell her the words. She’d know. Someone had made a mistake and Rainier caught wind of what was happening. He would be dead and Shanna’s son along with him. With a trembling hand she picked up the phone.
It was Adam’s number.
“Hello?”
“Probably the last person you want to hear from today, huh?” Adam said.
She sighed. “No, there are a few other people still ahead of you.”
“Guess I deserve that. But you have to understand—”
“He tried taking us last night. The guy I told you about, he was staying at the hotel. He tried taking Shanna and I.”
“What?”
Haltingly she recounted the events of the night before, stopping to gather a measure of calm every so often. When she was finished there was a stunned silence on Adam’s end.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. My sentiments too.”
“I’m . . . Clare, I’m sorry. I didn’t doubt what you’d seen, but it was getting out of hand.”
“Listen, we can talk about this later,” she said, moving to the door and peering out into the gray wash of afternoon. The yard was empty save for the cruiser. She could just make out Wilt’s shape behind the wheel. “Are you back in New York?”
“No. Minneapolis.”
She paused. “What are you still doing there?”
“Not sure. Had a feeling I shouldn’t leave yet. Weird, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I was about to book a flight last night and thought I should hang around for a few more days for some reason. Glad I did now. I’ll be heading back your way in a few minutes.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to. At least then I can apologize in person, because you were right about Parson and his group.”
She found her glass and held it but didn’t take a drink. “Why, what happened?”
“The digital desperado, that’s what happened. He finished his digging and came up with the missing link. You remember Rainier and his mother moved to Sheffield, then went dark until she died?”
For a beat she had no idea what he meant. With all the events in the last two days she’d half forgotten about Adam’s hacker. Then it came rushing back. “Yeah, there was nothing until she was buried.” She searched for the name of the cemetery and it finally surfaced. “Lakeville, right?”
“Yes. And do you know where Lakeville Cemetery is?”
“No.”
“It’s midway between Sheffield and Valley Falls.”
“Where Parson and his father moved?”
“Correct. Now of course digital receipts back in the days of yore are basically nonexistent. Most contracts and agreements were typed up, filed, and forgotten in some dusty cabinet, which is exactly the case here. Luckily my guy has great instincts and was able to track down the son of the owner of a tenement building where Parson’s father ended up renting a little hole in the wall for the last decade of his spiraling life. The son still had his father’s rental agreements and was able to scan and email them to the desperado for a small sum. One of them was of a particular interest. On October fifteenth, nineteen eighty, John Parson cosigned a lease with one Helen Rainier.”
Clare was struck silent for a moment. “They lived together?”
“Bingo. From what I can deduce, Helen and John must’ve met one another and hit it off. They rent a place together and we have Harold Rainier and Steven Parson, both teenagers at the time, living shoulder to shoulder for upwards of six years.”
Clare took a long drink. She needed it. “Stepbrothers.”
“In all but the legality of marriage. Which is why it was so hard to match Rainier’s mother and Parson’s father—they never got hitched. In fact, that one rental agreement tucked away in some basement was the only thing tying them together. They must’ve parted ways just before both of them shuffled off their mortal coils because there’s nothing indicating any payments for burial from either side.”