Bad News Page 16

  “It's starting to rain,” I point out. “You can't stay out here. You'll catch pneumonia.”

  Wow. I sound just like my grandmother.

  Esmee stares at me for a moment, and then I see tears starting to fill her eyes. She opens her mouth and her bottom lip begins to tremble, and she seems to be on the verge of breaking down.

  “I don't know what I'm doing,” she whimpers finally, before turning to look past me, toward the road ahead. “I'm scared. The world is so huge, and I'm used to being in that little place in the forest. Part of me just wants to go back there forever, to hide away.”

  “It's going to take time for you to adjust to being free,” I tell her.

  “But why do I have to?” she sobs. “If I go back there, I won't be scared anymore.”

  “You can't go back, Esmee.”

  “What if it's just for a visit?” she asks, turning to me again. “Can you drive me there? I was going to walk, but you're right, the weather's too bad. Can you drive me? I might feel better if I just spent a little time in my old room.”

  “I'm pretty sure the entire farm's a crime scene right now,” I explain. “I get that you're scared, Esmee, but you have to be strong. You have to accept the help that people are offering you, and you have to go back to the hospital. Imagine how worried everyone will be when they realize that you're missing. I'll take you back, and I promise you'll start to feel better eventually.”

  I try to lead her over to my car, but for a few seconds she refuses to budge. Then, finally, she turns and comes with me.

  “I can't believe they actually let you go,” I tell her as I open the passenger-side door. “The guy guarding your room is gonna have to answer some questions and -”

  Before I can finish, I hear the sound of another vehicle approaching, and sure enough I turn just in time to see Malone's truck coming this way. His lights are flashing, and as he pulls up nearby I can already see the look of concern on his face.

  “It's okay,” I say as he gets out of the vehicle. “Esmee's fine. She's just finding it hard to cope, that's all. We've talked and I think she's feeling a little better now.”

  “I got a call from the hospital,” he explains. “They were terrified that something might have happened to you, Esmee. I've got men searching everywhere.”

  “I'm sorry,” Esmee whimpers, as more tears roll down her face. “I don't know why I came out here. I just couldn't help myself!”

  “Esmee,” Malone says cautiously, “you need to come back with me. You can't be out here like this.”

  “Can we go one last time?” she asks, turning to him. “Just one time, I swear. That's all I need. One more time.”

  “Esmee,” he replies, “I -”

  “Just once!” she gasps, stepping toward him and dropping to her knees, then clasping her hands together as if she's begging. “Just let me look around! I swear, I'll be fine after that! Just give me a few minutes alone there, to come to terms with it all! That's all I'm asking! I don't want to go back to that hospital, not yet!”

  Malone hesitates, and then he turns to me.

  “Please,” Esmee sobs. “I just need to go there one last time!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I spoke to Doctor Sutter at the hospital,” Malone says as we stand at the Waters family front door, “and he's happy for Esmee to be home tonight. He's going to come by in the morning, to speak to all of you and to discuss plans going forward.”

  “There's also going to be someone sitting outside the house in a police cruiser,” I add. “In case journalists show up.”

  “I have a man who'll be here in about an hour's time,” Malone continues. “It's probably not necessary, but -”

  “Oh, it's necessary,” I say, cutting him off as I turn to Mark Waters. “You won't believe the crap they'll try to pull.”

  Behind him, Amanda Waters is gently leading Esmee up the stairs. It's clear that Esmee is still so fragile, and after a moment she stops and turns to us.

  “I just want to go one last time,” she stammers, with tears still in her eyes. “Just to get it out of my head. Why can't you let me do that?”

  “I'm sorry, Esmee,” Malone says, “but the farm is a crime scene. We need to preserve it and make sure that nothing's disturbed. I've got some people coming from out of state tomorrow to take a look at the place. They'll go over it with proper equipment and make sure nothing's left uncovered. Please, try to understand.”

  She stares at him for a moment, and then she mutters something under her breath before turning and letting Amanda finish leading her upstairs.

  “How could they let her just walk out of the hospital?” Mark asks, clearly furious. “Anything could have happened to her!”

  “I'm going to speak to the man concerned,” Malone explains. “He'll be disciplined.”

  “And that woman got in earlier and tried to take photos of her,” Mark continues. “What kind of operation are you idiots running out there? Are you in control of anything at all?”

  “I can assure you,” Malone replies, picking his words carefully, “that we'll -”

  “She's home now,” Mark says firmly, “which means that we're in charge of looking after her. Which means that we don't need your help anymore. Not that you were much use before, anyway. Frankly, the police have been no help in this case at all. You let her rot out there for more than a decade, it's your fault that she's like this.”

  “That's not entirely fair,” I suggest.

  “Keep out of this,” he snaps, before taking a step back. “Now, if you'll excuse me, my wife and I have to take care of our daughter. And you guys, frankly, can go screw yourselves.”

  Before either of us can say a word, he slams the door in our faces, leaving me to turn to Malone as I realize that there's probably no point knocking again.

  “So,” I say after a moment. “Dessert?”

  ***

  “I thought you had to be somewhere tonight,” Malone says a while later, as we sit in the bar with two big ice creams. “What happened to your urgent need to get home?”

  “I guess Esmee kinda slowed me down,” I point out. “When I saw her there, wandering along the road, I had to stop.”

  “And now you're heading off, huh? I guess you've got some big pieces to write about everything that's happened. I just hope you'll be a little kind to us.” He pauses for a moment. “I know I made mistakes, and I can totally understand how this whole case could be written in a way that makes us look like incompetent imbeciles. I guess we deserve that. Mark Waters was right, this is partially our fault. Partially my fault.”

  “That's not true at all,” I tell him.

  “I could have found her sooner.”

  He takes a scoop of ice cream from his bowl.

  “I'm not going to be writing anything,” I say finally. “I've given up on all that.”

  “On your career?”

  “I think I want to do something where I feel a little more self-worth,” I explain. “Like stealing from little old ladies. Or organ trafficking.”

  “You can't just give up,” he replies.

  “I don't want to be an asshole anymore.”

  “You're not an asshole,” he says. “Maggie, if people like you quit, then all that's left are people like that Derringham woman. Who's not being very cooperative, by the way. Seriously, she's not making life easy for herself. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm quite enjoying the chance to take one of those know-it-all media types down a peg or two.”

  “Pretending it's me, are you?”

  “I get the feeling that she's pretty much the worst of the worst.”

  “I don't want to be like her.”

  “Then don't be!” he says firmly, setting his spoon down. “I haven't known you for very long, but I never thought you were a quitter.”

  “You don't understand,” I tell him.

  “You think I don't face the same kind of pressure?” he asks. “If good people quit the police, that leaves just the corrupt,
immoral assholes left. And the same goes for your line of work.” He sighs. “Think how this case will get written up if you don't do it. I'm not saying this out of some sense of self-preservation. I'm saying that you know what really happened. You can write it as it really is. And now you're saying you just want to walk away? You're just quitting?”

  “It's not -”

  “It is quitting,” he adds. “It's taking the easy way out. And if you're saying that it's not possible to be a journalist and have morals, then I just have to disagree with you.”

  He picks up his spoon and gets back to his dessert.

  I want to explain some more, to tell him why I'm tired of everything, but suddenly I realize I can't think of anything that'll sound okay. The last thing I want is to whine, or to sound like I feel sorry for myself. And the truth is, I think maybe – just maybe – Malone has a point.

  “Well,” I say finally, before getting to my feet, “I'm just going to go to the bathroom.”

  With that, I head away from the table. By the time I'm in the bathroom, I feel as if my head's going to explode. I'd already decided that I had to set off on a new line of work, and now all the doubts have returned. I know Malone's technically correct when he says that I'm running from a fight, but he just doesn't understand how exhausting it can be to have to fight your instincts every day.

  Or maybe he does.

  Maybe it's exactly the same for him.

  “God,” I say, looking up toward the ceiling, “just in case you feel like telling me the answer to all this, I'd be real grateful for a light bulb moment.”

  I wait.

  Nothing.

  Sighing, I wash my hands and then I head back out to rejoin Malone. It's late, but I figure I could drive through the night and be home just as the sun's coming up. That'd be better than sitting around here.

  As I reach the table, however, I find that Malone's already getting ready to leave, and he seems to be in a hurry.

  “Was it something I didn't say?” I ask.

  “You were right,” he says, sounding a little flustered.

  “About...”

  “That blood we found in the forest last year, when Kimmy disappeared,” he continues, holding up his phone. “I just got an email. You said we could check the blood against ancestry sites. I didn't really think there was much point, but I sent in a request anyway and the results just came back.”

  “And?”

  I wait, but he seems genuinely shocked.

  “Was it Kimmy's blood?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Was it Roper's?”

  I feel a flicker of concern.

  Again, he shakes his head.

  “Then who was -”

  “There's a 97% chance that the blood belonged to Esmee Waters,” he explains, “and it was fresh. Esmee was still Roper's prisoner last year, and she told us she never left the bunker, not even once. So what was she doing out in the forest when Kimmy went missing?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Okay, so maybe Esmee Waters was out in the forest at some point last year,” I say as Malone drives us along the road toward the Waters family home. “It's not completely impossible. But what was she doing out there in the forest around the same time that Kimmy disappeared?”

  “Esmee was adopted,” he explains. “That's why we never had a sample of her blood before. Her birth parents died when she was about six months old, but somehow they were in one of the record sets.”

  “Then maybe...” I pause as I try to think of the most realistic alternative. “Maybe she was kept alive for all that time, and then she escaped,” I add finally. “And maybe her escape had something to do with the timing of Kimmy's disappearance. It could all be a coincidence, but it could also not be.” I turn to him. “Are you sure she never mentioned anything about an escape?”

  “She said she thought about it, but she gave up.”

  “Maybe she's blocked it out,” I suggest. “Maybe it was too painful.”

  “Maybe,” he mutters, as he swings the truck around onto the next street and then brings us to a halt next to a police cruiser, “but I want to find out. Something about this whole thing doesn't add up.”

  Getting out of the cruiser, I see that the deputy is sitting in his cruiser, casually checking his phone.

  Malone hurries over and knocks on the window.

  “Is everything okay?” the deputy asks, after rolling the window down.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Malone replies. “There's been no sign of anyone approaching the house, has there? No journalists or TV crews?”

  “Nothing,” he says. “Why? I thought you weren't coming back out here until the morning?”

  “Keep up the good work,” Malone says, and then we hurry toward the house.

  “Esmee Waters spent eleven years as a prisoner,” I point out. “That has to have messed her up pretty seriously. I know you've had people talking to her, but you've barely scratched the surface. We still don't know what really happened during those years. She could be suffering from all sorts of problems. I'd be shocked if she didn't have some form of PTSD!”

  “Esmee said that she knows nothing about Kimmy's death,” he says, stopping at the door and knocking loudly. “Now we find out that she was in the forest around the time that Kimmy disappeared. If she has any information at all about that night, I need to hear it immediately.”

  “Yes, but -”

  Before I can finish, the door opens and Mark Waters steps into view.

  “I need to speak to Esmee,” Malone tells him. “It's important.”

  “Are you insane?” Mark replies. “It's nine o'clock at night. Esmee's gone to bed!”

  “Then get her out of bed,” Malone says. “I can do this the formal way, or we can keep it informal.”

  “You can't just come barging into our home,” Mark says, as his wife heads up the stairs. “I'm going to put in a complaint about your behavior. Right from the start, you've been completely out of order. You failed to find Esmee when she was missing, and you're harassing her now that she's home. I don't know what's wrong with you, but -”

  “Mark, she's not here!” Amanda Waters shouts from upstairs, and suddenly she comes running down the stairs.

  “Where is she?” Malone asks, pushing past Mark and heading into the hallway.

  “She's not in her room,” Amanda continues, her voice filled with shock. “She's not anywhere in the house. Esmee's gone!”

  ***

  “So I guess that deputy of yours wasn't much good,” I point out as we speed through the night in Malone's truck, heading up toward the Roper farm. “Not if Esmee was able to sneak out the back without anyone noticing.”

  “He was watching for people going in, not out,” Malone replies. “Cut the guy some slack.” He pauses for a moment. “No,” he adds finally, “you're right. This is another screw-up.”

  “Pull up here,” I say suddenly.

  “We're not quite at the -”

  “I know!” I say firmly. “Trust me. Pull up here and turn your lights off!”

  He does just that, bringing the truck to a halt just a couple of hundred meters short of the farmhouse. As soon as he's cut the lights, I realize that I can see a faint hint of light in the distance, somewhere up in the forest but not quite at the farmhouse itself.

  “I don't think we want to advertise our arrival,” I say after a moment.

  “It looks like someone's up there with a flashlight,” he replies.

  “Did you leave any men up there overnight?”

  “I didn't see the need. And we're pretty stretched as things are.”

  “It could be a reporter,” I point out, “although my understanding is that Rolinda's team was the only one that had reached Ridge Falls so far.”

  I watch for a few more seconds, and I'm now certain that I can see the beam of a flashlight out there in the forest. Sure, there are plenty of alternative explanations, but there's one possibility that just seems to
make sense right now.

  “I want to see what Esmee's doing,” I say finally, as I climb out of the truck.

  “Then let's go ask her,” Malone replies, getting out the other side.

  “No, I don't want her version of it,” I tell him. “I want to see what she's doing. She told me earlier that she wanted to be there again, that she felt a need. The crazy thing is, as much as that might make sense, I'm not sure that it's the real reason. I feel bad for admitting this, but I think she was lying.”

  “You said it yourself,” Malone points out as we begin to make our way up the dark, steep hill that leads toward Roper's property. “She's a screwed-up kid. Eleven years in a dungeon would do that to anyone. Maybe she's got some kind of Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe she can't bear to be away from this place.”

  “Maybe,” I reply.

  “Maybe she actually misses Roper,” he adds. “I know it's crazy, but she probably developed some feelings for that monster.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe she doesn't know what else to do,” he suggests. “Maybe home doesn't feel like home anymore. Maybe her parents don't feel like family.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, then,” he says as we reach the fence and look up toward the farmhouse, “if you don't like any of my ideas, do you have anything better?”

  I look past the farmhouse, toward the beam of light in the forest.

  “I think Esmee Waters was very determined to get back up here,” I say after a moment. “After we picked her up earlier and took her home, she ran back here within a few hours. She took a huge risk, she must know there's a chance that we'll notice she's missing. If she simply wanted to come back here, I think she'd have waited a day or two, hoping that we'd stop caring. The fact that she came back so soon...”

  My voice trails off for a moment, and then the beam vanishes.

  “She's desperate to get back into that underground bunker,” I point out finally, “and something tells me that waiting until tomorrow wasn't an option.” I turn to Malone. “Whatever she needs to do out here, she needs to do it tonight.”