Gone

CHAPTER 42

Wednesday, 12:46 p.m. PST

KIMBERLY FELT LIKE A LUMBERING RHINO. Ru

“I… gotta… work out… more,” Kimberly gasped.

Shelly looked at the FBI agent’s red, sweat-soaked face, then the duffel bag. “Or switch to a credit card.”

“Very… fu

Shelly gestured forward and Kimberly peered over the boulder to check out their target through the thick coastal mist.

The lighthouse teetered dangerously close to the edge of a rocky cliff, seeming to rise out of a sea of fog. It was a relatively simple structure: white-painted windowless base, forming an octagon that rose up nearly twenty feet to a metal-and-glass-enclosed tower that housed the fifteen-foot-high lens. True to the Parks Department report, however, the whole structure had seen better days. The paint was cracking and peeling on the lower level, while the glass panes appeared shattered in the upper tower. Upon closer study, Kimberly realized the entire structure tilted suspiciously to the left.

“Wood rot,” Shelly murmured. “Whole structure is riddled with it. Hence they shut it down.”

“Wonderful. A scenic little death trap. Who said kidnappers didn’t have a sense of humor?” Kimberly slipped her cell phone out of her pocket, hit Send. “Hear us?” she whispered into the speaker.

“Loud and clear,” Mac replied.

“We’re at the lighthouse. No sign of activity. You?”

“Got the GPS on screen. Staring patiently, or not so patiently, as the case may be.”

“Well, good news is, we only have ten minutes left, so something has to happen soon.”

Kimberly returned the phone to her pocket, leaving it on speakerphone so Mac could hear what was happening. She looked at Shelly, who was now studying the UNSUB’s map. “Looks like we place the money inside the lighthouse by the bottom of the stairs. I think. Guy really isn’t go

“I would. Do you suppose Rainie and Dougie might be in the area?”

Shelly considered it, then shook her head. “Would be risky. They might call out, even escape. Two people are hard to control.”

“So we pay the money, he retrieves it, and then what? We get a call?”

“Sounds like a newspaper reporter gets a call,” Shelly said drolly. “Or maybe there will be another letter to the editor. With a map.”

“Which, for all we know, will lead us straight to their bodies,” Kimberly muttered bitterly. “I don’t like this. We’re following all his orders, with no game plan of our own. It’s bad policing.”

“Got a better idea?”

“No.”

“Well then…” Shelly gestured toward the lighthouse.

Kimberly scowled, glanced at her watch, and hefted the duffel bag over her shoulder. But then, at the last minute, she did have an idea.

She threw down the bag, unzipped it, and stuck her GPS monitor into a stack of bills.

“You sure?” Shelly asked sharply, the hidden dangers implicit in her question. Such as the minute Kimberly stepped into the lighthouse, she was vulnerable to abduction herself. Such as without the GPS on her person, they would have no means of finding her. Such as they still had no idea what the kidnapper’s true agenda was, therefore hurting another law enforcement officer might be just his thing.

“I want to get him,” Kimberly said firmly.

“Then I got you covered,” Shelly said solemnly. The sheriff unsnapped her holster. Removed her gun.

Five minutes to one, Kimberly rounded the boulder. She looked left, looked right.

“Here goes nothing,” she murmured to no one in particular.

She entered the lighthouse.

Wednesday, 12:52 p.m. PST

“WE KNOW ABOUT THE MONEY, ” Quincy said.

Peggy A

“I don’t know about any money,” Peggy A

“When did you figure out that Stanley was Dougie’s biological father, that’s what I would like to know,” Quincy continued. “Did Dougie’s mother tell you? Woman confiding to woman? Or did Stanley tell you himself, once he heard that Gaby Jones was dead?”

Peggy A

Quincy knelt down until he was eye level with the woman. He regarded her for so long, she had no choice but to meet his stare.

“Once upon a time, you must have cared for Dougie. He was only four years old when his mother died. Such a young, defenseless boy. He needed someone to look out for him, someone to find him a home. He needed you, Peggy A

Very quietly, Peggy A

“When did you figure out Stanley was Dougie’s father?” Quincy repeated firmly.

“I didn’t. Not at first. Gaby had implied it was someone at the high school. But I had always assumed a teenage boy. You know, the high school quarterback who knocks up the cheerleader but doesn’t want to make good. It wasn’t until Stanley attended the funeral, the way he looked at Dougie… as if he were a dying man and Dougie represented his last hope to live. I started to wonder. But Stanley never said anything, and I certainly had no evidence. Plus, then the Donaldsons came along and they were such great candidates it seemed best to give the boy to them. I was sure Dougie would have a good home.”

“Until he burned it down.”

“Until he burned it down. I approached Stanley then. I asked him point-blank if he knew anything about Dougie’s father. I even bluffed, said I knew for certain it was someone from the football team. He said he didn’t know, but that Gaby used to hang out at the practices so maybe it was true. He couldn’t help me though. He didn’t know anything more than that. Then he slammed the door in my face.

“So I found Dougie another home, what else could I do? And then I found a home after that. Except now I started visiting the high school, watching the practices. Trying to learn about past players, looking at pictures of boys on the team. Trying to see anybody who might look like Dougie, because it was becoming clear to me that I had to find the boy’s father.”

Quincy was frowning. This was not quite how he’d expected the story to go. “Then what happened?”

“One evening, I found Coach Carpenter-Stanley-in his office. I told him Dougie had gotten into trouble again. I told him the boy would most likely be sent to a detention home now. I told him Dougie didn’t have any hope left. And I begged him. I begged him for information about Dougie’s father and I told him how much Gaby loved that boy and how happy he’d once been… And I started to cry. Blubber like a lunatic. Because I wasn’t bluffing, Mr. Quincy.” Peggy A

“Stanley caved?”

“Stanley told me he was the boy’s father. Just like that. And then he said, very gravely, that he’d been a coward long enough. Dougie was his.”

“Say what?” Candi quizzed from the doorway. She’d unfolded her arms. She was looking back and forth between Peggy A

“I didn’t believe Stanley at first,” Peggy A

“So that’s when he offered you the money to keep quiet,” Quincy tried.

Peggy A

Candi and Quincy exchanged glances again. “Stanley Carpenter got an underage girl pregnant, and you left it at that?” Quincy pressed.

Peggy A

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” declared Candi. “Aren’t there procedures you have to follow? Tell me you don’t let statutory rapists get by with a shrug and a handshake.”

“Of course there are procedures. And normally, I would contact the police. But again, Gaby’s dead. And frankly, I’m not trying to save Gaby, I’m trying to save Dougie. I contact the police, and the father I’ve spent three years trying to find becomes immediately off-limits. Or I say nothing about Gaby’s age, and instead just declare that Stanley is Dougie’s biological father. In which case, he takes a paternity test, fills out about approximately ten million forms, and waits about another three years for everything to grind through the legal system. Or there’s option C. I say nothing at all, about anything, Stanley applies to become a foster father, and Dougie gets placed immediately. Which, frankly, does both Dougie and Stanley a lot more good.”

“Which I’m sure Stanley encouraged,” Quincy murmured, “as it let him off the hook for everything.”