(Moon 2) - Edge of the Moon Page 6

  Jack gave a tight nod. He wasn't going to say he understood. He only knew Lily wasn't going to the Barnett's again after school.

  "Do you know who the animal belonged to?" he asked. "It was a Doberman. There was a license tag, but no name."

  "I'm sorry, I haven't seen a dog like that around here."

  "Okay. We'll try to find the owner—and see if the dog's rabies vaccination is current."

  Alarm contorted her face. "Did he bite Jessica—or Lily?"

  "They said he didn't. And I checked for bite marks. They both seem to be okay, just shaken up. If it will make you feel more secure, you can take Jessica to the emergency room."

  Mrs. Barrett nodded. "Do… do you want to come in?"

  He thought about that for a moment. He had one more thing to say. But he could say it here. He looked from Lily to Jessica and back again. "Don't leave school and walk home on your own." His gaze focused on Lily. "You can always go in the office and call Mrs. A to pick you up. She was worried. So was Jessica's mother."

  Lily's face crumpled. "I'm sorry." She gave a gulping sob. "We just thought it would be okay to walk home. And we only stopped for a minute. And… and… somehow it was more than a minute," she added.

  "I know, honey. But I think you see now that it can be dangerous not to be where you're supposed to be."

  His daughter was crying in earnest. He returned to her side of the car, opened the door, and hunkered down. She didn't move, and he gathered her close.

  "It's okay."

  "You're mad at me."

  "No. I was worried about you. I'm glad you're safe." He hugged her for long moments, until he felt her calming. Then he looked toward Mrs. Barrett. "I'd like to take Lily home."

  "Yes. I understand completely," Mrs. Barrett answered.

  He made sure Lily was buckled in, then closed the door and got behind the wheel.

  As he started for home, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his daughter huddled in a corner of the backseat.

  She saw him watching her. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again."

  "I know."

  "I was scared."

  "I was, too."

  "Is it all right to shoot a dog?"

  He dragged in a breath and let it out before answering. "If he looks like he's about to attack someone."

  He saw her digesting that. He hadn't liked resorting to his weapon, but he hadn't seen any other alternative—not when the animal was charging him with a murderous look in its eyes.

  He took Lily home, where Emily doctored her with chocolate chip cookies. After making sure everything was okay, and filling in the housekeeper on more of the details, he went back to police headquarters. First he called Animal Services and made sure that the dog had been removed. Then he wrote up a report on the incident. Finally, he gathered together the papers he'd started on the DeYoung case and put them in a folder.

  He'd kept himself busy. Kept his mind busy. It wasn't until he climbed back into his car that he allowed himself to think about what had happened outside the playhouse.

  Not the part about the girls and the dog. He'd been scared, but he'd dealt with that. It was the other part—The Twilight Zone part.

  He sat for a moment, his hands wrapped around the wheel, his eyes staring toward the redbrick wall of the headquarters building but not really seeing it.

  Instead, his vision was turned inward, to the moments when the Doberman had charged him. He'd been ready to fire. Then Lily had called out, and the shock of hearing her voice had totally blown his concentration. He'd thought he was dead meat. Or at least mangled meat.

  Before the dog could sink its teeth into his body, something had happened, something so strange that he could hardly believe it—even though he'd experienced it. The world around him had frozen in place. The dog had seemed to stop in midair—hanging there like an inflated toy filled with helium.

  He shook his head. That little space of suspended time had given him the chance to get his gun back into firing position.

  And it wasn't the only instance when he'd stepped into The Twilight Zone today. The first time had been at Kathryn Reynold's house. Then he'd felt encapsulated in a moment of time with her, felt a connection to her and a jolt of sexual energy.

  The sensation had been intense, yet it had made him feel vulnerable—vulnerable to Kathryn Reynolds and vulnerable to his own needs and weaknesses.

  He blinked, realizing that he'd been driving without paying attention to where he was going, and he'd missed his turnoff on Falls Road.

  He went down to the next development, then circled back to his street.

  Ten minutes later he was pulling into his own driveway. As he had at the station house, he sat staring into space.

  He'd always had a strong sense of himself. Always believed that he was responsible for his own actions. Twice today, he'd felt as though free choice had been rudely yanked away from him.

  He couldn't explain either experience, let alone both of them. Was he going crazy? Becoming delusional? The thought sent a chill skittering up his spine.

  It wasn't that! He knew who he was. He knew what he was doing. He was still functioning the way he always had. Yet he couldn't turn off the disturbing thought that some outside force had entered his life.

  The very idea was absurd. He tried to shake it from his mind. But it stayed lodged there, like a bullet in soft tissue—festering.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  « ^ »

  THERE WAS NOTHING like fearing for your child's life to put things into perspective. Lily was shy with him at dinner, but Jack had drawn her out, made sure all over again that she knew how glad he was that she was safe. And after dinner he, Lily, and Craig played the kids' favorite game, Sorry.

  Some evenings he knew he neglected his fatherly duties. Tonight he supervised bath time, then read to both kids, holding Lily tight against his side as he sat with her on her bed, still thanking God that everything had turned out all right.

  At times over the past three years, he'd felt damn sorry for himself. Now he counted his blessings.

  The next morning, he was in a philosophical mood as he drove toward Research Boulevard. So he'd had a couple of really weird experiences. This was another day, and as far as he was concerned, nothing strange was going to happen, if he had anything to say about it.

  Nevertheless, when traffic ground to a halt on Gude Drive, his mind went into a little fantasy that his car could fly over the stopped vehicles and land on the other side of the mess.

  Of course, he stayed on the road, trapped like everyone else, creeping past a three-car smashup and arriving at work half an hour late.

  First he pulled out the number he'd copied from the dog's tag and checked the database at Animal Services.

  Some of the terrible weight lifted from his shoulders when he found out that the dog had a history of violence. There were several complaints from neighbors about the owner, Clark Spencer, who had apparently trained the dog to guard and attack. It had bitten two men—both seriously.

  Spencer had been warned to keep the animal in his fenced yard. But apparently the dog had gotten away—and gotten into trouble again.

  Jack told himself he'd performed a public service by taking a dangerous animal off the streets, yet he couldn't totally let go of his guilt. He was thinking that officers who shot and killed a criminal suspect got counseling from a department shrink. He could probably make an appointment now if he wanted.

  Maybe he needed it. But he couldn't quite picture himself talking about his present mental state. What was he going to say—that he'd been experiencing time distortions?.

  Yeah, right. That would probably be enough to get him pulled off active duty.

  With a sigh, he went to his E-mail and started checking the information that had come in overnight on Heather DeYoung. She had four credit cards, all with heavy balances. Her phone was in danger of being disconnected unless she paid the bill. And a collection company was after her to pay up on the large-screen te
levision she'd bought on sale in January. About the only monetary responsibility she took seriously was her rent, probably because she knew that staying on good terms with Kathryn was important.

  Make that Reynolds, he told himself firmly. Not Kathryn.

  He leaned back in his desk chair, contemplating his next move. He needed to find out if, by some chance, DeYoung was with her mother. But he didn't want to alarm the woman, since her daughter was an adult who apparently often went off on unexpected trips. And he wasn't bound by law to discuss Kathryn's suspicions with her.

  Picking up the phone, he dialed the number that Reynolds had given him.

  "Mrs. DeYoung?" he asked.

  "Yes," a woman answered. Her voice was thin and weak. She sounded like she was in her eighties. He hated to run a con on an old lady, but in this case he was willing to take any advantage he could.

  "This is Jake Thorn at the USA Redemption Center," he said.

  "The what? Speak up."

  Oh, good, she was hard of hearing. "I'm trying to get in touch with Heather DeYoung," he shouted into the phone, seeing heads turn in his direction in the squad room. Everybody within twenty miles was going to hear his pitch. "She's the grand prize winner in the Win America contest. I'm trying to deliver her prize."

  "Why are you calling me? I'm her mother. She doesn't live here. She lives in Maryland."

  "I've checked at her residence. Ms. DeYoung isn't at home. We have a forty-eight-hour deadline to deliver her Pontiac Grand Am. After that, we go to the runner-up."

  "A car! Oh, my. I'm sure she'd like a new car. She's always complaining about the one she has."

  "Well, we'd like her to have the grand prize. So I'm hoping you can help. Her landlady says that she's out of town for a few days, but she doesn't know where she's gone. Could you tell me how to get in touch with her?"

  "I… I'm sorry. I don't know where she is. Did you check with that fellow she goes around with?"

  "Her boyfriend?"

  "Yes."

  "You don't like him?" Jack asked, catching the woman's tone of voice and figuring he couldn't lose anything by slipping in the personal question now.

  "He's beneath her. I think she can do better."

  "Well, I'd appreciate your calling me if you hear from your daughter. That's Jake Thorn." He gave her the number of an answering machine that didn't tie into the police switchboard, then urged her to let her daughter know about her good luck, if she phoned. By the time he hung up, he figured he'd done what he could to win the mom's' cooperation. She'd put Heather in touch with him—if it was humanly possible. And if she hadn't called back in forty-eight hours, he'd contact her as himself and fill her in on the missing person report.

  Next up was the boyfriend, who worked at the Circuit City in Bethesda. Of course, it was possible he wasn't there today. Like he and DeYoung had decided to take off together. But he wasn't counting on it. He'd bet Swinton was in town, and he wanted to interview him before he had time to make up a story.

  He took Montrose to Rockville Pike. The traffic was moving well, and he arrived at the shopping center not long after the store opened.

  Inside, he found the small electronics section. There were two salesmen in the area. When one of them turned around, he immediately recognized Swinton from Kathryn's description. He confirmed the identity from his white tag with his name in blue letters.

  "Gary Swinton?" he asked, walking forward.

  "Yes."

  "Could I talk to you for a few minutes?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Montgomery County Police. I want to ask you some questions."

  Jack gave him credit for showing very little reaction. "About what?"

  "Heather DeYoung."

  "What about her?" Swinton looked around and found that the other guy in the department was listening with interest. "Why don't we go outside?" he said. Unlike Reynolds, he didn't ask to see Jack's credentials. Because he'd been expecting this interview?

  As they walked through the stockroom and then onto the loading dock, Jack was thinking that for the time being, he might as well play Mr. Nice Guy. Easygoing. Relaxed. Just here to get some facts about a woman who might have skipped town to avoid a bunch of credit card bills.

  Swinton reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He didn't ask if Jack minded; he simply lit up.

  Jack took a step back. Before the kids had been born, he'd been a smoker himself. But Laura had shown him some articles on the effects of passive smoking, and he'd managed to stop. Usually he didn't crave tobacco. But times like this, when someone was standing a few feet away, puffing like a chimney, it was hard not to bum a smoke. He shoved his hands into his pockets, noticing that Swinton was watching him.

  "What about Heather?" he asked again.

  "When was the last time you saw her?"

  "Last week. Why?"

  "Her landlady hasn't seen her in a few days; she's worried."

  Swinton shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "That bitch! Did she sic you on me?"

  "She said you were DeYoung's boyfriend. What have you got against her?"

  "She's self-righteous. Thinks she's better than everybody else."

  "She seemed to have a pretty high opinion of Ms. DeYoung."

  "Yeah, well, she talks to her against me."

  "About what?"

  "About stuff that's none of her business."

  Jack waited to hear something specific. When nothing was forthcoming, he figured he could come back to the subject later. "So you saw Ms. DeYoung last week. What day?"

  Swinton took a drag on his cigarette and expelled the smoke, looking thoughtful. "I was out at her place last Wednesday. We had dinner. Watched some TV. And"—he made a waggling gesture with his hand—"we went to bed."

  "You didn't spend the night?"

  "No."

  Jack filed that away. Sex implied a certain intimacy. Spending the night implied another level to the relationship—unless it was a one-night stand. Or unless one of the participants had young children at home—and wanted to make sure he was there in the morning.

  Well, that was certainly an inappropriate thought! He knew damn well it had nothing to do with Swinton and everything to do with his personal interest in Kathryn Reynolds.

  "How long have you been going together?"

  "A couple of years."

  "Do you know where she might have gone? Or why?"

  There was a momentary flickering in Swinton's eyes. "No."

  Either he was lying, or he was thinking about something incriminating.

  "You parted on good terms?"

  "Yeah. Why are you asking prying questions?"

  "Because she's missing. And I'm trying to establish when she was last seen, and what her state of mind was. Did she seem worried about anything?"

  "Her credit card balances were creeping up. She wasn't happy about that."

  "Would that make her skip town?"

  "I don't know."

  "So you don't know where she is?"

  "No. I already told you that. Sometimes she goes away on trips."

  "By herself?"

  "If she feels like it."

  "Where does she go?"

  "Atlantic City. New York."

  "Do you know of anyone who would have reason to harm her?"

  Again there was the slight flash in Swinton's eyes. "No," he said, making his voice firm. Then he took another drag on the cigarette.

  Well, there was something going on with Swinton, but he wasn't going to find out what it was while they were standing here, and he didn't think that hauling him down to headquarters would be productive at this point.

  "Thanks for your time," he said.

  "No problem."

  Jack walked down a flight of stairs on the loading dock, then around the building to the unmarked.

  He would come back to Swinton again. But right now, he was going to attack the case from a different angle. It was time to contact the detectives working on t
he other three missing person cases and see if he could find anything that would connect them.

  KATHRYN reached for the magic wand on her desk and turned it first one way and then the other, watching the stars and moons rise and fall in the blue liquid.

  The random patterns usually helped set her mind free, so that she might get a sudden insight into her work that had eluded her as she focused intently on the computer screen.

  Today her thoughts jumped back to Jack Thornton—the way they did every time she let down her guard.

  She'd never been obsessed with a man. She'd always been slow to get into a relationship—for all the good that had done her with Sam Hastings, her last serious boyfriend. They'd gotten close, and after eight months, she'd thought they were heading toward something permanent. Then he'd been offered a promotion and a big raise if he'd transfer to the Chicago branch of his company immediately. And he hadn't hesitated a heartbeat.

  Kathryn had convinced herself that she was in love with him. She'd thought that the job offer might be the event that would tip the balance in the relationship. She'd thought he might ask her to marry him and move with him to Chicago. She'd been nervous about leaving everything familiar and going halfway across the country. But at the same time, she'd been excited.

  It had turned out she didn't have to worry about moving. Sam had promised to keep in close touch. After a few weeks, she knew that either he'd found someone else in the Windy City, or he hadn't really been as interested in marriage as she'd thought he was. Or he'd been a damn coward. He'd wanted to break off with her, but he'd been too chicken to say the words. Moving away had given him an easy option.

  She'd been sad and hurt. The unceremonious ending of the relationship had been a blow to her self-esteem. But she'd come out of it stronger, she told herself. More self-reliant. More cautious about men. More realistic. She'd let Heather talk her into going to a bar a time or two. She'd dated some of the guys she'd met. But she hadn't connected with anyone who rang her chimes.

  Until Jack Thornton. She'd gone to bed fixated on the man. And from the moment she'd opened her eyes, thoughts of him had begun worming themselves into her mind. And not just her mind. She'd awakened aroused, wanting him. And disgusted with herself for the reaction.