Water Walker: Episodes 1-4 Part 5

"I promise," I said. But I don't know if I meant it.

"So you'll come with me?"

It was a strange question.

"Aren't you making me?"

"Not really, no."

"Then you'll take me back?"

"No. No, I can't do that. It would kill your mother. You can come with me and you'll see."

"And then I can leave if I want to?"

He hesitated a moment, then dipped his head. "Sure. But you have to come with me first, of course."

His thinking was a little upside-down, I thought. As if he wanted my partic.i.p.ation in what he was actually forcing on me, maybe to make himself feel better. Which meant he did care. But he'd taped me up and kidnapped me.

"So you'll come?" he asked again.

I nodded.

He slapped the tabletop. "That's what I'm talking about! Kathryn will be delighted. If we had cell service up here, I'd call her now and let you talk to her. Wait here."

He stood up, hurried into the kitchen, withdrew a jar of clear liquid from the cupboard, and came back, grinning ear to ear.

"We're going to make a toast," he said, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the jar's lid. "To you. To Kathryn."

"What's that?"

"Moons.h.i.+ne, sweetheart. Made it myself. It's strong but it will purify you inside and out."

He took a drink and swallowed, then pa.s.sed the jar to me.

"Me?"

"It's holy juice. Just take a small sip. You'll see."

I took the jar tentatively, sniffed it, then took a tiny sip.

It tasted like poison and I spewed most of it out.

He laughed. "Good, isn't it?"

"It's horrible!"

"Well, yes, at first I guess it is a bit strong. But it's the real deal, sweetheart. You're now purified. Welcome to the family."

For a moment I actually felt like part of some strange family, and I think I might have even given him a little grin.

Then I remembered where I was and I wasn't so sure.

Not at all.

5.

Day Four

9:03 am

OLIVIA LOOKED over downtown Greenville from the second-floor conference room as the morning sun made its undeterred journey to mark the beginning of this, the fourth day since Alice had been taken.

Four days too long.

Although her office at the FBI headquarters in Columbia was only an hour-and-a-half drive south, the local field office had become her base for the last three days because of its proximity to the crime scene.

Behind her, several caseworkers sat around the long table that filled the room, poring over the situation reports that had come in during the night from local police who were helping follow up on leads.

"You should think about getting some sleep," Benner said and pa.s.sed her a steaming cup of coffee.

"I'm not tired."

"Well, you look it."

She took a sip.

"At least get a bite to eat."

She turned on her heel and walked toward the front of the room. "Not hungry."

Olivia set the coffee on the table's edge and stopped, arms crossed, in front of the flat-panel TV mounted on the wall. Multicolored markers dotted a digital map, each one indicating a lead in the case. Three days ago, the majority had been yellow and green-good, or at least viable, leads mostly reported sightings of the truck after the Amber Alert had been issued.

Now she was staring at a landscape of red.

We're losing her.

Professionalism only went so far. No one could bury their frustration forever. The energy in the room had taken a negative turn-she didn't want it to take root.

She turned to face them. "All right, people. Let's run through what we've got."

The low murmur of activity stopped. All eyes focused on Olivia.

"We've missed something. Something right in front of us. Today's the day we find it. We start at the beginning."

The beginning again. Yes, again. Always from the beginning.

"Tell me what we do know about the perpetrator."

"No positive ID on the man," Benner said as he settled into a chair. "We canva.s.sed the whole area; the artist's sketch of the suspect didn't turn up anything."

"Kristen, anything new from forensics?" Olivia focused on the pet.i.te blond next to Benner.

"Nothing new. We've expanded the database search for the partial print CSI lifted from the doorbell to include Canadian and UK repositories. I want to rule out all possibilities."

"Still no hits on CODIS?"

Kristen shook her head. "I've run our data set through the paces and we're oh for three on hair, fiber, and prints. Our guy's a ghost."

"Nothing on the ViCAP cross-reference?" The violent crimes database.

"No, ma'am. If our abductor's a career criminal, he knows how to stay off the grid."

A ghost. Unfortunately, Alice had also been a ghost.

Olivia's enigmatic conversation with Andrew DeVoss ran through her mind. She'd gone as high and as far as she could in an attempt to uncover more information on the project he'd referenced, but come up empty-handed. She'd also kept the information to herself, as promised.

Information from Alice's mysterious past might be helpful, or it might not, as Andrew insisted. Either way, it wasn't in play.

"Anything new from known a.s.sociates? Tutors, teachers, her therapist?"

Benner: "We covered all the bases-neighbors, friends, school administrators, grocery store clerks, gas station attendants, anyone who could've had contact with the family. Local vice detectives also tapped their sources for possible child trafficking connections. Nothing."

Olivia picked up a remote from the table and pointed it at the TV. An image of a young woman filled the screen.

"Which brings us to our most likely connection. Her mother."

How far would Olivia have gone to recover her own daughter? Pretty far.

"Catherine Miller of Houston, Texas. Raised in a broken home, ended up with child services."

The screen transitioned to a headshot of a teenager. Catherine.

"She ran away from an orphanage and eventually turned up in Vegas where she got a job in Ringwald's campaign office. They hit it off and she got pregnant. Typical story. Ringwald shut her out and arranged for their daughter to enter an orphanage. Then he put Catherine in an inst.i.tution to keep her quiet. Clearly, the man had some expensive lawyers."

She clicked the remote and the image s.h.i.+fted to a mug shot of Catherine, now staring into the camera with vacant eyes.

"Two years later, she escapes the mental facility and turns up dead. I still think she's our best lead."

"She'd not a lead," Benner said. "A maid found her remains in a Reno motel. Police report said she was seen with a local pimp that night."

"There's no conclusive evidence that she died in that room. They never found a body."

"Because it was in pieces. They found a severed finger positively identified with her fingerprint from her police record. There was enough blood to paint a small bedroom."

"We still don't have a body. And I have a missing girl who was abducted by someone who appeared desperate to get her. We can't dismiss the possibility that she faked her death and went after her daughter."

"We've chased it down," Benner said. "There's no record of a Catherine Miller meeting that description alive in the country today. If it is her, she's out of reach."

"Then chase it down again!" Olivia snapped.

They stared at her in silence.

The whole chain of evidence was disintegrating. No forensics that linked them to anyone. No witnesses. Nothing they could sink a hook into.

"What've we got on the truck? From the top."

"It's registered to a Donald Harper from Lawrenceburg, Tennessee." Jay Lee, an a.n.a.lyst with unruly hair, sat at the opposite end of the table. "It was swiped from long-term parking at Nashville International Airport six days ago. No helpful footage from security cameras. Metro PD in Nashville contacted the owner after we ran the plate. Apparently, he'd left the keys in a magnetic box in the wheel well."

"And no link between him and the Clarks or Alice?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing new on the contents reported stolen? Just the toolbox?"

He flipped through a copy of the police report. "Just the toolbox in the back. And a cell-phone charger."

"Cell phone charger? Why would the owner report a cell-phone charger worth twenty bucks?"

"Exactly. Worthless."

"That's not the point. Why?" she reiterated. "Why would anyone report a cell-phone charger missing? It makes no sense."

Unless . . .

"Get on the phone with the owner. Find out if he meant cell-phone charger, or cell phone and charger. If he had a cell phone, find out what kind. If it has GPS capabilities and was on, the wireless company may be able to track the phone's movement."

"It's been eight days since the truck was taken. Even if it was on, the battery's probably dead."

"Depending on the make and model it could still have juice. Call him."

"On it," Jay said, heading for the door.