Neither investigator needed Tina to draw "the picture." They could see it very clearly now. Walker ejaculated into the packets, smuggled them to Tina, and she found her way into a bathroom stall and inserted the tomato-flavored semen into her vagina.
"It isn't as if I did this dozens of times," she said, seeing how unseemly as it all must have appeared. "I got pregnant on my third or fourth attempt. Are we done here? Do you have enough of what you need to know?"
"Not really," Christopher said. "What were the plans for the baby? And how did Bonnie get involved?"
"By the time I was pregnant and past the point of an abortion, I knew that I'd made the worst possible mistake of my life. When I came to visit Dylan one time to talk about his appeal and our fantasy future together, I had met another woman at the motel. Her car broke down and she had to stay another day, otherwise we never would have met. We started talking about our men on the inside. About a fifteen minutes into it, we both realized our men were the same man. She'd been seeing Dylan, too. He'd told her that she was his soul mate. I wised up fast" Relief washed over her face. She'd told her story and it seemed to calm her for a moment.
"And Bonnie?" Emily asked. "What about her?"
"Look, Bonnie was my friend. She was visiting with Dylan, too. Nothing going on there. I mean, she was never his type"
Emily caught Christopher's eye. The black album of clippings and letters surely indicated otherwise.
"Anyway, she knew I was pregnant and she promised to help me by putting the baby up for adoption. That's what I did. I couldn't continue the friendship with Bonnie after that. Every time I saw her, I was reminded of what I'd done" She looked at her watch. Her husband would be home soon. "Are we finished?"
"No. Why the calls to Bonnie? And where were you yesterday?"
"Don't even go there. I was at the gallery all day. And the calls to Bonnie, that's the real reason why you're here, right?"
"That's right," Emily said. "Why were you talking to her?"
Before she answered, Christopher cut in. "We'll have to verify your whereabouts, you know."
Tina nodded in his direction. "Verify, if you must. I have no reason to lie. At least not anymore. Seeing how you know everything."
"Not everything. Why the calls? Why did you reconnect?"
"Because of this," she answered. She went to her Prada purse and retrieved a slip of paper. She handed it to Emily. It was a white card, better paper than a standard index card, but about that size, with just five words printed in a now-familiar handwriting.
I miss you. Love, Dash
Christopher looked over Emily's shoulder, then over to Tina. "Dash?"
Emily answered for Tina, who by then had slumped back into a chair.
"Dylan Walker. He was called Dashing Dylan by some of the media during the trial. It became his nickname for a time."
Tina nodded in solemn agreement. "That's right. Bonnie and I shortened it to Dash. He liked it. God, we were so screwed up ""
"You think this is from him?"
Again, another nod.
"Where's the envelope?"
"There wasn't one. It was slid under the door. He got into the building."
"Did you tell anyone? Your husband? The police?"
Tina didn't have to answer. The look on her face was transparent. She hadn't told a soul.
"I called Bonnie about it," she said. "She told me she'd heard from him, too. She was positively giddy. It was as if she'd been waiting for him all these years, and he'd come home to her. She was the keeper of the flame. He was in love with her. She was the chosen one. She was dieting to get into a wedding dress she'd picked out. The woman had lost it. Talking to her made me sick, but she was the only one who I could talk to. Rod doesn't know any of this and I need to keep it that way. I didn't know what Dash wanted with me, anyway."
"Or if this really was written or delivered by him at all," Emily said, setting the card down on the table. "Did Bonnie have any kids?"
Tina shook her head rapidly. Clearly the concept was beyond absurd. "Absolutely not. Never. She was too busy brokering out those babies for Angel's Nest. She had two things in her life. Dylan and that job"
"No family?" Emily asked.
"None that I ever met or heard about"
Christopher leaned closer. "We have reason to believe that Nick Martin, the boy who survived the family homicide back in Cherrystone, could be your son"
"Oh, no," she said. "That's absolutely not possible."
Emily had seen the look of denial countless times. So much of what people believe is what they want to believe, not necessarily what is true. Denial is the defense mechanism of first resort. Anger usually follows such confrontations, and Emily prepared herself for it.
"I know all of this is hard on you," she said.
Tina shook her head. "No. It can't be" Her tone was confused, but relatively calm. "You don't understand. Nick Martin couldn't be mine. I had a baby girl."
Chapter Thirty-two
Monday, 12:10 n. M., Seattle
Chris Collier played tug-of-war with the hotel valet as he insisted he didn't want to give up his keys.
"I'm dropping her off. She's a hotel guest"
"Key card, please?" the pimply-faced kid asked.
Emily showed the card and disappeared inside the revolving door. A florist had delivered a new table arrangement, teddy bear sunflowers and spikes of blue delphinium. Freesia filled the air. Ordinarily she'd stop and take in the beauty of the flowers. But not then. All she could think about was Jenna, Tina, Bonnie, and the serial killer that had somehow brought all of them together. She and Chris would talk later, but right then she was on her own. David was mad at her. Kip wasn't answering. Even Gloria was too busy. She felt a flash of paranoia; a feeling that came from making a major mistake and never being able to rectify it.
"FBI here. Can't talk," Gloria whispered. "Call back in an hour"
"All right." Emily shut her phone and looked at the black album. The image of a little blond girl came to mind. She was laughing. She was on a swing. She was running in a field. And she ended up in the cold darkness of hole in the ground, a root cellar, a grave.
If Dylan Walker was responsible for Kristi's death, then how was Reynard Tuttle involved? She flipped through the pages. What happened?
But more than anything, where was her daughter?
Christopher's number lit up the LED display and her phone vibrated.
"I'm on my way back to the hotel," he said. "Em, I have some news" His voice was mixed with dread.
"What is it?" Emily asked.
"Better if I talk to you about this in person"
"Chris," her unsteady voice was ten times louder, now. "Don't do this. Tell me. Am I in trouble?"
Christopher hesitated. "No, not you. Not directly."
"Please" Emily was begging then. She never begged. "Is it denna? "
"All right. Be calm. Sit tight. I'll tell you" His words came in a machine gun fashion, a breath between each staccato utterance. "Shali Patterson's car's been found. The one Jenna and Nick Martin were driving. There's blood on the steering wheel."
"Were they in an accident?" The remark was merely her best reaction to what he was saying, partly a cover for what she already knew. It was also hoped. The color had drained from her face. "What hospital?" The phrase ended with the up tick of a question. It was spoken by a mother with hope at least a mother wanting to believe that everything was all right.
"Jenna and Nick are missing. The VW was found behind a grocery store not far from Jeffries's place."
There was silence. He waited for Emily to say something. "Are you all right?"
"Dear God," she said. "Where are they? What happened?"
"There's more, Emily."
"Yes?" She steadied herself. What more could there be?