"Did you have a chance to become friends with Rachel?"
He watched her face, expecting a reaction. There was nothing, not a flinch, no attempt to hide anything, only the same level stare.
"I knew her," she said, still betraying nothing.
"How well?"
"We met occasionally. She was not one of my regular visitors. And as I mentioned, she never joined us on any of the retreats."
"Why did she come to see you?"
Carver paused. She stared calmly at Stride. "I'm not at liberty to say," she said finally.
"Why not?" Stride asked, annoyed. "You were quite adamant that these were not professional relationships, so privilege doesn't apply, does it?"
"Privilege would depend on how Rachel perceived the relationship and whether she considered me a therapist. But regardless, she told me certain things only with the condition that they remain strictly confidential between the two of us. I was to tell no one at all. And if I get a reputation as someone who betrays confidences, Detective, I can't be successful at anything I do in this field."
"But surely the situation is different now. The girl has disappeared. If something she said can help us find her, then you owe it to Rachel to tell us."
Carver shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not true at all."
"Dr. Carver, this girl could be in serious danger," Stride insisted.
"Detective, I know nothing whatsoever that could help you find her. Believe me."
"You were telling people at school today that you thought we would never find Rachel. Why? What makes you think that?"
"You didn't find Kerry," Carver replied.
"Do you have reason to think the two cases are related?"
"No, I didn't mean to imply that at all. I have no reason to think so."
"And yet you seem certain we won't find Rachel," Stride repeated.
"I'm not certain that she would want to be found," Carver said.
Stride's eyes narrowed. He pushed himself out of the recliner and leaned over the desk, with both hands gripping the edge. He towered over Carver, and he wanted her to feel every inch of his presence. "If you have information, Dr. Carver, I want to know what it is. Don't make me get a warrant for your arrest."
Carver didn't quaver. She met his eyes and glared at him. "Go ahead, Detective. You can't arrest me for speculations, and you can't make me tell you what I don't know. I told you before, and I'll tell you again. I don't know where Rachel is. I don't know what happened to her. I have no information that would help you find her."
"But you think she's alive," Stride said. "You think she left voluntarily."
"Here's what I think, Detective. In six months, Rachel Deese will be eighteen years old. At that point, even if you find her, you won't be able to bring her back."
Stride shook his head. "You're not helping her by staying silent. If she ran away-if she had reason to run away-I need to know it. Look, I've met her mother. I know what a battle royal it was between them all the time. But if she's on her own, alone, she could get into serious trouble. Do I have to tell you what it's like for most teenage runaways? How many end up homeless? How many get into prostitution?"
For a moment, he thought he might win. He saw an instant of weakness in Carver's eyes. She knew he was telling the truth. Then, like a mask, the steel came back down over her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Detective. I don't know anything that can help you. Whatever I told people, it's just my personal opinion."
"And that is?" Stride asked.
Carver shrugged. "Just like I said. You'll never find her."
7
Heather Hubble turned right off Highway 53 and onto a nondescript dirt road about ten miles northwest of Duluth. Her car rocked and bounced on the rutted surface. On the seat beside her, Lissa, her six-year-old daughter, rocked along with the car.
It was late Thursday afternoon. She wanted to take advantage of the waning light and the lengthening shadows for her photographs of the ruined barn. She had been waiting until the fall colors surrounding her were well past prime. The bright red leaves had turned to rust. The yellows were pale and greenish. Many of the leaves had already fallen and would be littering the field around the barn. That was perfect. The barn, too, was in the advanced stages of decay. The images in her photographs would reinforce each other.
"I like this road, Mommy," Lissa said, jumping up and down in her seat. "It's bouncy and it's pretty."
Lissa pushed her nose against the window, staring into the trees. There was a steady rain of dried leaves floating in the air.
"How much farther?" Lissa asked impatiently.
"It's not far now," Heather said.
They rounded a bend, and the barn loomed out of the field on the left side. It was beautiful and romantic in Heather's eyes; in reality it was a wreck, long since abandoned. Heather didn't imagine it would last another season, although she had thought that for several years. She assumed the weight of this year's snow would cave in the rest of the roof, which had already fallen through in several places, leaving jagged holes. The barn's red paint had faded, chipped, and peeled away. The windows had been broken in by teenagers throwing rocks. The entire frame seemed to list inward, the walls bowed and unsteady. She could probably come back in February and the barn would be no more than a snow-covered pile of splintered beams.
She pulled into the grassy, overgrown driveway, which wasn't a real driveway at all but had been worn down by the many visitors to the barn over the years. She parked and got out, and Lissa scrambled out, too.
"I don't think I've been to this place before, have I, Mommy?" Lissa asked.
"No, I don't think so. I think you've always been in school when I've come here."
"It's not in very good shape, is it?"
Heather laughed. "No, it's not."
"Can I look around?"
"Sure. But don't go inside the barn. It's not safe."
"It looks like the kind of place that could be haunted," Lissa said. "What do you think?"
"It might be," Heather told her.
"How do you know about this place?" Lissa asked.
Heather smiled. "I used to come out here when I was a teenager. A lot of us kids did."
"What did you do here?" Lissa asked.
"We just explored a lot. Like you."
There was no need to explain the real reason. Back then, she and dozens of other Duluth teenagers came out here to have sex. It was the hottest make-out spot in the county. It got so bad that there was even a secret sign-up sheet passed around school, to make sure there weren't too many people parked out behind the barn at any one time. Heather's first sexual experience had been out at the barn, in the back of a pickup truck, under the stars.
She wondered if today's students used the barn. There were still plenty of overlapping tire tracks leading around back. She also saw empty beer bottles littering the field. If she looked hard enough, she would probably find used condoms.
Heather looked down at Lissa again. "Don't you pick anything up, either."
Lissa frowned. "Well, that's no fun."
Heather softened. "You can pick up rocks and sticks, but no people things, okay? If you don't know what it is, don't touch it."
Lissa shrugged. "Okay."
Mother and daughter separated. Heather kept an eye on Lissa as she wandered into the brush. Satisfied that the girl was okay, Heather began scoping out her shot, tramping in the field to find an angle that satisfied her. When she settled on a location and began her setup, she saw Lissa dart behind the barn.