“But it didn’t. You chickened out and dropped the charges against Bradley.”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly? You did drop the charges.”
“I made a deal with the Devil. Kimball Rose. He wanted his son free of prosecution. I wanted my daughter to be safe. So I dropped the charges, and Kimball wrote me a big check. Enough money to buy my daughter and me a new life, with new names.”
Jane shook her head. “You took the money and ran? It must have been a hell of a check.”
“It wasn’t the money. Kimball used my daughter against me. He threatened to take her from me if I didn’t accept his offer. He’s her grandfather, and he had an army of lawyers to fight me. I had no choice, so I took the money and dropped the charges. She’s the reason I did it, the reason I’ve never stopped running. To keep her away from that family, away from anyone who might hurt her. You understand that, don’t you? That a mother will do anything to protect her child?”
Jane nodded. She understood completely.
Medea returned to the chair and sank down with a sigh. “I thought if I kept my daughter safe, she’d never know what it’s like to be hunted. She’d grow up fearless and smart. A warrior woman-that’s what I wanted her to be. What I always told her to strive for. And she was growing up smart. And fearless. She didn’t know enough to be afraid.” Medea paused. “Until San Diego.”
“The shooting in her bedroom.”
Medea nodded. “That’s the night she learned she could never be fearless again. We packed up the next day and drove to Mexico. Ended up in Cabo San Lucas, where we lived for four years. We were fine there and we were hidden.” She sighed. “But girls grow up. They turn eighteen and insist on making their own choices. She wanted to go to college and study archaeology. Like mother, like daughter.” She gave a sad laugh.
“You let her go?”
“Gemma promised to keep an eye on her, so I thought it would be safe. She had a new name, a new identity. I didn’t think that Jimmy would ever be able to find her.”
There was a long silence as Jane took in what Medea had just said. “ Jimmy?But Jimmy Otto’s dead.”
Medea’s head lifted. “What?”
“You should know that. You shot him in San Diego.”
“No.”
“You shot him in the back of the head. Dragged his body outside and buried him.”
“That’s not true. That wasn’t Jimmy.”
“Then who was buried in the backyard?”
“It was Bradley Rose.”
THIRTY-FIVE
“Bradley Rose?” said Jane. “That’s not what the police in San Diego told us.”
“You think I couldn’t recognize the father of my own child?” said Medea. “It wasn’t Jimmy who broke into my daughter’s bedroom that night. It was Bradley. Oh, I’m sure that Jimmy was lurking around nearby, and the gunshot probably scared him off. But I knew he would be back. I knew we had to move fast. So we packed up and left the next morning.”
“The body was identified as Jimmy’s,” said Frost.
“Who identified him?”
“His sister.”
“Then she made a mistake. Because I know it wasn’t Jimmy.”
Jane switched on the lamp and Medea shrank from the light, as though the glow from a mere sixty-watt bulb was radioactive.
“This is not making sense. How could Jimmy Otto’s own sister make a mistake like that?” She snatched up his psychiatric file from the bed and scanned Dr. Hilzbrich’s notes. She quickly spotted what she was looking for.
“His sister’s name was Carrie.” Jane looked at Frost. “Get Crowe on the line. Ask him to find out where Carrie Otto lives.”
He pulled out his cell phone.
“I don’t understand,” said Medea. “What does Jimmy’s sister have to do with this?”
Jane flipped through the notes in Jimmy’s Hilzbrich Institute chart, searching for any and all references to Carrie Otto. Only now that she was specifically searching for them did she realize how many times Carrie had been mentioned.
Sister is visiting again, second time today.
Carrie stayed past visiting hours; reminded she must adhere to rules.
Carrie has been asked not to call so often.
Carrie caught smuggling in cigarettes. Visiting privileges suspended for two weeks.
Sister visiting…Sister visiting…Carrie here again.
And finally she came to an entry that stopped her cold:
Far more extensive family counseling is indicated. Carrie has been referred to Bangor child psychiatrist to deal with issue of abnormal sibling attachment.
Frost hung up his cell phone. “Carrie Otto lives in Framingham.”
“Tell Crowe to get a team there now. With backup.”
“He’s already moving on it.”
“What’s happening?” Medea cut in. “Why are you so focused on the sister?”
“Because Carrie Otto told the police that the body you buried was her brother’s,” said Jane.
“But I know it wasn’t. Why did she say that?”
“There was a warrant out for his arrest,” explained Frost. “In connection with a woman’s disappearance in Massachusetts. If the authorities believed he was dead, they’d stop looking for him. He could become invisible. She must have lied to protect him.”
“Carrie is the key,” said Jane. “And we know where she lives.”
“You think my daughter is there,” said Medea.
“If she isn’t, I’m betting that Carrie knows where he’s keeping her.” Jane was pacing the room now, checking her watch. Mentally calculating how long it would take for Crowe and his team to reach Framingham. She wanted to be there with him, knocking on that door, pushing into that house. Searching those rooms for Josephine. I should be the one to find her. It was after midnight, but she was wide awake, energy fizzing like carbonation through her bloodstream. All this time, she thought, we’ve been chasing a dead man when we should have focused on Jimmy Otto. The invisible man.
The only patient who really scared me,Dr. Hilzbrich had said about Jimmy. He scared everyone. Even his own parents.
Jane stopped and turned to Frost. “Do you remember what Crowe said about Jimmy’s parents? About how they were killed?”
“It was an accident, wasn’t it? A plane crash.”
“Didn’t it happen in Maine? They bought a house in Maine, to be close to Jimmy.”
Once again, Jane picked up the psychiatric file and flipped to the front page where the patient info was typed. Jimmy’s parents were Howard and Anita Otto, and they had two addresses. The first was their primary residence in Massachusetts. The second address, in Maine, had been added later; it was handwritten in ink.
Frost was already dialing Boston PD on his cell phone. “I need you to check a property tax record for me,” he said, looking over Jane’s shoulder at the address. “State of Maine, a town called Saponac. One Sixty-five Valley Way.” A moment later, he hung up and looked at Jane. “It’s owned by the Evergreen Trust, whatever that is. She’ll call us back with more information.”
Once again Jane was in motion, frustrated and impatient. “It can’t be that far from here. We could just drive by and take a look.”
“It’s been decades since they died. That house has probably changed hands several times.”
“Or maybe it’s still in the family.”
“If you just hang on, we’ll get that information on Evergreen.”
But Jane was in no mood to wait. She was a racehorse at the starting gate, ready to move. “I’m going,” she said, and glanced toward the dresser where she’d left her keys.
“Let’s take my car,” said Frost, already at the door. “We’ll need the GPS.”
“I’m coming, too,” said Medea.