Читаем The Lake полностью

She was seeing a brightly painted wagon. A woman, passing the doll to a small girl perched up front. The child was maybe two, three years of age. A man and woman sat either side of her. The shackled horse stamped and snorted, anxious to be gone.

Sheena sniffed. She smelled the horse’s breath, grassy, steamy, hot. Felt the child’s wonder, excitement at sitting up so high, at the horse shifting around. All the time wary of those strange people wrapped in furs by her side…

The thin-faced woman in the long gray dress wore an apron tied at the waist. She was saying, “Here, child. Don’t you forget this, now. It’ll keep ya company in the long nights ahead…”

Sheena began to shake. Her breath hissed out low and shallow…Sweat beaded her forehead, her upper lip. She felt its flush warm her armpits, then spread hot and slick down her body.

She went over the scene again. Recalling each detail. Figuring out its purpose, its meaning.

Knowing full well…

She was that child.

The doll was hers.

The thin-faced woman, her ma.

Edith Payne.

Her mind was picking up on something else.

A different scene this time.

The cold, dark place where Deana was.

Familiar territory…

Wild. Isolated. High in the mountains.

Along a rough dirt path.

One of many such paths.

Water thrashed and rumbled below.

She reached out, touching the girl on a mattress…

In that cold, dark place…

She was the girl on the mattress.

Feeling confused, in pain, desperate, knowing she couldn’t hold out much longer…

I’m gonna die and nobody’ll ever know…

Sheena leapt up.

Raced into the living room.

“Hey, bro!” she called out. “Make it snappy. We’d best take the Chevy.”

Warren looked up, his face pale.

“You’ve ‘seen’ Deana? Where is she, sis?”

“I know the area, Warren. She’s a few miles from here. Somewhere in the mountains. In Santa Cruz country…”

SIXTY-SIX

“You comin’ with me?”

“I’m not sure, Mattie. There could be news of Deana…Do I have to be there?”

“Shitski, Leigh. You gotta be there!”

Mattie drove Leigh to the Bayview.

They were quiet, their faces tense, serious.

Thinking about Deana.

And the upcoming meeting with Ava Sorensson.

Hoping she’d come up with some clues for them to work on. Any clue, however small, would be welcome. So they’d know where to start.

The cops had gone through Mace’s Tiburon apartment with a fine-tooth comb. Apart from his dabs, some photographic equipment, and the goddamn scrapbook, the place was clean.

He’s still out there, though.

Leigh shuddered.

And Deana…tortured, abused…Christ knows what by now…

She stifled a sob.

Please God she’s still alive.

Life just couldn’t get worse.

Like a survivor clinging to a shipwreck, she clung to the knowledge that Deana was strong, athletic. She was also feisty, resourceful, intelligent. Leigh gave a wry smile. She’d just described herself at that age.

Yeah, she acknowledged. Deana’s tough. But would she be a match for Mace…?

Leigh gave up trying to banish the scary scenarios playing in her mind. She felt shot to pieces. Her head throbbed. She hadn’t slept again last night. Nor for nights, it seemed, before that. Not since the day Deana disappeared.

Mattie swung into the Bayview parking lot. The old Ford shuddered to a halt. They climbed out and made their way to the front door on Main Street.

Ava Sorensson was already there. Seated at a window table overlooking the harbor. Outlined against the daylight, her profile was lean, clear-cut. She wore her fair hair smoothed back from her brow.

Now forty years of age, Ava had gone to law school, gained a master’s degree in criminal psychology, and then had set up a lucrative practice in Boston. The black pinstriped pantsuit and black-framed eyeglasses added to the crisp DA-in-waiting look.

Turning, she met Leigh’s gaze.

Nodding to Mattie, she rose from the table and held out a hand to Leigh. “Ms. West. I’m Ava Sorensson. I guess Mattie’s filled you in as to why I’m here?” Her mouth curved in a friendly smile. Leigh’s eyes focused on the bright red lips and straight white teeth. As well as being the best in her field, Ava Sorensson was also a looker.

“Please sit down, Ms. Sorensson.” Leigh returned the smile and sank into a wicker chair at the table. “It’s Leigh, by the way. May I call you Ava?”

“Why, of course.” The psychologist settled back into her chair.

Mattie made a grab for the menu. “Let’s eat,” she said. “Then we get down to business.”