Chapter 12

Find Regan O'Donohue. That was all they had to do and the case would be solved. Or so Stillman tried to make them believe. Vera couldn't for one minute presume it would be as easy as that—but there was Lilly scouring through the internet as if there were no tomorrow.

One thing they could at least be sure of. If Regan O'Donohue was still around and going by that name—Rush would find her. He just hoped it wouldn't be another dead end.

"Why you so sure Regan will lead us to Erica Bailey, boss?" he asked, tipping his chair back as far as it would go without dumping him onto the floor.

Stillman answered, but not before giving him an unwavering 'you should know that without asking by now' glare. "She has to have got Erica Bailey's ID from somewhere," he elucidated. "Who knows? Maybe she or Sarah knew her—or they came across her purse—or something. Might lead us to the body dumping site."

"You're that sure she's dead, huh?"

Stillman shrugged. "People don't just vanish into thin air, Nick. She's either changed identities, left the country, or buried somewhere."

"Here we go, boss." Lilly jumped up gleefully. As usual when working with her her, Vera couldn't quell a spark of affection. Spunky gal, you could only tell from the bags under her eyes what a night she'd had. Hell—they probably all looked the same. "Regan O'Donohue. Last known address in Arlington, Virginia."

Hmm, traveling time, Vera savored. He wondered who'd get to go. Most people felt traveling was a pain in the ass, but he had a certain fondness for it. It meant getting away from the oppressive presence of his wife for a while—having more boys' nights out than he was usually allowed. Too bad Jeffries snored. But if he got lucky… Stillman would tell him to go with Lilly. After all, the mother of the twins should be questioned by a woman. And since she and Scotty were at odds…

If he was sent along with Lilly, he'd get his own room. Not to mention a partner who wouldn't whine and grumble. Oh, how the future did smile down upon him.

"Vera, you and Jeffries go," came Stillman's short, unanticipated order.

Vera was so startled he lost balance and nearly crashed on his backside. "What? How come, boss?"

"Can't afford to have Lilly and Scotty go with a whole bunch of bodyguards trailing after them," starkly explained Stillman. "They better stay here where they'll be watched. We're not making any mistakes with the perp who made that phone call. You and Jeffries pack up. You're leaving first thing tomorrow."

As Jeffries aimed a great white grin at him, Vera groaned inwardly. He liked Jeffries as much as the next guy, but—how the man did snore!

Lilly hesitated before crossing the threshold of her own home. The thought of someone already inside—someone she didn't know—was so discouraging she almost wished she could have stayed at headquarters. Even if sleepiness bore down on her, even if her legs threatened to give way where she stood. Why had they thought of targeting her, of all people?

Come on, Rush, she shook herself mentally. Get over it. Courage!

Pushing the door open, she was taken aback by the oddest noise. It sounded for all the world like an exceedingly muffled, splashy crash. A very young, skinny man in dark blue uniform stood wide-eyed in the middle of her living room, a coffee cup splattered at his feet. "Good afternoon, Detective Rush," he stammered.

Great, Lilly's mind screeched, willing her to turn around and run while there was still chance. I've got a bodyguard and he's all of seventeen! Watching cartoons and helping himself to my coffee, too!

"Hello," she stiffly replied.

"I'm Williams," the little guy offered. "I've been assigned to watch your house till morning."

No kiddin'. When exactly did you graduate the Academy? Lilly felt like demanding, giving him the hairy eyeball. You bring your blankie with you, kid? But she held her peace. After all—hadn't she been asked the same many, many times as a rookie? And it had never failed to annoy her.

She'd always thought she was every bit as competent as the next cop. Even if she was "only a girl", and not big and burly and hairy like the rest of her class. Maybe this kid, with his buck teeth and freckles, felt the same. Maybe, under all that ill-fitting uniform, he was as tough and wiry as Superman.

Anyway, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

"I'm really sorry about the, er, coffee, Detective," Williams was faltering. "I'll just—"

"Don't worry about it," Lilly cut him short, forcing a smile. "Happens all the time. I'm going upstairs. Where are the cats?"

The idea of having a stranger in her house, even a cop, and one looking as mousy and helpless as this one, was more unsettling than she'd care to admit. The fact he could just walk into her room any time during the night and stare at her while she slept gave her the creeps.

She hadn't locked her room the night before, when Stillman ordered that she do so.

But she sure as hell would tonight.

Regan O'Donohue was hardly a success story. From what Lil had been able to make out, she was roughly the same age as Sarah Bryant, and according to Shenandoah University records, they'd roomed together between 2000 and 2003. Then, in June 2003, Sarah Bryant had abruptly changed majors and Regan had dropped out. She was listed as having a short-termed job toward the end of 2003 in a department store, and there was a concise mention of having checked herself into a mental facility in January 2004. No details.

"Nervous breakdown?" Vera had suggested.

Jeffries shrugged. "Substance abuse?"

They'd probably have to wait and see.

Lilly had called about ten minutes after they'd landed at Washington National. Still no word on Sarah Bryant's whereabouts. Her family's phone line had been tapped, but they'd received no incoming calls from her.

This girl is no dummy, Jeffries realized. She's running, and she's running fast—without looking back. If we're lucky, maybe she'll run the same way as Regan O'Donohue. And we'll catch two birds with one stone.

"Oh, and forensics report on the forceps came back," Lilly had informed him. "You're not gonna believe this, but they actually pulled Sarah Bryant's prints off it. Just one, and partial. But enough to get a conviction. No blood. Girl probably washed it, wiped it dry and accidentally pressed one of her fingers against it as she put it away."

"Got her," Jeffries thought, not without a trace of sadness. Poor Bryants. They'd be devastated. Sarah seemed like such a good girl. But even the best children could turn out to be demons at heart. Never trust a book by its cover.

"Quit mooning, Will," Vera snapped from where he sat hunched over the wheel of their rental car. "Gotta find this address. Where is it again?"

"1723 North Veitch Street," Jeffries read aloud. "Courthouse district."

The neighborhood was far from seedy, though the building itself had seen better days. It was one of those subsidized apartments right across the street from the local elementary school, with flocks of multiracial kids decorating the stoops, brown paint peeling off the railings, and dark steep stairways.

"Hey, kid," Nick asked of a little girl leaning on the banister, a tiny black-haired pigtailed thing, with chipmunk cheeks and a serious air. "You know someone called Regan O'Donohue?"

The child gazed at them mildly and then nodded, pointing to the third floor.

"Thanks." Jeffries smiled down at her. She didn't look the least bit scared. And there was vaguely familiar about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "You think she's home?"

"She's always home," the child volunteered in an offhanded way. "She's a crazy lady, so she can't keep a job. All she does is stay in her room and cry."

Hmm, reassuring prospect, Jeffries thought, shooting Vera a mournful glance.

Their footsteps echoed as they made their way toward the third floor. Regan O'Donohue's door looked like any other—white, barren, no name printed on top. They had to knock three times before getting a response. And when they did, the forbidding slab of wood opened only a couple of inches, just enough for a brown eye and a lock of curly brown hair to peek through.

"Yes?" a fearful voice asked.

"Regan O'Donohue? Philadelphia police, homicide."

He'd hardly finished saying the last word before the eye nearly fell out of its socket, their sole warning that the door was promptly to be slammed in their faces. Only Jeffries had the presence of mind to wedge his foot between it and the doorframe. A painful crunch but someone had to do it.

"Now, wait just a minute," Vera shouted, trying to pry open the door—a futile effort, since chain bolt held it steadfastly in place. "Maybe you didn't hear us? We're the police. If you don't talk to us you'll be in obstruction of justice, lady."

"Besides, you're on the third floor," Jeffries reasoned. "Where you gonna run off to? Better talk to us. We're not going anywhere. And I don't wanna have to break down your door."

The chain was suddenly pulled aside and the door flung wide open. Another brown-eyed, brown-haired woman stood in front of them, similar to the one that had left but considerably older. "What do you two want?" she demanded, in anything but a friendly voice. "My niece is disturbed. The last thing she needs is two cops barging in. What could she possibly have done?"

"We'll need to talk to her, ma'am," Jeffries solemnly exposed. "This has to do with a Philadelphia homicide case."

"Philadelphia?" the woman repeated. "We've never even been there. Regan!"—bellowing toward the back—"Come talk to the police. They won't hurt you."

Fifteen minutes later they were listening to Regan through a curtain of tears.

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way," the young woman was wailing, her wet face shrouded by a flowered apron. "I didn't know it would be like that when I went there."

"When you went where, Regan?" her aunt insisted helplessly. "You're not making any sense."

"Sarah Bryant's house, Regan?" Vera prompted.

Regan's only response was to howl even harder. Jeffries began to sweat. Like no other time in his life he wished he'd brought Lilly along instead of Vera. She'd probably be able to make some sense out of this broken down girl's hopeless muddle.

"Who's Sarah Bryant?" the aunt questioned, mystified. "We don't know anyone by that name."

"Regan's roommate in college," Jeffries told her. "She was the one who lived in Philadelphia."

"You were pregnant, weren't you, Regan?" Vera was prodding. "Only you never told anyone."

The girl never made an effort to stop crying, not for an instant. Her back rocked with sobs and she was beginning to whimper like a burned-out child.

"What on earth is he talking about, Regan?" a tight-lipped aunt interposed. "When were you pregnant?"

"It was a deformed child," Jeffries replied. "Twins, actually. Siamese twins. Sharing a whole body."

"You knew about this, didn't you, Regan? You knew the minute you went to Sarah's for Thanksgiving. Because that's when you saw Doctor Swanson, isn't it?"

"And he did the ultrasound. That's when you discovered your baby wasn't normal."

"And you planned the whole thing." Vera's tone had dropped a few decibels, gone frosty, and Jeffries knew right away what he was planning. Bad cop approach. It was clear 'good cop' wasn't getting anywhere. For a minute he considered shaking his head; bad cop might not work this time. Then again, nothing else seemed to. "Go back for spring break, before your due date, when you knew Sarah's family would be out of town. Get rid of the children, bury them in the yard, and get back to school. No one would ever know, right?"

Never in his life had Jeffries seen anything like the fiery blaze in the aunt's eyes. "How can you say such terrible things?" he thought she would say. But the words that actually flew out of her mouth completely took him by surprise. "You slut! You utter little slut! How could you let them find out?"