196

Jessica looked as if she'd just been slapped with an open hand. Myron reached out. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'Just tell me what happened. Everything.'

He did. Her clear, controlled eyes went blank, lifeless. She remained uncharacteristically silent.

'Bastards,' she managed. 'The goddamn bastards.'

He nodded.

'One of them killed her,' she said. 'Or all of them. To shut her up.'

'It's possible.'

She paused, thinking. Then the eyes came back to life. 'Suppose,' she began slowly, 'that my father learned about the rape.'

Myron nodded.

'What would he do?' she continued. 'How would you react - if it was your daughter?'

I'd be enraged,' Myron replied.

'Would you be able to control yourself?'

'Kathy is not my daughter,' he said. 'And I'm still not sure I can control myself.'

Jessica nodded. 'So maybe, just maybe, that explains this whole setup.

The electronics, the cuffs, the rifle. Maybe he was using this hideaway, deep in the woods, so he could grab a rapist and exact a little private justice.'

'Kathy was gang-raped. There were six of them. This place looks built for one.'

'But,' she continued with the hint of an eerie smile, 'suppose my father was in the exact same position we are in now.'

I don't follow.'

'Suppose he knew the name of only one rapist. Maybe this Horton guy.

What might he do then? What might you do then?'

I might,' Myron said, 'kidnap him and make him tell.'

'Exactly.'

'But it's a hell of a reach. Why would I videotape it? Why would I need cameras and monitors?'

Tape the confession, make sure no one comes down the road, I don't know. You have a better scenario?'

He did not. 'Have you gone through the rest of the house yet?'

I didn't have a chance. The realtor brought me here. He practically burst a blood vessel when he saw this stuff.'

'What did you tell him?'

That I knew all this was here. That my father was a private investigator working undercover.'

Myron made a face. (Hey, it was the best I could come up with.'

'And he bought that?'

'I think so.'

197

Myron shook his head. 'I thought you were a writer.'

'I'm not good with spur-of-the-moment. I'm a lot better with the written than the oral.'

'Based on past experience,' he said, 'I'd have to disagree.'

'Nice time,' she said, 'for a come-on.'

He shrugged. 'Just trying to keep things loose.'

She almost smiled.

'Let's look around,' he said.

There wasn't much to search. The living room had no drawers or closets.

Everything was in plain view - the electronic equipment, the handcuffs, the rifle. The kitchenette held no surprises. Same with the bathroom. That left the bedroom.

It was small. The size of a guest bedroom at a beach house. The double bed took up almost the entire room. There were reading lights on either side of the bed, attached to the wall because there was no room for night tables. No dressers either. The bed was made with flannel sheets. They checked the closet.

Bingo.

Black pants, black T-shirt, black sweat shirt. And worst of all, a black ski mask.

'Ski mask in June?' Myron said.

'He might have needed it to kidnap Horton,' she tried. But her tone' would not make the leap.

Myron dropped to the floor and looked underneath the bed. He saw a plastic bag. He stretched out his hand, grabbed it, and dragged it along the! dust-blanketed floor toward him. The bag was red. The initials BCME were emblazoned across the front.

'Bergen County Medical Examiner,' Jessica explained.

It looked like one of those old Lord and Taylor's bags, the kind that snapped closed on the top. Myron pulled it back. The bag opened with a) pop. He pulled out a pair of gray no-frills sweat pants with a drawstring, Then he reached back in and withdrew a yellow pullover with the letter T in red. Both were covered with caked-on dirt.

'Recognize these?' he asked.

'Just the yellow sweater,' she said. 'It's my dad's old varsity sweater fror Tarlow High School.'

'Funny thing to hide under a bed up here.'

Jessica's eyes lit up. 'Nancy's message! Jesus Christ, she said my dad told her all about Kathy's yellow sweater.'

'Whoa, slow down a second. What did Nancy say exactly?'

'She said - and I quote verbatim - "He told me all about that favorite| yellow sweater he gave Kathy. Such a sweet story." Those were her exact words. My father never wore it. Kathy did. Like a nightshirt or kick-around the-house shirt.'

198

'Did your dad give it to her?'

'Yes.'

'So how did he get it back?'

'I don't know. I imagine it was in her personal belongings at school.'

'Which doesn't explain why he asked Nancy Serat about it. Or why it's hidden under his bed.'

They stood in silence.

'We're missing something here,' she said.

'Maybe your father saw something in these clothes we can't see yet.'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't know,' Myron admitted. 'But these clothes were clearly significant to him. Maybe he found them somewhere unusual. Or maybe the police found them.'

'But Kathy was wearing blue the night she left. That's been established.'

Myron remembered the testimony of the sorority sisters and the photograph.

But then again…

'One way to check on that.'

'How?'

He ran out to the car. Darkness had finally laid claim on the long summer day. He turned on the phone, hoping they weren't too far out of a calling area. Three of those little bars lit up. Enough for the phone to work. He tried Dean Gordon's office. It rang twenty times. No answer. He tried the dean's house. It was picked up on the third ring.

Dean Gordon said, 'Hello?'

'What was Kathy wearing when she came to your house?' No need for identification or pleasantries.

'Wearing? A sweater and skirt of some kind.'

'What color?'

'Blue. I think the sweater was ripped a bit.'

Myron hung up.

Jessica said, 'Back to square one.'

Maybe, Myron thought. But the flash of an image seared across his mind.

He couldn't grasp it, couldn't even make out what it was exactly. But it had been there, and it would come back.

'Let's go,' she said softly, taking his hand. The car light provided enough illumination to see the look in her eyes. They were beautiful eyes, so light colored they were almost yellow. I want to get away from here.'

He closed the car door, feeling suddenly choked up. The car light went out, basking them in darkness. He couldn't see her face anymore. 'Where do you want to go?'

From the darkness he heard her voice. 'Someplace,' she said, 'where we can be alone.'