The Secret Friend Read online

  ‘No, he left… it must have been ten, fifteen years ago. Moved out to California, I think. We lost contact. He kept in touch with me in the beginning, those first few years, and then he came to me one day and said he couldn’t live like this any more, not knowing, the stuff with the police.’

  ‘What stuff with the police?’

  ‘They thought he had something to do with Jenny’s disappearance, but that was ridiculous. The man was devastated. They put him through hell. He wanted to get on with his life. I didn’t blame him. You don’t have that luxury as a parent.’

  ‘Were you and Jenny close?’

  ‘Of course we were.’ The woman seemed insulted by the question. ‘Growing up, it was just the two of us. Jenny’s father was in the Marines, stationed in China. He wrote me one of those Dear Jane letters saying he fell in love with some Chink. I never heard from him again.

  ‘I helped Jenny with all the wedding stuff, you know, going with her to look at dresses, picking out flowers. She was paying for the whole thing herself. Jenny was working a lot of overtime at the hospital to help pay for the cost of the wedding. God knows I couldn’t help her, not on a waitress’s salary.

  ‘Michael’s family was real rooty-toot; thought their shit didn’t stink,’ Tina Sanders said. ‘Jenny didn’t say this, mind you, but I think Michael’s the one who pushed for the big wedding. His parents offered to pay, but Jenny said no. She was proud that way. She was going to pay for everything herself. She wanted a nice, simple wedding, not some fancy ballroom gala. Michael’s parents weren’t too happy about it. He was a nice guy. Kind of uppity, I guess, ’cause he was a doctor and all, but he treated Jenny real well.’

  ‘What was Jennifer like?’

  Tina Sanders clutched the cigarette box between her palms as she spoke.

  ‘She was a good kid, obedient, did what she was told. I never had any problems with her. She had a real positive outlook on life, never complained, was real passionate about her job – she really believed she was helping people at McLean’s. That’s the first mental hospital she worked at. I don’t know why she left. The patients were much better there, kind of easier to manage, she said. Jenny, she loved to help people. She shouldn’t have taken that job at Sinclair.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Darby asked.

  ‘During the last year, she became real moody and withdrawn. She didn’t call as much. When we got together, she barely talked. She said she was having problems sleeping. She said it was the stress of the job plus working overtime to pay for the wedding, the talk of layoffs and the possibility of the hospital shutting down for good. I didn’t know she was pregnant – that explained the mood swings.’ The old woman rubbed a finger over the crucifix. ‘She could have told me. I wouldn’t have judged her for getting knocked up.’

  ‘Did she normally keep secrets from you?’

  ‘No. No, she didn’t. We were close, like I said. Jenny not telling me about the pregnancy, it really bothered me for a while, but I understood. She wanted to get married in a Catholic church. Getting knocked up before you’re actually married, well, I don’t have to tell you how the Catholic Church frowns upon such matters.’

  ‘Did your daughter ever talk about or mention a man with black eyes?’

  ‘You mean like they were bruised or something?’

  ‘I was referring to the actual colour of his eyes,’ Darby said. ‘This man, his eyes are completely black. He’s tall, about six feet or so, has pale skin and dresses very well.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone like that.’

  ‘Excuse me for a moment, Miss Sanders.’

  42

  Darby left the conference room and from her office retrieved the computer-printed photograph of Malcolm Fletcher, the one from the FBI website.

  ‘Have you seen or met this man, Miss Sanders?’

  ‘Is this the man who killed Jenny? Are you telling me you found him?’

  ‘No, we haven’t. Have you seen or met this man?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Jenny ever tell you about meeting or seeing such a man?’

  ‘If she did, I don’t remember. Did you find her body?’

  ‘We found this photograph in connection with another case,’ Darby said. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘I don’t understand. The man I spoke to specifically told me you had information on what happened to Jenny. He said you would tell me the truth.’

  ‘I am telling you the truth.’

  ‘It sounds to me like you got nothing. Why did he tell me to come all the way down here for this?’

  ‘Miss Sanders, what you’ve told me is extremely helpful. I’m sure a detective will want to stop by and speak to you about your daughter. Will you be home later today?’

  ‘What else do I have to do? You think I’m going dancing?’ Tina Sanders reached for her walker. Darby stood to help but the woman waved her off. ‘I can do it myself, thank you.’

  ‘Has anyone else besides yourself touched this piece of paper?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Before you go, I was wondering if I could take your fingerprints.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘I need a comparison set of prints,’ Darby said. ‘I want to see if anyone else has touched this picture.’

  Darby’s cell phone rang. It was Tim Bryson. She told him where she was and what had happened. Bryson asked her to keep the woman there.

  ‘Detective Bryson is on his way up,’ Darby said. ‘He’d like to speak to you for a moment.’

  ‘If you find the man who killed Jenny, I want to talk to him. I want this man to know I forgive him.’

  ‘You forgive him,’ Darby repeated.

  ‘You can wipe that look off your face. I’m not some crazy old bat.’

  ‘Miss Sanders, I don’t –’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m going to tell you anyway.’ Tina Sanders gripped her walker. ‘After Jenny died, I decided to go back to my Catholic faith. I go to St Stephen’s almost every day. Father Donnelly said I had to let go of the hate, and the only way to do that was to forgive this man. That way I can keep Jenny alive, keep her close to me and remember the good parts. That’s what I’m left with now, the good parts.’ Tina Sanders eased back into a chair. ‘It took a long time to get to this place, a lot of crying and anger, but once I decided to forgive this man – I mean truly forgive him – the good Lord Jesus took away the pain. Now every day I’m surrounded by Jenny’s love. When I die, Jenny and I will be reunited in heaven.’

  Darby wondered what the woman had managed to discover on the other side of her grief to inspire that type of faith.

  43

  Boston detectives worked out of the fifth floor in an area called the bullpen. Pairs of desks sat facing each other down a long, gymnasium-type space lit up with crummy fluorescent lighting that glared off the computer monitors. Phones rang day and night.

  While the police department’s top slot was held by a woman, the ranks of beat cops filled with women of every shape, size, age and colour, the detective bullpen was still boys only. No matter what time of day Darby came here, no matter what the season, the bullpen always smelled to her like a men’s locker room – sweat and testosterone masked by too much aftershave and cologne.

  It was 5 p.m. on Monday. Detectives filling out paperwork, typing on their keyboards and talking on the phone watched her as she walked down the aisle.

  Tim Bryson sat in the corner near one of the coveted window spots, elbows propped up on his desk and chin resting on his folded hands as he read through a NCIC file for Jennifer Sanders.

  ‘How did you make out with the photograph?’

  ‘Tina Sanders’ prints are all over it,’ Darby said. ‘I sent Coop over to dust the mailbox, but I’m not holding out any hope.’

  ‘Here, take a look.’ Bryson pushed himself away from his desk and stood. ‘I’m going to get some coffee. You want one?’

  ‘I’m all set, thanks.’


  Darby felt the warm spot he had left in his chair. On the corner of his desk was a framed picture of a young girl with long blonde hair and a gap-toothed smile. His daughter looked no older than ten.

  The first part of the NCIC file was pretty much a rehash of what Tina Sanders had told them. Darby scanned through the text, stopping when she found the investigative notes.

  For the first six months, Danvers investigators had worked the patient angle. Maybe one of her former patients had abducted her. Jennifer Sanders was an attractive woman.

  By the end of the year, with no witnesses, evidence or leads, detectives decided to investigate the murder-for-hire angle, the theory being that Witherspoon, wanting to break off the engagement but feeling trapped by the pregnancy, had hired someone to murder his fiancée. Witherspoon was an odd duck, they thought, cold and guarded. Witherspoon submitted to several polygraphs. Each time he passed. Detectives kept working on their theory, interviewing known contract killers.

  Two years later, the trail went cold. The case was still listed as active.

  Bryson sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Anything jump out at you?’

  ‘No. I called the state lab. The only evidence they had was Jennifer Sanders’ car. Judging by what I was told over the phone, they really went through it – vacuumed the carpets, everything. They found some interesting fibres but they didn’t lead anywhere. They said they’d send over copies of what they have.’

  ‘Great. More shit to read to read through. This asshole is going to bury us in paper.’ Bryson stood and grabbed an empty office chair.

  ‘I spoke with Danvers PD,’ he said, rolling the chair across the floor. ‘The Sanders case wasn’t transferred to their computer system, it’s somewhere in storage. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a copy by the end of the week.’

  ‘How did your interview with the mother go?’

  ‘The pregnancy thing bothers me.’

  ‘Not all pregnancies are planned.’

  ‘I’m talking about the fact that she didn’t tell her mother. Could be she was ashamed, you know, Catholic guilt about having a baby out of wedlock.’

  ‘Wedlock,’ Darby repeated. ‘Where did you pick up that word, Tim, the Dictionary for Old Farts?’

  Bryson tossed his paper coffee cup into the trash. ‘Watts went over to Brighton and interviewed Hannah Givens’ two roommates. Givens’ backpack is inside her room. He went over to Northeastern and got a copy of her class schedule. Hannah failed to show up for her Shakespeare and history class. Nobody has seen or heard from her.’

  ‘What about the parents?’

  ‘Watts talked to the mother this afternoon. She was worried. Hannah calls and talks to her mother every Sunday. The mother says Hannah always calls. Watts is interviewing Hannah’s boss, flashing the picture the roommates gave him to people who work in the area. The picture’s going to run on all the news cycles and it will be in tomorrow’s papers.’

  Was Hannah Givens being held in the same place as Hale and Chen? A trickle of fear ran through Darby, cutting through her fatigue.

  ‘Chadzynski is holding a press conference tomorrow morning to address what’s going on with Hale, Chen and Givens,’ Bryson said. ‘She’s debating about releasing Fletcher’s name. Personally, I think it’s a good move. It might force him to crawl back under his rock. This asshole has us jumping through hoops and, frankly, I’m getting sick and tired of it.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. I feel the same way.’

  Bryson wasn’t finished. ‘He sends us to Sinclair, and we waste a day and a half searching empty rooms and hallways for what? Because he left a picture of a missing woman tacked up to a wall?’

  ‘We know who she is.’

  ‘Yeah, and the only reason we know is because the son of a bitch sent the mother down here. And what do we do? We drop what we’re doing, and now we’ve wasted part of the day looking into a woman who’s been missing for twenty-six years. For all we know Fletcher consulted on this case years ago, and now he’s rubbing our nose into it.’

  ‘I’m not following.’

  ‘It’s bullshit. Fletcher is jerking us around.’

  ‘I keep coming back to the statue. It’s the same –’

  ‘Darby, I know about the goddamn statue.’ Bryson’s face was mottled red. ‘I was there with you, remember? I saw it with my own eyes.’

  She didn’t answer.

  Bryson waved a hand in apology. ‘I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you,’ he said. ‘I’m operating on about four hours of sleep.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I’m feeling the same way. Fletcher’s using the statue as a carrot, dangling it in front of us, and every time he calls or does something, we drop what we’re doing and jump.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what he wants.’

  ‘We need to find out what he’s doing.’

  ‘It’s a waste of time.’

  ‘We don’t have much of a choice, Tim. Malcolm Fletcher is here, and he knows something. He’s not going away.’

  ‘Let’s talk about your surveillance,’ Bryson said.

  44

  ‘If Fletcher calls you at home or at the lab, we can trace his location in about forty-five seconds,’ Bryson said. ‘The moment your phone rings, the trace starts. Let it ring three times before you pick up.’

  ‘What about my cell phone?’ Darby asked.

  ‘That’s where it gets dicey. Cell signals bounce through towers.’ Bryson reached into his pant pocket. ‘It could take anywhere from one to three minutes to pinpoint his location. If he calls you on your cell, the key is to keep him talking as long as possible. Once we get a lock on his signal, we can trace it even if he hangs up, as long as he keeps his phone turned on. I also want you to carry this.’

  Pinched between his fingers was a small rectangular piece of black plastic, thin, with a grey button in the centre. The device reminded Darby of the medical alert units some elderly people carried in case they fell and couldn’t get up.

  ‘This is what we call a panic button,’ Bryson said. ‘If something happens, if you believe you’re in danger, you press the button – you have to do it hard enough to break the seal. Once that happens, we come running. There’s also a GPS transmitter in there, so we’ll know where you are at any given time. You’re to carry this with you, even when you go to bed.’

  ‘Do you think Fletcher’s going to attack me in my sleep?’

  ‘I don’t think you should take any chances. During the day, keep the device tucked inside your pant pocket. What time are you leaving work?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Let me know when you do. We need to install privacy devices on your phones. If you get a private call and don’t want us listening in, you press the button on the privacy device and the trace stops, nobody hears a thing. When you’re ready to leave, call and I’ll meet you at your place.

  ‘One other thing,’ Bryson said. ‘When you leave work, don’t look around the streets to see if you can spot surveillance. If Fletcher is watching, he may suspect something and run. Keep up your normal routine and act natural. Do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Someone you’re seeing?’

  ‘I hope you’re not asking to fix me up on a blind date.’

  ‘I’m asking because I was hoping someone was staying with you.’

  ‘Coop is.’

  Something flickered across his eyes. Was it disappointment?

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend, just a very close friend,’ Darby said. ‘He’s very protective.’

  ‘The surveillance team will be watching you when you leave work today, when you leave your condo – eyes will be on you at all times. Again, just act natural. Try to relax. If there’s a problem, we’ll call and give you instructions.’

  Bryson handed her his business card. ‘My home phone number is on the back. Programme it into your cell phone. If you need anything, give me a call.’

  ‘What’s Hannah’s address?’

  ‘She n
ever made it home, never got on the bus.’

  ‘I want to look through her things.’

  Bryson wrote the address down on a sheet of paper, tore it off and handed it to her. ‘I’m going to head downtown and help Watts.’

  ‘I’ll call you if I find anything at Hannah’s place,’ Darby said. ‘After that, I need to collect makeup samples.’

  She told him about the makeup stain on Chen’s sweatshirt.

  ‘Sounds pretty thin,’ Bryson said.

  ‘It’s the only evidence we have to work with at the moment.’

  ‘Before you go, I have a present for you.’

  He opened his desk drawer and handed her a small box. Inside was a tactical light for her handgun.

  Darby smiled. ‘You certainly know the way to a woman’s heart.’

  45

  On her way back to her office, Darby called Coop and gave him a quick rundown of her meeting with Tim Bryson.

  Coop was already driving back into town with the fingerprints he’d collected from Tina Sanders’ mailbox. He agreed to meet her at Hannah Givens’ home in Brighton.

  The events of the day crowded her thoughts. Darby wanted to hit the gym. A run on the treadmill would sweep her head clean but there wasn’t any time. She put on her coat, grabbed her forensics kit and headed out. Walking outside in the dark, frigid air, she wondered where the surveillance was. She also wondered if Malcolm Fletcher was watching.

  Safe behind the wheel of her Mustang, her thoughts turned to the Virgin Mary statues. In her mind’s eye she saw the Blessed Mother’s sorrowful expression, arms held wide open, ready to embrace. The face vanished, replaced by Fletcher’s strange black eyes. Darby thought she heard him laughing.

  She didn’t want to think about the former profiler. She focused her thoughts on the man who shot Hale and Chen. That man had placed a statue of the Virgin Mary in their pockets. He’d sewed them shut and tied the end off with a knot so the statues would stay with them. He’d placed a sign of the cross on Chen’s forehead and dumped her body into Boston Harbor. Why? What was the significance of the statue and why was it so important that it stay with the two women after they were dead?