Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [138]
She wouldn’t have smiled so sweetly at him if she had known what secrets he hid in his sinful breast. He hurried out to his car, where Charlotte lay waiting for him. He would take her to his secret place, to the sacred waters, where they would meet their fate together. And then, at last, his transformation would be complete: He would become the Green Man.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
A search of the house confirmed that Eric McNamara was gone. The only occupant of the house was the old man, and it looked as though he had been alone for some time. It was amazing that he had summoned enough strength to break out of his room—he was fortunate that the house was old and some of the wood was rotting. Diesel went out to search the barn, while Butts called for Social Services to come get Mr. McNamara.
Diesel’s search of the grounds turned up nothing, so they had to assume Eric had gone somewhere with Charlotte. Whether she was dead or alive was something Lee didn’t want to speculate on; they could only hope she was still alive. As for Krieger, he was beginning to lose hope that she would ever be found alive.
The first thing they did was call both the New York and Jersey state police to put out an APB. Their geographic profiling of the victims turned out to be right. Sure enough, Eric owned his own car, but was part of a conglomerate of limos operating out of Fleet Car Service, located in Riverdale—just a few blocks away from Spuyten Duyvil. It was easy enough to get the car’s plate number; they just had to hope it was in time.
“Who knows which way he went?” Butts said. “Let’s call Pennsylvania, too.”
That made sense. They were so close to the border, and he might have decided to flee west with Charlotte. There was no telling where he had gone—or whether he had taken Krieger with him as well. They gathered in the kitchen to decide their next step.
“Do you think the old guy knows anything?” Diesel asked. He had made a peanut butter sandwich for Mr. McNamara, who sat at the white-painted kitchen table gobbling it down, smacking his lips, taking large gulps of cold milk in between bites. Eating for him was a messy business, given his physical limitations; Lee tried not to watch. The old man kept looking up at the three of them, as if afraid they might leave him.
Butts leaned down and spoke loudly and slowly to the old man, as though he were an imbecile.
“Do – You – Know – Where – Your – Son – Went?”
The old man narrowed his eyes and chewed his sandwich, spewing bits of bread in every direction.
Butts straightened up and stretched his back. “You think he knows anything about Krieger?” he asked Lee.
“Ask him.”
Butts leaned down, his face closer to the old man’s ear. “Did – You – See – A – Tall – Redhead? With – A – German – Accent?” he shouted.
McNamara stared at him.
“The kid keeps him locked in his room,” Diesel said with disgust. “He probably doesn’t know a thing.”
“Eric probably went somewhere he feels comfortable,”
Lee said. “Somewhere near water. But that could be anywhere.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and gazed at a framed photograph on the opposite wall of a waterfall. It was a romantic picture, the water cascading gracefully down a series of ledges, smooth and white as clouds in a summer sky. In the foreground, a young man smiled at the camera, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. He took a step toward the picture, to see if there was a caption, but there was none. He turned to Mr. McNamara.
“Is this your son?”
The old man nodded, his mouth full of sandwich. “Do you know where this is?” Another nod, in between slurps of milk. “Does he go there often?”
Mr. McNamara began gesticulating and making strangled attempts at speech. Then his eyes lit up, and he pointed at his glass of milk.
“What’s he doin'?” Butts asked.
The old man leapt from his chair, yanked open the refrigerator, grabbed a stick of butter, and held