Visions
Page 85
“Right. Um, come in.” She backed up. “My parents are out . . .”
“Excellent.” Gabriel pushed open the door. “We’ll keep this short.”
She escorted us into the living room and cleared away beer bottles and a pizza box before we sat on the sofa.
“Sorry,” she said. “My brother. He never picks up after himself.”
Judging by the condition of the room, no one did. Her cheeks reddened when I surveyed the overflowing ashtrays and clutter. I stopped looking and lowered myself to the sofa.
“I’m sorry I took off the other night,” she said as she gathered an armful of clothing.
“It was a traumatic experience,” Gabriel said.
She nodded. “I tried to look Miss, um, Jones up, but I couldn’t get any contact information. Otherwise, I’d have called you.”
“Let me properly introduce myself, then. Gabriel Walsh.” He held out his card. “For next time.”
She took it with some reluctance.
“And this, as you know, is Ms. Jones,” he said.
“Olivia. Please. I’m so sorry for what happened the other night. We’re still trying to figure out exactly what did happen. You know who my parents are. Unfortunately, the crazies seem to be coming out of the woodwork. I’m still not sure what message that man wanted to convey, but he seems to have been a, uh, fan of theirs.”
She looked appalled. “Fan? Of—”
“It happens,” Gabriel cut in. “There are some seriously disturbed individuals out there, which is why I came to assist Ms. Jones, along with her . . .” He seemed to struggle for the word. “Friend,” he said finally. “It’s a very difficult and dangerous time for Ms. Jones.”
“I can imagine.” Macy tried for sympathy, but it was a struggle. At least she wasn’t cowering in the corner, waiting for me to pull a knife.
Gabriel continued, “I’m glad she was able to come to your aid, despite the potential risk to her own life.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Her gaze flitted my way and was even able to make eye contact before zooming back to Gabriel.
“We’re trying to determine why this man chose you, what connection you might have to Ciara Conway, what connection Ms. Conway has to Ms. Jones, and so on.”
I smiled wryly. “A lot of questions.”
“While we’re hoping this man chose you at random, if he did not, we are concerned for your safety.”
Now we both got a genuine thank-you.
Gabriel settled in. “Having had time to reflect, do you remember anything more about the man who took you? Did anyone at the party get a picture of him? Do you recall having seen him another time—before or since? Any detail you can give, however small, will help.”
To her credit, Macy tried her best. She wasn’t actively blocking us. We just made her uncomfortable—the serial killers’ daughter and her hulking lawyer.
She hadn’t seen the man since, nor could she recall having met him before. While she’d checked Facebook to see if anyone from the party had posted his photo, she hadn’t asked around to see if anyone knew him. She would do that now if we wanted. We did. Beyond that, she could only provide additional details about his appearance, but since I’d seen the man myself, that wasn’t very helpful.
While Gabriel questioned her, I kept feeling my gaze being tugged up to the bookshelf. There wasn’t much there—just Macy’s school texts, various biology and anatomy and nursing tomes. Fascinating stuff, I’m sure. Especially the one on thanatochemistry, whatever the hell that was.
As our queries wound down, Gabriel excused himself to use the washroom. Gathering DNA, actually. While he was gone, I asked about Ciara Conway. She’d looked up the name online but found nothing. When Gabriel came back in, I showed her Ciara’s photo.
“Have you ever seen this young woman?” I asked.
“Sure, that’s my—” She stopped and lifted the photo. “I was going to say it’s my sister, Jackie, when she was younger, but it’s not . . .” She trailed off, staring at the photo. Then her eyes widened. “Is this Ciara Conway?”
“You know her, then?”
“No. I mean, yes, only from the papers. A high school friend sent me the article, thinking it might be a relative because the girl looked so much like Jackie. But when I was searching online for the name my kidnapper said, I was using Kira with a K. I thought Ciara with a C was a soft C, like Sierra.” Her gaze dipped. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“It isn’t a common name,” Gabriel said.
She looked at the photo again. “She does look like my sister. My mom, too. Other than that?” She shrugged. “We seem to be about the same age. Maybe we were switched at birth.” She laughed, joking, but there was a note of wistfulness there.
“If it was fifty years ago, I’d be wondering myself,” I said.
“Anyone who looks like me in her family?” She said it lightly, but that note of something like hope remained. “I don’t suppose she was born at St. Joe’s?”
“Northwestern.”
That laugh again. “I was only kidding. That doesn’t happen these days. I remember when I was a kid, though, I’d see it in movies or read it in books, and I’d have dreams where it had happened to me. I’m sure every kid does that. Your family doesn’t understand you. The grass is always greener. So on and so forth.”
Anyone could see Macy didn’t belong here—the well-dressed girl sitting primly on the edge of the chair, like a relative visiting from the suburbs, waiting until she’s put in her time and can flee.
Except Macy couldn’t flee. Unless she wanted to start life with a substantial debt, she had to tough it out here until she graduated. No matter how trapped I’d felt in my old life, I could have survived in that world. Macy was suffocating. And if we were right, and she was the real Ciara Conway, then I understood what Tristan had meant. Macy had indeed been more wronged than Ciara.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
It was a bit of a hike back to the car. Gabriel always parks the Jag someplace relatively safe and walks. One could argue—and I have—that it would be easier to catch a cab, but he doesn’t take cabs. I suspect he hates the idea of putting someone else in charge. Which makes me even happier when he hands over the keys, as he did that day. True, he needed to work, which he could do better from the passenger seat, but letting me take the wheel while he immersed himself in e-mail was a vote of trust I doubt he gives to anyone else.
“Excellent.” Gabriel pushed open the door. “We’ll keep this short.”
She escorted us into the living room and cleared away beer bottles and a pizza box before we sat on the sofa.
“Sorry,” she said. “My brother. He never picks up after himself.”
Judging by the condition of the room, no one did. Her cheeks reddened when I surveyed the overflowing ashtrays and clutter. I stopped looking and lowered myself to the sofa.
“I’m sorry I took off the other night,” she said as she gathered an armful of clothing.
“It was a traumatic experience,” Gabriel said.
She nodded. “I tried to look Miss, um, Jones up, but I couldn’t get any contact information. Otherwise, I’d have called you.”
“Let me properly introduce myself, then. Gabriel Walsh.” He held out his card. “For next time.”
She took it with some reluctance.
“And this, as you know, is Ms. Jones,” he said.
“Olivia. Please. I’m so sorry for what happened the other night. We’re still trying to figure out exactly what did happen. You know who my parents are. Unfortunately, the crazies seem to be coming out of the woodwork. I’m still not sure what message that man wanted to convey, but he seems to have been a, uh, fan of theirs.”
She looked appalled. “Fan? Of—”
“It happens,” Gabriel cut in. “There are some seriously disturbed individuals out there, which is why I came to assist Ms. Jones, along with her . . .” He seemed to struggle for the word. “Friend,” he said finally. “It’s a very difficult and dangerous time for Ms. Jones.”
“I can imagine.” Macy tried for sympathy, but it was a struggle. At least she wasn’t cowering in the corner, waiting for me to pull a knife.
Gabriel continued, “I’m glad she was able to come to your aid, despite the potential risk to her own life.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Her gaze flitted my way and was even able to make eye contact before zooming back to Gabriel.
“We’re trying to determine why this man chose you, what connection you might have to Ciara Conway, what connection Ms. Conway has to Ms. Jones, and so on.”
I smiled wryly. “A lot of questions.”
“While we’re hoping this man chose you at random, if he did not, we are concerned for your safety.”
Now we both got a genuine thank-you.
Gabriel settled in. “Having had time to reflect, do you remember anything more about the man who took you? Did anyone at the party get a picture of him? Do you recall having seen him another time—before or since? Any detail you can give, however small, will help.”
To her credit, Macy tried her best. She wasn’t actively blocking us. We just made her uncomfortable—the serial killers’ daughter and her hulking lawyer.
She hadn’t seen the man since, nor could she recall having met him before. While she’d checked Facebook to see if anyone from the party had posted his photo, she hadn’t asked around to see if anyone knew him. She would do that now if we wanted. We did. Beyond that, she could only provide additional details about his appearance, but since I’d seen the man myself, that wasn’t very helpful.
While Gabriel questioned her, I kept feeling my gaze being tugged up to the bookshelf. There wasn’t much there—just Macy’s school texts, various biology and anatomy and nursing tomes. Fascinating stuff, I’m sure. Especially the one on thanatochemistry, whatever the hell that was.
As our queries wound down, Gabriel excused himself to use the washroom. Gathering DNA, actually. While he was gone, I asked about Ciara Conway. She’d looked up the name online but found nothing. When Gabriel came back in, I showed her Ciara’s photo.
“Have you ever seen this young woman?” I asked.
“Sure, that’s my—” She stopped and lifted the photo. “I was going to say it’s my sister, Jackie, when she was younger, but it’s not . . .” She trailed off, staring at the photo. Then her eyes widened. “Is this Ciara Conway?”
“You know her, then?”
“No. I mean, yes, only from the papers. A high school friend sent me the article, thinking it might be a relative because the girl looked so much like Jackie. But when I was searching online for the name my kidnapper said, I was using Kira with a K. I thought Ciara with a C was a soft C, like Sierra.” Her gaze dipped. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“It isn’t a common name,” Gabriel said.
She looked at the photo again. “She does look like my sister. My mom, too. Other than that?” She shrugged. “We seem to be about the same age. Maybe we were switched at birth.” She laughed, joking, but there was a note of wistfulness there.
“If it was fifty years ago, I’d be wondering myself,” I said.
“Anyone who looks like me in her family?” She said it lightly, but that note of something like hope remained. “I don’t suppose she was born at St. Joe’s?”
“Northwestern.”
That laugh again. “I was only kidding. That doesn’t happen these days. I remember when I was a kid, though, I’d see it in movies or read it in books, and I’d have dreams where it had happened to me. I’m sure every kid does that. Your family doesn’t understand you. The grass is always greener. So on and so forth.”
Anyone could see Macy didn’t belong here—the well-dressed girl sitting primly on the edge of the chair, like a relative visiting from the suburbs, waiting until she’s put in her time and can flee.
Except Macy couldn’t flee. Unless she wanted to start life with a substantial debt, she had to tough it out here until she graduated. No matter how trapped I’d felt in my old life, I could have survived in that world. Macy was suffocating. And if we were right, and she was the real Ciara Conway, then I understood what Tristan had meant. Macy had indeed been more wronged than Ciara.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
It was a bit of a hike back to the car. Gabriel always parks the Jag someplace relatively safe and walks. One could argue—and I have—that it would be easier to catch a cab, but he doesn’t take cabs. I suspect he hates the idea of putting someone else in charge. Which makes me even happier when he hands over the keys, as he did that day. True, he needed to work, which he could do better from the passenger seat, but letting me take the wheel while he immersed himself in e-mail was a vote of trust I doubt he gives to anyone else.
