The Third Mrs. Durst Page 23

  “They locked the place up and left him to die slowly,” the female cop said.

  The partner knelt, checking Vin’s pulse. “Holy shit, he’s still alive. Call for medical.”

  “It will take forever for an ambulance to get here,” I snapped. Maybe it wasn’t the right move, but waiting seemed wrong too. “Clive, can you lift him?”

  “You shouldn’t move an injured person,” the male cop said.

  I knew that, but I wanted so desperately to help him. In the end, I could only apply pressure, getting Vin’s blood all over me as they called for an ambulance. Every minute that we waited, that ticked away with Vin’s blood trickling through my fingers, I feared might be his last—that he’d bleed out on this filthy cement floor.

  “Breathe,” I begged, tears slipping down my cheeks.

  But Vin didn’t rouse. Not even when the ambulance zoomed up, siren and lights going. I stumbled back to let the EMTs work and then went with him in the ambulance, against Clive’s protests. I shook off the guard’s hands.

  “Let me go. I have to stay with him.”

  If this was some master plan of Michael’s to lure me out, then his goons could attack the ambulance. I wouldn’t be leaving Vin’s side until I knew whether he’d make it.

  “Fine, I’ll follow you.” From his tone, Clive still didn’t like it, but they wouldn’t let both of us travel with the patient.

  I held Vin’s hand in the back of the ambulance, but he didn’t seem aware of me or anything the EMTs did. Once we arrived at the hospital, they rushed him into the ER on the gurney, leaving me to follow in a daze and fill out forms as best I could. With a pang, I realized how little I knew about Vin. I couldn’t supply his social security number and I didn’t know how to contact his family, either. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have a phone or ID on him, so I signed off as the guarantor for his treatment costs.

  The doctors were running, as the ER was jammed with other patients. I waited for a while, then grabbed a passing nurse. “The man I came in with … how’s he doing?”

  “Please wait, ma’am. We’re doing our best.”

  Clive had been hovering, hard-pressed to guard me in such a crowd, and then he stepped to the side, talking quietly on his cell. I guessed he was updating Joanna on the situation. Tiredly, I sank down in a plastic chair, staring at the speckled white tile floor. Family members waiting for other patients wore similar expressions.

  Around five a.m., the cops who’d been assigned to my protective detail came in. “We came to check on Mr. Rivera. Any word yet?”

  I shook my head. “They won’t tell me anything since I’m not family. Can the detectives get in touch with his dad?”

  “We’ll take care of that, ma’am. He hasn’t regained consciousness?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Just then, the doctor who’d taken Vin emerged from the treatment area. “Mr. Rivera is stable now. We’re admitting him, and—”

  “I’ll pay for a private room,” I cut in. “If there’s one available.”

  “Check with admin on that.” The doctor didn’t seem to be amused at being interrupted, so I murmured an apology. “How is he?”

  “Weak. He lost a lot of blood, but he should rally with proper care. If he’d gotten here any later …” Though she trailed off, I could finish that sentence.

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  I handled the request for a private room, then waited for them to advise me where Vin was going. It was half past six in the morning by the time the hospital staff settled him. From the way he was bandaged, he’d been beaten much worse than I was, and there was evidence of knife-work too.

  Clive stepped into the doorway. “The police have notified Mr. Rivera’s family, madam. They should be here soon.”

  “Are you suggesting I leave before they arrive?” I knew that might be best. They’d have questions about who I was, my relationship with Vin. Possibly they might blame me for his injuries, and hell, they’d be right. And I didn’t know if I had the strength to handle their anger and grief on top of my own.

  “That’s up to you,” he said in a neutral tone.

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “I’m at your disposal.”

  He moved off, out of my sight line, but I figured he was standing outside the door in his secret service pose. For a few seconds I stood beside Vin’s bed, staring down at his battered face. Then I took his hand.

  “Get better, okay? Thank you for everything. I’ll take it from here.”

  His lashes fluttered and his fingers flexed against mine, but he didn’t rouse. His pain meds were dripped steadily, a reminder that mine were overdue. I limped out of the room and beckoned to Clive.

  “Let’s go. I’ve done all I can here.”

  “Understood, madam.”

  The patrol officers were standing by; surely they’d be relieved soon, though. It had been a long-ass night.

  As we left the hospital, Detectives Hunter and Wilson met us in the parking lot. Hunter spoke, but her icy tone didn’t match her usual friendly demeanor. “Are you trying to do my job, Mrs. Durst?”

  Since I was dead sure I’d asked them not to call me that, it had to be intentional. “Excuse me?”

  “Imagine my surprise when my colleagues informed me that you did a midnight runner to check out a lead on a warehouse. It didn’t occur to you to call us?”

  Is this a territorial thing? Or are they mad because I was looking for Vin through private channels as well?

  “Honestly? No. I just wanted to help Vin, as fast as possible. If I did something wrong—”

  “We had officers with us,” Clive cut in. “There was probable cause for us to believe that Mr. Rivera’s life was in danger. If you have additional complaints, please contact Lewis Fielding, Joanna Van Houten’s attorney.”

  That shut everything down, and for a few beats, neither detective spoke. Then Wilson said, “No, we’re good. Just so you know, we’re doing everything we can, ma’am. We’re looking into his first two wives also, but it’s been so long that it’ll be tough to make anything stick. There will likely be lesser charges as well.”

  Racketeering, money laundering, possibly tax evasion. If the heavy charges stuck, Michael would rot in prison for a long time. Anything could happen inside, especially to a man who believed he was inherently superior to most other humans. That attitude might even get him killed.

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I can breathe a little easier now. But … I still haven’t found my sister. Have you heard anything?”

  Detective Hunter gave a tight smile. “Don’t you have people for that? You shouldn’t wait around for us.”

  Yeah, she was pissed.

  Rather than get into an argument with the cop who should be helping me, I apologized again and let Clive lead me to the car. My head was ringing by that point, and I could barely stay awake for the drive back to the brownstone. The sun was rising over the buildings, a pallid burn in the early morning sky.

  Without much hope, I dialed Ariella’s number. One ring. Two. Three.

  “Yes?” a deep male voice answered, with a touch of an accent that I placed as Eastern European.

  My heart kicked into overdrive. “This is Ariella’s number. Who is this?”

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  “I think you already know.” Amusement laced the unknown voice, as if he relished toying with me on my husband’s behalf.

  “Michael’s in custody,” I snapped.

  “Then you know who I work for, at least. If you want to see her alive again, you’ll lose the police. Lose your bodyguard. You’ll say nothing to Joanna Van Houten and by midnight, you’ll arrive at the address I’m about to text you.”

  Clive stole a glance at me, eyes watchful. I regulated my expression. “Okay,” I said quietly. “I understand.”

  “Good. Don’t bring
your cell phone or anything that could be used to track your location. I will search you and if you disobey, Ariella will suffer for it. Come alone. Are my instructions clear?”

  “Completely.”

  “Then our business is concluded.”

  I couldn’t reveal how shaken I was because Clive was still watching. Finally, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s just been a long night.”

  “I’m sure your friend will pull through.” He was being downright chatty, a sure sign that I looked like I might come apart at the seams.

  Get it together.

  My phone vibrated, a text from a number I didn’t recognize. There was no message apart from the address. I pulled it up on the map … somewhere in Newark? That’s where Ariella’s passport was scanned.

  My photo app buzzed and I clicked it on instinct. I had just enough time to register the picture of Ariella, bound at wrist and ankles, with a newspaper unfolded across her chest. Today’s date. They have her. It doesn’t matter that Michael is locked up. I can’t—

  Panic broke over me in a drowning wave, threatening to steal my breath, and black sparks popped in my field of vision.

  Enough. You can’t help her this way.

  I took a screenshot before the picture dissolved; that was the app’s gimmick, but only a dipshit would assume that the service was foolproof. Right now I couldn’t do anything with the photo, not without endangering Ariella, but it was more evidence for me to leave behind.

  Somehow I held myself together until we got to the brownstone. Joanna was up, already dressed and sipping Earl Grey in the breakfast room. Britta greeted me at the door, then scurried to the kitchen for another place setting. Under the circumstances I didn’t feel like eating, but I needed fuel for the nightmare ahead.

  “Bad news?” Joanna asked as I joined her at the table.

  “We found Vin. He’s alive, currently at the hospital under guard.”

  “That’s a relief, then. But why do you look so despondent, my dear?”

  “I’m just tired.” The lie rolled out automatically. Good thing I’d gotten plenty of practice at it while living with Michael.

  “Have a bite to eat and get some rest. I imagine you’ll want to go back to the hospital later?”

  “It might be safer if I leave him to the police—and his family—for now.”

  Joanna pursed her lips, thoughtful. “You could be right. Wise of you to keep out of the public eye as much as possible. I hear that journalists are searching for you even now.”

  “Shit,” I blurted. “Sorry.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “No need to apologize. I’ve been known to curse myself, if the situation demanded it.”

  Mechanically I smiled and declined the food Britta brought. I was still afraid to eat anything I hadn’t seen being prepared, so I had another protein bar and some fruit from the plate Joanna was using. Everything tasted of ashes anyway and I washed down the flavor of failure with a glass of tap water that I fetched myself.

  It seemed impossible that I could sleep with such a terrible task ahead of me, but I took three pain pills and set the alarm on my phone for 9:45 that night, just in case.

  Exhaustion coupled with the pharmaceutical help knocked me out for twelve hours, and I woke up just in time for dinner. Joanna had noticed my peculiarity by now, so she acted as my taster again. I had no idea what I ate, only that I did, while quietly watching the clock.

  To get to the meeting point on time, I needed to leave by ten, and I had to take the bus to guarantee nobody followed me. Getting past Clive and the police on protective detail outside … that was the challenge. I couldn’t handle it alone.

  I need a distraction around 9:50 tonight, I texted to Jenny. Can you turn off the power for a while?

  You think I’m a master hacker? she sent back.

  Jen.

  Fine. I can probably get you a brief brownout. Two minutes max. Will that work?

  It will have to. Thank you. I added a heart to the message.

  What are you up to?

  Ignoring the question, I went back to my room, where I’d left all my belongings in a pile. I dug out a pair of black yoga pants, a black sweater, and plain black sneakers. No black hat, but my hair was dark anyway, so I tied it back.

  The time ticked down slowly while I paced and listened to the household settle. At 9:44, I turned off my alarm and left my cell on my bedside table. No phone, nothing that could be used to track me. Leaving my phone felt like abandoning my lifeline, as if I wouldn’t be coming back from this trip.

  As I opened my bedroom door, the lights went out. Not just at Joanna’s, but our whole side of the street.

  Damn, Jenny.

  That triggered the backup batteries on various electronics and the house alarm kicked on, a raucous screech that would alert the household. It would also make it harder to find me in the chaos.

  I slipped out the front as the officers got out of their car, cautious, with hands on their sidearms. Crouching, I crab-walked to the short iron fence that framed the front of the brownstone and remained that way until the officers passed, knocking on the door behind me with growing agitation.

  They probably think Michael’s making a move. A blackout was the perfect opportunity, so they were looking for assailants, not a single woman scurrying around the corner of the building. Once I was out of sight, I climbed over the fence, whimpering as the movement pulled my stitches.

  I was in no condition for this much activity, but I’d abandoned Ariella once. I wouldn’t do that to her again, even if it cost me everything. My heart had broken when Dee left me behind. When I read the note she’d left, about leaving and not coming back, I wanted to die.

  Later, when I found out what happened to her, I wanted Michael Durst to die.

  As I reached the next block, the lights came on behind me. I’d memorized my route, the meeting point burned into my brain. I bought a transit card at a convenience store and got on at the nearest stop, rode over to the central hub, and transferred to an intercity bus headed for Newark.

  Since I didn’t have my phone, I was wearing a watch Michael had given me, too shiny and ridiculously expensive. I’d be lucky if someone didn’t mug me for it, so I was constantly tugging my sleeve down over it as I tracked the time, silently obsessing over whether we’d hit traffic or construction.

  In Newark, I transferred yet again, heading for the stop nearest to my destination. I still had to walk eight blocks, and my chest hurt like hell. No pain meds; my head had to be clear for what was about to happen.

  I passed pawn shops and liquor stores, quick marts and a few rundown bars. The address turned out to be a closed business. According to the sign, it had been a used car lot, but the building was dark, windows covered with metal framework. Everything in the neighborhood was barred and shuttered. I hadn’t seen any people for a couple of blocks.

  11:47 p.m. I made it.

  I didn’t like loitering in this place, but I had no choice. My whole body prickled as I paced the broken pavement, the lines barely visible in the defunct parking lot. At midnight on the dot, a dark car pulled into the lot, kept rolling until it reached the alley. No streetlights down there, no CCTV, and no witnesses either. A nondescript man in a gray suit got out. There was nothing remarkable about him, but that was even more frightening.

  “You came,” he said, with a smile that chilled me to the bone.

  Not the smile, exactly. His eyes. They were dead and flat, like a fish on ice at the supermarket. I tried to note details about his appearance in case I survived, but he was just relentlessly average—thinning hair, the color of his eyes too hard to see in the dark, narrow face, medium build.

  “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  “Untrue. You could’ve saved yourself, left your sister in my care. Michael told me you were a heartless bitch. It se
ems that’s not entirely true.”

  “Michael hates women,” I said.

  “You know your husband well. As promised, I’ll search you now. Nothing personal.”

  I didn’t have a bag with me, just the transit card tucked into my bra, but he groped me from head to toe, searching for contraband. He found the card and tossed it. That was bad enough, but then he slipped on a pair of latex gloves. When he bent me over and went for a brutal, impersonal cavity search, I bit my lip until it bled.

  He didn’t give me a chance to speak. Once he was satisfied that I had followed instructions, he taped my mouth, wrapped industrial-grade tape around my wrists and ankles, and dumped me in the trunk. I made a sound through the tape as the metal slammed down. The space was too small, so I curled up in the fetal position, and various tools bit into my back. From the shape and the way they poked and pinched, I tried to distract myself by guessing what they were—hammer, crowbar, tire iron—all implements that could also be used as weapons.

  I let out a shaky breath through my nose. The trunk reeked of chemicals: gas, definitely, and possibly windshield wiper fluid or antifreeze. Breathing this way left me lightheaded, though maybe that was from sucking in exhaust fumes blowing up from the tailpipe. My body tipped back and forth, according to the stop-and-go movement that told me we were still in town. Then suddenly the car accelerated.

  We must be on the highway.

  The car put miles and miles between me and anyone who cared what became of me. I’d known this was a trap going in, so I tried not to let fear blossom in my head like a bloodstain, but dread stayed with me like a destructive little gremlin, tapping away at my self-control. None of my plans had figured for Ariella. I’d come to save her, but I had no backup, no cell phone, no way to call for help. They hadn’t even shown me proof of life before shoving me in the trunk.

  This time, I might not make it out alive.

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