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The silence was profound and portentous. If everything was okay, the lights would be on and there would be sounds of activity.
He glanced around to see that Headly was coming up behind him, talking softly into his cell phone, describing the situation to the personnel in the vehicles behind them.
Dawson, realizing that their covertness was about to be compromised anyway, banged into Amelia’s kitchen, hit the light switch, and shouted her name. From the kitchen he charged into the formal dining room, from which he could see the living area, the front door, and the porch beyond. Nothing. Moving swiftly, he rushed toward the stairs and tripped over her handbag on the bottom step.
His gaze tracked up. She was standing at the top of the staircase, poised and tense, gripping the banister. Then, upon recognizing him, she sank down onto the top step.
He took the stairs two at a time. “Are you all right?”
She whispered yes, but clearly she wasn’t. She was trembling and looking beyond his shoulder with dismay, watching as her house filled up with armed men.
Her eyes were wide with shock and bewilderment when they reconnected with Dawson’s. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Jeremy’s fingerprint was found on the rain slicker.”
She nodded her head slowly, as though resigned to acknowledging what she had so persistently denied. Then she gripped his arms. “The boys?”
“Safe. Guards have been posted around the Metcalfs’ house.”
“They’ll be frightened.”
“They won’t know. The Metcalfs have been informed, but Headly gave the order for the officers to remain invisible. No marked cars, or light bars, nothing like that.”
“This is all so…” It seemed she couldn’t find a word that adequately described the circumstances. With her misery apparent, she said, “I didn’t want to believe it. Any of it. But it’s all true, isn’t it?” Tears spilled over her lower eyelids.
Dawson placed his hand on the back of her head and tucked it between his neck and shoulder. Sliding his fingers up through her hair, he whispered into it, “If I could make it untrue, I would.”
* * *
Deputies were dispatched to patrol the beach and surrounding area on foot.
Tucker and Wills, the FBI agents, Amelia, Headly, and Dawson gathered in Amelia’s living room. To bring everyone up to speed, Headly summarized Carl and Flora’s criminal career and disclosed Jeremy’s relationship to them. He shared the theory that Jeremy had killed Stef, mistaking her for Amelia.
He explained to Tucker why they’d been interested in seeing Dirk Arneson. “We thought perhaps Jeremy had assumed another identity and was using the girl to get information on Amelia and his sons.”
“Instead of doing that song and dance, why didn’t you just tell me?”
Headly threw him a bone. “In hindsight, I probably should have.” Tucker looked mollified.
Cecil Knutz was as agreeable a guy as Headly had described him. He was a few years younger than Headly, but wore the aging process more visibly. He was paunchy and balding, but savvy and senior enough to be the RANC.
Dawson admired his gentle and respectful attitude toward Amelia as he questioned her. She gave him an overview of her marriage and divorce, but, unfortunately, had nothing new or enlightening to tell him.
“To me, Jeremy died more than a year ago. If he’s alive, I have no idea where he’s been or where he is. Although, lately, I’ve felt a presence, like someone was watching me. I blamed my uneasiness on Willard Strong’s trial and having to talk openly about things I’d rather forget.”
She told the group about the beach ball mystery and about a set of photographs of her and the children that had disappeared without explanation. “A friend delivered them when no one was at home, but they weren’t where they’d been left.” Dawson appreciated that she didn’t cite him as the “friend.”
She also told them about a boat she’d noticed. “It remained anchored offshore for several days. Other than that, nothing’s been out of the ordinary.” But as she said that, she’d glanced at Dawson.
The team debated whether she and her sons should be moved into a safe house until Jeremy was captured. Headly nixed the idea. “At this point, he thinks he’s in the clear. If she’s placed in protective custody, we’d just as well go on loudspeakers throughout the Deep South and tell Jeremy that we’re on to him.”
Tucker said, “All this is assuming he is alive. That hasn’t been firmly established.”
“What do you need to firmly establish it?” Dawson demanded.
“Something more than a latent finge
rprint lifted from a wet raincoat. It could have been there for years.”
“Unlikely,” one of the FBI agents said. “On a nonporous surface like that? Most likely it would have been wiped off or badly smudged by now.”
