And not now.
Maybe I had been on a search for an answer that I knew all along. Verne had understood my quest with one caveat: “Long as a man ain’t fooling himself.” But maybe I had been. Even now, even as we were uncovering this baby-smuggling scam, I had allowed myself fresh hope. Perhaps my daughter was alive. Perhaps she had gotten ensnared in this adoption con. Would that be horrible? Yes. But the obvious alternative—that Tara is dead—was a hell of a lot worse.
I no longer knew what to believe.
I checked my watch. Twenty minutes had passed. I wondered about how to play it. First things first. I called Lenny on the private line at his office.
“A man named Steven Bacard was just murdered in East Rutherford,” I said.
“Bacard the lawyer?”
“You know him?”
“I worked a case with him a few years ago,” Lenny said. Then: “Oh damn.”
“What?”
“You asked before about Stacy and an adoption. I didn’t see a connection. But now that you say Bacard’s name . . . Stacy asked me about him, what, three, four years ago.”
“What about him?”
“I don’t remember anymore. Something about being a mother.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I really didn’t pay that much attention. I just told her not to sign anything without showing it to me.” Then Lenny asked, “How do you know he’s been murdered?”
“I just saw his body.”
“Whoa, don’t say anything else. This line might not be secure.”
“I need your help. Call the cops. They need to get Bacard’s records. He ran an adoption scam. There’s a possibility that he had something to do with Tara’s kidnapping.”
“How?”
“I don’t have time to explain.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll call Tickner and Regan. Regan’s been searching for you pretty much nonstop, you know.”
“I figured.”
I hung up before he could ask more. I am not really sure what I expected them to find. I couldn’t make myself believe that the answer to Tara’s fate lay in some file cabinet in a law office. But maybe. And if something went wrong here—and there was certainly a decent chance of that happening—I wanted someone to be able to follow up.
I was in Ridgewood now. I did not believe for a second that the man on the phone was telling the truth. They were not in the trade-information business. They were here to clean house. Rachel and I knew too much. They were drawing me there so that they could kill us.
So what do I do?
There was very little time. If I stalled—if it took me much longer than a half an hour—the man on the phone would start getting antsy. That would be bad. I thought again about calling the police, but I remembered his warning about being “cute” and I still worried about a leak. I had a gun. I knew how to use it. I was a pretty good shot, but that was at a range. Shooting at people would, I assumed, be different. Or maybe not. I no longer had qualms about killing these people. I’m not sure I ever had.
A block away from Denise Vanech’s house, I parked the car, grabbed the gun, and started down the street.
He called her Lydia. She called him Heshy.
The woman had arrived five minutes ago. She was petite and pretty, her baby-doll eyes wide with excitement. She stood in front of Denise Vanech’s corpse and watched the blood still trickling out. Rachel sat still. Her hands had been bound behind her back with duct tape. The woman named Lydia turned to Rachel.
“That stain is going to be a bitch to get out.”
Rachel stared at her. Lydia smiled.
“You don’t think that’s funny?”
“Inside,” Rachel said. “Inside I’m cracking up.”
“You visited a young girl named Tatiana today, yes?”
Rachel said nothing. The big man named Heshy began to pull down the shades.
“She’s dead. Just thought you’d like to know.” Lydia sat next to Rachel. “Do you remember the TV showFamily Laughs ?”
Rachel wondered how to play this. This Lydia was insane, no doubt about it. Tentatively she said,“Yes.”
“Were you a fan?”
“The show was puerile nonsense.”
Lydia threw back her head and laughed. “I played Trixie.”
She smiled at Rachel. Rachel said, “You must be very proud.”
“Oh I am. I am.” Lydia stopped, tilted her face, moved it closer to Rachel’s. “You know, of course, that you’re going to die soon.”
Rachel did not blink. “Then how about telling me what you did with Tara Seidman?”
“Oh please.” Lydia stood. “I was an actress, remember? I was on television. So, what, is this the part of the show where we tell all so that the audience can catch up and your hero can sneak up on us? Sorry, sweetie.” She turned to Heshy. “Gag her, Pooh Bear.”
Heshy used the duct tape and wrapped it around Rachel’s mouth and the back of her head. He moved back toward the window. Lydia bent close to Rachel’s ear. Rachel could feel the woman’s breath.
“I will tell you this,” she whispered, “because it’s funny.” Lydia bent in a little closer. “I have no idea what happened to Tara Seidman.”
Okay, I wasn’t about to drive up and knock on the door.
Let’s face it. They were out to kill us. My only chance was to surprise them. I didn’t know the layout of the house, but I figured that I could find a side window and try to sneak in. I was armed. I was confident I could shoot without hesitation. I really wished that I had a better plan, but even if I had more time, I doubt that I’d come up with anything.
Zia had mentioned my surgeon’s ego. I admit that it scared me. I actually felt confident that I could pull this off. I was smart. I knew how to be careful. I would look for an opening. If I didn’t see one, I would offer them a trade—me for Rachel. I would not be sucked in by talk of Tara. Yes, I wanted to believe that she was still alive. Yes, I wanted to believe that they knew where she was. But I would no longer risk Rachel’s life for a pipe dream. My life? Sure. But not Rachel’s.
I moved closer to Denise Vanech’s house, trying to duck behind trees while not looking conspicuous. In an upscale suburban neighborhood, this was impossible. People don’t skulk. I imagined the neighbors watching me from behind the blinds, their fingers on the auto-911 dial button. I couldn’t worry about it. Whatever was going to happen, one way or the other, would happen before any police could get here.