heard a scraping from her waist. Her cell phone. She had her phone!
One quick twist, her cell phone rattled free. She wriggled after it, her fingers scampering around the tiny space. She could feel it slowing now, hear the squeal of brakes as the vehicle made a hard left.
Her fingers found a button. She held it down, and finally, after an eternity seemed to pass, she was rewarded with a voice. Kimberly.
Help,
she tried to say.
Help,
she tried to scream.
But not a single sound emerged from her throat.
Even when she won, she lost. The connection broke. The car stopped. And Rainie slipped back into the abyss.
Saturday, four months ago, 9:58 a.m. PST
T HEY WERE STANDING at the funeral, trying to blend in with the other mourners while their gazes worked the crowd. It was a long shot, but one any trained investigator had to take. Some killers hit and run, but others liked to return to the scene of the crime. So they had detectives working the funeral and a surveillance system set up for the night.
In a case this public, this shocking, all budget requests were receiving green lights.
An older woman stood weeping in the front. The grandmother, flown in from Idaho. Her husband stood beside her, arms crossed in front, face impassive. He was being strong for his wife. Or maybe he was still stunned to realize that coffins came in sizes that small.
Rainie was supposed to work the crowd. Sort through the sea of hundreds of faces, an entire community, standing in a cemetery, shocked into unity and chilled to the bone.
She kept hearing the grandma’s keening wails. She kept seeing that small pair of pink-flowered panties, tossed aside on the floor.
“Urine,” Quincy had said quietly, inspecting the underpants. Because that’s what happened when a four-year-old girl woke up at night and saw a strange man standing in her doorway. That’s what happened when a four-year-old girl watched that man walk into her room.
“Mommy,” had she cried? Or had she never said anything at all?
The grandparents had chosen a tombstone with a baby angel carved on top, curled up in eternal sleep. Rainie stood at the monument long after the proceedings ended and the mourners departed.
“Do you believe in Heaven?” she asked Quincy softly.
“Sometimes.”
“Surely you must think about it? You’ve buried half your family, Quincy. If there’s no heaven, what do you have to look forward to?”
“I’m sorry you hurt,” he said quietly. It was really all he could say.
“God sucks. He’s fickle, He’s savage, like any child deserves such a thing—”
“Rainie—”
“The grandparents said she went to church. Shouldn’t that kind of thing help? This wasn’t a nonbeliever. This was a four-year-old girl who loved her mommy and believed in Christ. How can that not help?”
“Rainie—”
“I mean it, Quincy. Heaven’s just our futile attempt to pretend we’re better than animals. But we’re not. We’re born into this world like animals, and we die like animals. Some of us take a long time to get there, and some of us are slaughtered in our sleep. It’s stupid and senseless and this poor little girl, Quincy. Her mother fought for her so hard and yet . . . Oh God, Quincy. Oh God . . .”
“We’ll find who did this. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again—”
“She was a four-year-old child, Quincy! She didn’t want justice. She wanted to live.”
He tried to take her hand, but Rainie pulled away.
Tuesday, 12:17 p.m. PST
A DOOR OPENED, SLAMMED SHUT . The noise woke her, jerked her out of one dark place and into another. A second creak of metal and the trunk must have been opened, because suddenly, she could feel the rain on her blindfolded face.
Fight, she thought dimly, struggling to regain her earlier clarity. Kick legs, punch hands. She couldn’t pull herself together. The gas fumes had permeated her brain, leaving her in a dense fog where the only thing she wanted to do was throw up.
She lay curled in the
One quick twist, her cell phone rattled free. She wriggled after it, her fingers scampering around the tiny space. She could feel it slowing now, hear the squeal of brakes as the vehicle made a hard left.
Her fingers found a button. She held it down, and finally, after an eternity seemed to pass, she was rewarded with a voice. Kimberly.
Help,
she tried to say.
Help,
she tried to scream.
But not a single sound emerged from her throat.
Even when she won, she lost. The connection broke. The car stopped. And Rainie slipped back into the abyss.
Saturday, four months ago, 9:58 a.m. PST
T HEY WERE STANDING at the funeral, trying to blend in with the other mourners while their gazes worked the crowd. It was a long shot, but one any trained investigator had to take. Some killers hit and run, but others liked to return to the scene of the crime. So they had detectives working the funeral and a surveillance system set up for the night.
In a case this public, this shocking, all budget requests were receiving green lights.
An older woman stood weeping in the front. The grandmother, flown in from Idaho. Her husband stood beside her, arms crossed in front, face impassive. He was being strong for his wife. Or maybe he was still stunned to realize that coffins came in sizes that small.
Rainie was supposed to work the crowd. Sort through the sea of hundreds of faces, an entire community, standing in a cemetery, shocked into unity and chilled to the bone.
She kept hearing the grandma’s keening wails. She kept seeing that small pair of pink-flowered panties, tossed aside on the floor.
“Urine,” Quincy had said quietly, inspecting the underpants. Because that’s what happened when a four-year-old girl woke up at night and saw a strange man standing in her doorway. That’s what happened when a four-year-old girl watched that man walk into her room.
“Mommy,” had she cried? Or had she never said anything at all?
The grandparents had chosen a tombstone with a baby angel carved on top, curled up in eternal sleep. Rainie stood at the monument long after the proceedings ended and the mourners departed.
“Do you believe in Heaven?” she asked Quincy softly.
“Sometimes.”
“Surely you must think about it? You’ve buried half your family, Quincy. If there’s no heaven, what do you have to look forward to?”
“I’m sorry you hurt,” he said quietly. It was really all he could say.
“God sucks. He’s fickle, He’s savage, like any child deserves such a thing—”
“Rainie—”
“The grandparents said she went to church. Shouldn’t that kind of thing help? This wasn’t a nonbeliever. This was a four-year-old girl who loved her mommy and believed in Christ. How can that not help?”
“Rainie—”
“I mean it, Quincy. Heaven’s just our futile attempt to pretend we’re better than animals. But we’re not. We’re born into this world like animals, and we die like animals. Some of us take a long time to get there, and some of us are slaughtered in our sleep. It’s stupid and senseless and this poor little girl, Quincy. Her mother fought for her so hard and yet . . . Oh God, Quincy. Oh God . . .”
“We’ll find who did this. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again—”
“She was a four-year-old child, Quincy! She didn’t want justice. She wanted to live.”
He tried to take her hand, but Rainie pulled away.
Tuesday, 12:17 p.m. PST
A DOOR OPENED, SLAMMED SHUT . The noise woke her, jerked her out of one dark place and into another. A second creak of metal and the trunk must have been opened, because suddenly, she could feel the rain on her blindfolded face.
Fight, she thought dimly, struggling to regain her earlier clarity. Kick legs, punch hands. She couldn’t pull herself together. The gas fumes had permeated her brain, leaving her in a dense fog where the only thing she wanted to do was throw up.
She lay curled in the
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