Her sister. Her beautiful, pregnant sister. Cheryl had been through such hell. Five years ago, Matthew’s murder had knocked her to her knees, and Rachel never thought that her sister would be able to get up again. To the outside world, Cheryl was moving on. New husband, pregnant, new position. But she wasn’t. Not really. She was trying to build something, something new and strong, but Rachel knew that it was still flimsy and flyaway. Life is fragile at the best of times. The foundation is always shifting beneath our feet.
“Please,” Cheryl said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m trying.”
Her sister looked suddenly small and vulnerable. She was almost cringing, as though waiting for the blow that she knew was coming. Rachel tried to rehearse the words in her head, but they all came out sounding stilted and weird. You could rip this bandage off slowly or quickly, but either way, this was going to hurt.
“I want to show you something.”
“Okay.”
“But I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Seriously?”
Rachel had given the hard copy she’d printed out to David, but she had the amusement-park pic she’d snapped at Irene’s house on her phone. She took one more gulp of the bourbon, closed her eyes, let it warm her. Then she grabbed her phone. She hit the Photos icon and started swiping. Cheryl had sidled up next to her. She was watching over Rachel’s shoulder.
Rachel found the photo and stopped.
“I don’t understand,” Cheryl said. “Who’s this woman and these kids?”
Then Rachel put her thumb and index finger on the boy behind them and zoomed in on his face.
Chapter
21
The FBI surveillance van carrying Max and Sarah sped to a stop in front of Hilde Winslow’s building. Max spotted six cruisers and an ambulance. Sarah was staring at a computer monitor and talking via her earpiece to someone on the phone. She signaled that it was important and for Max to go out on his own. Max nodded as the van’s side door slid open.
An agent Max didn’t know said, “Special Agent Bernstein? The suspect got away.”
“I heard on the radio.”
“The police are in pursuit. They’re confident they’ll catch him.”
Max wasn’t so sure. It was a big city with plenty of nooks and crannies and human beings. It was always easier to vanish when in plain sight. He and Sarah had been watching the attempted capture in the high-tech FBI van, live-streaming four of the pursuing officers’ bodycams as they ascended to the roof.
There was something that bothered him.
“Where’s Hilde Winslow?”
The agent frowned at his notebook. “She calls herself Harriet—”
“Winchester, yeah, I know,” Max said. “Where is she?”
The young agent pointed toward the ambulance. It was open in the back. Hilde Winslow sat up, a blanket wrapped around her like a shawl. She sipped on a juice box through a straw. Max headed over and introduced himself. Hilde Winslow’s eyes were bright and locked in on his. She looked small, wizened, and tougher than an armor-plated armadillo.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“Just a little shaken up,” Hilde replied. “They insisted on taking care of me.”
The paramedic, an Asian woman with a long ponytail, said, “Just relax, Harriet.”
“I’d like to go home,” she said.
“You can go back up when the police say it’s okay.”
Hilde Winslow gave the paramedic a sweet smile and sipped some more on her apple juice. She looked to Max like both an old woman and a little girl at the same time.
“You said you were a special agent with the FBI,” Hilde said to him.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m in charge of recapturing David Burroughs.”
“I see.”
He waited for her to say more. She sipped her juice.
“Can you tell me what Mr. Burroughs said to you?”
“Nothing really.”
“Nothing?”
“There was no time, you see.”
“So you don’t know what he wanted?”
“No idea.”
“Can we back up, Mrs. Winslow?”
He’d intentionally used her old name. He waited for her to correct him. She didn’t.
“What happened exactly?” Max continued.
“He knocked on my door. I opened it—”
“Did you ask who it was at first?”
She thought about that for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You heard a knock and just opened it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you always do that? Without asking who it is?”
“You have to be buzzed in the building.”
“Did you buzz him in?”
“No.”
“Yet you just opened the door?”
She smiled at him. “It’s a friendly building. I thought it was a neighbor.”
“I see,” he said.
Why, he wondered, was she lying to him?
“I’m also old. So sometimes I’m forgetful. But you’re right, Special Agent Bernstein. That was a mistake on my part. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
He was being played. Like with Rachel Anderson. He understood Rachel’s motive as a loving sister-in-law. But why would Hilde Winslow be lying to him?
“So David Burroughs knocked on the door,” Max continued, “and you opened it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“Oh heavens no.”
“What did he look like?”
“Just like, well, a man. I tried to give the police detective a description, but it all happened so fast.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he say to you?”
“There was no time for any of that. I opened the door. And suddenly there was this big commotion coming from downstairs. I guess the police were already inside and rushing up to my floor.”
“I see. So what happened next?”
“I guess he got spooked.”
“David Burroughs?”
“Yes.”
“What did the spooked Burroughs do?”
“He jumped into my apartment and closed the door behind him.”
“That must have been scary.”
“Oh yes. Yes, it was.” She turned to the paramedic. “Annie?”
“Yes, Mrs. Winchester?”
“Can I have another juice box?”
“Of course. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m a little tired,” Hilde Winslow said. “It’s a lot of questions.”
Annie the paramedic gave Max a baleful eye. Max ignored it and tried to right the teetering ship.
“So Burroughs is in your apartment with you and the door is closed now?”
“Yes.”
“You’d been standing in the doorway, right? Did he push you to get in? Did you step back?”
“Hmm.” Dramatic pause. “I don’t remember. Does it matter?”
“I guess not. Did you scream?”
“No. I didn’t want to upset him.”
“Did you say anything?”
“Like what?”
“Like who are you, what are you doing here, get out of my apartment, anything?”