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?”
She thought about that. When Paramedic Annie came back over with the juice, she smiled and thanked her.
“Mrs. Winslow?”
Again calling her by the old name.
“I may have. I probably did. But it all happened so fast. He ran to my window and threw it open.”
“Right to the window,” Max said. “Without a word.”
“Yes.”
“And the window,” Max said. “It was in your bedroom, right?”
“Right.”
“The windows in your main room, the living room, are closer to the door, right?”
“I don’t know. I never measured the distance. I guess they are.”
“But they don’t lead to fire escapes, do they?”
“That’s right.”
“Only the one in your bedroom does,” Max said. He tilted his head to the right. “How do you think Burroughs knew that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t tell him?” Max asked.
“Of course not. Maybe he got the lay of the building beforehand.”
“Are you aware that David Burroughs escaped from custody just this morning?”
“One of the nice police officers told me that.”
“You didn’t know before?”
“No, of course not. How would I?”
“I called your phone thirty minutes ago and left a voice message.”
“Oh, really? I never answer my phone. It’s always some con man trying to scam an old lady. I let it go to voicemail, and truth be told? I don’t even know how voicemail works.”
Max stared at her. He was buying none of this.
“Why do you think Burroughs came directly to you?”
“Pardon?”
“First thing. He gets out. He drives to New York City. He comes to see you. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know…” Suddenly her eyes open wide. “Oh my God.”
“Mrs. Winslow?”
“Do you think…do you think he came here to hurt me?” Her hand fluttered to her mouth. “Is that what you think?”
“No,” Max said.
“But you just said—”
“If he wanted to hurt you, I think he would have pushed you when he came in, don’t you? Or hit you? Or something like that?” Then Max noticed something. “Is that a mark on your cheek?”
“It’s nothing,” she said too quickly.
“David Burroughs also has a gun. Did you see it?”
“A gun? Heavens no.”
“Think about it a second. You’re David Burroughs. You spend five years in prison. You finally escape. You head straight to see a witness you claim lied about you—”
“Special Agent Bernstein?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been quite an ordeal,” she said sweetly. “I’ve told you all I know.”
“I’d like to just ask you a few questions about your testimony.”
“No,” she said.
“No?”
“I’m not dredging this all up again, and…” She turned. “Annie?”
“Yes, Mrs. Winchester.”
“I’m not feeling so great.”
“I told you, Harriet. You need to rest.”
Max was about to protest when he heard Sarah’s voice call out, “Max?”
He turned. She was standing in the side opening of the FBI van waving him over urgently. He skipped the goodbye and hurried toward her. Sarah saw his face as he approached.
“What?” Sarah said.
“She’s lying.”
“About?”
“Everything.” He hoisted up his pants. “Okay, what’s so important?”
“I got the CCTV on Rachel’s prison visit to Burroughs. You’re going to want to see this.”
* * *
Cheryl just stared at the photo.
“It was taken at an amusement park,” Rachel said.
“I can see that,” her sister snapped. “So?”
Rachel didn’t bother explaining about Irene and all that. She’d zoomed in to the little boy in the background—not too much because then his face became too blurry. She’d handed her phone to her sister. Cheryl continued to stare.
“Cheryl?”
With her eyes still on the photo, Cheryl whispered, “What are you trying to do to me?”
Rachel did not reply.
Tears started to come now. “You showed this to David.”
Rachel wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. “Yes.”
“That’s why you went to Briggs.”
“Yes.”
Cheryl kept staring at the image and shaking her head. “Where did you get this?”
Rachel gently took the phone back and unzoomed the photograph back to the original. “This is a friend of mine. She went to Six Flags with her family. Her husband took the picture. She was showing it to me and…”
“And what?” Cheryl’s voice was pure ice. “You saw a boy who somewhat resembles my dead son and figured you’d blow up everyone’s life?”
Not your life, she thought, but Rachel figured that it was best not to voice that.
“Rachel?”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you showed it to David?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rachel didn’t want to get into how she wanted to protect Cheryl, so she said nothing.
Cheryl pressed on. “What did he say?”
“He was shocked.”
“What did he say, Rachel?”
“He thinks it’s Matthew.”
Cheryl’s face turned red. “Of course he does. If you throw a drowning man an anvil, he’ll mistake it for a life preserver.”
“If David killed Matthew,” Rachel said, “you’d think he’d know it was an anvil, right?”
Cheryl just shook her head.
“It never made sense, Cheryl. David killing Matthew. Come on. You know that. Even in a fugue state or whatever. And the whole ‘buried weapon’ thing. Why would David have done that? He’d know better. And that witness. Hilde Winslow. She changed her name and moved away. Why would she do that?”
“My God.” Cheryl stared at her sister. “You believe this nonsense?”
“I don’t know. That’s all I’m saying.”
“How can you not know? Or maybe you’re desperate too, Rachel.”
“What?”
“For a story.”
“Are you serious?”
“For redemption. For another chance. I mean, if my son is alive, this would be huge, right? Networks, front pages—”
“You can’t—”
“And if it’s not Matthew, if it’s just a kid who has a passing resemblance to him, all of this—David’s escaping, David finally talking to someone after all this time—well, it’s still a big story.”
“Cheryl.”
“My murdered son could be your ticket back.”
Rachel reeled back as though she’d been slapped.
“I didn’t mean that,” Cheryl said quickly, her voice softer now.
Rachel didn’t reply.
“Listen to me,” Cheryl continued. “Matthew is dead. And so is Catherine Tullo.”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
“It’s not your fault she’s dead, Rachel.”
“Of course it’s my fault.”
Cheryl shook her head and put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean what I said before.”
“You meant it,” Rachel said.
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“And maybe it’s true. I feel sorry for myself, for what I lost. But I pushed too hard, and now Catherine Tullo is dead. She is dead because of me. I got what I deserved.”
Cheryl shook her head. “That’s not true. You were just…”
“Just what?”
“Too close to it,” Cheryl said. “You think I forgot?”
Rachel didn’t know what to say.
“Halloween Night. Your freshman year.”
Rachel turned away. She closed her eyes and wished the memories away.
“Rach?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Rachel told her sister. She stared down at the photograph. “Maybe I am seeing what I want to see. Maybe David is too. Probably, in fact. But there’s a chance, right? He’s got nothing. David—he’s as bad as you imagine. Worse. So let him search. It can’t hurt him. It can’t make him worse. That’s why I didn’t show you the pic. If it’s nothing—and yeah, sure, the odds it’s nothing are pretty strong—then it goes nowhere. No harm, no foul. We end up where we began. You’d have never found out. But if it is Matthew—”
“It’s not.”
“Either way,” Rachel persisted. “Let David and I see it through.”
* * *
“Here’s the footage from Rachel Anderson’s first prison visit,” Sarah told Max. “As I told you before, this was Burroughs’s first visitor since he arrived at Briggs five years ago.”
The surveillance van was a modified Ford. The back van windows appeared tinted, but they were painted black for complete privacy. Your only view of the outside world—and it was a good one—came from hidden cameras strategically placed around the van. Max and Sarah sat side by side in reclining and ergonomic seats at a workstation with three computer monitors. It was more comfortable than you’d think, what with agents spending hours at a time back here. Two agents sat in the driver’s cabin. One was the tech expert, but Sarah knew her way around the system as well as anybody.
“Can you turn up the volume?”
“There is no volume, Max.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“There was a lawsuit a few years ago,” Sarah said. “Something about privacy being violated.”
“But privacy isn’t being violated with the CCTV?”
“Once Briggs lost the right to use audio in court, they claimed the video was a matter of security and didn’t infringe on privacy.”
“The courts bought that?”
“They did.”
Max shrugged. “So what did you want me to see?”
“Look here.”
Sarah started playing the video. The camera must have been placed on the ceiling somewhere behind David Burroughs’s shoulder. They had a face-on shot of Rachel, who took a seat on the other side of the plexiglass. Sarah hit the fast-forward button, and the two figures moved jerkily. When on-screen Rachel pulled out what looked like a manila envelope, Sarah stopped the fast forward and hit the play button. The speed returned to normal. Max frowned and watched. On the screen, Rachel looked down as though she were trying to muster strength. Then she took something out of the envelope and pressed it flat against the glass.
Max squinted. “Is that a photo?”
“I think so.”
“What’s it of?”
Even with no sound, even with mediocre quality in terms of pixels and lighting, Max could feel everything in that visitors’ room change. Burroughs’s body stiffened.
“I don’t know yet,” Sarah said.
“Maybe it’s an escape plan.”
“I tinkered with it before you got here.”
“What could you see?”
“People,” Sarah said. “One of them could be Batman.”
“Pardon?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I’ll need more time, Max.”
“Let’s also get a lip reader.”
“On it. Legal says we have to apply for a warrant.”
“That privacy lawsuit?”
“Yes. But I forwarded it anyway. I don’t think the pixel quality will be good enough.”
“Can you zoom in more?”
“This is the best I have so far.” Sarah clicked a key. The image blew up. She paused so that the pixilation could catch up, but it never really became clear. Max squinted again.
“We need to ask Rachel Anderson about this.”
“Her lawyer barred her from answering any questions.”
“We have to try. We still have eyes on her, right?”
“Right. She’s home. Her sister came over.”
“Burroughs’s ex?”
Sarah nodded. “She’s pregnant.”
“Wow,” Max said. “We have taps on all the phones?”
“We do. Nothing yet.”
“Rachel Anderson drove with Burroughs for hours. They planned this out. She won’t be stupid enough to use her phone.”
“Agreed.”
“We both know her history,” Max said.
“That me-too article?”
Max nodded. “Any chance that has something to do with this?”
“I can’t see how, Max. Can you?”
He thought about it. He didn’t. Not yet anyway. “How’s the deep dive into the financials going?”
“Ongoing,” Sarah said. Max knew what a slow-go it was to comb through a person’s financials. It was how most white-collar criminals were able to stall for years. “But I do have something.”
“On.”
“Ted Weston.”
“The prison guard Burroughs tried to kill?”
She nodded. “The guy is in debt, totally underwater, but there’s been two recent deposits for exactly two thousand dollars each.”
“From?”
“Still checking.”
Max sat back. “A payoff?”
“Probably.”
“It never made sense to me,” Max said.
“What didn’t?”
“That Burroughs would try to kill Weston.” Max started gnawing at his fingernail. “This is feeling like a lot more than a prison break, Sarah.”
“Could be, Max. You know how we find out for sure?”
“How?”
“We do what we do. We don’t get distracted. We bring in Burroughs.”
“Truer words, Sarah. Let’s drag Weston’s ass in before he has a chance to lawyer up.”