actually.â
âIâm going to say a name.â
âYour name?â
âDonât think that way, not yet. Iâm going to say a nameââ
âYes?â
âItâs a name youâll know. Or maybe not. It depends on how I say it, how I tell it. Thereâs a girl, and sheâs dead, and that wonât surprise anyone. Theyâve believed she was dead, all these years. But thereâs another girl, and sheâs not dead, and thatâs the harder part to explain.â
âAre youââ
âThe Bethany girls. Easter weekend, 1975.â
âThe Bethanyâ¦oh. Oh.â And just like that it came back to Kay. Two sisters, who went toâ¦what, a movie? The mall? She saw their likenessesâthe older one with smooth ponytails fastened behind the ears, the younger one in pigtailsâremembered the panic that had gripped the city, with children herded into assemblies and shown cautionary yet elliptical films. Girls Beware and Boys Beware. It had been years before Kay had understood the euphemistic warnings therein: After accompanying the strange boys to the beach party, Sally was found wandering down the highway, barefoot and confusedâ¦. Jimmyâs parents told him that it wasnât his fault that Greg had befriended him and taken him fishing but made it clear to him that such friendships with older men were not naturalâ¦. She got in the strangerâs carâand was never seen again.
There were rumors, tooâsightings of the girls as far away as Georgia, bogus ransom demands, fears of cults and counterculturists. After all, Patty Hearst had been taken just a year before. Kidnapping was big in the seventies. There was a businessmanâs wife redeemed for a hundred thousand dollars, which had seemed like a fortune, a rich girl buried in a box with a breathing tube, the Getty heir with the severed ear. But the Bethanys were not wealthy, not in Kayâs memory, and the longer the story went without an official ending, the less memorable it had become. The last time that Kay thought about the Bethany sisters had probably been the last time she went to the movies at Security Square, at least a decade ago. That was itâSecurity Square Mall, relatively new at the time, something of a ghost town now.
âAre youâ¦?â
âGet me a lawyer, Kay. A good one.â
CHAPTER 4
I nfante took the as-the-crow-flies route to the hospital, traveling straight through the city instead of taking the Beltway around it. Damn, downtown Baltimore was getting shiny. Whoâd have thought it? He almost regretted not buying a place in town ten years ago, not that heâd still have it anyway. Besides, he had been raised in the suburbsâMassapequa, out on Long Islandâand he had a soft spot for the jumbled secondary highways and modest apartment complexes where he lived up in Parkville. IHOPs, Applebeeâs, Target, Toys âRâ Us, gas stations, craft storesâto him this was what home looked like. Not that he had any intention of going back there, where it was now almost impossible to live on a police officerâs salary. He kept his allegiance to the Yankees and played the part of the brash Noo Yawkah for his colleaguesâ amusement. But in his head, he knew that this town, this job, was right for him. He was good at what he did, with one of the better clearance rates in the department. âBaltimore punk is my second language,â he liked to say. Lenhardt was on him to take the sergeantâs exam, but thenâpeople always thought you shoulddo what they did. Be a firefighter, his dad said, on the island. His first wife had cajoled, Câmon, watch Law & Order with me . She wanted her favorite show to be his favorite show, her favorite meal to be his. She even tried to convert him to Rolling Rock over Bud, to Bushmills over Jameson. It was as if she were working backward, trying to create a logical match from