Free The Remains by Vincent Zandri Page A

thought he was
dead… wished him
dead.”
    I tried to stand, but I found it impossible
to work up the strength. I began to hyperventilate.
    “Take it easy,” Michael insisted. “Breathe
easy.”
    I looked up at my ex-husband, looked up at
his eyes. At the way he was biting down on his bottom lip, his
nerves betraying him. I brought my hands to my face, rubbed my
eyes, patted my cheeks. Michael went into the kitchen, grabbed me a
glass of tap water, and brought it back in for me.
    “Take a small sip,” he said, handing me the
glass.
    I held the glass two-handed, took a small
drink, then handed it back.
    “What do we do now?” I exhaled, my breathing
beginning to slow.
    “I’m not sure what we can do now.” He sat
back down in front of the computer, set the water glass beside the
keyboard. “The good news is that Whalen is registered as a sex
offender. That means he’s got a probation officer assigned to him
by the state and the county. It also means he’s a part of the ViCAP
data base.”
    The tap water bubbled inside my stomach, made
me nauseas. I tried to slow my breathing even more.
    Brushing back my hair with open fingers, I
said, “What’s ViCAP?
    “ It
stands for Violent Criminals Apprehension Program. I used their
data bank as part of the research for The Hounds of Heaven. By all appearances, Whalen has
got himself a place of honor in the New York State ViCAP
program.”
    Pausing, he set his hand on my knee. But I
pushed it away. I just didn’t want anyone touching me right
then.
    After a beat, Michael posed, “Do you know if
Whalen was ever convicted in the actual murder of anyone he
abducted?”
    I shook my head.
    “ I don’t
know much about his history, but I don’t think he was ever
convicted of actual murder. Not enough evidence or something like
that. I remember Molly talking about it incessantly. Even up until
the day she died. I chose to simply block him out. Except when I
was drawing his face. When I was drawing his face in my copy
of To Kill a
Mockingbird , I wanted to
remember him. But then, and only then.”
    My ex’s
face had become a mask of intensity. In a strange way, I felt happy
for him. He was working the problem— our problem—with a sense of purpose. Here was the Michael I
loved and missed. I watched him finger a few more keys until the
website for ViCAP replaced the Child Safety Network. Using the same
two-index-finger style with which he banged out his manuscripts, he
typed in Whalen’s full name in the space provided.
    There it was again: Whalen’s face. Not
necessarily a bad face to someone who didn’t know him. But to me it
was the face of monster—a gaunt, hook-nosed monster. It was also a
face I had no trouble recognizing despite the fact that it had aged
thirty years.
    I looked at the face and this time I did not
feel like passing out. This time I stood up, looked over Michael’s
shoulder, my hands pressed against the chair-back for support.
    “Sure you should be standing up, Bec?”
    But I didn’t answer. Instead I studied the
short list of vitals that had been stacked besides Whalen’s image.
Besides his name, the site included his date of birth, October 17,
1949. It also included a whole bunch of what I already knew. That
he was small, white and thin. He was balding now, or bald. But his
dark, brown eyes looked the same. So much so that they made my
stomach sink even more than it already had.
    Under the face was an image captured date. It
said, March 3. I pointed to it.
    “What’s this mean?”
    “It means that Whalen’s image captured date
is only six months ago,” he explained. Locking eyes with me from
over his shoulder, he continued. “In other words, he’s only been
out of the joint for six months.”
    Scrolling down, he came to an area designated
Probation Registry. Under the heading ‘County’ it said
‘Albany’.
    “My God, Michael, he lives right in
Albany.”
    “It just means that he lives somewhere inside
the county. That much is