The Guardian(47)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

“You’re sure about all this?”

“Pretty sure. We still have some calls to make, but we’ve verified everything that you see.”

Morrison leaned back in his chair. He sat quietly for a moment, trying to absorb the seriousness of the situation.

“What do you want to do?”

Jennifer cleared her throat. “Until we find him, I think it’s best if Pete stays out at the beach house with Mike and Julie. I don’t see that we have another choice. If what we learned is true, you know what he’s capable of doing, and what he’s likely to do next.”

Morrison fixed her with a steady gaze. “Do you think they’ll agree to something like this?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said. “I’m sure of it. Once they know what they’re up against, I mean.”

“Are you going to call them?”

“No. I think it would be best if we talked to Julie in person.”

Morrison nodded. “If she agrees, I’ll authorize it.”

A few minutes later, Jennifer and Pete got in the car.

Neither one of them noticed the stolen Trans Am when it pulled into traffic behind them.

Thirty-nine

The Guardian

“His name is Robert Bonham,” Jennifer began. “The real Richard Franklin has been missing for three years.”

“I don’t understand,” Julie said.

They were in the kitchen of Henry’s beach house. Mike and Julie sat at the table; Pete, firmly settling into the position of the silent cop, leaned against the counter.

Mike reached for Julie’s hand and squeezed it.

Jennifer knew she had to start at the beginning, since neither Mike nor Julie knew anything about the investigation. Going step by step would keep the questions to a minimum; it would also allow her to explain the gravity of the situation.

“How is that possible?” Mike asked.

“The real Richard Franklin wasn’t married, and aside from his mother-who passed away in a nursing home last year-there was no one to notice if his Social Security number was back in use. And because he was considered missing-not deceased-there was nothing to raise any alarms.”

Mike stared at her. “You think Robert Bonham killed him.” It was more a statement than a question.

Jennifer paused. “Based on everything else we’ve learned about him? Yes, it seems likely.”

“Jesus . . .”

Julie looked out the window, suddenly numb. On the beach, she saw an elderly couple stop in front of the house. The man bent over and picked up a seashell, then put it in a plastic pail before moving on.

“So who’s Robert Bonham?” she asked. “And how do you know that’s his real name?”

“We know his name from the serial numbers in the cameras. He’d registered them years ago. It was the only link to his past, but once we knew his name and where he was from, we were able to learn the rest fairly easily.” Jennifer glanced at her notes. “He was raised outside Boston as an only child. His father was an alcoholic who worked at a chemical plant, his mother was a homemaker. There was more than one allegation of abuse in the home-the police had investigated half a dozen incidents over the years-until his father passed away.” After explaining the circumstances behind his father’s death, Jennifer tapped the file. “I talked to one of the officers in that case. He’s retired now, but he remembered it well. He said that nobody believed Vernon Bonham had committed suicide, but because they couldn’t prove anything-and knew Vernon wasn’t exactly the model husband and father-they let it go. But he suspected the kid had closed the garage door and turned the engine back on after Vernon had passed out.”

As she listened, Julie felt her stomach doing flip-flops. “And the mother?” she whispered.

“Died of a drug overdose less than a year later. Again, it was ruled a suicide.”

Jennifer let the unspoken accusation hang for a moment before she went on.

“He spent the next few years in foster care, moving from one home to the next, never staying in one place too long. His juvenile records are sealed, so we can’t say what else he may have done in his teens, but in college, he was suspected in the assault and battery of his former roommate. The roommate had accused him of stealing money, and Robert denied it. A few months later, the roommate was beaten with a golf club after leaving his girlfriend’s place, and spent three weeks in the hospital. Though he accused Robert Bonham of it, there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him. A year later, Robert graduated with a degree in engineering.”

“They let him stay in school?” Mike asked.

“I’m not sure they had a choice, since nothing ever went to trial.” She paused. “After that, there’s no record for a few years. Either he moved to another state, or stayed out of trouble, we don’t know yet. The next bit of information we have comes from 1994, when he married Jessica.”

“What happened to her?” Mike asked hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Jessica’s been missing since 1998,” Jennifer said. “She was living with her parents, and the last time anyone saw her was at the supermarket. A witness remembered seeing Robert Bonham’s car in the parking lot that night, but no one saw what happened to her. He vanished the same night she did.”

“You mean he killed her,” Mike said.

“That’s what her family and the police in Boston believe,” Jennifer said.

Mike and Julie leaned back in their seats, both of them pale with shock. The air seemed thick and stifling.

“I talked to Jessica’s sister,” Jennifer went on slowly, “and that’s part of the reason we’re here. She told me that Jessica tried to run away once. She went halfway across the country, but somehow Robert tracked her down. Actually she used the word hunted.”

She paused, letting the word sink in. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Robert Bonham-Richard-quit his job a month ago. In his house, we found pictures of you. Hundreds of pictures. From what we can tell, he’s been watching you pretty much around the clock since you first started dating. And he’s also been checking up on your past.”

“What do you mean?” Julie asked raggedly.

“The week he said he was with his dying mother, he went to Daytona. He went there to learn more about you. A private investigator was checking into your history-we talked to your mother about it. It seems pretty clear that he’s been stalking you all along.”

Like a hunter, Julie thought, her throat constricting.

“Why me?” she finally asked. “Why did he choose me?” The words came out plaintively, like those of a child on the verge of tears.

“I don’t know with any certainty,” Jennifer said. “But let me show you what else we found.”

More? What now?

From the file, Jennifer slid a photo across the table, the one she’d found on the bedstand. Mike and Julie looked at it, then slowly raised their eyes again.

“Uncanny, isn’t it? This is Jessica. Here-I wanted you to see this, too.”

Though it made her feel as if bugs were crawling over her skin, Julie glanced at the photo again, and this time she saw what Jennifer was pointing to.

Hanging from the young woman’s neck was the locket that Richard . . . Robert, whoever . . . had given Julie. She heard herself whisper her name.

“Jessica Bonham,” she said, “J.B.”

Behind her, Julie heard Mike inhale sharply.

“I know this is hard,” Jennifer went on, “but there’s another reason we wanted to talk to you. Because of Andrea and what we believe happened with Jessica-as well as the real Richard Franklin-we’d like to have Officer Gandy stay with you two for a few days.”

“Here at the house?” Mike asked.

“If that’s okay.”

Julie’s eyes were almost glassy as Mike glanced toward Pete. “Yeah,” he said, “I think that’s a good idea.”

The Guardian

Pete went out to the car and was retrieving the suitcase he’d packed when he saw Jennifer scanning the homes along the beach.

“Is it always so quiet down here?”

“I guess so,” Pete answered.

She studied the homes again. Only a few had cars parked in the driveways, the usual SUVs and Camrys and a Trans Am as well, something a teenager might drive, the car she herself had wanted in high school. Six cars altogether, but that still meant that less than a quarter of the homes were occupied. She wasn’t quite comfortable with that, but no doubt it was better than staying in town.

“And you’ll stay awake all night?” she asked Pete.

“Yeah,” he said, slamming the trunk. “I’ll catch a few hours of sleep in the mornings. You’ll keep me up to speed on what’s going on, right?”

“As soon as I find out anything, I’ll give you a call.”

He nodded. Then, after a pause, he said, “Listen, I know this is something we have to do, but do you really think he’s still around? Or do you think he’s on the run again?”

“Honestly? Yeah, I think he’s around.”

Pete’s eyes followed hers up and down the street. “So do I.”

The Guardian

That night, Julie couldn’t sleep.

Outside, she could hear the sound of the waves as they lapped along the shore in steady rhythm. Mike was in bed beside her and had opened the window slightly; as soon as he’d fallen asleep, Julie had risen from the bed and closed it, making sure the latch was engaged.

From beneath the door, she could see a light glowing from the kitchen. Pete had been pacing the house earlier, but he seemed to have settled down in the past couple of hours.

Despite his earlier actions, she was glad he was here. Not only was he strong, more important, he carried a gun.

The Guardian

From the dune, Richard watched the yellow light glowing in the window of the beach house.

He was annoyed that Officer Gandy had decided to stay with them, but he knew the police couldn’t stop him. Nor could Mike, or Singer. He and Julie were meant for each other, and he would simply overcome any obstacles to their ultimate happiness. Everything else was an inconvenience, no more challenging than changing his appearance or stealing a car. Or having to start over again.

He wondered where they would end up after leaving North Carolina. He could imagine Julie enjoying San Francisco, with its sidewalk bistros and views of the Pacific. Or New York City, where they could enjoy new theater productions every season. Or even Chicago, with its spirit and vibrancy.

It would be wonderful, he thought. Magical.

Sleep well, he thought with a smile. Sleep and dream of a new future, because tomorrow night it begins.

Forty

The Guardian

There was a languid feel to the night air the following evening. The breeze was steady, and the blackness of the sky was softened by cloud cover. The ocean was calm, swells rising gently. The smell of brine hung in the air like mist.

They’d finished dinner an hour earlier, and Singer was standing near the back door, his tail wagging slightly. Julie crossed the room and opened the door for him, watching as he descended the steps and vanished into the shadows a moment later.

She didn’t like letting him out-despite Mike’s and Pete’s presence, she felt safer when Singer was beside her-but he needed to roam, and night was the best time. She didn’t mind letting him out early in the morning when no one was out, but during the day, there were too many people around to let him wander without a leash.

She’d thought about going outside as well-with Pete and Mike, of course-thinking a bit of fresh air would do her good, but then she’d decided against it. No doubt Mike and Pete would have said no, even if she’d insisted. Still, it would have been nice. In theory, anyway.

Both Emma and Mabel had called her; Henry had called back later to talk to Mike. None of the phone calls had lasted more than a few minutes. None of them, it seemed, had anything much to say, except for Mabel, who’d called after speaking with Andrea’s parents. Late last night, Andrea had emerged from her coma, and though she was still disoriented, it appeared she was going to be okay. Jennifer was planning to talk to her in a couple of days.

Jennifer Romanello had also called twice with updates; she’d finally been able to find the private investigator who had been snooping into Julie’s past, and after the usual grousing that he couldn’t ethically divulge who’d hired him, he’d knuckled under. He also offered a phone bill that confirmed a couple of calls to Richard’s residence.

Unfortunately, they still hadn’t found any trace of Richard. Robert. Whoever.

Julie turned from the door and walked through the living room into the kitchen, where Mike was slipping dishes into the sink. Pete was still at the table, playing solitaire. He’d played about a hundred games since noon, killing time and for the most part staying out of the way, except when he went outside to check on things.

“Perimeter is secure” had become his new favorite catchphrase.

Julie slipped her arms around Mike, and he turned his head at her touch.

“Almost done,” he said. “Just a few more to wash. Where’s Singer?”

Julie grabbed a towel and started to dry the plates. “I let him out.”

“Again?”

“He’s not used to being cooped up like this.”

“You still thinking about what Jennifer told us?”

“Thinking about that, thinking about everything. What he did in the past. What he did to Andrea. Where he is now. Why me. Whenever I heard about stalkers, there always seemed to be some twisted sort of logic to it. Like people who chase movie stars. Or ex-husbands or boyfriends. But we only went out a couple of times, and we barely knew each other. So I keep thinking back and trying to figure out if it was something that I did that caused all this.”

“He’s just crazy,” Mike said. “I don’t know that we’ll ever understand it.”