Gingerbread Man

breath, fixed her gaze on her hands where they lay flat on the table. "We were walking home from school. I decided to take the long way home. I knew better. It was my fault"
    "That's bull."
    She held up a hand. "If you want to hear this, don't interrupt Vince. If I stop I may not be able to start again."
    "Sorry," he said. "Go on."
    She lifted her head, stared past him at some distant space, and gave him the story in short, clipped sentences with no elaboration. It was not what he wanted from her.
    "There was a van. It pulled over. A man jumped out and grabbed her. She screamed. I did, too. It happened very quickly. He just threw her in, and sped away. I ran after them, screaming for help. People gathered around." She shook her head slowly. "And that was all. It was a minute—less than a minute—and it changed everything."
    "Did you get a look at him?" He wanted more. He knew she had more inside her, but maybe she couldn't let it out. Maybe she couldn't even access it.
    "He wore a mask."
    "But you could see his eyes, couldn't you?"
    "No."
    "How about the van? What color was it?"
    She pressed a hand to her stomach as if remembering made her queasy. "No, no more. I can't." Her breathing changed, starting to get shorter and faster. "Ivy must have been so scared. It kills me to think of how afraid she must have been, how terrified. She was so little. I hope he killed her fast. Right away. I have to hope that. I can't bear to think—"
    "Okay, that's enough, Holly," he said. And he said it firmly. He understood now—why she couldn't go too deep. This was what she found when she did. "It's over now. It's not happening now. She's at peace now." Holly met his eyes, and his conscience pricked him when he saw the tortured anguish in them. "Breathe deep and slow."
    She did. He took the coffee away from her and poured it down the sink. Then he rinsed the cup, refilled it with water, and set it down in front of her before taking his own seat again.
    "Okay?" He watched her face.
    She sipped the water and nodded. "Okay. But no more, Vince. Not about that day. I can't remember, and I don't want to go over it anymore."
    He sighed in resignation. "What about the book? Did your sister have the book with her when he took her?"
    Holly nodded again. "It was her favorite. We used to spend a few weeks of every summer down here, in one of Uncle Marty's cabins. He never charged us. We loved it here. Loved hanging around with our cousins, even though they were so much older."
    "Cousins? I haven't met them, have I?" Vince asked.
    "No. Both Kelly and Tara moved away right after Kelly dropped out of high school. Broke Aunt Jen's heart." She sighed. "I miss them. Those were some of our best times, back then, when they were home, and Ivy was still here. I don't think they minded so much having little tag-alongs in the summer. They used to put makeup on us, and fix our hair."
    Vince could see her remembering now. The way her gaze turned inward, the way her eyes seemed distant. "That last summer, I got my own library card. I took the book out of the library for Ivy.
The Gingerbread Man.
It was her favorite story. She used to sing that stupid song until I wanted to pinch her lips shut." She shook her head slowly. "She loved the book so much she managed to hide it in with her things when we went home, instead of returning it to the library with the other books. She thought she could keep it."
    Vince listened carefully, and he tried to find that objectivity he'd developed over the years. But it was nowhere in sight His defenses had been torn down by the Prague kids. And now Holly Newman's pain was running rampant over his soul, even though she kept it very well hidden. Or tried to...
    "I found that same book at a crime scene," he said, keeping his tone steady, as gentle as possible. "Which strongly suggests it might be the same killer. In fact, it almost has to be."
    Holly gave him a puzzled frown. "I guess you didn't get all the way through those files," she said.
    "No, not all the way. Not yet. Why?"
    "The man who took Ivy is doing life without parole in Auburn."
    Vince couldn't hide his shock. "That's impossible."
    "It's a fact." She sipped more water. "It must be a sick coincidence. Some other child got a copy of the same book—"
    "From the same library? No, Holly. No. The Prague kids had no connection to this town. And besides, that book was taken out in September, nineteen eighty-three, according to the date stamped on the card pocket."
    She