by Debra Webb
He didn’t know what it was.
When she didn’t respond he added, “I remembered Sparky digging at those same kinds of flowers. Maybe that’s why I did. We have flowers like that back home.”
“You had a memory of being in that yard.”
Damn it. “The power of suggestion is a formidable force. That’s why when there are multiple witnesses to a crime, the first thing the police do is separate them. If one witness hears the other’s story, there’s a good chance the second witness will mold his or her story to that of the first witness.”
“True,” she agreed. “But I didn’t mention anything about a time capsule. I’d forgotten.”
“You mentioned the dog.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended. He pressed his head against the seat. He didn’t want to think right now. He felt confused and rattled and in way over his head.
“I did mention the dog.” She sighed. “I’m not trying to convince you, Liam. I’m really not. It’s best if the evidence convinces you. I think that’s happening and the evidence is prompting memories. Not me.”
But she was wrong. So wrong. It was her. Her crazy red hair. Those green eyes. All those cute little freckles she didn’t even bother to try and hide. It was the sound of her voice. The tinkling of her laughter.
It was everything about her.
* * *
THE DRIVE TO Tullahoma was as somber as a wake. Halle wished there was something she could say that would make him feel better but there were no words. This was real and he had to get right with it.
Understanding his reluctance was easy. He had a childhood and parents who loved him. He had a sister, a home. Memories. He didn’t want those things to suddenly be wrong, and to suggest that one or both of his parents in California had somehow been involved in his abduction was the only way to make sense of the truth she’d thrust in front of him.
This truth was unpalatable. It called into question who and what he had thought he was. She wished there was a way to do this differently. To make the transition easier or smoother.
But there wasn’t an easy slide into this reality.
There was only what they were doing right now.
Halle made the turn off Motlow Road into Mr. Dean’s driveway. She rolled all the way to the end, which was quite a distance. He’d told her to come around back since he would be spending the day readying his garden for planting.
She and Liam exited simultaneously and she led the way around back. A German shepherd sat at the garden gate. His ears perked up, eyes keen on the visitors. Halle stalled. Liam did the same.
“Jinx won’t bother you, come on in.”
The voice came from beyond the weathered wood fence. Liam suddenly stepped in front of her and started forward. He walked past the dog with Halle on his heels. As his master had said, Jinx only watched them pass.
Buster Dean was a large man. At least six-four and 250 pounds. Even at his age, late sixties, Halle surmised, he looked ready to lead the defensive linemen for a pro football team. He was muscular and had the bearing of a man half his age. The only concession to his age was his gray hair.
He propped his garden hoe against the fence and dusted his hands off. “How can I help you folks?”
Halle thrust out her hand. “Mr. Dean, I’m Halle Lane. We spoke on the phone. And this is Liam Hart, my friend.”
He shook her hand and then reached for Liam’s, gave it a quick shake.
“You mentioned having questions about that lost boy. The one who went missing all those years ago.” He glanced at Liam as he said the last.
“Yes, sir. Andy Clark.”
“Well—” he scratched his head “—I’m not sure how I can be of any help, but fire away and we’ll see what hits a target.”
“Mr. Boone in Winchester recommended the Clarks to you when they were looking for a private investigator to help find Andy.” Halle held her breath. Couldn’t help it. She needed this man to know something that would point them in a helpful direction.
“That’s right,” he agreed. “Mr. and Mrs. Clark came to me about a month or so after their boy went missing. They were desperate to find him, like any parent would be.”
“Were you able to find anything, Mr. Dean?”
He cocked his head and looked at her. “I read the piece you did in the Gazette, young lady. If this is for some sort of feature in a Nashville paper, I’d like to know now, seeing as you don’t live or work there anymore.”
Inwardly, she groaned. She’d been caught. The man was a PI. Of course he did his research. His friend from London’s had called him. “I’m hoping this will be a feature. Maybe even a book one day.”
She felt Liam’s gaze on her.
“The truth is,” she said quickly, “it doesn’t matter whether it’s another article or a book, I—we want to know what happened to Andy Clark. He was my friend, my best friend.”
Dean heaved a big breath. “I found nothing. It’s the only case in my entire career that left me stumped. The trail was as cold as ice. Whoever took that boy was careful. Meticulous. There wasn’t a single mistake. A lot of painstakingly thorough planning went into that abduction.”
“Did the Clarks give up at that point?” This was not what she had wanted to hear.
“I don’t think so. The two didn’t strike me as the type to give up. They wanted to find their boy. Mr. Clark mentioned a lawyer up in Nashville they’d spoken to about adoption. Evidently they’d had problems having a child of their own and were thinking about adoption at some earlier point in their lives. Suddenly she was having a baby and that was that. But she said this lawyer had a PI and they wondered if I knew anything about him. I figured they were willing to pay top dollar on another man, but I really didn’t see anyone turning up anything new.”
“Do you remember his name or perhaps you made a note of him in your file on the Clarks?” Halle needed to know in case the Clarks had contacted him.
“I don’t know who the PI was, but the lawyer was David Burke. He’s the one with those billboards all over the place and the annoying commercials.”
Halle knew the one. The jingle that played with every commercial was one of those things that stuck in your head. “Thank you, Mr. Dean.” She pulled a card from her bag and handed it to him. “I hope you’ll call me if you think of anything else that might help us in our search for the truth.”
He looked over her card and nodded. “Be happy to. Y’all be careful out there, now. Some of the folks in my profession don’t like to discuss their clients or their cases. They can take offense at anyone showing curiosity. Caution should be your watchword.”
Halle thanked him again, then she and Liam walked back to her car. She’d hoped seeing the man in person would stir some memories or unearth more info than a phone call, but they still had little to go on.
When she had settled behind the wheel and he was in the passenger seat, she asked, “You up for a trip to Nashville?”
“Sure.” He looked at her as she turned around and headed away from the PI’s house. “If you would like, I can drive. I feel kind of useless being chauffeured around.”
“Actually—” she flashed him a smile, thankful that the tension he’d felt since finding that time capsule seemed to be diminishing “—that would be great. I’ll stop at a gas station before we hit Interstate 24 and you can take over.”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
“THIS IS IT,” Halle announced as Liam slowed for a turn into the driveway of the Jackson Boulevard home. To her surprise the security gates were wide open.
The driveway rolled through the manicured trees and circled in front of the house, which was a grand three-story Southern antebellum mansion. Liam parked in front of the house on the cobblestone parking pad.
“This is where the rich people in Nashville live?” Liam asked as he surveyed the massive
house and endless landscaping.
“Belle Meade. One of the neighborhoods where the rich live richly.” She grinned. “Let’s see if Mr. Burke is taking visitors.”
They emerged from her sedan that looked completely out of place sitting so close to this multimillion-dollar home. On the way here, since Liam had driven and wasn’t in the mood to talk, she had spent the time doing a little research on Burke.
He’d been married three times, had children with two of the wives. His children were grown and living all over the world according to Google. His last wife had divorced him, citing irreconcilable differences. Halle stared up at the towering mansion. Why would a single man want to live like this? The house had to be twenty thousand square feet.
But then David Burke was incredibly rich. At sixty-seven he had spent the first thirty years of his career taking all sorts of cases and pushing to win bigger settlements. At some point during the latter part of those first thirty years he’d found his formula apparently. He was suddenly one of the richest men in the southeast and was on every who’s who list in the state. He still took the high-profile cases, but now people respected those silly commercials and repetitive billboards. After all, Burke was practically a celebrity.
Halle pressed the button for the doorbell. Traditional chimes echoed through the entry hall and good God, what an entry hall! She could see it through the windows on either side of the door. Marble floors and a sweeping, open-style staircase that rose up to the third floor, pristine white banisters overlooking the entry below. Select pieces of no-doubt priceless art hung on the walls. A chair and a bench were placed just so. And in the middle of it all was a beautiful fountain much like one you would see in a lavish mall. She wondered if the bottom would be littered with coins.
As they watched, the man himself strode to the door. Burke looked exactly like the photographs on the internet. Medium height, medium build. Dark hair that was fringed with gray. Ordinary. If you passed him on the street you would never know he lived in a house such as this unless you recognized the designer label that stated loudly and clearly that his suit cost a small fortune all on its own.
He opened the door, looked surprised. Apparently he’d been expecting someone else. “Who are you?” he asked, looking from one to the other. Then he held up a hand. “Please. I don’t go to church and I have no interest in learning about your beliefs.” He reached into his right trouser pocket. “If it’s a donation you’re looking for—”
“Mr. Burke,” Halle interrupted, “my name is Halle Lane and this is Liam Hart. We’re here to discuss the Clark case with you.”
His gaze lingered on Liam. Halle wasn’t sure if he thought he recognized him or if he was simply interested more in Liam than Halle.
“Clark case?” He shifted his attention to Halle. “Are you referring to the boy who disappeared all those years ago? I saw something in the paper recently about that case.”
Halle decided not to point out to him that it was her story he’d seen. Every newspaper in Nashville had picked it up.
“Yes, that’s the one. I’m a friend of the family and Mrs. Clark recently passed away. In settling her estate and going through some of her papers, there was a reference to you. I thought perhaps you could shed some light on what sort of help you provided the Clark family.” She’d come up with that cover on the way here, as well. It wasn’t entirely untruthful. Her mother would be settling the Clark estate and they had been going through her papers.
“Yes. I recall now. Why don’t you come inside out of the chill?”
It was a little crisp this morning. “Thank you.”
Halle followed him inside and Liam stayed close behind her. Burke led them across the foyer that extended from the front of the house to the back, and to the right into a large great room or family room. There were two huge televisions hanging on the walls and a sofa large enough for a party of twenty. The sofa was a sectional, like hers, only leather and about five times larger. The view out the floor-to-ceiling windows was of more lush landscape and an enormous pool.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Burke held out his hands. “Water, coffee, something stronger? Scotch? A martini?”
“No, thank you,” Halle declined.
Liam shook his head, declining also.
“In that case, let’s get to the point. As we say in my line of work, time is money—even on Saturday. I have a client coming, which is who I thought you were.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit.”
Halle lowered to the edge of the sofa. Liam sat beside her while Burke took a seat across the coffee table from the two of them.
“The Clarks came to me when they still lived in Nashville. I don’t know, maybe thirty-three or thirty-four years ago.”
“They wanted to adopt,” Halle suggested. Mr. Dean had mentioned as much.
“Yes. You may or may not be aware but at the time older couples had a strike against them when it came to adoption. There were questions like potential health issues that might come into play during the adopted child’s early years. The Clarks had run into a bit of that sort of thing and decided to try for a private adoption. Their finances were more than adequate to consider going that route, so they came to me. I had already forged quite a reputation. My name had become nearly synonymous with private adoptions.”
“But they didn’t go through with an adoption,” Halle said, recalling the rest of what Mr. Dean had said.
“That’s correct. Mrs. Clark learned she was pregnant and they decided not to pursue the adoption.”
“When did they come to you next?” Liam asked, speaking for the first time.
Halle was startled that he had but she was glad. He was part of this; he should speak up.
“Maybe two months after their little boy went missing.” Burke made a sad face. “It was such a tragedy. The rip-your-guts out kind of devastation.”
“Were they planning to try adopting again?” Liam asked.
“No, no. They wanted my help with finding him. The police were coming up empty-handed and they thought I might be able to help. I have quite a team of investigators at my disposal. They had met the investigator who checked out all the birth parents for the adoptions I handled. I suppose they were impressed by his work and thought he might be able to help them find their son.”
“Was he able to help them?” Halle asked.
“No, sadly not,” Burke said. “I think that news was like a stake through the heart for the already desolate couple.” He shook his head. “I wish I could have done more.”
“We’d like to speak to this investigator,” Liam said.
Halle was impressed. He was learning the tricks of her trade. “Being able to speak to him would be immensely useful,” she tacked on.
“Unfortunately, he no longer works for me. In fact, we lost touch about seven or eight years ago. He opened his own shop. I think the emotions involved with the adoption process started to get to him.”
“If you could give us his name, we’ll pay him a visit and see if he can help us,” Halle prodded. “I can’t tell you how important this is, even now, twenty-five years later.”
Burke’s brow furrowed for a moment, then he raised his eyebrows. “Well, of course.” He smiled kindly, ever the showman. “I can even tell you where his office is unless he’s moved recently.”
“Thank you, that would be very helpful.” Halle pulled out her cell and readied to enter the information into her notes.
“Frank Austen with an e. His office is—or was—on Nolensville Pike.” He provided the street number. Didn’t have his new cell number. It had apparently changed since he worked for Burke.
“Thank you, Mr. Burke.” Halle stood. “We really appreciate your help.”
“Certainly.” He smiled that megawatt smile he used in his commercials and on his billboards.
He walked to the front door with them. Once they were ac
ross the threshold Halle hesitated. “You wouldn’t happen to have his home address? Since it’s Saturday we might not be able to catch him at the office.”
“I can tell you where he once lived, but I have no idea if he’s still there.”
“That’s a starting place,” Halle urged.
Burke provided the street address and Halle thanked him again.
When they reached the car, Liam said, “Why don’t you drive? You know your way around downtown Nashville.”
“Sure.”
When they were driving away, Liam spoke again. “He watched us leave before going back into the house.”
“He probably doesn’t have people show up unannounced at his private residence very often.”
“I got a bad vibe from that guy.”
Halle glanced at him before pulling onto the road that would take them back into Nashville proper. “I noticed he was checking you out when we first arrived.”
“No, not that kind of vibe. The kind that tells me he’s not a nice guy.”
This was more true than he knew. Halle had found considerably more in her research than all the success stories about Burke. There were rumors he was in trouble with the IRS and he’d been sanctioned by the court on more than one occasion.
But if the name he’d given them could help find what they needed, Halle would be grateful.
Chapter Ten
NOW
Frank Austen’s office was closed and he wasn’t at home. No surprise there, Liam decided. He wasn’t sure what they could expect on a Saturday. They had gotten lucky with the lawyer, Burke. If he hadn’t been expecting a client, he probably wouldn’t have been home and they would never have made it past his gate.
Liam would have expected a celebrity—a notorious one might be a better term according to all that Halle had told him—to have private security on site at his home. Maybe he’d given them the day off in deference to his expected appointment. Or maybe his security staff had been monitoring the meeting and would have appeared if needed.