by Anne Frasier
The house was so dark. The thick curtains were closed in an attempt to keep out the cold, but even through her coat, Jude could feel the chill seeping around and through the glass.
“We’re trying to establish a timeline for a man who was found dead in a Minneapolis alley,” Jude said.
Mrs. Ford sat down on a chair facing them. “Oh, I heard about that. How awful.”
“It’s possible he stopped by here.”
An O of surprise.
Uriah jumped in. “Have you had any visitors?”
She gave that some thought. “No. I mean, nothing more than the usual door-to-door solicitor we get around here. Siding scams, cable companies, people offering to shovel or whatever. Things like that.”
“It very well could have been someone posing as a siding salesman,” Uriah said.
Jude disagreed. “Seems a little strange for people to be going door-to-door in this weather.”
“Not really,” Mrs. Ford said. “It slows down in the winter, but it doesn’t stop. Especially the ice-dam-removal companies.”
Ice dams. The bane of Minnesota homeowners. When the heat from the building’s interior met the cold of the outdoor air, it caused thick layers of ice to build on roofs. That ice inevitably melted and leaked into walls and through ceilings if not removed. Jude was glad she lived in an apartment building and didn’t have to deal with that kind of maintenance.
“Has anyone tried to email or call you, claiming to be your son?” Uriah asked.
“So that’s what this is about.” Mrs. Ford put a hand to her throat and froze a moment before getting to her feet and walking to the kitchen, her house slippers dragging and sliding against the wooden floor. Jude heard the flick of a cigarette lighter. That was followed by the smell of smoke. Mrs. Ford returned with an ashtray in her hand and a cigarette between two fingers. “I never smoke in the house, but . . .”
“We understand,” Jude said.
The woman sat back down, sucking on her cigarette, the tip glowing red in the semidarkness. “I . . . um . . . used to hear from people a lot. At first. Like sightings from all over the country that ended up not being real. And yeah, even people coming forward to say they were my kid. I don’t know if they really believed it or just wanted to be on the news.”
Uriah leaned back against the couch, a sympathetic expression on his face. “It happens.” He appeared to have finally warmed up, and now his curly hair was showing signs of perspiration, his face so pale the scar on his forehead stood out in pink contrast. They needed to wrap this up so he could get some fresh air.
As Jude produced the photo she’d shown the girl at the gas station, her phone vibrated. She tugged it from her coat and glanced at the screen. Her main contact at the DNA lab. “I’m going to have to take this. Excuse me.” She stood and stepped away, moving in the direction of the kitchen for a little privacy. In the doorway, she raised the phone to her ear while casting a casual and furtive glance around, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
“I know you wanted those DNA results as quickly as possible,” the specialist said. “Once they were processed, we ran them through the databases as you instructed. We got a hit on Gail Ford.”
Jude turned her back to the others so they couldn’t see her surprise. “Relationship?”
“Most likely mother.”
Jude glanced over her shoulder at Uriah. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, face still sympathetic as he engaged in conversation with Mrs. Ford.
“Thank you,” Jude told him. “I appreciate your speed on this.”
“No problem. I’ll be following up with an email later today.”
Jude thanked him again and disconnected.
She was good at the blank face. She’d employed it for so long during her imprisonment that it was her go-to expression. Unreadable. It helped with so many things. Even the checkout line at the grocery store when the person behind the counter asked personal questions about the toothpaste and toilet paper she was buying. But Uriah had somehow learned to penetrate that blankness. She saw the question in one raised eyebrow. He knew something serious was going on, and now they were both pretending. Maybe all three of them were pretending.
“I just got some bad news.” Jude sat back down. She’d normally discuss a plan of approach with Uriah, but this could be their one opportunity for surprise. “The person we came to ask you about”—she picked up the photo from the table—“this man, the person we found dead in an alley, came to see me recently. He drove from Oklahoma to the police department. He had an interesting theory, interesting enough for me to act on it.”
She pushed the photo across the table, close to Mrs. Ford, and watched her face, especially her eyes and mouth. “He agreed to a DNA analysis.” She paused to let her words sink in. “That phone call? It was the results. The lab came up with a match.”
Alarm flickered in the woman’s eyes, and her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. Then she caught herself reacting and leaned back in her chair. Casual. But Jude could see the pulse pounding in her neck.
Twenty years her son had been gone. Twenty years people searched for him. Now Jude wished she’d talked to him longer, engaged with him, asked where he’d lived since the abduction, where he’d spent most of those years. Filled in some blanks, because now it was too late.
Jude glanced at the photo. He did have kind eyes. She sensed he was a good guy deep down, and she hated that he was dead. She looked back up at Mrs. Ford. “I’m sorry to break this news. You were a match. The DNA suggests the person found in the alley was your son.”
Jude could feel Uriah’s disapproval of her bluntness. And maybe he was unhappy about no discussion of a game plan and the way she’d dumped the traumatic information in the woman’s lap.
Mrs. Ford made all the right gestures and sounds. They were so good Uriah was won over, and Jude began to wonder if her suspicions were off. Cigarette abandoned in the ashtray on the table, smoke curling toward the ceiling, Mrs. Ford sobbed into her hands, face hidden.
“Can we contact someone for you?” Uriah asked. “A neighbor? A relative?”
The woman shook her head without looking up. “I need to be alone.”
Jude left the photo on the table. She didn’t know why, but it was intentional. Uriah picked it up. They grabbed hats and gloves and got into their boots. Outside, closing the door behind them, the temperature still subzero, they walked down the sidewalk.
“That was a little abrupt,” Uriah said under his breath. “It could have been dealt with better, in a more sympathetic way.”
“I realize that, but I felt I had to make a quick decision. I wanted to catch her off guard to see how she reacted.”
“That grief seemed real to me.”
“It could have been. Do you believe her? About no visit from her son?”
“I’m not sure about that.”
Someone was coming toward them, big hood, head bent. The hair suggested female, but it was hard to tell this time of year. The bundled person in mirrored sunglasses was dressed in unisex insulated coveralls and walking a small black-and-white dog.
Jude grabbed another opportunity. “Hello, can I ask you a question?”
The person kept moving. Jude snatched the photo from Uriah’s hand and ran after the dog walker, holding the photo out. “My name is Detective Fontaine, and I want to know if you happened to see this man in the area.” She held out the photo.
The person paused, tipped back the fur-edged hood (female), and looked at the image in Jude’s hand. Beside her, wearing rubber boots that looked like deflated balloons, the dog waited. “Yes.”
“Recently?”
“Yesterday or maybe the day before. I was walking my dog and he said hi, then he walked up to that house.” She pointed to Mrs. Ford’s place. “I noticed him because he was friendly and cute. And he had a southern accent.”
“Did anyone answer the door?” Their conversation caused a fog between them, and Jude half expected to see words freeze and
fall to the sidewalk.
“A woman. I don’t know if he went inside. By that point, I was past the house and it was none of my business. My dog’s cold. I gotta go.”
Jude thanked her, and the girl continued down the sidewalk.
In the car, Jude cranked up the heater. “So now what? Do we bring her in for interrogation?”
“We put a tail on her,” Uriah said. “And I’ll have our information specialist find out everything she can about Gail Ford.” He pulled out his phone and gave the orders.
CHAPTER 45
That night on the way home from work, Jude stopped by one of the fancier grocery stores, where she bought several healthy items from the deli, all organic, ranging from grilled chicken breasts to rice-stuffed squash. She was vegetarian most of the time, but a child needed protein.
Up the stairs and inside her apartment, arms full of bags, she kicked off her boots and settled the groceries on the kitchen counter, then tossed her coat and laptop on her bed, followed by her stocking cap and gloves. After slipping into jogging pants and a baggy sweater, she sent Elliot a text, letting him know she was home and that she’d picked up food. Five minutes later, he and the boy were pounding up the stairs like it was a race, laughing as they burst into the apartment.
“We’ve had a big day,” Elliot said. He grabbed plates from the cupboard, setting three places at the counter. Leaning close, he whispered, “You do know this isn’t the kind of meal a kid’s gonna like, right?”
She poured a small glass of milk. “He likes peanut butter and cereal, but he can’t live on that.” Hot tea for herself and Elliot.
“Tacos, pizza,” he suggested.
“Those aren’t healthy.”
“You can make them healthy. But hey, this looks great. Not complaining.”
The boy ended up liking the acorn squash, but he didn’t care for the rice, because it had onions in it. He picked them off his tongue and wiped them on the side of his plate. Elliot gave Jude an I told you so look.
Later, the grown-ups washed dishes while the boy played with toys on the living room floor. He seemed to have been programmed to avoid adults when they were talking. Keep your head down and you won’t get hurt. Heartbreaking that he’d had to learn that so early in life.
“I’m gonna head home.” Elliot put the last plate in the cupboard. “Thanks for dinner.”
“I want to pay you for watching him.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You need money. Or at least I assume you do.”
“I’ve got some cash coming in.”
“Okay, but let me know if that changes.” She hung a towel on the stove handle. “Could you wait with him a minute while I run downstairs to get my mail? I forgot it earlier.”
“No problem.”
In the lobby, Jude unlocked and opened the small ornate metal door to her box. Two envelopes. One was a bill; the other was from the law office handling her father’s estate. It looked similar to the one upstairs that she’d never opened. She disliked these formal letters, reminders of painful things. But this time she decided to tear it open and get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
It seemed to be a day for DNA results. The letter dealt with the search for her father’s heirs.
As you know from our previous letter, recent DNA tests turned up a match, and the name has now been distributed to all lawyers involved in the estate. As a courtesy, we are supplying you with the heir before we release the information to the public. It is our determination that the relationship is father/son.
That statement was followed by the name of Phillip Schilling’s match, the person who would be Jude’s half brother.
Elliot Kaplan.
If a chair had been handy, she would have sat down, fallen down. Instead, she dropped to the marble steps, elbows on her knees, clutching the letter in both hands, rereading it slowly, trying to make sense of it.
I’ve got some cash coming in. No freaking kidding.
Elliot.
It wasn’t the first time he’d kept a secret from her. He’d moved into her building to spy on her, get to know her, write a book about her. Or was writing that book just another one of his covers?
And she’d let him watch the boy.
What now? Go upstairs and confront him?
It might be better to hold the information close, not let him know she knew anything, and see if he would choose to do the right thing and tell her himself. But that wouldn’t undo the lie of omission. And he’d had plenty of opportunity to tell her.
In most situations she could hide her emotions, what little emotions she had left, but upstairs she found herself having a hard time going blank. She clenched the business envelope tighter, return address hidden, and when Elliot made some joke about how much the boy had liked acorn squash, she attempted a smile that caused a flash of puzzlement in Elliot’s eyes.
She made up an excuse for her awkward behavior. “Sorry.” She waved a hand as she practically pushed him out the door. “This case is a distraction.”
That was enough to fool him.
Once he was gone, she called Uriah and told him the unsettling news. He was dumbfounded too. And angry. He offered to come over. “Also, I might just want to beat the crap out of him.”
That was funny. Elliot wasn’t muscular or physical, but in Uriah’s present condition, it was hard to predict who’d win. “Stay home. I’ve got this under control.”
“What’s the plan?”
Now that she was on the phone with Uriah, she discarded the idea of waiting. The not knowing what he was up to would be too much of a distraction. She had to get to the bottom of this right now. “He and I are going to have a talk.”
Once the child was bathed and asleep, Jude sent a text to Elliot.
Is there something you’d like to tell me?
No hesitation. No time to mull anything over. He shot back a reply: I’ll be right there.
CHAPTER 46
If the boy hadn’t been sleeping a few feet away, Jude wasn’t sure what she would have done when Elliot arrived. Thrown him against a wall? Unlikely. That kind of red-hot anger didn’t burn in her anymore, not in defense of herself anyway. Yet the betrayal of another male relative, even one she hadn’t known was a relative until minutes ago, cut to the bone.
Wordlessly, she held up the letter and pointed to his name. He’d obviously known this was coming, yet his face was ashen and he was visibly shaking, lingering near the apartment door he hadn’t closed completely, ready to bolt. She was shaking too, but hers was inside.
She threw the letter at him. Reflexes engaged, he caught it, then dropped it to the floor as if stung. “What do you want?” She was done with family and all the lies and deceit and pain they brought. “Why are you here?”
He could hardly get the words out, stammering, stuttering, rubbing his arms nervously, and damn if she didn’t begin to feel sorry for him.
“I was just curious about you at first,” he said. “That’s all. I wanted to get to know you without the layers of who I was and who you were and who our father was. I wanted it to be real.”
“Jesus, sit down before you collapse.”
“I’ll just stay here by the door.” He reached for the handle, missed, almost fell.
“Sit down.”
He did. On the stained couch.
Jude remained standing, arms crossed, back to the wall. “Tell me all of it.” She kept her voice low because of the sleeping boy.
She was interested only in recent history, but Elliot went way back, further than she cared to go, because his deep dive returned her to her own childhood and things better off forgotten. He told her how he’d grown up in Texas and his father, their father, had paid for his education. “My mother always portrayed him as a great guy. I mean, they didn’t have any kind of relationship by that point, not that I was aware of, other than his taking care of me financially. And my mother convinced me you were bad, and that all of the stuff about him was a lie.”
&nb
sp; “And now what do you think?”
“I believe he was bad. And that’s been hard for me to deal with. I know you have to feel some of the same confusion. Knowing our father was a monster. Wondering what kind of genes we have. Wondering if we should ever reproduce.” He paused for thought. “But then, you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay.”
“You were. Before.”
“Maybe.” Maybe not. “Did you ever meet him?”
“Not that I can remember, but I talked to him on the phone. Once a year or so. He’d ask how I was doing and what I was interested in. It made me feel good.”
“Did you know about me?”
“When I got older. And of course I was curious. But I’d grown up knowing I had a secret I could never share with anyone.”
Which had probably made it easier for him to continue to cover it up.
It turned out he was a few years younger than Jude. She put a timeline together in her head. Her mother had still been alive when he was born, and her father had already been murdering young girls.
“Your mother. What about her?” she asked.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through photos, then turned the screen around. A thin woman with light hair and light skin. Elliot had an olive complexion and very dark hair. Jude wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that this person was not his biological mother.
He put his phone away. “She was a good mom. She didn’t beat me, but she was strict. I’ve come to realize she was being supported by Phillip too. I was her meal ticket.”
“And that dried up when he died.”
“I’ve been trying to help her out, and she had some money saved. And of course she can’t get social security because she never paid in.”
“You’ll be a millionaire soon.”
He flinched. “I don’t care about the money, but it’ll give me a way to take care of her. And there’s more than enough for that. There are a lot of people in need, and I plan to spread it around. You should take your share.”