“Yeah, interesting you brought that up.” DeLuca looked at his watch, as if he’d been calculating the time. “Wondered when you’d ask about her.”
“She’s fine,” Jake said. “She’s with her father. Daniel Fasullo.”
Robyn rolled her eyes. “I want to go,” she said. “So tell them, Jane, tell them—”
“But why did you come here, Robyn?” Jane almost felt like crying. Her voice wasn’t quite working. She was tired and stressed, yes, but this story was such a wretched one. “You said Lewis would give Gracie only to me. Why didn’t you just let that happen and let it all be over?”
“He called again, while you were gone,” Robyn said. “Told me he’d changed his mind, that I had to come. He demanded I come. He insisted that he and I had to talk it out, face-to-face. He sounded horrible, ugly, I know how he gets. I tried to call you but—”
“But?” Jane said. She felt one eyebrow go up.
“I kept getting the wrong number, I don’t know,” Robyn said dismissively. “You know phones.”
“So it was a surprise to you that Lewis chose this particular hotel?” Jake had pretty much stayed out of it so far. Now he took a step forward, his right arm almost touching Jane’s left. Jane didn’t move. Letting him play the card. “Mrs. Wilhoite? A surprise?”
“Yes, of course. Tell them, Jane. You were there. You heard the call.”
Jane kept her expression even. No wonder Jake closed cases. He was methodically reeling Robyn in. But Jane had thought of asking about the room reservation. He owed her one.
“I heard you,” Jane said again. She mentally replayed their conversations, the phone calls, one after the other. Remembering. “Not Lewis.”
“Well, whatever!” Robyn waved her off. “And then I got here, and went to his room. And he was completely out of it, drunk, I think, and crazy and demanding and—”
“Was Gracie there?” Jake asked.
“Yes. No. When?” Robyn shifted in her chair, then seemed to gather herself. She clasped her hands in her lap, the picture of maternal virtue. “No, when I arrived she was—I don’t know. Wherever Lewis hid her!”
“I see,” Jane said. Jane thought of Gracie at the palm trees, Gracie not expecting her. Gracie aimless and bored. She’d been sent away. On purpose. By who?
“And then what?” Jake asked.
“And then Lewis, or whatever his name really is, pulled out a gun and tried to shoot me! What do you think?” Her voice tightened, rising pitch by pitch as she talked. “So I kicked him and grabbed the gun—he’s such a fool—and he came at me and I had to shoot him. He would have killed me! What else was I supposed to do? You know it! You know it! I was defending myself and my daughter. Jane, you know this! He was going to take her!”
60
“Mom?” Tenley’s rear hurt from sitting on the long wooden bench in the waiting room. She was thinking so hard, it seemed like it made her heavier, the weight of everything on her shoulders and in her brain. There could not be any secret video of her doing anything wrong or embarrassing. Because she’d never done anything. So what had her father been trying to protect her—and their family—from?
The sign on the wall was a circular seal of Boston, like the one in her mother’s office and the one on the wall in her own stupid office, the surveillance room. But underneath this one, the blocky black letters spelled OFFICE OF THE MEDICAL EXAMINER. The police officer, that Sergeant Naka, had asked them to wait here in the little lobby place. “Ten minutes,” she said, looking at a round clock on the wall. The kind with big black numbers and big black pointing arrows. It actually gave a little click as each second went by.
Tenley wondered if time could stop, maybe. Just stop. Or rewind, erase, and start over. The video of their lives, take two. But in real life there were no second chances.
Behind the closed blank metal door, Tenley knew, was her father’s body. Mom had already identified him. The police had called, saying they’d come talk to her later. Mom was really upset.
Now they had to wait for the “effects.” What Dad had in his pockets. She almost couldn’t breathe thinking about that, because some of it was supposed to be about her, but she couldn’t let her mother face this alone. Mom, who was now holding Tenley’s hand maybe for the first time in ten years, stared at the space in front of her. Tenley kind of wanted to let go, but when she gave a little tug, her mom held on tighter.
Brileen sat on the other side of her, clutching her laptop bag as always. Why had she even come along? Tenley still couldn’t decide if Brileen was good or bad. She’d only tried to help, she’d told them. Everything she did was to try to help. But Brileen had made a bunch of really shitty decisions.
Tenley knew how that felt.
Thing was. What Tenley had been thinking about so hard this whole time and throughout the silent drive from City Hall to the medical examiner’s office. The video of Lanna.
“Mom?” Tenley said again. She kept her voice low. It seemed like the thing to do in a place full of dead people.
“Yes, honey?”
Her mom turned, looked over at her, shifted a bit on the bench but still didn’t unclasp her hand. Mom was off in some other world, seemed like, and was almost whispering, too. The clock ticked, one hand moved ahead a little space.
“I know you don’t want to look at the thumb drive video of Lanna,” Tenley said. “Neither do I. But what if it’s connected? What if the person on the video is the person who killed her?”
“No one killed Lanna, Ten.” Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “It was an accident.”
“But why was she in the woods?” Tenley had to make Mom at least think about this. “What if she was meeting—whoever it was? And what if that’s who’s on the video? You know what I mean. The horrible video and the boyfriend and the money. And Dad.” Tenley paused, knowing she was running all her words together. “What happened to Dad. Maybe it’s all connected.”
Silence. Except for the stupid clock.
Tenley felt Brileen shift in her seat again, probably embarrassed and humiliated by the whole thing. It was Brileen’s fault, really, some of it, at least.
“You said she had a boyfriend.” Mom interrupted Tenley’s thoughts.
“Yes,” Brileen said.
“Yes,” Tenley said at the same time.
“But you don’t know who it is? Was?”
“No.” They answered separately this time. Tenley remembered even the police couldn’t find him.
Brileen slid farther away, got as close to the end of the bench as possible.
The clock ticked again, so loudly Tenley wondered if it was her imagination. Nothing could be that loud. Six minutes to go.
“Brileen,” Mom said, “may I use your laptop?”
* * *
Jane felt the vibration of her phone through her tote bag, even heard its insistent buzz in the padded silence of the supply room. All eyes were still on wild-eyed Robyn, who’d paused in her tirade. She was watching Jake and DeLuca and the other cop, watching Jane, obviously gauging their reactions.
Jane didn’t believe a word she said. But how to prove she was a liar?
This was Jake’s show. She kept silent, waiting for his cue. Probably Marsh Tyson was calling her, wondering why the hell she was in the middle of this huge story and hadn’t let him know. She’d have to come up with an answer for that one.
Her phone buzzed again. Jake nodded, giving her permission. “Might be—”
True. She hit the green button. “Yes?”
Melissa.
“Can anyone else hear me?” her sister asked.
“No.” Jane checked Jake’s expression, to see if Melissa’s voice had carried. “No.”
“I asked Gracie what you told me to,” Melissa said.
“Okay,” Jane said. “And?”
“I’m going to put her on the phone so you can hear it, firsthand. I think you’ll be interested.”
“Okay.” Jane heard a rustle and a murmur, Melissa handing
the phone to the little girl. “Tell Jane what you told me, sweetheart,” she heard Melissa say.
“Hi, Jane,” Gracie said. “I’m sorry I was mean to you.”
“You did exactly the right thing, honey.” The girl sounded so sincere. “I’m proud of you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Who is that?” Robyn tried to get to her feet. “Who is that?”
“So remember what Melissa asked you?” Jane said, pretending to ignore Robyn’s demand. “Why were you waiting in the lobby, Gracie?”
“She doesn’t know, for heaven’s sake.” Robyn’s voice, disdainful. Dismissive. “You can’t talk to a child. You can’t expect a child to tell the truth.”
Jane smiled at Robyn, a smile of pity and triumph that grew in strength as she heard the truth of what Gracie was saying. The truth of the Rubik’s Cube that was Robyn, her fragmented lies snapping into place. Jane put her hand over the mouthpiece so Gracie, now prattling about Twizzlers and grown-ups running, wouldn’t be distracted.
“What’s wrong with the truth, Robyn?” Jane said. “Perhaps you’d like to hear it for yourself. On speaker.” She poised her finger over the red button, saw Jake nod, saw DeLuca’s thumbs-up.
“Gracie?” Jane said. “Tell me one more time? Why were you waiting in the lobby?”
“Mommy told me to.” Her warble came through the tinny speakers of Jane’s phone. “Mommy told me to go wait in the lobby. She said not to talk to anyone. She said Daddy was going to be busy, and going out of town for a long, long time, so I should wait for her, that she would come get me. Add that’s what I did.”
61
Catherine inserted the thumb drive into the port on the side of Brileen’s laptop. Felt the click as the tab slotted into place, heard the whir of the mechanism.
The waiting room at the morgue room was so silent, so expectant, Catherine believed she could actually hear the seconds tick by on the old clock, which had probably hung on the wall since Mayor John Collins or Kevin White ruled the Boston roost. The clock, still here, proved time waited for no one.
The white triangle coalesced into place on the laptop screen.
Whatever was on this video was there whether Catherine watched it or not. And she had to admit her little daughter—not so little, now, but always little to her—was correct. What was on the video Brileen had given her in the Purple Martin might be heartbreakingly horrific to watch, but it might also give them some answers.
In politics, answers were always elusive, changing, linked with the polls or the zeitgeist or the budget. But in the world of her heart, her family, her children, there needed to be some sense of knowing. Of truly knowing.
She sighed, drew on her courage.
Look at the damn video.
Tenley was so close to her left side she could almost feel her daughter’s heart beating. She sat quietly, long eyelashes blinking, blinking.
Brileen, too, leaned close.
Catherine clicked the white triangle. The recorded world spun into view.
Her greenroom. Empty. The camera was obviously in the upper left corner, pointed at the door, showing a wide shot of the room, the couch, the big puffy chair, the bathroom door, the coffee table. The rich paisley of the Oriental rug looked twisted, almost distorted, through the surveillance lens.
The door opened, silently, a shaft of light from the hall striping the couch. Catherine had seen exactly that same striping, many times, as she’d escorted pols and performers, supplicants and celebrities to wait there until their meetings or appearances. Lanna had loved visiting City Hall during her college days, exploring the warrens of corridors and secret back stairways. The greenroom had been her study hall, her headquarters. There was even a computer, all hooked up for visitors. In years before, when Catherine couldn’t get a babysitter, she’d parked both girls in the greenroom, where they’d played happily, often falling asleep on the couch.
There she was.
Her gorgeous Lanna walked into the room, laughing, almost tossing that mane of hair in an attitude Catherine never remembered seeing. Grown up. Womanly. Promising. She paused, turned on one high-heeled toe. Beckoned with fluttering fingers. Was someone behind her?
Catherine curled her hand through Tenley’s. This was awful for her, Catherine realized. Maybe she shouldn’t allow her to see it? But Catherine narrowed her eyes as she watched, anger now underscoring her dismay.
Who had put a camera in her office? When? She had never, ever known about this. She’d been chief of staff for eight years. Had it been there the whole time? Or could someone have installed it without her knowing? The mayor? Who?
And then a figure, a taller, bigger silhouette, cut through the shaft of light. Whoever it was must have flipped the light switch, not the overheads but the soft glow of the table lamp.
Lanna turned to face whoever it was, her body—was that Catherine’s curvy black cashmere sweater?—relaxed and open. Her body language—open arms, canted hip—was welcoming. Familiar. Though the surveillance video was not quite in focus and the muffled sound, barely audible, Catherine imagined she heard the sound of Lanna’s soft laughter.
The shadow changed. A foot appeared, then a leg, then a back. A man.
“He’s facing her to the camera,” Tenley whispered. “He knows it’s there. He’s staying out of the picture on purpose.”
Catherine’s blood chilled as she watched a hand caress Lanna’s face. Her daughter didn’t move. The man, only the edge of his back barely visible, put one hand on each of her shoulders. Her daughter, smiling, flirtatious, didn’t move.
He began to lift the black cashmere, teasing the sweater up from the bottom edge, Lanna, full out laughing now, lifted her arms.
“Mom,” Tenley said. “Mom.”
“Mrs. Siskel?” Sergeant Naka called from across the room. “We’re ready for you now.”
Catherine slammed the laptop closed.
62
Nothing like a takedown to give you a jolt of adrenaline. Jake watched the collapse of Robyn Wilhoite’s charade with some satisfaction, the reality emerging, absurdly, in the ridiculous towel-lined supply room. Apparently Angie Bartoneri had wrapped up her doctor’s appointment and returned just in time to work the big event with DeLuca. As always, Jane had asked just the right question. With Gracie’s coup de grâce answer, the woman’s story began to unravel. And now was pouring out of her.
As Jake had predicted, it was all about the money. The child support that Daniel Fasullo had paid all these years. The money he had sent to support a child who, Robyn had finally admitted, was not his biological daughter.
“You can’t understand what it was like. What was I supposed to do? It might have been Daniel’s, you know? He believed it was, and he—did the right thing.”
“Even though you didn’t,” Jake said.
“Does Daniel know?” Jane asked. “Does Gracie?”
With the wedding on the way, and Gracie about to be taken from them, Lewis had lost it, Robyn said. Insisted she should tell the truth. Threatened to spill all to Daniel and Melissa in hopes of keeping Gracie at home.
“I told him, I told him,” Robyn wailed. “Gracie was happy, we were happy, he wasn’t working, for God’s sake. I should never have told him in the first place! We needed the money and—”
“So you just made it all up? A phony abduction?” Jake asked. What a freaking piece of work. “So you could pretend to kill him in self-defense?”
He pointed to DeLuca and Angie, motioning them into action. “Robyn Wilhoite, you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Lewis Wilhoite. You have the night to remain silent…”
Robyn struggled against D and Angie as they put her in cuffs, talking over Jake as he finished her rights.
“It was all for Gracie,” she insisted. “I want a lawyer.”
“Good call,” Jane said.
“Your husband will live, by the way,” Jake said. “So you know.”
* * *
Lewis would live, Jake had said. Ja
ne thought of the man she’d seen only in photos. Lewis with his sandy hair, his glasses. Just like Gracie’s.
Almost afraid to ask, Jane looked at Jake, then back at the woman in custody. Jake couldn’t ask any more questions, she knew, since Robyn had demanded a lawyer. But Jane could. “Robyn? Is Lewis Gracie’s biological father?”
“Lawyer,” Robyn said.
“Good one,” DeLuca said.
“We’re done here,” Jake said.
DeLuca and the woman detective cuffed Robyn, who continued to mutter under her breath. Jake opened the supply room door, motioned for the team to take their prisoner away.
“Jake,” Jane said.
He turned to her as the others went into the corridor, and she signaled with two thumbs—text me. He signaled back—drink? She pointed to her chest—my house.
Love you, he mouthed the words. And turned away.
“Love you, too,” she said, silently, because Jake was already gone.
* * *
Back downstairs, Jake saw that the hotel lobby had fully come back to life. Fountain. Muzak. Tourists. Again, Jane had asked the killer question. A DNA test—and Lewis’s testimony—would provide the final answers.
With a thank-you and adios to the cops still monitoring the hotel’s front door, Jake headed for City Hall.
Now Catherine Siskel wanted “to talk.” Well, yeah. He did, too.
Curley Park was in full rush-hour hubbub, as if nothing had happened here—he looked at his watch—about thirty-six hours ago. But he’d gotten past being tired. Closing a case, at least being close to closing, always helped.
He punched the Walk button at the intersection, impatient. In one second, he was going to jaywalk.
Robyn Wilhoite. Piece of freaking work. She’d arranged a prewedding father-daughter outing—leaving father and daughter in the dark about her true motive. She’d found another Lewis Wilhoite and planted the phony identification to set her husband up as a diabolical con artist. Pretended to talk to Lewis on the phone, dramatically and calculatedly escalating her “panic” to Melissa and Jane. If Lewis had died, it might have worked.
What You See Page 32