What You See

by Hank Phillippi Ryan

  Domestic violence. Jake hated that term. It was simply violence. He wished these stories could have happy endings, no kids affected, no one hurt, only adults working out their stupid differences while their kids’ lives stayed untouched. But in real life, tragedy damaged everyone involved. After all these years, Jake knew there were more victims than the ones who wound up in hospitals and morgues.

  Like every cop who dealt with the aftermath of violence, Jake could do no more than hope that Gracie would be okay.

  Jake pushed through the heavy revolving glass door into the first floor of City Hall and flashed his badge at the rent-a-guard.

  Now to Catherine Siskel. Who had promised to tell him the truth about her husband. When Jake called her back, she’d haltingly admitted Greg Siskel was not missing, but murdered.

  That she knew it because she’d seen it on the video that did indeed exist. She’d told him about a girl named Brileen and a mysterious middleman. And about a five-minute clip of unauthorized surveillance. Who was on it and how she’d obtained it.

  The Siskels and the Wilhoites. There were no happy families in Jake’s line of work.

  63

  “What can I do for you?”

  His voice sounded so superior. Tenley’d always known he was a sleaze. Tried to tell Lanna so, too, every time her sister mentioned him, hadn’t understood why Lanna kept talking about the guy. Now she knew. Now, here he was, in Mom’s office, acting like nothing horrible had happened.

  Her mom stood, waved him to a chair across from her desk. “Hey, Ward.”

  Tenley had recognized what her boss hadn’t disguised in the video. His stupid watch. “Mom,” she’d said. And then she’d told her. And Brileen.

  Even though Ward Dahlstrom tried to keep himself out of the greenroom camera shot, Tenley knew he must have been Lanna’s … Tenley couldn’t even think about it. Mom had gone crazy. They’d rewound the disgusting tape, twice, confirming. Then Mom made the phone call.

  “Sorry our meeting kept getting postponed.” Tenley couldn’t figure out how Mom, hair in place and even wearing lipstick, could look so pleasant. “Lots going on. Any more on the police subpoena? For the Curley Park video?”

  “Nope, nothing. Kelli Riordan says we may have dodged this bullet. The key is to steer clear of the cops, long as we can.” Dahlstrom scanned the room, ignored Tenley, gestured to the guest chair. “Mind if I—”

  Mom ignored him, which rocked. Ward Dahlstrom, king of creeps, stood there, shifting his stupid feet.

  Tenley sat in the corner of her mom’s couch. She’d promised she’d keep quiet, just watch and listen. City Hall was pretty empty. Almost six and most employees had bolted, even annoying Siobhan had buttoned her sweater to her chin and scuttled away. Tenley’s father had been dead—oh—for a little more than a day. Tenley almost felt like she existed in a different world as half an hour ago they’d taken the thumb drive her father had died for, plugged it into Brileen’s laptop, and held their breath. And clicked.

  But there were no pictures on it. Nothing. There was video, and it was from Mom’s greenroom, but there was no one in the picture. They’d watched until it ran out. No one. Nothing. An empty room.

  Her mom had jerked the blank thumb drive from the port, then stood, holding it like a bug, as if she didn’t know whether to throw it away or stomp on it. But the police had taken it back.

  “Extortion, pure and simple,” her mother had said as the three of them drove away from the morgue place.

  “That bastard,” Brileen said.

  “Bastard is right,” Mom said. “I bet—dammit. Once your father paid the money, who knew if he’d ever look at the drive? Even if he hadn’t watched the video of Lanna, she’d confessed it was real. So when Brileen was told there were pictures of you, honey, maybe he simply believed it was true. And wanted to protect you.”

  Tenley felt so sad. Had her father not trusted her? But Mom had told her that Dad said he loved her. She’d remember that.

  Her mom had sighed, an angry sad frustrated sigh. “Question is, who else knows? And who got that money? And who killed Greg?”

  So now here was Ward Dahlstrom, all pin-striped suit and pocket square. Standing in front of Mom’s desk like it was an ordinary day. Had he known about the money? He had to, right? She wanted to leap up from the couch and punch the guy, but that wasn’t the part she was supposed to play.

  Her mom’s desk phone rang, as Tenley knew it would. Her mother answered.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Give me a minute, please.” Mom hung up, flapped open her computer, clicked the mouse. Narrowed her eyes at the screen. Then turned to Ward, still with that smile.

  Tenley could hardly keep from smiling too. She felt powerful, for the first time.

  “It’s the police,” Mom whispered to Ward.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He glanced at Tenley, but she pretended to be looking at her fingernails.

  “Yeah.” Mom pointed to the side door, conspiratorial. “Why don’t you wait in the greenroom? I’ll let you know the minute they’re gone.”

  * * *

  Before Jake could say a word, Catherine Siskel had opened the door and gestured him into her office. She put one finger to her lips, then pointed it to her desktop computer. Signaled him to follow her across the room.

  Jake nodded, understanding. They’d stay quiet. Could her plan work?

  Tenley uncurled herself from the sofa and joined her mother and Jake behind the desk. On the computer screen, Jake saw an unnaturally blue-tinted view of a flowered couch, two wing chairs, two end tables, an elaborate Oriental rug. A closed door in the back wall. And, pacing in front of the couch, a man in a pin-striped suit. Ward Dahlstrom. The “chief of surveillance.” Perfect.

  Jake acknowledged Tenley’s skills with a thumbs-up. Tenley shrugged, accepting the approval. On the phone, Catherine had explained the girl had rigged up the greenroom laptop as a one-way computer video feed—like Skype or FaceTime. And this time Mr. Surveillance had no idea he was the one being secretly watched. And recorded.

  Catherine had flapped a yellow legal pad to a clean page. Uncapped a felt-tip pen.

  Tenley says he can hear us, she wrote.

  “Hello, Detective,” Catherine’s voice was louder than normal. She looked at the screen, not at him. “What can I do for you?”

  Jake matched her volume, also keeping his eyes on the screen. “We need to talk, ma’am. I need to see your…” Jake paused, made something up. “… calendar from the past week.”

  On camera, Dahlstrom took three paces to the left, turned, and paced to the right. The man stopped, hands on hips, and looked up at somewhere on the wall in front and above him.

  That’s where I found cam, Catherine wrote. Upper left, in smoke alarm.

  Jake held his hand out for the pen. You touch it?

  No.

  “Let me look for that calendar, Detective,” Catherine said. “It’ll take a moment.”

  The camera’s microphone made a barely audible buzz thorough the computer speaker. Dahlstrom, fidgeted, looked at his watch.

  Jake and Catherine exchanged glances. Tenley stood, pulled out her cell phone, looked at her mom, then at Jake. Held up her phone, inquiring with her eyebrows.

  Jake nodded, mouthed the words. “Do it.”

  Tenley’s thumbs moved across the phone’s tiny keypad. Jake saw her hit Send, then smile.

  On the screen, the light changed in the greenroom, the surveillance blue diffused by a fluorescent glare as, with a click, the door in the back wall opened.

  Dahlstrom turned at the first sound, his back now to their clandestine computer. “What?” they heard him say.

  And there, on camera, was Brileen.

  * * *

  Moment of truth, Catherine thought. Would Brileen be able to pull this off?

  Catherine watched the video feed coming from the greenroom. An opaque wall separated them, but thanks to the laptop’s video camera, the layers of wallpaper and plaster and insulation
might as well be nonexistent. They could see and hear everything.

  “What are you doing here?” Brileen said. “I was in the bathroom.”

  On the way back from the morgue, the three women, Catherine, Brileen, and Tenley, had plotted the trap to catch Ward Dahlstrom. They knew they couldn’t simply confront him with the Lanna video. He’d just insist he hadn’t known it was being taped.

  They needed the police to clinch the trap. Now the three of them—mother, daughter, and cop—would watch the charade unfold.

  Brileen had sworn she’d do anything to make up for what she’d done.

  Now they’d see.

  Brileen had positioned herself behind the couch. A barrier. Just in case.

  Even with the inferior video quality, Catherine could see Dahlstrom’s posture change, his back straighten.

  “What are you doing here?” Dahlstrom’s voice, wary, came through the speaker perfectly. He reached into his pocket. “I have no idea who you are.”

  He took a step toward Brileen.

  “Mom,” Tenley whispered.

  Catherine saw Brogan move toward the door to the greenroom, hand to his waist. As they’d planned. If Brileen were in danger, he’d have to act.

  But Dahlstrom had simply taken out a cell phone.

  Catherine signaled the detective to come back to the screen. “Is this the calendar you wanted to see?” she said, keeping up their pretense. She hoped Dahlstrom was too distracted to eavesdrop.

  “Let me look,” Brogan said. And he was looking. At the screen.

  “My name is Brileen Finnerty,” they heard her say. Brileen planted both hands on the back of the flowered couch. Leaned toward Dahlstrom. “Mean anything to you?”

  Dahlstrom didn’t budge, his back to the laptop’s eye. “Should it?”

  “Wish we could see the guy’s face,” Catherine murmured.

  Brileen shook her head, as if impatient. “Look. Don’t screw with me. I’m Tenley’s ‘friend’ now. As you well know. But Siskel’s got the police out there, I assume you know that, too.”

  “Does she know you’re in here?”

  “Are you kidding me? She sent me here. Just like she sent you! She’d do anything to protect her reputation. You of all people know that. She’s trying to keep us both out of the cop’s way because I know about the thumb drives, and you know about that murder video.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking abou—”

  Catherine thought she detected a quaver in Dahlstrom’s voice. A hesitation. So frustrating not to be able to see his face.

  “But they don’t know we know each other!” Brileen interrupted, insistent. “And they don’t know about Hugh. And that’s what makes this perfect.”

  Who’s … Detective Brogan wrote.

  “Don’t you see?” Brileen went on, persuading. “Catherine Siskel has the thumb drives. Both of them. They were in her dead husband’s pocket. The cops gave them to her. Both of them.”

  Both? Not true, Brogan wrote.

  Catherine nodded. Exactly.

  “But here’s the thing,” Brileen went on. “The cops didn’t watch the videos. And Catherine didn’t either. But Lanna told me about you, Ward. All about you.”

  “Lanna who?” Dahlstrom said.

  “Lanna who?” Brileen voice was a mocking echo. She smoothed a hand along the back of the couch, then pointed at Dahlstrom. “Oh. I get it. You think I’m—”

  Catherine held up crossed fingers. Brogan nodded.

  “—wearing a wire?” Brileen stepped around the side of the couch, came toward him. Arms outstretched. Offering herself. “Are you kidding me? Please. Fine. You want to check?”

  Dahlstrom turned away. And as he did, his glance flickered to the upper left, exactly where Catherine found the hidden camera.

  He knows, Brogan wrote.

  Yup. Catherine wrote. “Is there anything else you need, Detective?” she said out loud.

  Brileen had grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you see?”

  “It’s not gonna work,” Tenley whispered.

  “Shh,” Catherine said. Though she agreed. Maybe Dahlstrom was too cagey. But Brileen was giving it all she had.

  “When they figure out it’s you on the thumb drive video,” Brileen said, still holding Dahlstrom’s arm, “they’re gonna nail you for the murder of Greg Siskel.”

  Brileen pointed to her chest, then gestured, wide, with both hands. “And then—like you’re gonna protect me? I’m in as deep as you. But listen. I can get those thumb drives from Siskel,” Brileen said. “I know I can. And I’ll destroy them.”

  Silence. Dahlstrom’s back was still to the camera.

  Catherine saw the determination on Brileen’s face.

  “Dahlstrom, hear me,” the girl said. “I am your only. Frigging. Way out.”

  Dahlstrom looked at his cell phone. “I need to make a call.”

  Catherine looked at the detective, triumphant. She could almost, almost, make out the numbers he was dialing. But she’d be able to look again. Because even though Ward Dahlstrom’s back was to the computer’s hidden camera, he was holding his phone directly in its view.

  Tenley mimed applause. Catherine put her arm around her daughter. They’d won.

  Then Brogan’s phone rang.

  64

  Jake flinched at the sound. Catherine Siskel turned to him, questioning. He waved her off. Clearly Dahlstrom wasn’t calling him. It was DeLuca.

  “Hey, D,” he kept his voice low. “Hang on.”

  On the computer screen, Dahlstrom had turned away from Brileen as he talked. Jake saw Brileen touch her ear and shake her head.

  “She can’t hear what he’s saying,” Tenley whispered.

  “It’s okay,” Jake reassured her, his voice low. “I can take his phone.”

  “Whose phone?” DeLuca asked.

  “Later,” Jake said. “What’s up, D?”

  “John Doe 2 has the tattoo we saw in the bystander’s photo,” DeLuca said.

  “Awesome.” Jake kept his eyes on the screen. Dahlstrom was still on the phone. “Did he tell you what happened? Why he killed Greg Siskel?”

  “Killed who?” DeLuca said. “Greg—?”

  Right. DeLuca had no idea about any of this yet.

  “Later,” Jake said. “But that’s great.” This was all coming together. Though it had only been, what, not yet forty-eight hours? But if tattoo guy was talking, case closed. Jake could almost envision his own apartment. A beer. A pillow. “What’d he say? About what happened?”

  “Nothing,” DeLuca said. “He’s dead.”

  In an instant, in his mental video, Jake saw Curley Park, Greg Siskel—trying to protect his daughter from humiliation—with a knife in his back. Saw what happened in Franklin Alley. Finally Jake had enough to make his move.

  “Get a warrant for Calvin Hewlitt for the murder of … call him a John Doe,” Jake said. “Bring that asshole in. I’ve got one more thing to do here.”

  Jake clicked off, stashed the cell in his pocket.

  “Ready?” Jake asked. One more asshole to go.

  “Totally.” Tenley brandished her cell. “Say when.”

  Jake turned to the greenroom door. Yanked it open. Before Dahlstrom could react, Jake snatched the phone from the man’s hand. Put it to his own ear.

  “Hey!” Dahlstrom yelled, waved his arms as he grabbed for his cell. “Hang up!” he called out. “Hang up!”

  Jake stood, smiling, holding the now-buzzing phone. Whoever was on the other end had followed directions, leaving only a dial tone.

  “You trying to hide something, Mr. Dahlstrom?” Jake said.

  Dahlstrom’s face reddened, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. A muscle in his neck twitched. “You can’t take my phone,” he insisted. “Not without a warrant.”

  Jake tilted his head left, then right, pretended to think about it. “Possibly,” he said. “But it won’t save you. We’ve got the whole thing on tape.”

  “On tape? That
girl?” Dahlstrom waved toward the greenroom. “She said she wasn’t wired—I could have looked!”

  “She wasn’t,” Jake said. This was almost fun. “The room was.”

  He signaled Catherine, who reached out and swiveled the monitor, turning it so Dahlstrom could see it.

  Brileen, on her cell with Tenley, waved at the camera. “Hi, Ward,” her voice came over the speaker.

  “You can’t record my voice without my knowledge!” Dahlstrom swept his hair from his forehead, then sneered at Jake, hands on hips. “It’s illegal, even for the cops, Detective. I’d have thought you’d know that.”

  “Oh, I do,” Jake said. “Massachusetts General Laws chapter two seven-two, section ninety-nine requires all parties to know they’re being recorded.” Jake paused, savoring the moment. Saw Catherine draw a deep breath, take her daughter’s hand. Saw Tenley almost smile. “However.”

  Jake held up the thumb drive.

  Dahlstrom flinched, his eyes narrowing. He tried, too late, to hide his reaction.

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “Because in fact, you did know. Right? You set up a taping yourself. Up in the smoke alarm.” He tucked the drive back in his jacket pocket. “So it’s all legal and admissible. Now, tell us about all this. Or you’re going down. Alone.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dahlstrom said. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Noted.” Jake examined Dahlstrom’s cell phone. The keypad was still illuminated, black numbers encircled in black. “But meantime, why don’t I just give your partner in crime a call?”

  He tapped the button for Recents. Clicked on the top listing. And hit Send.

  * * *

  Jane winced as her phone rang. The sign in the police waiting room said NO CELL PHONES, but she had ignored it. The black-uniformed guard stationed at the metal reception desk glared at her.

  “Sorry!” Jane said, trying to look sorry. Robyn Wilhoite had been taken to some interrogation room. Jane was parked here and ordered to wait. For what? she’d asked.

  But the cop, an icily chic detective named Bartoneri, had declined to elaborate, saying she’d be back “at the appropriate time.” Jane remembered Bartoneri—she’d been in the supply room with DeLuca for Robyn Wilhoite’s questioning. Jane especially remembered the eyebrows. The heels on her black boots. And that body. She couldn’t wait to ask Jake for the scoop about her.