She’d caught him off guard with that observation. “Hampton? Christopher is a relation to the guy who just died in the fire?”
“Believe it or not, yes—a nephew. Christopher was actually working for Grant part-time that year at the stables, as well as working part-time for his uncle. He wanted the chance to ride regularly and this way he could afford it. Christopher said he was taking his afternoon break, walking the trail to head over and get a late lunch for the other stable hands when he saw the two of them together.”
Why didn’t he speak up during the original missing person’s investigation?”
“During the trial he admitted he was getting lunch for the guys, but he was also meeting his bookie, paying off a gambling debt, and he didn’t want his uncle to know. Blaming his boss, the guy offering the reward wouldn’t be to his benefit, and the only thing he could testify to was that he saw the two of them walking on the forest preserve trail about 2 P.M. He chose to stay quiet.”
“Did you believe him?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. It seemed credible.”
“He bribed Grant Danford for his silence.”
“What?”
“Lincoln uncovered it. Found out about the gambling problem; found out from the bookie that there was no way Christopher could pay his debt, and yet a few days later he had the whole amount in cash. And Grant as much admitted it when Lincoln pressed on the matter. Christopher demanded Grant pay up or he would go to the police. And he apparently paid him quite handsomely over the years Rita was missing.”
“So Christopher told the truth at the trial—he did see them together the day she disappeared; Grant knew it and suppressed it.”
“Yes.”
This didn’t make sense. “Why didn’t Grant just say he had seen her if he’s innocent like he claims?”
“His explanation—Rita had asked him not to mention she had been by; her parents wanted her focused on college, her photography, and her career, not dating a much older man. When the police first asked if he had seen her he said no, then felt like he couldn’t risk changing his story later. And once he paid off Christopher—big mistake. Christopher just kept coming back for more.”
“How does Grant explain her body being found on his property?”
“He blames an unknown killer,” Quinn replied, his opinion of that in his voice.
“I’m surprised Lincoln took his claim of being innocent seriously. Grant was dating Rita; she was seen here the day she went missing; her body was found on his property. It doesn’t leave much room to maneuver. Not to mention the fact this murder is eleven years old. New evidence is going to be hard to find.”
“But why did he kill her? You said yourself a crime of passion doesn’t easily fit the image of the remains. They had been going out six months, were apparently happy together even if her parents were against it. What triggers a man in a relationship to suddenly turn murderous, choke, and kill?”
She couldn’t give him a good answer. “You said he’s apparently hiding secrets, being uncooperative. Was there one that she found out? If not a crime of passion, then was it a crime of necessity? Does Lincoln have any ideas? Any other suspects?”
“No. Right now he’s simply talking to everyone who testified at the trial.” He set aside the file. “Do you think Grant Danford is guilty?”
Her answer would carry some weight with him; she didn’t answer right away. She thought about that summer. So many had wanted Grant to be found guilty . . . but the evidence she’d testified to had been solid, and she remembered the victim. No matter how powerful the man, it was the victim she had focused on. “Yes.”
Quinn thought about it, thrust his hand through his thick hair. “I tend to agree with you. The lie, the bribe—he really wanted to keep hidden that he saw her that day. That points to guilt. But Lincoln isn’t so sure. I can’t dismiss that. And if Grant is innocent—then someone else killed her. Someone who is still out there. What are the odds a murderer kills only once?”
What a tangled question. The only real answer was it depends. There were as many varieties of killers as there were reasons to kill. The gamut ran from domestic disturbances that got out of hand to killing someone picked out at random. She’d unfortunately seen examples of them all.
Quinn didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve seen enough to understand the basics of the case, what memories it’s going to bring up when I talk to Mrs. Beck. It was headline news for the duration of the case, that’s the biggest point I need to know. Let’s call it a day.”
Lisa was more than ready to agree.
He waited for her to join him on the steps, put a hand on her back to steady her. It was an impersonal gesture, done casually, but she found herself welcoming and relaxing against that touch.
He paused by the pasture fence. “Grant had a good eye for horses.”
“Really?”
She leaned against the railing beside him. Quinn pointed. “The chestnut is exceptional. Not a racer, but he’d be a great saddle horse. Do you ride?”
“Enough not to fall out of the saddle.”
“I’m surprised you’ve had a chance for even that. I’ve noticed in the city it takes money, access, and time.”
“Right to all three.”
“Maybe next time you come west there’ll be time to help out your education.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t expect to have a reason to go back to his ranch, but she wasn’t going to say that, not when he was offering an olive branch back to the friendship of yesterday. She lifted off the hat and held it out to him. “Thanks for the loan.”
He accepted it. “Something else we’ll have to fix. You need your own.”
“Yours smells like horse.”
He curled the brim, his expression practically one of affection. “It’s been kicked around for a few years.” He slid it on, then whistled; the chestnut raised his head and came ambling over.
The horse nuzzled his shoulder, tried to knock off the hat. Quinn rubbed his muzzle. He glanced over at her and smiled. “You can pet him. He’s just a big baby.”
“Who’s interested in knocking you over.” She stroked the chestnut’s shoulder, feeling the powerful muscles flex under her hand.
“But at least I can’t step on him by mistake.” The chestnut chose that moment to take a playful nip at Quinn’s shoulder.
Lisa stepped back, laughing. “I’ll stick to my pets, thanks.”
“Rita loved horses.”
“Did she?”
“Mrs. Beck had several of the photographs Rita took of horses on display at the gallery.” Quinn’s voice turned serious. “Amy loved horses too.”
“That’s pretty common when you’re sixteen. And Amy lived on a ranch. It was probably one of the reasons the girls became friends.”
He looked at her intently, telling her something with his eyes before he spoke. “I’ve been wondering if this was one of the places Rita took her pictures. If Rita had known about this stable when she was sixteen. If the two girls hung out here and got to know Grant Danford.”
Lisa blanched. “You think there’s another body here?”
“If he’s guilty—kill one girl, why not two?”
“Quinn.”
“There has to be a reason he killed Rita, a good solid one, not that flimsy one they sold at the trial. You said yourself it wasn’t a good fit for the way the remains were found. Think about it. Assume Grant really is guilty.
“What if Amy came to Chicago again when she was seventeen? What if she had a fight with her mom, her boyfriend, just got on a bus or hitchhiked here to see the girlfriend she’d been sharing all her secrets with for a year? They returned to the old places they had enjoyed, this place being one of them.
“Amy’s a runaway, needs a place to stay, and Grant’s a man who is concerned about what is going on, knows them both from the year before, persuades Amy to let him help fix the mess she’s gotten herself into. And when Amy disappears as suddenly as she came, Grant convinces Rita he h
elped Amy patch things up with her family and that she left to stay with her aunt out east for a while.”
Quinn was spinning a story that was killing her with its specificity because it was only too plausible, and it was making her sick to see it.
“Only Amy never left. She’s dead and her body is buried somewhere out there in the forest preserve. And years later Rita is seeing Grant, having never really lost her crush on this guy that was nice to her and helped her friend, and maybe on that fatal day they take a walk and she stumbles on something that was never supposed to see the light of day again: Amy’s skeleton.
“Grant can’t have that Jane Doe identified, Rita knows he was supposedly helping the runaway Amy, and he can’t convince Rita to ignore it. He has to shut her permanently up. But he’s also learned his lesson and he can’t bury her in the forest preserve, not if he wants her to remain lost forever. So he buries her on his own estate at the one place he can dig without his staff being suspicious.”
“Stop it. Okay? Just stop.”
“It fits. I need to know.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them to look at him with painful clarity. “We both do.”
Ten
Lisa leaned against the railing on the back deck, letting the quiet of the Tuesday night settle inside and ease her tension headache. The problem with getting close to Quinn was that his burdens became her own. She wanted to be able to help him solve the mystery of who had killed his father, what had happened with Amy, but she didn’t have the emotional energy to give him. Extending the job she did at work to her time off gave her no chance to unwind.
She should have taken that vacation after all. She would be so glad to have Jennifer’s wedding to go to, have a four-day break, and a chance to get away from casework that was uniformly grim.
The patio door slid open; Kate stepped out and came to lean against the railing beside her.
Lisa glanced over. “Find your shoes?” Kate had moved home yesterday but as usual had left a trail of stuff behind.
Kate quirked a grin. “One of them. I must have tossed the other into that bag after all.”
“I’ll give you a call if I find it.”
“They aren’t my favorites; if they’re gone I can’t say I’ll mind.”
Kate had come over for more than just her shoes; Lisa knew that. She sipped at the glass of ice water she held, not in a hurry to break the silence. They’d been friends for over twenty years; she knew Kate. She’d get around to the point sooner or later. Beneath the calm appearance there was a fine layer of strain and tension; it showed in the small tells of the way Kate’s hands gripped the railing, the way the Southern tone in her vowels had stretched out.
“You’ve been really down this last week since you got home. Is there anything I can do?” Kate finally asked.
“Trade jobs for a few days.” Lisa’s smile was tired. “I’ll be okay, Kate. I’m just coming back slowly. The fatigue is hanging on with a persistence I didn’t expect.”
“You want to do a movie some evening? Share a laugh?”
The idea sounded like a wonderful break for both of them. “I’d enjoy that.”
A shooting star descended within a ten-degree arc of the full moon. Lisa followed its trail down, wondering if the meteor had burned up in the atmosphere or would become an interesting find for some rock hound.
“I see you got the yard depression filled with dirt.”
“Walter Hampton from Nakomi Nurseries brought out a load of dirt and leveled out my sinkhole. He’s bringing sod tomorrow and talking about shrubs, flowers, trees—he can’t stand to see a great house not landscaped properly.”
Kate turned to look at her. “What?”
“I’m going to have to twist his arm to get him to give me a bill. He’s kind of like Quinn, just smoothly rolls over your objections with a smile and does what he likes.”
“Lizzy, Walter likes you.”
“What?”
“I’m serious. The flowers on your dining table—he brought those over when he brought the load of dirt?”
She had thought it was simply a nice gesture. She’d been distracted at the time, had appreciated the gift because she loved beautiful things and it fit so easily with what she knew about him. “Yes.” She rubbed her eyes, not needing this complication.
“Say a nice thank you for the flowers, chat with him while he improves your yard, and let him do what he likes. It never hurts to have a friend.”
“I’m not going to bust his heart or anything?” she muttered, annoyed that Kate was right and she hadn’t seen it.
“He just wants to do something nice for you. Let him. There’s no obligation in that, and given how much this house means to you, spending time talking with a landscape expert would be enjoyable for both of you.”
She trusted Kate’s opinion. This house did mean a lot; she would love to have the yard looking really nice, and Walter did an exceptional job. Spending a couple hours talking plants and trees would be fun. “I’ll do that,” she agreed, glad to have the advice.
“Did you hear about Jack’s first good deed?”
“Let me guess, you’ve been talking to Quinn.”
“Guilty. He found it rather amusing that you asked him for music lessons.”
Lisa wondered what else Quinn had told her and was painfully aware that if Quinn had talked out of turn, Kate was going to be chatting tonight about more than the family bet she had with Jack. Quinn wouldn’t have broken her privacy; she knew him. Her voice was light when she answered; she was getting as good as Kate at masking her thoughts. “Well, it’s not like any of the O’Malleys could help; none of you know how to play any instrument.”
“I can whistle.”
“It has to be something you use your hands to play. Jack insisted.”
Kate thought for a moment. “I can hum a piece of grass held with my thumbs.”
Lisa laughed. “I remember. You did get pretty good at that.” Lisa relaxed. “I bought the harmonica. A good expensive plastic one. It cost me three dollars. I haven’t opened the wrapper yet. So what was Jack’s first good deed?”
“A roofing repair job for Tina Brown.” Tina was in her sixties now, a friend of all the O’Malleys from the old neighborhood.
“Nice of him. I’m sure Tina appreciated it, and in this heat, that’s a good deed he really earned.”
The quiet between them returned.
“Anything else you want to talk about?” Kate asked, not probing hard, but probing nevertheless.
“Quinn’s told you what’s going on with Amy?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no way to search that forest preserve in a systematic way for remains over twenty years old without a few hundred volunteers. That’s assuming, one, that Quinn’s idea is right, and two, that Amy’s remains are still there to be found. Grant would probably have reburied them somewhere else. And we can’t get a warrant to search his former estate grounds without some solid evidence.”
“So you’re looking for that historical link?”
“Yes.” Lisa sighed. “It’s a mess, Kate. And I’m worried about Quinn, the way he’s handling this turn in the case.”
“He needs the case to finally break open. I’m glad you’re helping him.”
“Marcus is doing most of it, and Lincoln. I’m just helping sort out the information they find.”
“It’s costing you.”
“Heavily. That gravesite excavation is still too current in my memory.”
“Tell him.”
“No. Quinn needs me in the loop.” And even if it was in a grim way, she wanted a reason to be around him. “Quinn and Marcus are cops, not death investigators. I look for different things. Make different assumptions.”
“He needs to be able to find justice.”
“It’s why he’s never settled down.”
“I think it’s a major part of it.”
Lisa sensed a change in the conversation leading toward a discussion of her relationsh
ip with Quinn and didn’t want to deal with it tonight. “How are things going with Dave?”
Kate groaned. “He wants to go shopping for a ring.”
Lisa straightened. “Really?”
“I’m not so sure I do.”
“Why ever not?”
“Every page I get I can see him tense up, and we’re only dating. If we were married—”
“He’s not going to ask you to give up your job.”
“I know that. But I feel the pressure to find something less dangerous.”
“His job is not exactly a cakewalk either,” Lisa pointed out.
“I’m afraid I’m going to hesitate a fraction longer than I should during a crisis because I’m thinking about the ramifications of something going wrong.”
Lisa shook her head. “The last thing you do is think about the consequences to yourself before you act. Trust me on that; I’ve seen you respond to too many situations.” She smiled and slid a hand through her hair. “You’re responsible for most of my gray hairs. Having Dave in the equation isn’t going to change how you react. You’ll just finally have someone always around when the crisis is over. Give Dave some credit, he wouldn’t be asking if he hadn’t resolved the question in his own mind. Besides, I’d be more concerned with him taking a bullet than you. You’ve got a SWAT team keeping you company. He’s the guy on the front lines.”
“You did have to remind me.”
“You love him.”
“So much it’s kind of scary.”
“Let him get you a ring. You don’t have to set the date for the wedding. It’s probably more insurance on his side that you’re not going to do something stupid like act noble and say no for his own good. Admit it, you’d change jobs before you’d give up Dave.”
“True.” Kate held out her left hand. “I don’t want anything fancy.”
Lisa laughed. “I’m quite sure to get you to say yes, Dave will let you get what you prefer.”
“I know him. He’ll just overcompensate for my choice when he buys the wedding ring.”
The Truth Seeker Page 12