Spencer paled. “You think whoever took Claire may have worked for me?”
“We have to consider the possibility, Mr. Thorndike. The majority of children who are abducted either know the perpetrator or are familiar with the individual in some way. Given how wealthy you are, you know we have to consider ransom as a possible motive.”
Spencer nodded unhappily. “The police have already put a tap and tracer on the house line, and they’ve assigned a team to monitor the phone in case the kidnapper calls to make a ransom demand. The damn thing has been ringing off the hook all morning. Family, friends, reporters, but no one with any leads or information about Claire.” His wistful gaze drifted toward the phone on the sideboard table. Its silence seemed to mock him.
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to get back at you by harming your daughter?” Damien asked. “A disgruntled former employee? A contractor who didn’t get one of your construction jobs? An angry competitor?”
Spencer blew out a harsh, frustrated breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Hell, that could be just about anyone. I’ve fired lazy workers, awarded jobs that disappointed the losing bidders, pissed off people in the county zoning and planning offices, butted heads with politicians and community activists over my selection of a construction site. I’ve been in business for over twenty years, Agent Wade. My guess is you don’t have to look very far to find enemies I’ve made on my way to the top.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Damien murmured.
“That said, I honestly can’t think of anyone who would be vindictive enough, deranged enough, to kidnap my daughter to get even with me.”
“It happens, unfortunately. It’s an angle we have to explore.”
Althea nodded in agreement. “But getting back to the individual Claire may have invited over to the house that night. Do either of you have any idea who that might have been?”
Spencer and Suzette glanced at each other before shaking their heads. “She had a boyfriend at school,” Spencer said, frowning, “but she broke up with him three months ago.”
“Did she tell you why?” Althea asked.
His face darkened, his lips compressing. “Claire doesn’t tell me anything anymore. But one day I overheard her on her cell phone talking to Heather about it. Apparently Claire found out that Josh—her boyfriend—was cheating on her with another girl at school. She was very upset about it. Moped around here for weeks. I hated seeing her like that. I almost went up to the school to have it out with that dumb jock, but Suzette begged me not to. She said Claire would be humiliated and would never forgive me for interfering. She was right, so I stayed the hell out of it.”
Fragments of her recent conversation with her uncle floated through Althea’s mind. Even though I could see how hurt you were, I stayed out of it because you asked me to. But I’ve never forgotten what that boy did to you, the way he betrayed your trust and deserted you. . . .
She shoved the thoughts aside. “Is it possible that Claire and Josh got back together? And maybe she didn’t want you to find out because she knew you would be mad?”
Spencer frowned, shaking his head. “Not a chance. Claire isn’t a very forgiving person. Once you cross her, she never forgives, and she never forgets.”
“And she’s such a beautiful girl,” Suzette added. “She could have her pick of any boy she wants. Taking Josh back, after the way he’d humiliated and betrayed her, would have made her look desperate to her friends and classmates.”
“And desperation has never been a Thorndike trait,” Spencer avowed. “Anyway, the police already questioned Josh. He says he and Claire haven’t spoken to each other in three months, ever since they broke up. And he has an alibi for Friday night. He was on a date—with the same girl he and Claire broke up over. They went to the movies, then to her house afterward. He still had the ticket stub and his credit card receipt, and the girl verified his story. She said they were together all night. Apparently her mother sees nothing wrong with allowing her teenage daughter’s boyfriends to sleep over,” Spencer added derisively.
Damien nodded slowly. “What was Claire like on Thursday morning when she dropped you off at the airport?” he asked. “How did she seem?”
“She was in a great mood that morning. Which was a bit unusual.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whenever Suzette and I go on a trip, Claire sulks for a few days before we leave. Not because she wants us to take her or anything. I just think she feels left out sometimes. She was only twelve years old when her mother and I split up. The divorce was”—he pursed his lips, searching for an appropriate word—“acrimonious. Very bitter. Claire felt caught in the middle, like she had to choose sides. I regret that her mother and I handled things the way we did, but at the time it seemed unavoidable. Anyway, it took Claire some time to adjust after I remarried.” Spencer smiled ruefully at his wife. “I think it’s fair to say you and Claire had a bit of a rocky start.”
Suzette laughed dryly. “Just a bit.”
“Their relationship is much better now,” Spencer assured Althea and Damien. “The point I was making is that Claire still gets a little moody from time to time as a result of the divorce. But she was very upbeat on Thursday morning.”
Suzette said, “We were both a little surprised when she offered to drive us to the airport. Our chauffeur always drops us off and picks us up from the airport whenever we travel. But Claire insisted on doing the honors that morning. We joked that she was in a hurry to get rid of us.”
Spencer frowned darkly. “In light of what we now know, it looks like we weren’t too far off the mark.”
Althea asked, “She didn’t mention spending the weekend at Heather Warner’s house?”
Spencer shook his head. “All she talked about was attending the information session at Johns Hopkins on Saturday morning. She was really looking forward to it.”
“For the premed summer internship, right?”
He nodded. “Claire has always wanted to study medicine. She loves horses, and when she was a little girl, she talked about becoming a veterinarian and healing sick animals. But as she grew older, she decided it was more important to her to heal people.” A soft, poignant smile touched his mouth. “People who don’t know Claire often make the mistake of assuming she’s nothing but a spoiled rich girl who cares only about shopping and spending her father’s money. They’re always surprised to learn that she’s a straight-A student enrolled in honors classes, she’s president of the student government as well as the French Club, and she made school history this year by becoming the first female captain of the debate team.”
Althea smiled gently. “She sounds like an extraordinary young woman. You must be very proud of her.”
“We are. We both are,” Spencer said, taking his wife’s hand. They smiled sadly into each other’s eyes.
“Does Claire have a MyDomain page?” Althea asked.
“Yes, she does. The profile is set to private so that it can be viewed only by her friends and people who know her. That was my stipulation.” He supplied the information that would enable them to access the Web page. “The police have already taken her computer to check her e-mail messages, Internet activity, files on her hard drive.”
Damien nodded briskly. “Good. That might provide some promising leads.”
“They’re checking her cell phone records and are working with the phone company to monitor any activity on that number. I pay an additional monthly fee for Claire’s text messages to be stored on their server, should I ever need to access them. So the police will be able to go through those transcripts and share them with you. They brought their K-9 dogs and spent most of yesterday searching the grounds of the estate. They even went over the driveway carefully, checking for freshly leaked oil or an unfamiliar tire tread. Nothing.” Spencer sighed. “They also went through the entire house and dusted every room for fingerprints, although they warned me that the chances of getting a positive hit were a million to one.”
<
br /> “I’m afraid that’s true,” Damien concurred. “Assuming Claire was taken from inside the house, I can almost guarantee the perpetrator wore gloves, possibly even shoe covers so he wouldn’t leave behind trace evidence. And again, since there were no signs of a struggle anywhere in the house, it makes it that much more difficult to know for certain what actually happened that night.” He paused. “Her purse, cell phone, and bookbag are gone. Do you know if any articles of clothing are missing?”
Spencer looked askance at his wife, who shook her head helplessly. “I’ve checked the closet three times,” she said, “but nothing seems out of place. Honestly, Claire has so much clothes that trying to figure out what may or may not be missing is like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
Spencer nodded in agreement. Turning back to Althea and Damien, he said, “The police have a theory that Claire was taken from her bedroom as she was getting ready for her date on Friday night. Her makeup was still spread out on the vanity table, and one of her dresser drawers was partially open, as if she was in the middle of getting dressed when she was interrupted.”
“Which drawer?” Althea asked.
Spencer looked uncomfortable.
“Her lingerie drawer,” Suzette supplied. “Where she kept her nightgowns.”
Althea nodded, mentally filing away the detail.
“The two of you are more than welcome to check out her room if you want,” Spencer offered. “The police have it roped off to keep the household staff from going in there, but I know they wouldn’t object to you guys taking a walk-through.”
Before Althea could open her mouth to say yes, Damien said smoothly, “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. We’ll wait for the lab results from the crime scene unit and go from there. In the meantime, if you could get me those lists I asked for, we can coordinate our efforts with the police and start doing some interviews.”
Spencer nodded, rising with his guests. “I’ve heard the statistics. I know that the odds of finding a missing person alive diminish with each hour, each day they’re gone. But I’m not giving up on Claire.” He looked at Althea. “Do you know what gives me hope, Agent Pritchard? You. You were missing for over a month, and I know there were many who believed you would never make it back home. But you did. You were found, and you were returned safe and sound to your family.” He swallowed hard, tears misting his eyes as he stared at her. “I’ve never been a religious man, Ms. Pritchard, but I believe that your very presence in our home this afternoon is a sign from God, a sign that Claire will be found alive and returned to us. Because if there’s anything we all learned from your abduction and recovery, it’s that miracles do happen.”
“Why did that make you uncomfortable?” Damien asked Althea as they drove away from the Thorndike estate a few minutes later.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Why would you think it made me uncomfortable?” she countered.
“I’m good at reading people.” His mouth curved wryly. “Occupational hazard.”
Althea smiled a little. “All right. Maybe I was a bit uncomfortable by what Thorndike said. Someone kidnapped that man’s daughter, and the hard, cold reality is that she may never be found. I don’t want to be the reason he won’t be able to face that reality.”
Damien looked at her. “It sounds like you already believe Claire is dead.”
“I don’t,” Althea said with quiet conviction. She turned her head to stare out the window and added softly under her breath, “In fact, I can almost guarantee that she isn’t.”
Because you know he’s waiting, her conscience whispered.
Waiting for you.
Chapter 8
Before returning to the office, Althea and Damien stopped at a sports bar and grill near the Inner Harbor to grab a quick lunch and compare notes.
Mulligan’s, once a popular hangout for cops, was neat but impossibly tiny inside. It was after three, so thankfully the lunch crowd had long since dispersed.
Damien led Althea to a booth in a private corner of the restaurant, and after they had ordered their meals, he looked across the table at her. “What did you think of Suzette Thorndike?”
Althea chuckled dryly. “You mean the trophy wife?”
Damien grinned. “How’d I know you were going to say that?”
Althea arched a brow. “So you didn’t think the same thing?”
“Of course I did. But I knew you’d say it first. Women are always harder on their own.”
Althea frowned. “I wouldn’t be hard on anyone who’s going through such a difficult time.” She paused. “That said, I’m not sure Suzette Thorndike is as distraught over Claire’s disappearance as she wanted us to believe.”
“What makes you say that?” Damien murmured.
“A gut feeling. Thorndike even admitted that his wife and Claire had a rocky relationship.”
“Had. As in past tense. He said things are better between them now.”
“I don’t buy it. In fact, I’d bet my next paycheck that Claire and Suzette still can’t stand each other. Claire probably resents having a stepmother, especially one who’s not that much older than she is. And Suzette probably resents having to share her husband with his bright, beautiful teenage daughter. I mean, think about it. They’re both competing for the same thing.”
“Spencer Thorndike’s affection.”
“Exactly. I watched Suzette’s face when her husband was bragging about Claire’s accomplishments. Her smile looked forced. It was like she was annoyed but trying very hard not to show it.”
“So she and Claire are jealous of each other. What are you getting at?”
Althea shrugged, watching as the waiter approached with their food. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you do.” Damien looked vaguely amused. “Why don’t you just come right out and say it?”
Althea waited until their meals and drinks had been placed on the table and the server had moved on before she spoke again. “I’m just floating some theories here. What if Suzette had something to do with Claire’s abduction? What if she hired someone to do it while she was away?”
Damien poured ketchup on his burger and shook salt onto his thick-cut French fries. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“What if she decided she was tired of sharing her husband with Claire? Or what if she found out that Claire will eventually inherit Spencer’s fortune? We both know that money is always a motive for murder.”
Damien nodded. “That’s true. But it’s not as if Spencer is on his deathbed or anything. He’s only fifty-eight years old, and he appears to be in excellent shape. Barring an accident or some terminal illness, Suzette may have a long wait before she’d get her hands on his money. Unless you’re suggesting that she plans to off him next,” he added wryly.
“Crazier things have happened,” Althea pointed out, picking up her grilled chicken sandwich.
“Can’t argue with that.”
Damien bit into his burger, and they ate for a few minutes in contemplative silence.
Despite the theory Althea had just proposed, she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that had gripped her the moment she’d heard about the kidnapping. She couldn’t dismiss the feeling that Claire Thorndike’s disappearance was somehow connected to her own abduction. And she wasn’t alone. Eddie Balducci had the same fears.
Which meant she wasn’t crazy or paranoid.
The deep timbre of Damien’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “What about Spencer Thorndike?”
Althea glanced up from her plate. “What about him?”
“Did his grief seem genuine to you?”
Althea nodded. “You?”
“It seemed genuine enough.” Damien’s expression turned sardonic. “But that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve known of cold-blooded killers who wept uncontrollably when recounting the gruesome details of the crimes they’d committed.”
Althea made a face. “Even if Spencer didn’t have an alibi—being in Colorado at the time of his da
ughter’s abduction—I wouldn’t suspect him. The only thing I find somewhat unsettling about him is his taste in women. Do you think he consciously set out to marry a woman who’s almost an exact replica of his teenage daughter?”
Damien’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. “Are you suggesting that Spencer Thorndike secretly has incestuous feelings toward his daughter? What a warped little mind you have, Ms. Pritchard.”
She gave him an ironic smile. “Occupational hazard. We’re trained to think the worst of people.”
He chuckled, taking a sip of his Coke. “Maybe he has a thing for redheads,” he suggested. “Maybe Suzette looks like his ex-wife.”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll find out when we meet the former Mrs. Thorndike.” Althea ate a forkful of potato salad, which she’d chosen over fries, and chewed thoughtfully. “I would have liked to check out Claire’s room. Why did you turn down Thorndike’s offer?”
“Because I wanted to demonstrate to our friends in the police department that we’re not trying to take over their case. If we had stepped foot in Claire’s bedroom, after the crime scene team already went through it, that’s the message we would’ve been sending to BPD—that we don’t think they’re competent enough to handle the investigation.” He paused. “I happen to think they are.”
“So do I,” Althea said, impatience edging her voice. “But I also believe we have more resources at our disposal, more experience to bring to the table.”
“Maybe,” Damien agreed, his tone mild. “But we both know how this works. Unless we have reason to believe there’s been a violation of federal law, this is a routine kidnapping case, which means it stays under local jurisdiction. We’re here to assist, not take over.”
Althea said nothing. She knew he was right, but damn it, she hated the idea of taking a backseat role in this investigation. Too much was at stake, and now that Claire had been missing for three days, time was their enemy.
No One But You Page 8