Nine Years Gone

by Chris Culver

  16

  Since Katherine had Ashley, I skipped my trip to Mary Queen of Peace School the next morning and instead walked Simon directly to my office. On the way, I called Tess’s cell, but she didn’t pick up and I didn’t bother to leave a message, doubting she’d respond.

  Once I reached the office, I turned on the light, gave Simon a rawhide to chew on, and then walked to the row of filing cabinets on the far side of the room. In the days after Dominique’s arrest, I’d clipped every newspaper story I could find about him and saved every scrap of paper I had with his name on it. At the time I thought that if I searched long enough and thought hard enough, I’d find some way to bring Tess back, some piece of evidence that would send a very wealthy local businessman to prison for the rest of his life and allow his daughter to live her life in peace. Despite searching for almost two years, I never found it.

  I thumbed through my file folders until I came across a business card paper-clipped to a story announcing the activation of the Major Case Squad of Greater St. Louis. The night Tess disappeared, twenty-five of the most experienced and best-trained investigators in the region commandeered Webster Groves’ police station on Elm Avenue as their headquarters and stayed for two weeks. They searched for Tess, of course, but they also investigated Dominique, his company, his family, and his finances, and they interviewed everybody they could with a possible connection to the case, including Moses Tarawally. If he was back in the picture, then I needed whatever information they had on him.

  I dialed the number on the business card and asked the operator to connect me with Lieutenant Leonard Morgan, the former lead investigator on the case. Apparently, Morgan had done well for himself, because he had been promoted to captain. I considered asking if he now carried a parrot on his shoulders at all times, but the switchboard operator had likely already heard a lifetime’s worth of Captain Morgan jokes and didn’t need to hear another. I waited in silence for a few minutes as she connected my call. When Morgan picked up, I spoke before he could.

  “Morning, my name is Steve Hale. I’m calling to ask about a case you worked when you were still Lieutenant Morgan with the Major Case Squad.”

  “Steve Hale? As in Tess Girard’s friend?”

  “Good memory,” I said, settling into my chair.

  “My memory has nothing to do with it; I heard your name on the news a couple of days ago. What can I do for you?”

  “You were the detective on Tess’s case. If you’ve got some time, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Is this for a story?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “This is for me. I know you probably get requests like this all the time, but there are a couple of things I need to know.”

  Morgan clucked his tongue. “I’ve never turned down the family member of a victim before, and I don’t plan on starting now. Tell you what, I’m busy this afternoon, but if you can meet me at a coffee shop on Washington Avenue downtown in about forty-five minutes, I’ll set aside some time for you.”

  Washington Avenue, one of the few bright spots in downtown St. Louis, had a number of decent restaurants, a few good bars, and one of the best jazz clubs in the country. The police patrolled the street after dark, too, which meant visitors didn’t usually have to worry about being mugged or stabbed in the back by a twelve-year-old gangbanger trying to make his bones. In a city with one of the highest violent crime rates in the country, those are important concerns. If traffic cooperated and I hurried, I could make it.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He gave me the name of the place and I hung up and walked Simon back home. When I got to the coffee shop, I found Leonard Morgan sitting alone at a table along the left wall, a cup of coffee in one hand and a copy of The Washington Post in the other. His hair had grayed slightly from our last meeting, especially around a pair of long, bushy sideburns, and he had developed a slight paunch, but his eyes still had the same intense focus I remembered from the hours I had spent in an interrogation room with him. He held his index finger upright as I walked toward him, stopping me from speaking.

  “Get a cup of coffee. I want to finish this.”

  I did as he requested and waited in line for a cup of that morning’s special. The shop roasted its own coffee beans, a fact the barista seemed quite proud of. The way she described it, I was about to have one of the greatest coffee-drinking experiences of my life. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm dampened after having my first sip. It tasted good, but coffee is coffee as far as I’m concerned. I didn’t catch any of the caramel and roasted-chocolate notes the woman at the register had raved about, nor did I particularly notice the rich, intoxicating aroma and velvety mouth feel. Perhaps I’m not their target market.

  I met Captain Morgan at the table and sat down across from him. He folded his paper neatly and hunched over his cup of coffee, looking more like a homeless man huddled by a fire than a well-paid public servant. A bulging white bag adorned with the coffee shop’s logo rested near his elbow, and a crumb-strewn plate sat beside that.

  “Thank you for meeting me. I hope I’m not too late.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, nodding toward my coffee cup. “Did you get the Italian roast?”

  “Yeah. It’s good,” I said, glancing at the bag of beans he had purchased. “It tastes like caramel and chocolate.”

  He grunted. “It tastes just like the stuff I get at the grocery store, but my daughter likes it. I buy her a pound every other week.”

  I allowed my shoulders to relax. “Honestly, I can’t tell the difference.”

  Morgan tilted his chin down and looked at me over the gold wire rim of his glasses. “So your first instinct is to lie to me and tell me what you think I want to hear. Seems like little has changed since the last time we spoke. What can I do for you?”

  I hadn’t expected the hostility that quickly, so I looked down at the table to give myself a moment to think of a response. As I did, I noticed his hands folded over the paper. The skin above the knuckle on his left ring finger looked pinched, most likely because it once held a tight ring.

  “If you always start conversations like that, I can see why you’re single now.”

  “Touché,” said Morgan, taking a sip of his coffee. “Now why’d you ask me to come down here?”

  I blinked several times and adjusted my position on my chair, trying to put my thoughts back into order.

  “I wanted to ask you about Tess Girard’s murder.”

  Morgan leaned back. “Based on the interviews you’ve given in the past few weeks, seems like you know just as much about the case as me.”

  “I know about her trial and the witnesses who spoke at it, but I don’t know about your investigation.”

  “Why are you interested now?”

  “Because ever since I saw Dominique Girard die, I’ve wondered if he deserved it.”

  Morgan considered me for a moment. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man who dwells on the past.”

  “I’m usually not.”

  “But Girard’s death bothers you,” said Morgan.

  I nodded.

  “He had access to the best lawyers, forensic scientists, and private detectives in the country, and yet a jury of his peers still found him guilty of capital murder. Doesn’t that settle it?”

  “I’ve heard rumors that Tess might be alive, that she might even be in town.”

  Morgan tilted his head to the side. “And you believe these rumors?”

  “No one ever found her body.”

  “If she were alive, we would have found her,” said Morgan. He emptied his coffee cup and grimaced. “And we weren’t the only ones beating the bushes for her, either. Dominique Girard had private detectives looking for her until the day he died.”

  “If Dominique murdered her, why would he waste money by paying people to find her?”

  “He probably thought it made his clemency request look better.”

  I nodded as if I believed that. “And I guess
it didn’t cost that much if he used his own security team.”

  Morgan shook his head. “He didn’t use his own people. He hired a firm from New York. Most of their guys were ex-spooks and G-men, and even with all their resources and experience, they didn’t find a thing. Wherever Dominique buried his stepdaughter, she’s gone.”

  “Do you think Dominique worked alone?”

  Morgan pursed his lips, thinking, before leaning back. “We looked, but we didn’t find anything to indicate otherwise. And before you ask, we found nothing to indicate that any members of his security team were involved. Most of them were overseas when he killed his daughter.”

  “Did you look at Moses Tarawally?”

  Morgan squinted. “The name is vaguely familiar, so I’m sure we did. Who is he?”

  “He was Dominique’s security chief. Tess once told me that he gave her the creeps.”

  Moran leaned forward. “Then I’m sure we looked into him. Any more questions?”

  I nodded. “A few. Did you ever find out why he killed her? The prosecutor didn’t seem to think much of it.”

  Morgan looked down at his shirt and wiped some crumbs away before looking back at me. “People kill each other for all sorts of reasons, reasons that don’t make sense to anybody but them. We didn’t know why Dominique killed her, but he did. That’s what the evidence showed, and that’s what I believe.”

  “And you have no doubt that Dominique Girard murdered her?”

  Morgan held my gaze for a few seconds before blinking. “Why are you really here?”

  “I wanted to ask you about Tess’s death.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I get that. Why?”

  “You want me to be honest?”

  Morgan nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked the question if I wanted you to lie.”

  “I had coffee with her three days ago, and I wanted to find out what you knew.”

  Morgan looked at me for a moment without blinking, but then I smiled and he shook his head, chuckled, and started gathering up his things.

  “If you want to waste my time again, I’ll meet you at a bar and you can buy me a drink for my inconvenience.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Morgan chuckled again and then picked up his bag of coffee before leaving the table. He didn’t completely trust me, but I didn’t think he knew anything that could hurt—or help—me, either. Hell, he didn’t even seem to know why Dominique would want his daughter dead. It looked like, at least as far as Moses was concerned, we weren’t going to get any help from the police.

  17

  As I drove back to my office, I took out my cell phone and called Tess, but, unsurprisingly, her phone immediately transferred my call to voicemail. I asked her to call me, but I didn’t hold out too many hopes that she would. I didn’t have much better luck at work, either, where I found I couldn’t focus on anything for more than two or three minutes without Tess intruding on my thoughts.

  Eventually, and after wasting several hours, I drove to the school to pick up Ashley. I parked close to the entrance, but I got out anyway and stood in line with a group of parents. Within two minutes of the final bell ringing, kids started running out, scampering between the parents outside as they looked for their families. Ashley came out a couple of minutes later and ran straight at me, her arms outstretched. I squeezed her tight against me.

  “I knew you’d be here,” she said.

  I smiled at her. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  We drove home and then took Simon out for his evening walk. Ashley sang a song she had learned in music class, and for the first time that day, I didn’t think about Tess or Dominique or events I couldn’t change. I focused on her, on what was most important in my life. Katherine met us in the kitchen about twenty minutes later at the end of our walk. My wife and I couldn’t pretend that things were all right between us, but she let me kiss her cheek and give her a hug.

  “You’re home earlier than usual.”

  She smiled at our niece. “We’ve got that thing at Ashley’s school tonight.”

  I thought about pretending that I knew exactly what “thing” she had in mind, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate my lying to her.

  “Can you refresh my memory?”

  “Her graduation ceremony. From kindergarten to first grade. It’s something they do every year. I put out clothes for you.”

  “Oh, that thing,” I said, looking down at Ashley. “You know, when I graduated, Grandpa moved all my furniture to the front lawn and told me to get a job.”

  The smile Ashley had earlier slid off her face. “Do I have to get a job?”

  “No, but how about you go play with Simon in the yard?” I looked at Katherine. “I think he’s missed you today.”

  She nodded, and the two of them left, leaving me alone with Katherine. She leaned against the counter beside the oven and crossed her arms.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Aside from the fact that I’m staying in a hotel, and a dead woman and her sadistic partner are threatening my family?”

  “Yeah, aside from that.”

  “Fine.”

  “Is the hotel okay, at least?” I asked.

  “It’s as good as it can be. Ashley thinks we’re on vacation. She wants me to bring her bathing suit tonight so she can go swimming.”

  “At least one of you is enjoying it.”

  Katherine smiled weakly and nodded. “Have you made any progress?”

  “Minimal, if any. I talked to the detective who investigated Tess’s disappearance. He’s clueless.”

  “What about Moses? Has he tried anything?”

  “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he and Tess try something new.”

  “Are you worried?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Have you had dinner yet?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then I’m going to warm something up. You go shower.”

  “I’m sorry for all this.”

  “I’m sure it’s going to work out,” she said. It sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. I kissed her, and then showered before dressing in a pair of dark slacks and a white oxford shirt. We left the house as a family, Katherine and I holding hands in a rare public display of affection, while Ashley fidgeted beside us. My niece only had to walk across a stage as her principal read out her name, but she didn’t like having attention drawn to her. I couldn’t blame her.

  When we arrived at the school, Katherine and I made small talk with some of the other parents over a refreshment stand packed with cookies and lemonade before making our way to the auditorium. The lights had been turned low for the event and the stage had been festooned with interlocking construction-paper rings, likely a class art project.

  The presentation started punctually with the principal giving a speech about the importance of parental involvement in the education process. I tuned her out and watched as a row of children lined up directly offstage. A lot of the boys made faces at each other and the audience, while the girls talked quietly amongst themselves. It was amazing how different the two groups were, even at that young age. I couldn’t see Ashley, but I knew her class was back there somewhere.

  Once the principal finished speaking, the teachers started introducing themselves and their classes individually. Ashley’s class was the third one up. I never pictured myself as the sort of man who would run up and down the field as his kids played soccer, or as the sort who would go gaga over every school event his kids participated in, but as soon as Ashley’s teacher called her name and I saw her diffidently step foot onto the stage, I felt a goofy grin crack across my face. Katherine and I both waved, and Ashley brought her hand to her shoulder, meekly waving back.

  Katherine and I sat in silence after that for about ten minutes, watching the children of strangers parade across the stage in a seemingly endless line. As the last teacher came up to the podium, my phone vibrated against my leg, signaling a
n incoming call. I reached into my pocket, but Katherine squeezed my arm and leaned close to me before I could take out my phone to see who had called.

  “It’s almost over. You can take it in the lobby.”

  I nodded. My phone stopped buzzing a couple of moments later as the call went to voicemail. Unfortunately, it started again almost immediately. Katherine must have felt it, because she looked at me and leaned close again.

  “Were you expecting a call?”

  I shook my head no, but I don’t know if that was true or not. My house of glass was bound to come tumbling down soon. One well-placed shot would do it. A police officer who pulled Tess over for speeding on the interstate, a valet with a head for faces and an interest in St. Louis crime, a tourist taking a picture at the Gateway Arch that happened to include a woman the world thought was dead. My world had so many ways to spiral out of control that I had a hard time believing it could keep going on the straight and narrow.

  Sister Marie-Rose, the principal, followed the last child onto the stage and smiled at the audience before reminding us to keep the school, its staff, and its students in our prayers. She dismissed us and said we could meet our kids in their classrooms, where teachers and their assistants would be available for questions. At her direction, the lights came on and the sound of a couple hundred parents standing and talking covered up the noise of the building’s air conditioner and the hiss of the PA system.

  Katherine looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to check your message?”

  I looked around, half expecting to see police officers walking toward me from the entrances. Nobody was there, of course, but that didn’t make me feel too much better. “I don’t want to take this in public.”

  She straightened and paled a shade. “You think it’s them?”

  “I hope it’s Isaac calling to say he’s drunk and needs a ride home.”

  “Since when has drunkenness stopped Isaac from driving?” asked Katherine, narrowing her gaze. “You should answer. We need to get this over with.”