by S. L. Menear
I found big news there that had made the national papers. A body had been unearthed by a bulldozer preparing the ground for a new resort in the forest. The rushed DNA results verified it was a girl who had disappeared eighteen years earlier at age sixteen. A smiling photo of Cindy Thompson almost leaped off the page at me. I compared it to the one I had pulled from the album. It was the same girl. Goosebumps erupted on my arms.
I printed the news article and took it and the photo from the album with me to look for Sophia. She was in the ballroom, throwing frisbees for the dogs.
She smiled at me. “Ready for some iced tea?”
I waved the page. “I’m going to need something stronger. But first, I want to show you this.”
We settled on chairs along the interior wall, and the dogs bounded up and stuck their little heads in the water bowls she had placed there for them. The rain shower ended, and sunlight streamed into fifteen-foot-tall windows that lined the three outer walls enclosing the ballroom at the north end of the castle. Red velvet draperies framed each window, and massive crystal chandeliers hung above the polished oak floor.
Sophia studied the article and compared the photos. “This is what convinced Pierce to kill the mayor. Peabody had to know about Lola. Maybe he even knew that’s why your parents died, and unearthing the teenage girl he and Pierce had killed was too much for him. With all his drinking and womanizing, he was primed to break down and confess their crimes.” She thought a moment. “Poisoning his Scotch was a stroke of genius because women tend to use poison for murder, and one of Peabody’s many playmates would be blamed.”
“There’s more. After Pierce took Lola out on the boat, he and the mayor talked to my parents the next morning. I verified it with the pilot and Marjorie.”
She clenched her fist. “Call Mike and have him arrest Pierce.”
“I wish it were that simple. All the evidence is circumstantial. Pierce’s lawyer would argue that Peabody killed both girls, and Pierce knew nothing about any of it. He’d say the mayor hired a hitman to kill my parents.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I want to know how Pierce managed to kill my parents and blow up the dive boat and my car. If I can figure that out, maybe I can devise a way to prove he did it all. For example, where did he acquire expertise with explosives?”
“Call Hunter. Don’t tell him anything on the phone, just in case. Ask him to come here.”
“Good idea.” I called him on my cell and asked him to come right away. When I hung up, I said to Sophia, “He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
Thirty-Four
Hunter arrived mid-afternoon. A worried look clouded his face. He hugged me and then Sophia. “Are my two favorite girls safe?”
“Safe is a relative term. Come and sit with us. There’s beer in a cooler on the terrace, and I have a lot to tell you.” I walked with him through the great hall.
Between my sips of cold chardonnay, I covered everything and ended with, “We’re pretty sure Pierce is the killer, but we can’t prove it in court.”
“What can I do?” He drained his beer.
“We’re missing four pieces of crucial information.” I organized my thoughts. “We need to learn where Pierce acquired expertise with explosives, not to mention where he got all the components for the bombs.”
“There are plenty of how-to manuals on the Internet, but that wouldn’t explain where he bought the bomb materials.” Hunter frowned. “What did Mike say about the detonator?”
“He said it was more than ten years old and impossible to trace, so I’ll look for a job Pierce could’ve had more than ten years ago. Something between college semesters—a job that could involve the use of explosives, like construction projects where they have to blast into the bedrock.”
Sophia perked up. “Maybe one of his relatives owns a construction company.”
“That would be too easy.” I stood. “Hang on a minute while I grab my laptop.”
I returned with my computer. After several tries, I said, “Nothing for Lockwood Construction Company or derivatives of that name.”
“What was his mother’s maiden name?” Sophia asked.
It only took a few moments. “Nancy Lockwood’s maiden name was Caldwell.” I tried the Caldwell name in a search for construction companies. “Here it is: Caldwell and Sons Construction. They build high-rise condo buildings on the beach.”
Hunter smiled. “I have a friend who does that. They use explosives to blast through the coral bed so they can insert the foundation pilings thirty feet into the base.”
I did an Internet search on Pierce. “Pierce is thirty-four. He graduated Yale at age twenty-two and started Harvard Law that fall. Assuming he worked for his uncle in his early twenties during summer breaks, that would be over ten years ago.”
Sophia added, “The sick creep probably stole everything necessary for bomb-making and squirreled it away in a storage unit just in case he might need it someday.”
“He told me he has big political ambitions. His ultimate goal is to be elected U.S. President. That’s a scary thought.”
Hunter pulled another Coors out of the cooler. “All right. We’ve probably solved the mystery of his expertise with explosives. What’s next?”
“Find out how he gained access to the Jorgensen jet.” I poured another glass of chardonnay. “We already know he’s a pilot who has worked on enough airplanes with you to know how to sabotage one.”
“I can fly to Freeport tomorrow and look into whether he was there the same time the Jorgensen jet was parked on the ramp.” He peered out to sea. “If he flew an airplane over there, maybe he managed to park it right next to their jet.”
“Also check whether he flew there the day we went diving or if he sneaked over in his speedboat and blew up our dive boat. But first, I’ll make a call and find out what time his deep-sea fishing charter left the dock the day my car exploded.”
I searched the Internet for deep-sea charter companies in Miami. One advertised itself as a luxury experience, so I called them first. “Hello, this is the accounting department at the Lockwood Law Firm. I just need a few minor details for Pierce Lockwood’s expense report pertaining to the charter he took Saturday.”
“What do you need?” a woman asked.
“Nothing much. Just the time the boat left the dock, the time they returned, and how many clients he took with him.”
“Let’s see, Mr. Lockwood took four clients on a private charter departing at 1 p.m. Saturday and returning at 5 p.m. Captain Bowman was the skipper.”
“Thanks for the help. Now I can wrap up this expense report. Have a nice day.” I turned to Hunter and Sophia. “Pierce lied. The boat didn’t leave the dock until one o’clock. Plenty of time to plant the explosive in my car and remotely detonate it before he drove to Miami.”
“I bet he had a false alibi for the day your dive boat exploded.” Sophia cuddled the puppies. “Can you check if he was actually in court when you were diving in the Bahamas?”
“Court cases are usually public records. Let me see if I can pull up the cases for that day.” My fingers raced over the keyboard. “His law firm had four cases, but he wasn’t on record as being there for any of them.”
“Which means he could have gone to Freeport and bombed our dive boat.” Hunter clenched his fist. “All this time, I thought he was a good guy. I took him under my wing and taught him how to work on airplanes as well as fly them.”
I leaned forward. “None of this is your fault.”
He squeezed my arm. “If he’s responsible for killing that girl in Vermont, Lola Brown, your parents, Mayor Peabody, and the captain on our dive boat, that’s six people, not counting his attempts to blow us up. I think that qualifies him as a serial killer.”
I took a deep drink. “And, like most serial killers, he doesn’t show any signs of remorse. He must be one of those rare people with no conscience.”
Sophia leaned forward. “Sounds like the definition
of a psychopath—no conscience and anti-social behavior, the extreme being murder.”
My cell phone rang. It was Gwen.
“Hi, Jett, I’m still in England.” She sniffled. “Aunt Liz died the day before yesterday. I waited to call until I could talk without crying.”
“I’m so sorry, Gwen. Liz was a wonderful person.”
“I’ve been consumed with helping my uncle deal with all the necessary arrangements. Her funeral is tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t have time to shop. Any chance you could come and bring my black sheath with the three-quarter-length sleeves and the black netted hat I keep for funerals?” She sounded sad and exhausted.
I checked my watch and mentally added five hours. “Of course, I’ll come. I’ll fly out tonight in one of the company jets. Want me to bring Hugo and Leo with me?”
Her voice cracked. “Yes, please, I need my house family.”
“Consider it done, and you should plan to fly home with us.”
“Thanks, Jett. I knew I could count on you. Uncle Clive will send a car to Heathrow. I booked a hotel suite near Westminster Abbey so I can dress for the funeral. After the service, we’ll drive to Colchester Castle for the interment and the reception afterward. Text me with your arrival time.”
I hung up. “Gwen’s Aunt Elizabeth died. She needs me with her at the funeral, so I’ll be gone a couple days.”
Hunter hugged me. “I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow in Freeport, and if I have time, I’ll look into whether he took his speedboat there the day our dive boat exploded. After that, I have to work a three-day trip with the airline. We’ll compare notes when you return from England.” He held us in his gaze. “Be careful. If Pierce knows we’re onto him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
Sophia tried to play the helpless female card. “Maybe you should stay here tonight and protect me and the puppies.”
He didn’t buy it. He leaned over and gave her a little kiss. “You and the puppies will be fine. Pierce is the one who should worry if he messes with you.”
“I need to call the company’s flight department and book a jet. Then I’ll run next door and pack a few things Gwen needs for the funeral, return, and pack my stuff.” I hugged him. “Thanks for coming. I’ll see you when I get back.”
He left, and I booked the jet. “Is Captain Duquesne available? Good. I’ll be there at seven tonight. Thank you.”
I touched Sophia’s arm. “I’m going next door to pack Gwen’s clothes.”
“Would you like me to cook a nice dinner for you, say around five?”
“Only if you were planning on cooking anyway. Otherwise, we can order out.”
“Let me feed you. It satisfies my mothering instincts. How about chicken parmigiana?”
I hugged her. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” I petted the puppies and left.
Next door, Leo opened the door for me. “Jett, darling, thanks for inviting us to fly with you. Gwen just called and explained you would bring her funeral clothes.” He led me upstairs to her top-floor bedroom, where everything she had requested was laid out and ready to put into her bag.
“This should be everything.” He scrutinized my arms and legs. “You had better wear a long-sleeved ankle-length dress and gloves to cover your scabs from the explosion. Gwen’s aunt was a duchess, which is high up on the nobility scale, and she was a close friend of the queen. The funeral will be held in Westminster Abbey, and the queen will attend with other royals—a high society event with media coverage.”
“Oh. Didn’t think about that. Poor Gwen. This will put a lot of pressure on her at a time when she’s already burdened with grief.” I hugged him. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
He hung her dress in the bag.
“Did you pack black heels for her?” I was lucky Leo was such a fashion expert. Looking good mattered to me, but I had never been a slave to fashion. And I was out of touch with the latest trends after wearing a Navy uniform for six years.
“I packed her black Manolo stilettos.” He smirked. “One can never be too tall at events like these.”
“Gwen will tower over the queen in those five-inch heels.”
“Jett, darling, everyone towers over the queen.” He zipped up the clothes bag.
Thirty-Five
A few hours before our scheduled departure, I called Mike and asked him to arrange for a bomb-sniffing dog to inspect our aircraft at 7 p.m., right before departure. “I’ll happily pay for it. I’d rather be safe than sorry, especially with so many lives at risk.”
“I think that’s a smart move,” Mike said. “And give my condolences to Gwen.”
My next call was to our pilot. “Hi, Dan, I don’t want to alarm you, but there have been two attempts on my life, both involving explosives. I’ve arranged for a bomb-sniffing dog and his handler to inspect the jet before departure. In the meantime, I’d like you to go over every inch of the airplane, removing inspection plates and checking inside.”
“All right, and I’ll arrange for extra security. Any idea where a bomb might be placed?”
“My parents’ jet was sabotaged with small explosives placed where bolts attach the tail section to the fuselage.”
“Thanks for the warning, Jett. I’ll take care of it.”
I pocketed my phone, and Sophia served us a delicious dinner.
I patted my lips with a napkin. “Thanks for a wonderful meal. You’re such a good cook.”
“I enjoy cooking, especially in your kitchen. It has everything a chef could want.” She walked around to my side of the table and hugged me. “Be careful out there.”
“You too.” I petted the dogs. “Be good and protect Sophia while I’m gone.”
An airport limo picked me up and drove next door to collect Leo and Hugo. I rang the bell because I wanted to ask Leo something about Gwen’s funeral outfit.
Leo opened the door. He wore an elegant navy silk suit. “I’m waiting for Hugo. He’ll be right down.”
“I forgot to ask if I should bring some jewelry for Gwen’s funeral outfit. Did she mention anything to you about that?”
“Oh, right, she said something about honoring her aunt by wearing some of Liz’s jewelry.” He turned when Hugo trotted down the stairs. “Really? You’re wearing that?”
Hugo looked down at his khaki cargo shorts and black T-shirt with French Men Do It Better printed on the front. “It’s an all-night flight. I want to be comfortable.”
Leo rolled his eyes. “Fine, but you’ll change into a nice suit before arrival. We can’t have you showing up at the funeral wearing casual clothes.” He waved to the limo driver. “Put these in the trunk, please.” He indicated their matching set of Louis Vuitton luggage. Turning back to me, he said, “Hugo’s gay card should be revoked. The man has no fashion sense.”
“Don’t be silly.” I hugged him, and then I hugged Hugo. “I’m glad I have two strong men coming with me. Gwen and I will need you to lean on, especially at the funeral.”
They smiled, and Hugo said, “Anything for our girls.”
After a twenty-minute limo ride, Captain Dan Duquesne greeted us in the lobby at Signature. He had porters standing by to load the luggage after the K-9 sniffed everything.
A gorgeous blond flight attendant in her mid-twenties greeted us with glasses of Dom Perignon. “Welcome aboard. After takeoff, I’ll hand out silk robes if you’d like me to hang up your clothes. All the club seats fully recline.” She closed and secured the entry door.
“Thank you.” I led the way into the spacious cabin with its wide overstuffed leather recliners and individual entertainment centers. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys. We’ll have some drinks and a gourmet snack. Then I suggest we get as much sleep as possible before our inflight breakfast is served in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me.” Leo sat beside a window, and Hugo sat next to him and pulled his seatbelt snug.
The pilots started the engines, and soon we were taxiing to the runway.
We pulled onto the private jet ramp at Heathrow right on schedule, 6 a.m. Florida time and 11 a.m. London time. The weather was a cold forty-two degrees with a light rain. After breezing through U.K. Customs, we found Clive’s driver waiting for us with a huge umbrella beside a Rolls Royce limo. Hugo had changed on the airplane into a dark-blue gabardine suit with a crisp white shirt and a red silk tie, all chosen by Leo. There would be no wardrobe faux pas.
Gwen greeted us in the hotel suite. She hugged me, then Leo and Hugo. “Thank you for coming. How was your flight? Did you sleep?”
“Oh, yes, we zonked out right after a small snack and champagne.” I hugged Clive. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Elizabeth was such an extraordinary woman.”
He forced a brave smile. “I shall miss her terribly. Come and meet my niece, Juliet.” He led us to a seating area and made the introductions.
Gwen’s second cousin stood only five feet in heels and was as pale as a freshly embalmed cadaver, her delicate skin a bluish white. Dark blond hair and large, doe-like eyes complemented her timid personality.
Juliet offered a limp hand and said in a high, squeaky voice, “Thank you for coming.”
“Would you like tea?” Clive gestured to his butler, who called down to the restaurant.
Gwen checked the time. “We have to leave for the funeral at Westminster Abbey in an hour. Just so you know, Queen Elizabeth will be there, but she won’t be attending the burial and reception in Colchester afterward. It’s a long drive from London. I’m sorry to put you through such an exhausting day.”