by Mary Burton
She studied her father’s face, alight with a smile that she never remembered seeing. He’d always been so somber, and though he smiled, it wasn’t the brilliant explosion of glee that this grin radiated.
Beside her father stood Blue, who had wrapped his arm casually around Frank’s shoulders as if they were old, casual friends.
She glanced in the corner and saw that the picture had been taken twenty-eight years ago. Just before Blue had begun his affair with her mother.
The men’s smiles looked so true and bright that it seemed unimaginable that treachery lurked down the road. By the end of that year her mother had left her father and Angie’s safe world had been shattered. Loving parents had morphed into an emotionally absent father and a mother she saw only once a month.
Angie flipped the picture over and read the inscription.
Celebrating the donation of the new wing to be dedicated to the Darius Cross Foundation.
Darius Cross!
Her face flushed, and her heart raced. She reread the inscription.
Angie had never imagined that her family’s ties to the Cross family stretched back beyond the dark night Josiah had raped Eva. She’d assumed Darius’s taste for revenge was due to grief. But now it appeared that Darius had known Eva and Angie’s history better than they did themselves.
She searched the faces of the men in the photo and realized the man on the far right was Darius Cross. Thirty years ago he’d have been in his forties. He cut a striking figure. His hair was thick and only grayed at the temples. His skin sported a deeply tanned hue, and his teeth flashed bright and even. Micah strongly favored his father’s appearance.
The Darius Cross she’d remembered was heavier. His hair had been much thinner, and the rawboned cheeks had softened. At the trial, his eyes had reflected anger and mistrust, not excitement and joy.
She traced Darius’s face. Her family had deep ties to the Cross family. That fact stirred unease and scared her for reasons she could not explain.
Angie picked up her phone and dialed Eva’s cell. She’d commissioned the report without her sister’s knowledge, but she could not sit on the information. Eva had a right to know what had happened to her father.
And perhaps, this new information would jog Eva’s earliest memories, and they could learn more about the families’ connections.
“This is Eva,” the voice mail message said. “You know me, I never remember my phone but leave a message anyway.”
“I swear to God, Eva, I am going to surgically implant that phone in you. I will just talk to you later.” Angie snapped the phone closed.
Whatever she had to say to her sister would have to wait until a return call or dinner tonight when Angie went to King’s.
Malcolm arrived at the home of Vivian Sweet just after ten. Her home was a small, one-story rancher located off of Glebe Road. Like the other homes around it, it had been built after World War II, and despite the low square footage, the homes in this area sold quickly when they went on the market. The homes to the right and left of Mrs. Sweet’s house looked as if they’d undergone facelifts. No doubt the older owners had sold out to young professionals. Whereas Mrs. Sweet’s house looked tired, dated, as if it hadn’t seen much TLC in a long time.
He climbed the brick steps and rang the bell. A planter by the door sported a mum with dying orange blossoms, and chipped and rusted black paint covered a cast-iron railing.
Seconds passed and no one answered. He rang the bell again, glancing toward a large picture window to the right of the steps. Drawn curtains blocked his view into the house.
There was no solid connection between Lulu Sweet and Sierra Day. Most would question the time he’d spent this afternoon looking for Lulu when he was knee-deep in an active murder investigation. But they still had no real leads in Sierra’s case. And as the hours ticked by and he found no sign of Lulu, he believed there might be a connection between the two cases.
Finally, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. A chain scraped against a lock and dropped to dangle against the door. A dead bolt slid free, and the door opened.
Standing on the other side of the screen door was a willowy woman. She wore a blue housecoat and slippers. A baby’s cry drifted out from another room.
“Can I help you?” the woman said through the screen door.
“Mrs. Vivian Sweet?”
“Yes.”
He withdrew his badge from the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’m Detective Kier with Alexandria Police.”
The baby’s wail grew angrier, more insistent. “Are you here about Lulu?”
“How did you know?”
“You’re not the first policeman to show up on my doorstep asking about Lulu. Trouble finds her pretty quick.”
“Can I ask you a couple of questions about your daughter?”
Mrs. Sweet glanced back into the house toward the source of the baby’s wail. “I have to get my grandson.”
Malcolm grinned. “Boy’s got some lungs on him.”
A ghost of a smile tipped the edge of her lips. “That he does. Come on in and wait in the living room while I get him.”
She unlocked the screen door and Malcolm stepped into the house, which smelled of baby powder and Vicks VapoRub. Circumstances had forced together two generations that didn’t really fit.
Mrs. Sweet reappeared with a baby resting on her hip. The kid was bald, had big watery blue eyes, and chewed on his meaty fist. The kid’s bulk made his grandmother look all the more frail and old.
“What’s his name?” Kier said.
“David.”
The baby wiggled in his grandmother’s arms and then thrust out his hands toward Malcolm. Instinct had Malcolm moving toward the kid, who reminded him of his nephew, Jack, and his niece, Elizabeth. When he was in Richmond, he was always hoisting those two, tossing them in the air or changing a dirty diaper.
Mrs. Sweet hesitated. “He’ll drool all over your jacket, and sometimes he spits up.”
Malcolm grinned. “I’ll chance it.”
“Suit yourself.”
Malcolm held out his hands to the kid, who tipped his body weight forward and all but plunged into Malcolm’s waiting hands. The kid stared up at him, his big eyes searching and curious. David had “handful” written all over him. “He looks like he might walk soon.”
Vivian nodded. “You’re right.You mind holding on to him while I grab a bottle? It should be warm now.”
“Sure.” The kid smelled of powder, but judging by the mushy weight of his diaper, he had already filled it up. When Vivian vanished into the kitchen Malcolm looked at the kid. “You’re carrying a load, aren’t you, pal?”
The boy gurgled and laughed.
“Figured as much.”
Vivian reappeared. “I can feed him.”
The veins in the woman’s hand blazed blue and bright, and he noted her fingers shook very slightly. “Let me. I’ve got some experience.”
They sat on the small sofa and chair in the living room. Vivian released a sigh as she sat down. “You got kids?”
“No. Not yet. My brother has a couple of kids, and I see them often.” Malcolm cradled the boy, who greedily grabbed the bottle, tossed his weight back into the crook of his arm, and sucked the nipple. “He’s an eater.”
“He’s going to be a bruiser.”
“He seems healthy.”
She pushed a wisp of gray hair from her face. “He is, thank God. Lulu was clean when she was pregnant.”
“That’s good for the kid.”
“Yes.” She smoothed her palms over thin thighs. “No matter how hard she tries to climb out, the junk drags her down every time. No matter how much she swears she’ll never use again, she does.” She picked at a stray thread on her housecoat. “Did the courts send you?”
“I came because Ms. Carlson was worried about your daughter. I promised to ask around.”
The scent of illness clung to the woman, and he guessed she wasn’t plagued by the flu or
a cold but was gravely ill. “I spoke to Ms. Carlson in the courthouse yesterday. She looked frazzled when she came barreling into the courtroom. She’d been waiting on Lulu. She’d been so convinced that Lulu would show.” She shook her head. “Funny that Ms. Carlson would help. She all but tore my girl apart on the stand.”
“I remember.”
“I was so blistering angry with Ms. Carlson. I wrote her a few letters after the trial and told her I thought she was a bloodsucker. Dixon didn’t deserve a fair trial. He deserved to be hung. Lulu has her faults, but he hurt her bad.”
Malcolm had had similar thoughts regarding Dixon, and still he heard himself defending Angie, saying, “A fair trial is a basic right for everyone.”
“I don’t care about rights. Dixon was bad. He needed to die.”
“Has your daughter seen him at all since the trial?” No one in their right mind would seek out a man who’d brutalized them, but he’d seen a lot of odd behavior since joining the force.
“She said no. And I believed her. But she’s lied before. Are you here to tell me she’s been seeing that monster?”
“He patronized the bar where she worked. I don’t know if she knew that or not.” He glanced at the kid. The boy’s eyes had drifted to half-mast. “Were you surprised when Lulu didn’t show in court?”
She sat back on the couch. “I had hoped she’d make it. I really want my girl to get her act together. David needs a mother.”
“You’ve not heard from your daughter in the last couple of days?”
“Not a word. Each time the phone rings I think it’s her. That’s her pattern. Mess up and then call and apologize. Not hearing from her has me wondering if she really has screwed up this time.”
“She mention anyone that she hung out with much lately?”
“No. We don’t talk a lot.”
He hesitated. Mrs. Sweet knew Lulu better than anyone. “What do you think has happened to her?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “She has finally overdosed.”
David had completely relaxed back in Malcolm’s arms, and his eyes had drifted shut. It pained him to know the kid was in for a rough life thanks to circumstances.
“Do you think she’s dead?” He hated to ask the question.
She lifted her chin. “No. I don’t feel that. But I fear it’s a matter of time.”
“I’ve checked her apartment and spoken to neighbors. No one has seen her.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
He studied the woman’s pale features. “Do you mind me asking you about your health issues?”
She hesitated and then released a sigh. “I’ve got congestive heart failure. I’ve had it for several years. Medication and rest keep it in check pretty well. But the stress of the last year has made it steadily worse.”
“What do you plan to do with the baby?”
“I’d half hoped Lulu would come through, and I could get back to taking care of myself.”
“Do you want me to call social services? Do you want help?”
“No. No social services. I can take care of my own. Don’t you worry about David. I love him, and I’ll see that he’s tended to. You can do me a favor and just find my daughter so we can get this mess sorted out.”
He glanced at the boy. David had drained his bottle and fallen asleep. Malcolm rose slowly and laid the boy in his grandmother’s arms. Shit. The kid didn’t belong in a sick house with a fragile woman. He deserved parks and games and swing sets. “I’ll let you know when I find your daughter.”
“Can you find her?”
He looked at David. “One way or the other, I’ll find her.”
The four detectives gathered in the meeting room around an old wooden conference table that looked as if it had seen its best days in the seventies. Its matched chairs and credenza also showed thirty years of wear. Gray industrial carpet made the windowless room’s white walls look dingy.
Malcolm had a thing against windowless rooms. He understood they were practical for cops. No one could shoot into the room. But his body craved the sunshine almost from the minute he closed the door behind him.
Steam rose from the hot cup of coffee warming Malcolm’s hand as he took his seat. When Garrison, Sinclair, and Rokov took a seat, he said, “We’re four days into the murder investigation of Sierra Day. Forensics has given us little so far. Sommers is processing dozens of footprints found at the scene, as well as fingerprints pulled from Sierra’s room and car. That’ll keep him digging for a good while. Do we have anything on Sierra Day’s financials or cell phone records?”
Sinclair opened a manila folder. “We’ve back traced most of her cell phone calls, and all lead to her ex-husband, ex-lover, lawyers, or the theater. She did make calls to Dixon’s office, but the time and duration match with a schedule change to an appointment.”
“We heard rumors of another boyfriend,” Malcolm said.
“If she had a secret guy, she didn’t call him from her cell phone,” Sinclair said.
“Okay. Financials?” Malcolm said.
“No expenditures that seemed out of the ordinary,” Rokov said. “Day carried nearly sixteen thousand in credit card debt. And almost all her expenses were related to clothing, drinking at Duke Street Café, gas, and publicity pictures. No out-of-town trips or hidden hideaways where she might have gone with this mystery lover we’ve heard about.” He tapped his finger on the table. “Sinclair and I also spoke to her neighbors and colleagues, and no one noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
“Carlson told us that Sierra’s mystery boyfriend liked to buy her lingerie. And that he flew her down to Florida.”
Sinclair shook her head. “We found lingerie in her room. One piece still had the tags on it. It was purchased from an exclusive store in the District. The clerk did not have sales records and promised to have the store owner check when she got back into town tomorrow.”
“Did you show the clerk a picture of Dixon?” Malcolm asked.
“I did. He’s not been in the store.” Sinclair frowned. “We’ve all been so focused on Dixon, who I might add has an airtight alibi for the days Sierra went missing. I think we need to cast our net farther afield. Our tunnel vision could very well be allowing another killer to go free.”
Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles had tightened like bowstrings. He’d begun to worry about that as well. “You could be right, but I’m just not ready to cut Dixon loose.”
Sinclair shook her head. “Sierra’s lover Marty Gold had assault charges filed against him last year. Maybe we need to squeeze him a little bit.”
“Sure, follow up on that.” It felt like the wrong path, but Malcolm just couldn’t prove it yet. “We also are exploring another angle. Garrison and I spent the better part of the morning looking for Lulu Sweet.” He quickly reviewed her connection to Dixon and Angie.
Garrison, who sat to the right of Malcolm, added, “We’ve found no trace of her.”
“Lulu’s purse vanished from the bar, and a Maureen White who works at ZZ’s found Lulu’s shoe in the alley behind the bar. According to Maureen, Lulu went to the alley to hook up with a drug dealer named Tony.”
“Maybe it’s as simple as her overdosing,” Sinclair said.
Malcolm nodded. “I visited with her mother. She’s not seen Lulu.”
“Or maybe someone’s going after Carlson’s clients?” Rokov said. “She’s made her share of enemies in the courtroom. I can’t say I’m her number-one fan.”
Sinclair flipped pages in her file. “Carlson is good at what she does. And I do respect that. But that could have made enemies.”
Malcolm too had gained a begrudging admiration for Carlson. Love her or hate her, she was smart and dedicated. And the idea that she’d been targeted did not sit well with him. “Sierra’s roommate mentioned she’d received notes. What about them?”
“Forensics found them in a magazine in her room,” Rokov said. “They were handwritten on plain paper. The writing is distinctive
and does not match samples we have of Dixon’s. And without something to compare it to, we don’t have much of a lead. Paulie did say something about having it analyzed by an expert, but that will take time.”
“Okay,” Malcolm said.
Sinclair cleared her throat. “I had a ViCAP hit about an hour ago. It’s a stretch, but the case has similar characteristics.” ViCAP wasn’t a perfect system, but from time to time it did match current violent crimes in other jurisdictions.
Malcolm shifted his attention to her and waited. “Let’s hear it.”
Sinclair pulled an old police file out from under her notepad. “Seems like a fairly remote link.”
“If remote equates to a lead then I am all for it,” Malcolm said.
“I haven’t had much time to read the file,” she said. “I just got it from archives a few minutes before the meeting.”
“Let’s have it.”
She flipped over a page and read the investigating detectives’ notes. “Thirty years ago, bones were found deposited at a construction site. These bones should have ended up buried under a ton of concrete, but a scheduling conflict with a cement contractor delayed the job. A couple of kids poking around the site found clean bones that had been dumped in a hole.”
Malcolm leaned forward. “How were the bones stripped?”
“Investigating cops didn’t know.”
“Did they identify the victim?”
“Yes.” She flipped over a page and read. “Just like us, they dug into their missing persons file. Long story short, they determined that their victim was Fay Willow. She was thirty-one and employed as a secretary.”
“What about the notes?”
“The lead detective interviewed her roommate, who commented she’d received notes at home and work before she vanished. I love you. Always together. Endearing if you like the sender, creepy if you don’t know the sender.”
“Where did she work?” Malcolm asked.
Sinclair scanned the page. “The Talbot Museum.”