by Mary Birk
Jill motioned for him to sit down in one of the chairs. She took a seat on the adjoining sofa.
“Do you mind if I have a ciggy?” She started to take one out of the pack on the coffee table.
Harry nodded. “Actually, I’d rather you didn’t. Asthma,” he lied.
“Oh.” She looked wistfully at the cigarette, then put it back in the pack.
“This shouldn’t take long, then you can light up all you want. You probably heard about DI Mark Lawrence?”
“Tony told me. Murdered, right?”
“Aye. You knew him?”
Lips pursed into a tight line, she nodded.
“Your name and number were in his address book.”
“I went out with him for a while before Tony.”
“When exactly was that?”
“After Frank’s accident.” She flipped the cigarette package over, then flipped it back. “Since you work with Frank, you probably know I had a hard time dealing with his accident.”
Bitch, Harry thought. Her husband was paralyzed in the line of duty and she’d had a hard time? But he kept his feelings out of his voice. “Actually, he’s never mentioned you, but Superintendent Reid recognized your name in the book and asked me to talk to you. He said he’d met you back when you and Frank were still married.”
“Yes, years ago.” Her smile was stiff. “When we were all much younger.”
“So when you were seeing DI Lawrence, were you still married?”
“Technically, I guess, but Frank and I weren’t together anymore.”
“When did you stop seeing Mark Lawrence?”
“A year and a half ago, I think.” Her hands moved to take a cigarette again, but remembering, she pulled them back.
“Did you still talk to him after that?”
“Occasionally. If I ran into him or something.”
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
She thought. “Last fall. He called me.”
“About what?”
She picked up the pack of cigarettes and took one out, put it in her mouth, reached for her lighter, then remembered again and took the cigarette from her lips. She shook her head in apology. “Sorry, a habit. It was about Frank, actually.”
“About Frank?”
“He asked if I knew anything about what Frank was doing now, you know, his work with the taskforce.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said he was thinking of trying to get included on it, and wanted to know what I knew about it. And whether I thought Frank would hold the fact that we’d been together against him.”
“What did you say?”
“The truth. I don’t have any idea about what Frank’s doing there.” She met Harry’s eyes. “I told Mark that Frank wouldn’t care at all about him and me.”
“Because?”
Her tone matter-of-fact, she said, “When things ended between us, they ended completely. Like it had never happened. There was none of that stuff you hear about, where the husband keeps calling the wife, asking her to come back, or being jealous of who she’s with next, or anything like that. When I told Frank I wanted a divorce, he just agreed, and except for talking about a few details of the divorce papers, and what I wanted to take with me, we’ve never spoken again.”
Harry tried to picture Frank with this empty woman, but he couldn’t.
She played with the cigarette package. “Frank and I never had children. I didn’t want them. I grew up taking care of six younger brothers and sisters. I never wanted to have to take care of anyone like that again. I wanted to take care of me. When Frank got hurt, I couldn’t face having to take care of him for the rest of my life. I know that makes me sound like an awful person, but Frank never made me feel bad about it. He just let me go.”
Harry nodded, concealing his contempt. Good riddance to bad rubbish. “You didn’t tell Frank that Lawrence had been asking about the task force?”
“No. There was nothing to tell. And that’s the last time I talked to Mark. So, Frank’s doing all right?”
“Yes.” Harry got up and moved toward the door.
“Is he seeing anyone?”
Harry wanted to slap her. “Why would I tell you?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I heard he’s got his own place, drives himself around in a special van, and is working full time.”
“Working more than full time.”
She gave a twisted smile. “I guess he didn’t need me after all.”
“No, I don’t think he did.” He opened the door. Suddenly he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“You hate me.”
“Not me. You’re not worth hating. And I’ve got a feeling Frank doesn’t think you’re worth missing.”
Chapter 56
HENRY VON ZANDT slammed the door of his car and marched over to Reid.
Reid raised his eyebrows. Maybe this visit would prove worthwhile after all. “Hello, Henry.”
“What the fuck are you doing bothering my wife and my mother?”
Reid did his best insincere innocence act. “You told me I was welcome to check with your wife about your alibi for Richard Ramsey’s death.”
“I didn’t mean come to my house unannounced.”
“You didn’t say that.” Reid said, trying to sound injured. “Who called you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who told you I was here?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I just find it interesting. I didn’t get the impression from either your wife or your mother that they felt the need for you to come. I’m guessing it was the nanny. She spies on your wife for you?”
“None of your business.” Harry spat out each word.
“Well, anyway, I’m glad you came home, as I have some more questions for you.”
“I don’t have to answer any of your questions.”
Reid ignored the comment. “I asked both your mother and your wife, but neither one of them had any idea why your telephone number as well as your secretary’s name with the number of the company flat was in DI Mark Lawrence’s address book. Perhaps you can enlighten me.”
“How would I know? I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
“Just remember that we’re getting his telephone records, so if your number or the company flat’s number turns up, I’ll know you’re telling me a lie.”
Henry faltered, then apparently reconsidering his decision to lie, asked, “Who did you say it was? A policeman?”
“DI Mark Lawrence, CID. He was murdered on Easter in his flat.”
“Right. I didn’t recognize the name at first. Yes, I’d met him through my secretary.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t know—a year ago, maybe.”
“Was Ms. Taylor living at the company flat then?”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “Who says she lives there now?”
“That’s the number by her name in his book.”
Henry looked momentarily at a loss for words, so Reid went on. “Does she live there?”
“She’s between places right now, so we’re letting her use it. Temporarily.”
“Nice of you. Does she pay rent?”
“What difference does that make?”
“None to me. Might make a difference to your wife.”
“Then she can leave me, can’t she? See if I give a flying fuck. None of your business, either.” Then Henry’s expression folded into a sneer. “From what I’ve heard, you might be better off paying attention to your own marriage.”
Reid gave an acknowledging nod. “Always good advice. But my interest in you is professional. Why did Ms. Taylor introduce you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Why did he have your number?”
“I’d consulted with him on some security matters.”
“For the company?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”
“What kind of security
matters?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think.”
Henry waved his hand. “We had some money go missing. We thought perhaps we had an employee embezzling.”
“And?”
“It turned out to be an accounting mistake, that’s all.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
Henry’s shoulders went up in a casual shrug. “I can’t remember. We talked once in a while when other things came up that I thought he could help with.”
“I assume you paid him? So there’ll be records?”
Henry clamped his mouth together and glared at Reid. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Well?” Reid spoke amiably, enjoying Henry’s discomfort. He reckoned Henry would be torn between saying he’d paid Lawrence and admitting it had been under the table, or spinning the unbelievable tale that Lawrence had worked for nothing.
“I’m not talking to you without a solicitor. And stay the bloody fuck away from my family.” Henry got back in his car, made a flashy racecar driver turn, and headed back toward the city.
TUESDAY, APRIL 14
Chapter 57
REID LACED his running shoes tighter, then took off for his run through the park. Running cleared his head, helped get his blood moving, and readied his mind for Mass. He’d talked to Anne earlier that morning, wanting to touch base with her before she began her day. She’d sounded good, had gotten some sleep, and her nausea was . . . well, still there. As he ran, every time his left foot led, he silently prayed: let it be my child, let it be my child. Later, as he got into his stride, he thought about work, but underneath his thoughts deep inside of him, ran the prayerful conviction: it’s my child, it’s my child.
DI Lawrence’s death, especially following so closely after DC Parsons, had CID in an upheaval. The loss of an officer was always taken personally, whether he was liked or not, and Reid had been inundated with cops volunteering to help with the investigation.
Reid had taken advantage of the offers and had uniforms scouring the neighborhood for any witnesses or other information. But his gut told him that Ramsey’s murder and Lawrence’s murder were connected, and that they weren’t likely to get much joy from a door-to-door canvassing.
His feet pounded on down the path as he thought. Harry was working on going over Lawrence’s finances—a move that would further incense CID if and when they found out. Proving a cop was dirty was something no one on the job liked to do, and their colleagues would resent it. Reid had a feeling they would find something in Lawrence’s accounts that showed he’d been on someone’s payroll, though he doubted they would be lucky enough to find anything implicating Von Zandt.
The morning was chilly, but he’d been pleased to see not just the forlorn little daffodils, but the beginnings of the other spring bulbs coming up in the park. There were bulbs coming up at the house as well, and this weekend he’d be there with Anne. They could have a cookout, just the two of them cocooned in their house, surrounded by the high stone walls that enclosed the garden.
He’d instructed the designer to keep moving forward as quickly as possible on getting the house finished. Anne had been pleased with how the painting had come out, and now the rest of changes she’d decided on—recessed lighting in some of the rooms, some changes in the shelving in the large walk in pantry, and changing out the fixtures in the downstairs powder room—could be started. Of course, there were a good many more decisions to be made, furniture to be selected, and when this next stage was completed, Anne could meet with the woman again and decide what she wanted.
He pushed the thought out of his mind of what would happen with the house if he lost Anne. He just wasn’t going to think about that yet. They had months still. And with the house, they would have privacy until the baby was born—they could keep to themselves until they knew whose child it was. For now, they could just do what they were doing—tread water—and he would still have her with him.
Knowing it wasn’t much of a plan, he put aside any doubts or thoughts of common sense and ran, forcing his mind to concentrate on work—specifically, back to whether, no, not whether, but how, the murders of DI Lawrence and Richard Ramsey were related.
Just before he reached his building, he noticed a slim figure in a long coat standing to the side, the face obscured by the overhang of the coat’s hood. Reid slowly slipped his hand under his sweatshirt and felt for his gun. The figure turned toward him and let the hood down.
“It’s Glynnis Taylor,” she whispered. “I need to talk to you.”
He felt chilled as perspiration from his run started to dry on his skin. “Then talk.”
“I can’t take the chance someone will see me. Can we go inside?”
Reid considered briefly. He didn’t like to have people he didn’t know in his flat, but he knew Glynnis was right. It could be dangerous for her to be seen with him like this. He nodded and quickly ushered her into the building.
He opened the door to his flat, put the electric teakettle on, and motioned for her to sit down. “How did you know where I live?”
“Walter has a file on you in the office.”
Reid wasn’t surprised. He assumed Von Zandt was doing at least that. But he wondered what else was in the file. More specifically, what was in the file about Anne?
“Don’t you need to get to work, Glynnis?”
“Not until eight-thirty.”
“Henry didn’t stay in town last night?”
She shook her head. “He went home around eleven. His wife was upset with him, and she kept calling. He blamed you.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
The kettle whistled and Reid moved over to the counter to make tea. He brought the pot over, along with two mugs and let it steep, then went back to the refrigerator for milk. “White?”
She nodded. “But no sugar.” He put the milk on the table so she could pour her own.
“I didn’t tell her about you—or that the number in DI Mark Lawrence’s address book he had for you was the company flat. I said it was your mobile number.”
She gave a dry smile. “Clever.”
He poured the tea into two mugs, then handed her one. “Why did he have your number?”
“Henry told me you asked that.”
“So?”
“I went out with him, once.” She added milk to her tea, stirred, then raised the cup to her lips.
“Once?”
“Believe me, once was enough.”
“You were living in the company flat then?” Reid poured milk in his own tea, added a sugar, and stirred.
“You mean, was I with Henry?”
He nodded.
She stood up, taking her mug and walking through from the kitchen to the flat’s main room, her eyes darting around, taking inventory. “I was in the flat, but not seeing Henry yet. Though I’m sure that’s why he offered to let me stay there. I was unhappy with the flat I had—noisy, things like that. The company flat is quite nice. So I said okay, while I was looking for somewhere else. I just never left.”
She picked up one of the framed photos of Anne from a side table, examined it. Reid realized the mistake he’d made by letting her inside his flat. If Von Zandt had a file on him, now that file would contain the exact layout of his flat.
“How long have you worked for the company?” Reid wanted to snatch the photo out of her hand, but he stayed where he was.
“A little over two years. Richard set up an interview for me with Henry, and I got the job.” She still held Anne’s photo.
“Not just the job.”
She acknowledged the implication with a nod. “I knew Henry was interested, but I fended him off for a long time. About a year and a half ago, I met Mark Lawrence at a club. I went out with him once. I didn’t care for him, but he kept calling. I mentioned it to Henry, and that Lawrence was CID.”
A little too convenient, Reid thought, but he gave a small go-on gesture.
He nodded. “Why did Henry want the intro?”
“He said it was good to know cops.” Looking around the room, she shook her head. “You certainly have a lot of photos of her, don’t you?”
Reid ignored the remark, keeping on the subject. “That wasn’t what Henry told me. He said it was because he had some security issues. Possible embezzlement.”
Glynnis put the photo down suddenly and the unmistakable crack of glass breaking sounded. Obviously embarrassed, she looked at the broken picture, then at him. “Sorry.”
“No worries. I’ll get it fixed.”
“What else did Henry say?”
“He said it turned out to be an accounting mistake.”
Relief relaxed her face. “Oh, yes, of course. Now I remember.”
Liar, Reid thought, but he asked, “Was Mark Lawrence giving Henry information about investigations?”
“I’m not sure. He called Henry sometimes, or sometimes Henry would tell me to get him on the line, but I never asked what it was about. Mark had stopped trying to chat me up. I think Henry warned him off.”
Reid fixed her with his gaze. “Glynnis, why are you really here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you come to my flat?”
“Because of what you said. About all of those young people being killed, and that if they weren’t stopped, there would be more. I thought you should know about DI Lawrence. His connection with the Von Zandts.”
“Frankly, that’s not very helpful. I gleaned that much from the address book. Why not just call?”
“I don’t know.” She gestured, taking in his place. “I was curious about you. I wanted to see where you lived.”
“So you could report back to your boyfriend?”
“Absolutely not. I can’t tell him I’ve come here.”
“Then why?”
“I guess I just wanted to see you again.”