Stride leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. The gun dangled in his hand.
“Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” he asked.
He didn’t add, Do you want to tell me why two women in Rachel’s life are trying to kill themselves? Because he had no doubt that was what Nancy Carver was planning to do.
Carver shook her head vacantly. “I could have stopped him,” she whispered.
Stride bent over the desk. “Stopped who?”
She looked up and met his eyes. “I thought she ran away,” she said.
Stride said nothing.
Tears began creeping down her cheeks. “But instead, she’s dead. And I could have stopped him. I knew all about it.”
“I have to go,” Stride told Andrea.
They were seated in his Bronco in back of the school, near her car. The radio was turned down low, playing a song by Patty Loveless.
“Will you get any sleep tonight?”
“Probably not.”
“Why don’t you spend the night at my house tomorrow? It doesn’t matter what time you come. It felt so good sleeping beside you on Friday. I felt better just having you near me.”
“It could be late. I don’t know when I’ll be done, and I probably won’t be much company.”
She smiled. “I’ll leave a light on.”
Andrea opened the truck door. As she got out, snow shook off the roof and dusted her blonde hair with flakes of white. She blew him a kiss, slammed the door shut, and ran to her own car. He watched her climb inside, then saw a match flare as she lit a cigarette. Her car started up on the first try. She waved as she pulled away.
Stride drove home, navigating the empty, slippery streets with less care than they demanded. Twice he lingered at a stoplight, motionless while it turned green, his eyes vacantly staring out of the streaked windows. The windshield wipers squeaked in a determined rhythm that hypnotized him.
I knew all about it.
He thought again about Nancy Carver and tried to quell his anger. She could have confirmed their suspicions weeks ago. Maybe there would have been something more they could have done. They would have been so much closer.
What if Emily Stoner had died, not knowing? Then again, he wondered if Emily had suspected all along.
There were times when it felt like a game, a puzzle they had to solve. And there were times when he hated knowing everything he did about the dark side of the human heart.
Stride crossed the bridge leading onto the Point. He drove two blocks to his home and pulled into the driveway. Maggie’s car was parked on the street. He saw a light inside the house and guessed she was waiting for him. It saved him a phone call. He was going to need her tonight, and they had a long evening ahead of them at city hall.
He let himself into the house.
Maggie was in his kitchen, her feet propped up on a chair. She was eating a grilled cheese sandwich and reading the newspaper.
“You didn’t answer your goddamn phone,” she told him pleasantly.
“The battery’s dead. Sorry about that.”
“I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.”
“Lucky for you I came home alone,” he said. He wondered how he was going to break it to Maggie that she would need to be a little more cautious about using his house as a second home. He didn’t think Andrea would understand their relationship.
He looked at her skirt, which was bunched up almost to her waist. “You look hot.”
“I’m freezing,” she said. “And it’s your fault.”
“Well, it was worth it if you got anything out of the boys.”
Maggie smiled. “Nothing from the boys. But it turns out we were heading in the right direction all along. Family first.”
Stride sat down opposite Maggie. “Graeme?”
She nodded. “Sally gave him up. Turns out Graeme took her on a little field trip to the barn last summer.”
“Was she raped?”
“No, they were interrupted. But she thought that’s where things were going.”
“There’s more,” Stride told her. “How’s this? Rachel told Nancy Carver she was sleeping with Graeme. She said it happened a few times, and then she cut it off, but Graeme wanted more.”
Maggie’s eyebrows shot skyward. “No shit? Do you think Emily suspects?”
“I’ll bet she does, but she won’t admit it to herself.”
“Graeme’s a cool customer,” Maggie said. “Everything about him came up clean, right down to the polygraph. He’s going to be hard to nail.”
“Yeah, but him and Emily? No way. I think he was after Rachel from the beginning. And Rachel probably thought that fucking Graeme would be the perfect punishment for her mother. These two were made for each other.”
“Except how do we prove it?” Maggie asked.
“We’ve got Carver’s story. That’s a start.”
“It’s hearsay,” Maggie said. “We’ll never get it in.”
Stride nodded. “I know. But it’ll get us a warrant.”
17
Stride swore his team to silence as they prepared for the search, but it didn’t help. As a battery of police cars pulled up outside the Stoner house, Bird Finch took to the airwaves, painting Graeme Stoner as a Jekyll-and-Hyde who had seduced his teenage stepdaughter and then killed her. Stride heard it on the radio and turned off the news in disgust.
Maggie, seated next to him, shook her head. “How the hell did he do that? No one knows about this.”
Stride shrugged. “Let’s go,” he told her.
They headed up the long walkway to the front door of the Stoner house with a swarm of uniformed officers. Stride gestured to one of the cops, pulling him closer.
“The word is out,” he said. “You can expect the press to begin descending on this place in droves. I don’t want them anywhere near here, okay? Tape it off, and keep them away. No curious neighbors, either.”
The officer nodded and retreated to one of the squad cars, motioning for three other policemen to join him.
Stride whispered to Maggie. “Let’s keep a close eye on the search, okay, Mags? I want everything by the book and witnessed. No screwups. If we end up charging this guy, he’s already got Archie Gale in his corner, and you can bet everything we do is going to be second-guessed.”
“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” Maggie said. “Count on it, boss.”
Stride didn’t need to ring the doorbell. As he climbed the steps, Graeme Stoner swung the door open. Stride could see icy fury in the man’s eyes.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” Graeme said. “I see you’ve brought a few of your friends with you.”
“Mr. Stoner, we have a valid warrant to search these premises for any evidence related to the disappearance and possible murder of Rachel Deese.”
“So I gathered. And is it ordinary police practice to engage in character assassination before you have any evidence? My phone is already starting to ring, thanks to Bird Finch’s little report a few minutes ago. I called Kyle personally to complain.”
Stride shrugged. Graeme’s contacts at city hall weren’t going to help him now. “I’ll stay with you while my officers conduct the search.”
Graeme turned on his heel and retreated through the living room without looking behind him. Stride followed him, and Maggie gathered the officers in the foyer, issuing instructions. Guppo would lead the team in the basement, she would handle the rooms upstairs, and they would do the first floor and the exterior and vehicles last.
“By the book,” she told them, reiterating Stride’s warning. “Stay in pairs at all times. Find it, photograph it, bag it, label it. You got all that?”
The sturdy police officers, all of them a foot and a half taller than the tiny Asian detective, nodded meekly and set about the search. Their footsteps sounded like thunder as they took different paths up and down the steps.
On the porch, Stride felt the chill in the room, emanating from the two people he found there. Emily Stoner sat where
she had been when he first met her, in a recliner by the fireplace. She looked frail, her skin drained of color. Her body had shrunk, and her skin seemed to hang loosely on her frame. Her hair fell limply across her face. She was years older than she had been just a few weeks ago.
Emily didn’t move and didn’t say anything, but her eyes followed Graeme as he sat down in the recliner opposite her. Stride had always sensed tension between them, but this was different. Emily had heard the news along with everyone else. Stride knew what she was thinking—that the man sitting calmly a few inches away, who had shared her bed for five years, might be a monster.
It was Graeme’s demeanor that surprised him.
Stride had dealt with criminals many times in the first moments after the truth came out. Most made angry protestations of innocence, denying the obvious. Others crumbled and confessed, releasing the burden of guilt that had been weighing on their souls. But he had never seen anyone look as calm and confident as Graeme Stoner. The man was furious but utterly controlled, and he still had a look of detached amusement, as if this whole process were nothing but a sideshow attraction.
Stride didn’t know how to read him. He usually believed he could tell a man’s guilt or innocence by watching for the truth written in his eyes and face. Graeme was a mask.
“You realize you’ve destroyed my reputation in this town,” Graeme told him with a determined stare. “I hope the city can afford to pay the damages when I sue you.”
Stride ignored him. He turned to Emily. “Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Stoner. If there had been any way of making this easier for you, I would have done it. I know what you’ve been through.”
Emily nodded but said nothing. She kept staring at her husband, doing what Stride was trying to do—see the truth. Graeme’s face revealed nothing.
“Mr. Stoner, I have to read you your rights,” Stride said.
Graeme raised an eyebrow. “Are you arresting me?”
“No, but you are a suspect in this investigation. I want to make sure you understand your rights before we go any further.” Stride rattled off the Miranda warnings, watching Graeme frown in disgust as he did so.
“Knowing that you don’t have to say anything, are you willing to answer some questions, even though Mr. Gale is not present?”
Another shrug. “I have nothing to hide,” Graeme said.
Stride was surprised—rich suspects never talked—but he wasn’t about to question his good fortune.
“The leak regarding this situation was regrettable, Mr. Stoner. I apologize for that. I don’t know how it happened.” Stride didn’t want to leap into the tough questions and have Graeme realize he was better off staying quiet. He wanted to worm his way slowly toward the ugly details.
“I suggest you find out how it happened, Lieutenant.” Something in the man’s eyes made Stride believe that Graeme was perfectly aware of the detective’s strategy.
Stride nodded. “You can understand, however, that some of the details we have uncovered raise a lot of questions for us. We’d like to get your side of the story. That’s why I’m here.”
“I’m sure.”
“Were you sleeping with Rachel?” Stride asked.
There was a heavy silence in the room. Emily seemed to hold her breath, waiting for Graeme’s answer. Stride watched the man set his jaw and saw anger creep into his face. There was no hint of guilt in his expression, only contempt. His conviction made Stride wonder if they were making a mistake. Or was the man simply a consummate actor?
“What an offensive question. But the answer is no. Never. I would never have slept with my stepdaughter, Lieutenant. It did not happen.”
“Rachel said it did,” Stride said.
“I can’t believe that,” Graeme retorted. “The girl may not have had the best relations with either of us, but I cannot believe she would make up such an outrageous lie.”
“She told a school counselor, Nancy Carver, that you started having sex with her shortly after you married Emily.”
Stride heard Emily wince and suck in her breath. Graeme glanced at his wife, then back at Stride.
“Carver? No wonder. That interfering little bitch. Do you know she actually called and interrogated me? But she never came out and made any accusations like that. I think she’s the one you should be investigating, Stride. It’s obvious the woman is a lesbian. As I recall, I even called the school to complain.”
Stride jotted a reminder in his notes. He wanted to check if there had really been a complaint lodged against Nancy Carver.
“Why would Rachel make up such a story?”
“I can’t believe she did. Carver probably made up the whole thing.”
“Rachel told someone else, too,” Stride lied.
This time he caught a glimmer of hesitation in Graeme’s eyes, but the moment quickly vanished. “I find that hard to believe. But if Rachel did that, all I can think is that she was having problems. Maybe the girl was having fantasies about me. Or maybe she was trying to drive a wedge between me and Emily. Who knows?”
“But you never slept with her?”
“I told you, no.”
“You never touched her or had any kind of sexual contact with her?”
“Of course not,” Graeme snapped.
“And she never touched you.”
“I’m not Bill Clinton, Lieutenant. No sex means no sex.”
Stride nodded. A definitive denial would help them in prosecution, if they could find any evidence to back up a relationship between Rachel and Graeme, but he knew that was a big if.
He doubted Stoner would be so adamant in his denial if there were any way of proving the two had been involved.
Or he was telling the truth.
“Do you know a friend of Rachel’s named Sally Lindner?” Stride asked.
Graeme furrowed his brow. “I think so. She goes out with that boy Kevin, as I recall. Why?”
“Have you ever given her a ride in your van?”
“I really don’t remember,” Graeme said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Graeme scratched his chin. “I may have given her a ride to her car one day. Her bike was broken. This was several months ago, and honestly, I can’t even remember if it was her.”
“Where did you pick her up?”
“Oh, somewhere north of town, as I recall. I had been visiting one of our branches.”
“And where did you take her?” Stride asked.
“Like I said, back to her car.”
“Did you stop anywhere?”
“Not that I recall,” Graeme said.
“She says you took her to the barn.”
“The barn? No, certainly not. I picked her up and dropped her off at her car. That’s all, Lieutenant.”
“It didn’t happen?” Stride asked. “You never went there with her?”
“It didn’t happen,” Graeme told him firmly.
“Then why would Sally say it did?”
Graeme sighed. “How the hell would I know, Lieutenant? Maybe Rachel put her up to it.”
“Rachel?” Stride said. “Why would Rachel do that?”
“She’s a complicated girl,” Graeme said.
Maggie pointed at a three-drawer oak filing cabinet. “You start there. I’ll take the desk.”
The other officer, a gangly twenty-five-year-old rookie who hadn’t outgrown his pimples, nodded and chewed his gum loudly. His name was Pete, and he had been in private security for several years before joining the force a few months ago. Maggie liked his cocky confidence, but he had a lot to learn. Pete had made the mistake of blowing a bubble with his gum and popping it with his gloved finger. Maggie nearly took his head off, reading him the riot act about contaminating the scene. Besides, the noise really bugged her.
Pete stopped blowing bubbles, but he kept chewing the gum, just to annoy her. That was exactly the kind of thing she would have done, and she liked that.
They were in Graeme Stoner’s upstairs office. He kept it impe
ccably organized. There was a monitor and keyboard on the big, custom-built oak desk, a small array of books arranged by subject, and two stacks of compact discs. Maggie glanced at them. One set of discs reflected Graeme’s taste in music, which ran to loud Mahler symphonies. The other set included discs labeled as confidential and bearing the stamp of Graeme’s bank.
“We’ll have to get Guppo to look at all the discs and the hard drive,” she said. “Make sure we label them and take them all with us.”
Pete grunted. He dug his gloved hands into the first drawer of the file cabinet.
Maggie glanced around the room, absorbing Graeme Stoner’s tastes. The walls were papered in a dark blue pattern, with a gold fleck that matched the rich gold color of the carpeting. Several original watercolors hung on the walls, mostly nature scenes, and to Maggie’s untrained eye, they looked professional and expensive. The desk and its elaborate leather chair were the main furnishings, supplemented by the filing cabinet, a wall of built-in bookshelves lined with hardcovers, and an overstuffed chair with matching ottoman. A slender brass lamp with a globe light sat on the corner of the desk.
It was a rich, sterile room, full of money and devoid of character. The same had been true of the master bedroom—the kind of elegant space in which it was hard to believe people actually lived. She and Pete had spent nearly two hours in the bedroom and bathroom, sifting through drawers and searching for secrets. They found little. The rooms were as interesting for what they didn’t find as for what they did. No birth control. No sex toys. No adult videos. She wondered when Graeme and Emily had last had sex.
It didn’t really matter. The question was whether Graeme and Rachel had ever had sex. They had turned up nothing yet in either room to prove Nancy Carver’s allegation, and Maggie knew from their original search of Rachel’s room after the disappearance that she had left nothing behind as physical evidence of an incestuous affair.
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