by Irene Hannon
“You want to come along? If it fits with your schedule?”
“I’ll make it fit. This may be your case, but I’ve got a vested interest in it now too.”
“Personal or professional?”
“Both.”
Humor glinted in her eyes. “An honest man.”
“Always.” A yawn snuck up on him. “Sorry.”
“Late night?”
“Very. It was a combination farewell and celebration. Lance told me last night he’s leaving Delta Force to join the FBI.”
“Wow. That’s a big change. Were you surprised?”
“Stunned would be a better word.”
“I have a lot of respect for the FBI. All the agents I’ve worked with have been very sharp. Besides, I’ve seen the organization from the inside—sort of. I attended the FBI National Academy. A great program.”
“Also rigorous, from what I’ve heard.” The FBI course for law enforcement personnel wasn’t for sissies.
“Worthwhile, though. So how do you feel about your brother’s decision?”
“I’m not sorry he’ll be leaving combat zones behind.” He yawned again.
She gave a soft chuckle. “Why don’t you take a quick nap? It’s a long drive.”
Much as he hated to give up a single minute of Lisa’s company, his two-thirty turn-in last night was taking a toll. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Nope. I have a lot to think about.”
“In that case, I accept your offer.”
Settling into the corner, he let the sound of tires against road lull him. Five or ten minutes of rest, max. That was all he needed.
Except the next time he opened his eyes, it was to the crunch of gravel.
It took a moment for him to orient himself—but his head snapped up when Lisa’s house came into sight through the trees.
He’d slept for two hours?
“Have a nice rest?”
She grinned over at him as she maneuvered the car over a small pothole and aimed for the detached garage.
“I think I owe you an apology.” He straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Not necessary. You needed the shut-eye, and I needed to think about the case. We were in perfect sync.” She pressed the garage door opener, then nosed the car in and killed the motor.
Before he could respond, she slid from behind the wheel, grabbed her briefcase off the backseat, and moved outside to wait for him.
He fumbled the door handle, trying to chase the last vestiges of sleep from his brain, and joined her in the midday sun, shading his eyes as he emerged from the dim garage.
“Thanks for coming with me today.” She hit the garage door opener attached to her keychain, and as the door slid down, an excited bark sounded from the rear of her house. She smiled. “My homecoming committee.”
He let a beat pass. Would she mention lunch? It was well past noon.
She didn’t.
Tally barked again.
His cue to exit.
“I guess I’ll be off. Are you working the rest of the day?”
“Not much.” A hedge if he’d ever heard one. “I want to do a little checking on Alena’s roommate and the others. I’ll let you know what I find out. If they’re local, we should be able to get to them next week. I don’t want to wait for confirmation on a DNA match.”
“Probably smart. It shouldn’t take long to get and process the sample from Alena’s mother—assuming she’s still at our contact number—but Texas could take a while.”
“I might make a few calls, see if I can speed things up a bit.”
He cocked his head. “You have some pull?”
“A former colleague in Chicago used them a lot and built a strong network of connections there. It’s possible he can get me moved up in the queue.”
“Might be worth a try. It would be nice to have answers on this sooner rather than later.”
“I agree. When you contact the FBI, could you see if they can ask Alena’s mother a few things while they’re at it?”
“About the bone breaks and scurvy? Already on the list. Dental health too.” Tally yipped again, and he dug his keys out of his pocket. “Why don’t we touch base early in the week?”
“Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, I hope you have a relaxing rest of the weekend.”
Too bad it didn’t include some socializing with the woman standing in front of him. A candlelit dinner, maybe, in a quiet restaurant with . . .
Get out of here, McGregor.
Right.
He backed off. Lifted a hand. “Take care.” And then he hightailed it to his car, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes, before he pushed too hard and made a mistake he might regret.
Not until he was behind the wheel did he look back. Lisa was still standing there, watching him. Was she, too, thinking about the long, lonely weekend that stretched ahead?
At least she had Tally for company.
He started the engine. Maneuvered the car so he was facing down the woodsy drive. Accelerated.
As he followed the curve of the driveway, he lost sight of her in the rearview mirror.
But the image of her standing there, watching him, lingered in his mind.
A relaxing weekend?
Not likely.
It would take a heavy-duty workout session and a long, strenuous run to quiet the relentless buzz in his nerve endings put there by a certain gorgeous police chief.
In fact, it might take two.
He sighed.
Monday was going to be a long time coming.
11
Erika slammed the door on her Audi, jabbed the key into the door that led from the garage to the mudroom, and twisted the knob. A high-pitched beep, beep, beep pierced the air, and she punched in the code to deactivate the security system.
Not that she’d need protection for her worldly goods much longer—if her lawyer was right.
Could the court really seize all her property for restitution?
Of course, as the esteemed Warren Mitchell of Mitchell, Trent & Lawrence had pointed out in his fancy office an hour ago, it wasn’t her property. Jack had put everything in his name.
The louse.
Head throbbing, she shoved her hair back from her face. Dumped her purse on the kitchen table. Dug out a pack of cigarettes.
Not only did she have to face the humiliation of being married to a felon, she was also broke.
The whole thing stunk.
Fingers fumbling, she lit a cigarette. Took a long drag.
She needed a drink.
The stronger the better.
Instead of sneaking a quick pick-me-up from the bottle of scotch stashed under the sink, she went straight to Jack’s bar in the paneled office where he’d conducted his estate-planning business.
No, scratch that.
It hadn’t been a business; it had been a Ponzi scheme, according to the judge.
She poured herself a full glass of scotch, added ice, and took a long gulp. How had the man described it exactly? A nefarious plan to defraud seniors of their retirement savings through a bond-trading program, using bonds that didn’t exist.
All those seminars Jack had held at hotels and banquet halls hadn’t been about financial planning; they’d been about bilking old folks out of their lifetime savings to support the lavish lifestyle he craved.
And now it was all gone—including Jack.
She took another long gulp. Kicked off her spike heels. Loosened the belt on her dress.
Could life get any worse?
By the time the glass was empty and the cigarette half-smoked, however, she was feeling more upbeat. There had to be a way out of this. There were always options, as Jack used to say. And she’d think of some. Maybe not today, but after a full night’s sleep, when her mind wasn’t so foggy.
She poured herself another drink.
Sipping it, she wandered into the living room. It would be nice to get out tonight, go to the club for dinner, forge
t about everything.
But Lauren’s cold shoulder when she’d called on Saturday to arrange a lunch date wasn’t a positive omen. Apparently no one wanted to associate with the wife of a felon.
And they sure wouldn’t want to associate with her once all the trappings of wealth were stripped away.
Despite the numbing effect of the liquor, panic bubbled up inside her again. She downed another gulp of scotch. Took another drag on the cigarette.
Neither helped.
Her hand began to shake, rattling the ice in the glass.
She had to talk to someone.
Jess?
No. She’d said not to call.
Joe?
Not a great idea. Jess would be mad if she contacted him.
But who else did she have? Mom and Dad were gone, and she had no siblings. Her friends at the club weren’t likely to remain her friends after this scandal.
That left Joe. And he would understand. He always had. Too bad she hadn’t married him instead of falling for smooth-talking Jack with his big, empty dreams.
Well, that was water under the bridge. But at least she could talk to him.
She started toward the phone. Froze as the chime of the doorbell echoed in the empty house. Who would be dropping by unannounced on a Tuesday morning? The cleaning people had a key. Besides, it was the wrong day for them.
The bell rang again.
She frowned.
A salesman or evangelist, maybe? Except they didn’t usually work upscale neighborhoods like this.
She crossed the foyer, bare feet slapping against the cold marble, and peered through the peephole. A nice-looking man in a sport coat and a woman in a crisp cabernet-colored jacket and tan slacks stood on the other side.
She straightened up. They seemed respectable—and she wouldn’t mind hearing a friendly voice. Having a pleasant chat about inconsequential matters might take her mind off her problems for a few minutes.
After fluffing her hair, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. “May I help you?”
Even though they smiled, Erika didn’t miss their swift, subtle perusal.
She should have taken the time to put her shoes back on, tighten her belt, and ditch the drink and cigarette.
Still, what did it matter what these strangers thought of her? It wasn’t as if—
“. . . and Detective McGregor with St. Louis County. We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Her attention snapped back to the woman. “Detective?”
“Yes. May we come in?”
She gripped the edge of the door. “Why?”
“It might be better if we discuss that inside.”
“Is this about my husband?” Please, let it be about Jack!
“No. This is a different matter.”
Erika’s stomach bottomed out.
There could only be one other matter they’d want to talk to her about.
Lungs stalling, she looked at the detective. He hadn’t said a word, but he had sharp eyes. The kind that didn’t miss a thing.
Talking to these two people would be dangerous.
Jess wouldn’t like it.
She started to shut the door. “This isn’t the best time. If you’d call—”
The detective put his hand on the door, holding it in place. When he spoke, his tone was pleasant—but firm. “This won’t take long. And since we’re already here, why not give us a few minutes?”
Her heart began to pound, and her mouth went dry.
She couldn’t talk to these people.
Yet if she refused, wouldn’t that make them suspicious?
A length of glowing ash dropped off the end of her cigarette, close to her fingers. She released her grip on the door and stumbled toward the ashtray on the table in the foyer to stub it out before she got burned.
But as she turned back toward the two cops framed in the doorway, she had a feeling she was about to get burned anyway.
“Ms. Butler, we do need to talk with you. I’m certain you can spare ten minutes.” The woman studied her with those analytical eyes.
There was no way out of this.
“Yes. I . . . I can do that.” The ice in her glass rattled.
The cops glanced at it.
She grasped it with both hands, then set it down beside the extinguished cigarette. “We can talk in there.” She fluttered her fingers toward the living room.
As she led the way, her feet once again smacked against the marble. Too late to retrieve her shoes now—but all at once she felt naked.
Choosing a French provincial chair, she perched on the edge, tucking her bare toes under the seat. The police chief and detective split up, the woman sitting across from her on the couch while the detective took a seat out of her line of vision, just inside the door.
She felt like a bug under a microscope.
Squirming, she gripped the arms of the chair.
The woman smiled and opened her notebook. “We appreciate your cooperation. As I said, I’m the police chief in Carson. We’re investigating remains that were recently discovered on a construction site in my municipality.” She stopped.
Erika licked her parched lips and tried to think. What was she supposed to say? What would Jess want her to say?
From twenty-four years ago, through the haze of scotch, Jess’s voice echoed in her mind.
“Don’t offer anything that’s not asked.”
Erika swallowed. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this.” That was good. Cool. Composed. A hint of puzzlement.
“Because we believe the remains belong to Alena Komisky.”
Her lungs froze.
Oh, God!
They’d identified the body!
But how? Hadn’t Jess said they’d never be able to figure out who it was? That the whole thing would blow—
“Ms. Butler? Are you all right?” The woman leaned forward, eyes assessing. Probing.
“Yes. Fine. Just . . . shocked. Are you sure it’s . . . her? I mean . . . how can you tell from bones?”
The woman’s gaze drilled into her. “I don’t believe I mentioned the condition of the remains.”
Mistake, mistake, mistake!
“Well . . .” She tried to think past the buzzing in her head. “I mean, what else would be left after all these years?”
The chief didn’t comment on that. “Forensic science has come a long way in the past couple of decades. We’d like to talk with you about the night she disappeared.”
Erika tried to take a deep breath. Couldn’t. “It’s been a long time. My memory’s . . . not that clear anymore. Maybe you could get the report . . . from the Columbia police. I talked to them . . . several times.”
“We already did that.” The cop tapped a file folder in her lap. “But it never hurts to revisit the events. Sometimes time and distance clarify memories. People recall small details that are forgotten in the midst of trauma. I understand you and Alena were close.”
Erika stared at the file folder. What had she said back then? What had Jess coached her to say? It was all so fuzzy . . .
“I wouldn’t call us close.” Best to hedge if she couldn’t remember.
“No?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “You were roommates, weren’t you?”
“Yes. But I didn’t know her before that. She was here on a cultural exchange program. My father . . . he was a state senator . . . was involved in it. He asked me to be her roommate.”
Coerced was more like it. He’d made that high-and-mighty speech about how it would be broadening for her to be exposed to someone who’d grown up in a country where freedom was nothing more than a word, then offered that Mercedes convertible as a bribe.
Too bad she’d succumbed. Without those wheels, the whole tragedy might—
“. . . during the year?”
She blinked, trying to refocus on the cop. “What?”
“I said, didn’t you become close during the year? Hang out together?”
“Some.” She scoured
her brain, trying to remember what she’d told that detective in Columbia. “She didn’t have a lot of friends, and I felt sorry for her. Sometimes we did stuff together.”
“But not on the night she disappeared.”
Erika twisted her hands together in her lap. “No.”
“You came to St. Louis that night, correct? With two friends?”
“Yes.”
“When did you last see Alena?”
What had she told that Columbia detective?
“At dinner . . . I think. In the dorm dining room.”
The chief checked her notes. “According to another student interviewed at the time, Alena ate alone in the dining room.”
Heat stole up her neck. “I didn’t eat with her. I just . . . saw her there.”
“You mean you ate there and saw her across the room?”
“Yes.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t ask her to join you?”
Sweat broke out on her upper lip, and she swiped it away with a fingertip. “She was . . . uh . . . finishing as I came in.” That’s what she’d told the police twenty-four years ago, wasn’t it?
“Was that the last time you saw her?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain of that?”
At the detective’s question, she turned toward him, away from the woman. His eyes were as razor sharp as the police chief’s. “Yes.”
“You came back to Columbia from St. Louis on Sunday night, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you waited until Monday to report Alena missing.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Had anyone asked her that question twenty-four years ago?
She couldn’t remember.
“It was . . . uh . . . late when we got back. I went straight to bed.”
“But Alena wasn’t there.”
“No.”
“Weren’t you worried about her?”
“Not too much.” She crossed her legs and tried to call up her flirty smile. The one men always responded to. “People hook up, you know?”
This guy’s expression didn’t change. “Had she ever hooked up before?”
“No. But hey . . . there’s always a first time, right?” She smiled again.
He didn’t.
“I thought you said she didn’t have any friends.”