by Irene Hannon
She stifled a curse.
All her hours of practice were toast. The momentum she’d worked so hard to build was gone.
Thanks to a secretary hovering at the back of the room.
Despite the fury nipping at her composure, she managed a polite tone as she addressed the woman. “I’ll be there in a minute, Cathy.”
With a quick nod, she slipped out.
“Take your time, Jessica.” Robert rose as she approached him. “Clients always come first. If you get tied up, we’ll move on to Matt’s presentation and come back to yours later.”
Not if she could help it.
“I’m sure whatever has come up won’t take more than a few minutes to handle.” She called up the deferential smile she reserved for the CEO.
As Matt claimed Robert’s attention, Jessica crossed the room and exited into the quiet hallway, the thick carpet muting the tap of her three-inch heels.
With each step, her anger grew.
Cathy might only have been with the firm for six months, but at this rate she’d be gone before the year was up. Like her predecessors.
Secretaries who didn’t follow instructions were expendable.
The woman was waiting in the anteroom of the office, standing beside her desk, wringing her hands. Even without the gray streaks in her nondescript brown hair, she’d look older than her forty-nine years.
Jessica entered, glared at her, and closed the door. “Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. But I didn’t know what to do. The receptionist says a police chief and a detective are in the lobby. They want to talk to you.”
As the words hung in the air between them, the world around Jessica went blank.
There was no sound. No movement. No color.
Nothing.
Her brain was focused on one thing, and one thing only.
She was on police radar.
So that was why Erika had been calling her incessantly since yesterday. For once, her college acquaintance hadn’t needed a shoulder to cry on. She’d been trying to pass on a warning—the cops had paid her a visit.
That could mean just one thing.
They’d identified Alena.
Jessica’s stomach twisted, the same way it had twenty-four years ago as they’d huddled on that dark roadside beside the dead Czech student while the future she’d planned tottered on the edge of a precipice.
Yet she’d thought her way out of that.
And she’d think her way out of this.
There’d be explanations to make later to the Peterson-Bradshaw staff, but she could handle that. She’d had plenty of experience doing damage control during her PR career.
But first she had to find out what the cops had said to Erika—and what she’d said to them.
Slowly the world began to click back into focus—including Cathy, who was staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
“Did you tell them I was in a meeting?”
“Yes. They said they’d wait.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to them in a minute.”
Turning her back, she strode into her office. Closed the door. Exhaled.
You can manage this, Jessica. Remember . . . it’s been twenty-four years. So what if they’ve identified her? There’s nothing to link you to what happened that night. You were careful. You covered your tracks. You left no clues.
But if that was true, how had the police identified Alena?
They’d missed something.
But what?
Fingers tingling, she yanked her phone out of her pocket and tapped in Erika’s cell number.
It rolled to voice mail.
Of all times for the woman not to answer her phone.
Scrolling through her directory, she found Erika’s home number and tried again.
Once more, the phone kicked into voice mail.
Jessica opened her bottom drawer, fumbled for a tissue, and dabbed at her brow.
Just as she started to hang up, Erika answered, speaking over the recorded message.
She swiveled away from the door. The glass walls of her office were thick, but why take chances? “What’s going on, Erika?”
“I’ve been trying to reesh you since yesterday!” Hysteria raised the pitch of her voice.
Jessica gritted her teeth. How could she have a coherent conversation with a drunk? “I’ve been busy. Did the police contact you?”
“Yes. Thash why I called. They came to the house yesterday. A ’tective and pleesh chief.”
The same people now waiting in the lobby to talk to her.
“What did they say?”
“They found her!”
“We already knew that.”
“No . . . I mean, they know who she is!”
“I figured that out. How did they know it was her?”
“I asked that. They mentioned forensic science. And they had a lot of questions. Jess . . . I think they’ll be back!”
The woman was having a meltdown.
And meltdowns were dangerous.
“Erika, calm down—and knock off the booze until this is over. Your visitors are waiting in my lobby right now. After I meet with them, I’ll be in touch. Don’t talk to anyone else . . . or have you already called our mutual friend?”
“I had to talk to somebody, and you didn’t call me back.” Erika sounded peevish—and more than a little defiant.
She muttered a curse.
More damage control to do.
“I’m hanging up. Stay home and don’t talk to anyone else until you hear from me. Got it?”
“Yeah. But—”
She broke the connection before Erika could start whining again.
Leaning forward, she pressed the intercom button. “Show them back.” Then she reached for another tissue and blotted her forehead again.
She needed a makeup retouch.
As she dug in her purse for her cosmetics, she took several slow, steady breaths. No matter what the police had found to help them identify Alena, there was nothing to link the three of them to her demise. They had alibis. No one had seen what they’d done, or they’d have been fingered long ago. The cops were just following up on a dead-end cold case.
She should be safe.
She would be safe.
Whatever it took.
The door from the lobby to the inner sanctum of Peterson-Bradshaw opened, and Mac looked over as a middle-aged woman spoke from the threshold.
“Ms. Lee will see you now.”
Beside him, Lisa picked up her briefcase and rose. He followed her through the door, down a silent hallway lined with awards the firm had won on behalf of its clients, and into a swanky office with a brass plate bearing the name Jessica Lee.
Nice digs.
He exchanged a look with Lisa. The slight lift of her eyebrows told him she’d sized up the posh setup too.
The woman who’d retrieved them gave a timid knock on the door to the glass-walled inner office.
No response from the figure seated at the desk, whose back was to them.
Turning, the secretary twisted her fingers. “Ms. Lee may be . . . uh . . . on the phone. If you’d like to take a seat, I’m sure she’ll be with you in a moment.”
As if on cue, the desk chair inside the office swiveled to reveal a slender, attractive woman with blonde, perfectly styled hair. She rose, crossed to the door, and pulled it open with a smile as her secretary took a quick step back. She might be in her mid-forties, but she could pass for early thirties. Botox—or genes?
No matter.
This was a woman who took very good care of herself.
“Jessica Lee.” She moved toward them and extended her manicured fingers first to Lisa, then to him. “I hope you’ll accept my apologies for keeping you waiting. I was in the middle of a presentation.”
After Lisa did the introductions, Jessica gestured toward her office. “Please . . . come in. May I offer you a beverage?”
They both demurred, and Mac
let Lisa precede him. They waited as the executive followed them in, closed the door, and motioned toward a sleek glass conference table off to the side. A notebook and pen rested at the head.
Jessica had already staked out her spot.
She was also a woman who liked to be in control.
“Make yourselves comfortable.”
Lisa slid into one of the modern upholstered chairs at the table. He sat across from her.
Jessica took her seat, her movements graceful, her demeanor open and friendly. If she was nervous, she was doing a stellar job hiding it.
She folded her hands in a loose clasp on the table. No sign of tension there, either. “I understand from Erika Butler that you may have found her roommate’s remains. I assume that’s what this is about?”
“Yes.” Lisa opened her notebook. “The remains were found in a construction site in Carson—my jurisdiction. St. Louis County is providing assistance, which is why Detective McGregor is here. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly.” The woman’s expression grew pained, and she shook her head. “It was a horrible tragedy when Alena disappeared. Erika was distraught for weeks. She kept blaming herself for not inviting Alena to go with us to St. Louis. But hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say. I saw the news story about the discovery of bones west of the city. Was that . . . her?”
“That’s our assumption.” Lisa linked her own fingers. “We’re waiting for DNA confirmation, but that’s more of a formality.”
“I don’t know a thing about police work, but I have to say I’m impressed by your investigative skills. After all these years, it must be difficult to identify someone.” The woman tipped her head, her eyes curious—and innocent. “However did you manage it?”
Mac kept his focus on Jessica as Lisa answered.
“There are a lot of ways to make an ID. Sometimes we use dental records. Sometimes clothing. Sometimes jewelry—like a ring.”
If he hadn’t been homed in on her eyes, Mac would have missed their infinitesimal widening—and the sudden dilation in her pupils that signaled surprise . . . and fear? The reaction was well-masked—and she recovered quickly—but it was there. He’d seen it many times during his SEAL career.
“Alena did have a very striking ring.” As Jessica spoke, Mac checked out her fingers. Still loosely clasped. “A cluster of red stones. I don’t recall what they were, but the piece was quite distinctive. I suppose if you found an item like that, it would help a great deal.”
“Jewelry can be very useful.” With that noncommittal response, Lisa looked his way, passing the baton—just as they’d planned. She wanted a chance to study the woman unobserved too.
He ran through the same questions they’d asked Erika. Unlike her friend, who’d groped for answers, Jessica’s responses were smooth. Though she apologized for any lapses in memory, there were none. She repeated the same story she’d told Stan Breton more than two decades ago.
The woman either had a phenomenal recall or had done some serious prepping.
“Were you good friends with Alena?” Mac tapped his pen against his notepad, watching her.
“No, not at all. To be honest, none of us were—even Erika. They had little in common. I saw her now and then when I stopped in to visit Erika, but she was the quiet sort. I can’t say I ever got to know her very well. Still . . . we all felt terrible about her disappearance. Perhaps you’ll finally be able to bring closure to the mystery. Though I have to think after all these years, clues would be few and far between.”
It wasn’t a question, but she was digging again.
Before he could respond, Lisa stepped back in. “You’d be surprised. Technology today is amazing.” She closed her notebook. “We do appreciate your time. Is there anything else you’ve remembered through the years that could prove helpful?”
She shook her head. “I wish I could say yes, but it all feels like ancient history now. I’ll certainly give it some more thought in light of this new development.”
Lisa slid a card across the table, and he did the same. “Feel free to call either of us if something comes to mind.”
“Of course. I’ll be happy to assist in any way I can.” She pushed her chair back and rose. “I don’t mean to rush you, but if we’re finished, I do need to get back to my meeting. Although I suspect the other members of the committee aren’t waiting with bated breath for more of my data dump.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh.
Lisa looked at him and reached for her shoulder tote. “That’s all we need for today.”
As she stood, the strap caught on the back of the chair and she lost her grip. It fell to the floor, her wallet and glucometer spilling out along with a tube of lipstick that rolled toward Jessica’s feet.
Jessica bent to retrieve the lipstick while Lisa stuffed the rest back in her tote. “The most important item in any woman’s purse.” She smiled as she handed it over.
“Thanks.”
After another round of handshakes, Jessica led them to the door and spoke to the woman behind the polished desk in the anteroom. “Cathy, would you be kind enough to show Chief Grant and Detective McGregor to the front? I need to get back to the meeting.”
The woman leaped to her feet. “Of course.”
“Good luck with your case.” With one more smile, Jessica Lee disappeared back into her office, closing the door behind her.
The walk back down the hall was silent once again as they followed Jessica’s stiff-backed secretary to the lobby. Was she unfriendly—or nervous?
Might not hurt to find out.
“It’s Cathy, right?”
At his question, the woman’s step faltered. “Yes.” She looked back, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder . . . as if she was afraid the hall monitor would catch her talking between classes and send her to detention.
Interesting.
“Have you worked here long?”
She started forward again. “No. Just six months.”
“Seems like a nice environment.”
A couple of beats ticked by.
“The offices are . . . very nice.”
Mac’s gaze connected with Lisa’s. Did Cathy’s careful remark suggest that while the physical environment was agreeable, the people were a different story—Jessica in particular?
Yet the PR executive had been the epitome of graciousness with them.
The secretary opened the door to the lobby. “I hope you both have a nice day.” Her rote send-off came out stiff and stilted.
Man, there was some serious stress happening here.
Why?
“Thank you.” Lisa led the way out.
They didn’t talk until they were alone in the elevator and descending to the ground floor.
“Well, that was a very smooth performance.” Lisa resettled the strap of her tote on her shoulder.
So she was suspicious of the woman’s poised demeanor too.
Nice to know they were again on the same page.
“I agree. Did you notice her eyes when you mentioned the ring?”
“Yes. She seemed surprised. But why would she be? Everyone who was acquainted with Alena said she always wore that ring.”
“Unless Jessica knew it was supposed to be missing.”
“Exactly.” Lisa’s eyes glinted with excitement—like Tally’s did when he’d sniffed out a treat. “I think we’re rattling some cages.”
The elevator door opened, and he followed her out, pausing beside the lobby coffee bar. “Would you like to discuss this some more over a drink?”
“I wish I could, but I’m scheduled to do a school program this afternoon. And before that, I have a meeting with the mayor. I’m already running late, thanks to the delay while we cooled our heels.”
He throttled back his disappointment. “Not a problem. What’s next on the agenda?”
“I’m thinking I’ll let things ride until we get DNA confirmation. If Jessica and her friends are as neck-deep in this thing as I thi
nk they are, it won’t hurt to keep them off balance, let them wonder what’s going on behind the scenes. Joe’s a wild card, but we have two very different personalities in Erika and Jessica. There might be some interesting dynamics between them that could work to our advantage.”
“I agree. By the way, my FBI contact said they were collecting the DNA sample from Alena’s mother today. They’ll also ask her the questions I sent. I’m thinking we’ll have the DNA in hand by the end of the week. Did you have any luck accelerating the process in Texas?”
“Yes. I heard from my former colleague in Chicago this morning. He pulled a few strings. I’m hoping to have their analysis early next week.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You have powerful friends.”
She chuckled. “Persuasive, anyway. You’ll let me know what Alena’s mother says about our questions?”
“The minute I hear anything.”
“Good enough. See you later.”
She was off at a brisk pace, pushing through the revolving door that led to the street, disappearing outside the plate-glass window among the other pedestrians on the busy Clayton sidewalk.
As he lost sight of her, his phone began to vibrate and he pulled it off his belt. Mitch.
“What’s up?” He pointed to the tallest cup and mouthed Americano to the woman behind the counter at the lobby coffee bar.
“You have a few minutes to talk about the latest on the burglary case?”
“Yeah.” He fished some bills out of his pocket and laid them on the counter, listening to his fellow detective as he paid for the drink and carried it to a table half hidden behind one of the containers spilling over with tropical flowers. Might as well sit for a minute.
Because based on the growing list of people he had to track down for the homicide investigation, he wasn’t going to be doing a whole lot of sitting for the rest of the day.
13
Joe wasn’t answering.
Phone to ear, Jessica tapped a nail on the polished cherry surface. He was probably at work, in that dead-end job he’d settled for after throwing away the Rhodes Scholarship.
What a loser.
Just like Erika.
When the phone rolled to voice mail, she muttered a profanity and stabbed the end button without leaving a message. She needed to get back to the strategic planning committee meeting, finish her presentation.