by Lis Wiehl
“What made you think of that?” James asked.
“Old habit, I guess. It started nagging me that maybe Peter’s sister didn’t send me everything. There had to be mementos and personal items that she would’ve kept, most women would. Anyway, there was a package addressed to you from Peter. His sister never sent it.”
James stopped gathering his belongings, and for a moment the airport disappeared around him. For years James had gravitated between sorrow and anger toward his former friend. Peter wasn’t the type to take his own life, and then he did and without final words to any of them.
“Peter left something for me before he died?”
“Yes. I gave Cole your address in Dallas. He’s sending it.”
“He didn’t say what it was?” James asked.
“Well, he said that he didn’t open it, but you never know. He’s sending it, that’s what matters.”
James realized that the crowd at the gate had disappeared. “This is … more than I could’ve hoped for, but I need to board my flight now.”
“The package should arrive in the next few days. And I want to know what’s inside. You’re making it hard for me to concentrate on this book tour,” O’Ryan said.
“You sound like the William O’Ryan I met back in the sixties.” James chuckled.
“Yeah, I still can’t turn my back on a story. Talk soon.”
James hurried toward his gate, his head spinning with thoughts of Lisa and with O’Ryan’s discoveries.
Stanley Blackstone might just be the real killer of Benjamin Gray. But why had he shot him, and in such a public and foolish way?
But more than that, James would finally get the message his former best friend had sent from the grave.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lisa hit the top of the clock, then realized she was still in the hotel in Dallas and it was knocking that had awakened her, not the alarm.
It wasn’t even seven o’clock.
The knocking didn’t let up.
Lisa dragged herself from the bed. She’d been up till two, talking to Drew and diving into some preliminary work on a federal murder case that was coming up.
Through the peephole, she saw Rosalyn’s coiffed hair rise into a beehive, then shrink back onto her head as the woman leaned forward, peering into the hole as she knocked, then stepped back.
Lisa glanced at herself in the mirror, then just opened the door. What did she care what she looked like?
“Morning. Oh, did I wake you? You said you were a morning person,” Rosalyn said much too cheerily for so early. She carried two steaming cups in her hands and a large bag on her shoulder.
“This couldn’t wait? Maybe after a phone call?” Lisa grumbled.
“Sorry. I brought green tea. Your father said you don’t drink coffee. And he also said that you’re leaving for Boston.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Lisa said, rubbing her eyes and sitting back on the bed.
“Well, I got really excited about something I found last night, but I waited till this morning to show you.”
“What did you find?” Lisa said, trying to sound more civil. But what kind of a person just showed up at someone’s hotel room at 7:00 a.m.?
Rosalyn set one cup on the nightstand beside Lisa and dropped her bag onto the floor at the end of the bed, hitting the end of Lisa’s toe. She cringed and moved her feet as Rosalyn unpacked her computer.
“So you know how I found that one photograph on that website? Well, I kept searching for more photographs of Benjamin Gray, but then I tried a different direction. Instead of looking for more about Gray, I searched for other images that came from that IP address. What I found was interesting. Whoever it is, they’re releasing other incriminating evidence, though I don’t know who they’re trying to incriminate, because it seems like it’s themselves.”
“What kind of incriminating evidence?”
“Numerous photographs of dead people, but they aren’t crime scene photographs. I brought copies for you to look at and maybe send to your friend who helped with your dad’s snapshots. I think they show bodies before they were found by police. So how does this person have pictures of their corpses?” Rosalyn’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “And did your father tell you that he believes Stanley Blackstone is the one who killed Benjamin Gray?”
“No, what? When did he put that together?”
“On his trip. He can tell you about it. But it seems we may have someone helping us or just trying to release information to cause trouble for the Blackstones. Stanley Blackstone is currently being investigated in Florida for the disappearance of a local businessman.” Rosalyn looked at Lisa hopefully and said, “Maybe you can come to the house this morning?”
So she was mainly here as an intermediary.
“I just woke up, but I’m tired of being away from home.”
Rosalyn nodded and pulled up a chair. “I get sick of hotels too, though you could stay at your father’s. He’d love to have you. You know, your father is upset.”
“My father is upset?” Lisa stared at the woman.
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t stick my nose into this, but … well, I’m breaking that promise.”
“No offense, but this has nothing to do with you.”
“It has to do with someone I really care about. And something I’ve seen in my cases again and again is that people who love each other are often their worst enemies. I’m not talking about when the divorce proceedings begin and war is declared. I’m talking before that.”
Lisa decided it would be easier not to argue but to endure the woman’s little life lesson. That would get rid of her faster.
“In trying to protect each other, people can create huge messes. This entire case is like that. It has people trying to protect others, and mess after mess results.”
“Dad didn’t tell me about John because he was protecting himself.”
“Yes, I’m sure he was. It wouldn’t be easy to face you after all of these years, especially not for your father, who can’t string together his feelings to save his life. And he didn’t walk away from the Dubois case without reason.”
“He told you I asked about that?” Lisa didn’t want to talk about this with Rosalyn. She rose from the bed. “Listen, I’ll go talk to my dad before I leave. I’m not abandoning this, it’s just time for me to go home.”
She pulled her suitcase from the closet, hoping Rosalyn would get the hint.
“During Leonard Dubois’s trial, your father was still trying to find answers even after he was demoted, which was a huge blow to him. But he kept digging. You know how he is. But only one thing would make him stop.”
“And what was that?” Lisa asked, no longer trying to sound civil.
“You were the reason. You and your mother.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He received a threat. It had detailed information about your school, your routine, your dance teacher’s name, your bus route. The threat was clear. If he didn’t back off, something would happen to you.”
Lisa considered her words. They made sense.
“Your father wouldn’t turn his back on a case for any other reason than to protect the ones he loved. And then he lost you and your mother anyway.”
Rosalyn’s words stung. They also resonated and amplified as she realized their meaning.
“So one reason Leonard Dubois has been in prison all of these years is because someone threatened me?”
“I suppose. All I know is that your father was trying to protect you.”
Lisa sat back on the bed.
“Your father should have contacted you before contacting your son. He should have told you about it right away. Maybe all those years ago, he should have gone to a higher authority when he received the threat. But I don’t know who he could have gone to … his own superiors were against him.”
A sudden weariness came over Lisa. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep. She’d been furio
us at her father, questioning his integrity, suspicious of his motives. Since childhood, she’d felt abandoned by him. How did so much pain result from love?
“See what I mean—all this trying to protect each other, and it ends up causing more hurt.”
Rosalyn hopped up from the chair as Lisa remained on the bed. “Please come talk to your father,” Rosalyn said. Then she packed up and left almost as quickly as she’d come.
Lisa sat in the empty room, bruised by Rosalyn’s words. The truth rolled over her. Lisa was making many of the same mistakes as her father.
Lisa sat in bed after Rosalyn’s departure and called the person who never failed to make life better.
“Hi, Mom,” she said.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry, but I’m heading out the door in about fifteen minutes. Are you okay? I can see if Norris can change our tee time.”
“No, it’s all right. We can talk later,” Lisa said. Just hearing her mother’s voice improved her mood.
In the fifteen years since their divorce, Mom’s life had flourished. She’d gone on cruises, taken up golf, traveled, and fallen in love again. Mom and Norris had gone on a leisure cycling and wine-tasting trip in Italy the year before, even though both were well into their seventies.
“Tell me what’s going on. How are you surviving Dallas?”
“I don’t know.” Lisa rubbed between her eyes. Though she hadn’t spoken to her mother since her trip to Texas, they updated each other through e-mail on a regular basis. Her mother had been concerned but hopeful about this trip to see her father.
“What’s bothering you specifically?” Mom said, and Lisa could picture the countless times she’d used that same tone as she’d sat on the edge of Lisa’s bed or brought her into the living room with cups of homemade hot cocoa. Mom was always there. She’d spent several weeks with Lisa after John’s birth and again after Thomas’s death. At every important event—good or bad—her mother could be counted on—the exact opposite of her father.
“Too much for one phone call,” Lisa said with a laugh. “But there is one thing I’ve been wanting to know.”
“What is it?”
“Why did Dad take me to that civil rights rally in the first place?”
Lisa heard Norris laughing and talking to someone in the background, then it sounded as if Mom had moved to a quieter room.
“It was the job. He convinced himself that it would be safe. I was shopping that day with my mother, who was in town visiting. Your father said he was taking you to the park. I was furious when I found out what happened. Well, more terrified at what might have happened, but furious at your dad. But he was upset enough that I didn’t say a lot to him about it.”
“What do you mean?” Lisa pulled a blanket over her legs.
“That day was the beginning of a change in him. First, he became obsessed with finding the killer of that civil rights man. He was sure it wasn’t the guy they arrested. I knew a lot of this obsession was because he couldn’t get over putting you in danger.
“Your father was always dedicated to his job. I understood that, and growing up in a military family, I was prepared for it as much as I could be. Wives had their duties and sacrifices. We took care of the home and the children while our men saved the world. That’s how I was raised. But your father pulled away from us after that day even more. I assumed it was guilt. But I didn’t know how to help him.”
“So he took me there for no other reason than the job?”
“Yes, he was a ‘kill two birds with one stone’ kind of guy. He probably thought he’d go take photos and observe the rally while spending time with you. He probably even told himself it was a learning experience for you, even if you were four.”
“But you’d think having such a scare would make him see what was important. He was such a workaholic as far back as I can remember.”
“He tried making up for it, in his way. He kept pushing for answers about that shooting. He made someone at the Bureau angry, and he got demoted. The next few years only made him worse in trying to regain respect at the Bureau. If not for Peter, we might have lost your father to his job completely.”
“What do you mean?” Lisa said, kicking off the blankets and moving to her desk.
“You remember Peter, right?”
“Of course, but he disappeared from our lives so fast.” Lisa had never talked to Mom about how deeply she’d felt the loss of Uncle Peter. She remembered the last time she’d seen him, when she was nine or ten years old. He’d hugged her till it almost hurt, and his tears struck fear through her. Uncle Peter was the one who took her to baseball games, taught her to ride a bicycle, and showed her numerous yo-yo tricks that she performed at a talent show in second grade. Dad had come with them at times, but usually he was consumed with whatever case was currently on his plate. Peter was the constant she could depend on, like Mom. She didn’t doubt his love … until he was gone.
Lisa had never seen him after that good-bye, and she’d tried to bury the sense of abandonment she’d felt then and even more when she later learned of his suicide.
“Peter helped your father with perspective. He pulled him away from the job over and over for family barbecues and outings. But just when I hoped that your dad was getting better, Peter was fired. Your dad felt lied to. And not long after, Peter killed himself. That was a blow to all of us. But your dad never recovered from it.”
Lisa heard Mom’s name being called in the background.
“You need to go, Mom. Enjoy your game of golf.”
“No, I can talk more. I’m worried about you.”
Lisa smiled. It was probably driving her mother crazy that they had this space between them. She’d probably mail a box of homemade cookies after today’s conversation.
“You already helped me. Thanks, Mom.”
Lisa hung up the phone and headed for the shower. She was still angry with her father over the John incident, but this wasn’t the time for a division in their ranks.
Despite his faults, Dad needed her. Perhaps in forgiving him, she’d find what she was longing for from him as well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Stanley stared at the expanse of blue gulf water stretching beyond view from the tiny window of his private jet. Being in the sky always gave him time to think, and today he needed precise planning.
At the back of the plane, Billy and Frank played poker. A few rows ahead, Marcus sat in his seat, supposedly going over financial reports. His nephew usually slept or worked when they flew, but he was doing neither today. He winced when Frank shouted his frustration at losing a hand.
Stanley studied the back of Marcus’s head, the swirl of a cowlick that reminded him of his nephew as a pale, skinny boy who seemed to jump at his own shadow. He’d always needed someone stronger than himself, like one of those pilot fish that followed a shark, eating the parasites and leftovers but never venturing out on its own.
But once a pilot fish had a host, it rarely left. Stanley had heard stories of the fish following a boat for weeks that had snagged its shark. Marcus had fed off Stanley for decades. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. Though he’d never abide disloyalty, Stanley almost hoped that at last Marcus had done something brave on his own. But it didn’t fit with his nature.
Stanley stretched out the kinks in his back and took a long drink of the lemon water in the seat’s cup holder. There was a more pressing matter. The Waldrens had pushed too far and dug too deep.
Stanley thought of his father. What would he do in this situation? When would he be decisive, and when would he sit by with complete confidence that nothing could harm him?
Stanley’s youth was plagued with hard lessons as he’d fought to rein in his temper. He bore the scar of a gunshot wound and the memory of a terrifying escape through panicked crowds until he somehow reached his car and found a pay phone before passing out. He’d made decisions as a young man that cost the family dearly, forcing them to live a more obscure existence. His father’s political aspir
ations were stopped by Stanley’s actions, and he knew his father had never fully forgiven him for it.
Now Gwen followed the same path. She believed this was motivated by her ideologies and the drive to right her family’s wrongs. But his daughter was naive in many ways. Her blood was Blackstone. At some point she’d stop denying that and even embrace it. He had no doubt about that. Until then Stanley wouldn’t give her reasons to blame him for her failed dreams.
“Marcus,” Stanley called. His nephew jumped, dropped something, and then hurried from his seat.
“Yes, Uncle, can I get you something?”
Sometimes Stanley wanted to slap some sense into the man. “You aren’t a flight attendant, you’re the VP of a multibillion-dollar company.”
“Yes, I know. Just thought I’d get you something, you know?” Marcus sat in the seat beside Stanley.
“When we land, I need you to send an e-mail or get a message to Gwendolyn. And it has got to be on a secure line or e-mail account or something.”
“Of course.”
“Of course? With all this hacking and police interest, I need to know you can do that.”
“Yes, I can. What do you want to say?”
“I’m working on that. It shouldn’t be direct or incriminating. I mainly want her to know how much I enjoyed seeing her, and that she doesn’t need to worry about anything. I’m taking care of everything.”
Stanley thought of his quick encounter with his daughter at the plantation. He needed more time with her; then slowly, little by little, she’d soften toward him and her family’s past.
“Are we headed to Dallas, then?” Marcus asked.
Stanley studied his nephew, and Marcus squirmed beneath the stare.
“It’ll be a surprise,” Stanley said. “But stay here. I’ll tell you a story. First, do you remember what I told you about loose ends?”
“You always say to wrap them up, even if something doesn’t appear important. And that a man has to clean up his messes by himself.”
Stanley slapped Marcus on the back and laughed. “That’s right, you are listening. No matter how much time passes, at some point, loose ends must be wrapped up.”